ìl&ha f Ml 111 iffifflr lil ■ tSRSII ffiBH Hi- Hi Hr HHtt urai m WSHfflfflm ''''BoHI bBBRB NRffiS iffiì III1P liSB Hi Rmtf 'fÌHft ^^d^ttxsipxecie. i?:^i-av^Jj^A^J?j,r;r.z /, FuòAjtf.7.W0ò. iy C.CfiappU.^aCl Matt . EFFUSIONS OF LOVE MARY QUEEN OF SCOTLAND. TRANSLATED FROM A GALLIC MANUSCRIPT, In the Scotch College, at Paris. INTERSPERSED WITH SONGS, SONNETS, AND NOTES EXPLANATORY, BY THE TRANSLATOR. lonBon : PRINTED FOR C. CHAPPLE, PALL-MALL, AND SOUTHAMPTON-ROW, ELOOMSBURY. 1S05. ^ftul J. CUNDEE, PRINTER, IVY-LANE. TO THE READER. IT is altogether needless, the Editor conceives, to enter into an elaborate disquisition of the su- perlative beauty and fascinating accomplishments of the unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots, who was (from every account that has been transmit- ted to us by historians of her own period) so ir- resistibly seductive, as to inspire with love every object that came within the vortex of her tran- scendent charms.* Of the numerous individuals that were sacri- ficed at the shrine of Mary's beauty, none is * Nothing can possibly convey to us a better idea of the loveliness of Mary, than the exquisite picture of her now preserved, in the possession of the Duke of Dorset, at his mansion at Knowle, in Kent. IV the execution of the Editor's plan, which he however found means to effect, through the medium of Mon- sieur de M , who was then high in power, but who has since shared the fate of so many of his re- volutionary friends — upon a public scaffold. It might naturally be conjectured, that the then pos- ture of affairs in Paris did not leave the reigning factions much leisure time to think of manuscripts appertaining to the house of Stuart, and such was indeed the editor's opinion on procuring the permis- sion to inspect them; but in this conjecture he found himself altogether mistaken, his conduct being ob- served with the utmost scrutiny, by which means lie was scarcely perinitted to make a single extract, till his frequent attendances at the Scotch College at length weared his conductor, added to zvhich the more weighty persuasion of British gold, which the editor threw into the scale, gained him the preponde- rance in the conductor's good graces ; and by this means he was at full liberty to make such transcripts as appeared to him of an interesting nature and novel cast. The manuscripts in question contain abundance of political information, and much private anecdote, particularly in those letters which passed bettveen Mary Queen of Scots, and Catherine de Medicis ; there are also poetical effusions of the Scottish queen, written in French and Italian, which the Editor in- tends presenting to the ivorld on a future occasion, should this volume meet the approbation of the pub- lic. The account of the sufferings of Chatelar are written by himself in the form of fragments, inscribed to Mary Queen of Scotland, and zvere, it is said, sent to her by the w fortunate youth during the short confinement which preceded his execution, as appears by one of his effusions at the end of this ivork. The original manuscript and poems are written throughout in the Gallic language, which the Editor has endeavoured to put into a modern English dress, as the idiom of the French is so much altered, that a native of France, in the present day, would find it rather difficult to comprehend the meaning of many parts of the diary of Chatelar, as written by him- self VI Should the Editor have succeeded in his attempt, so far as to extend to his countrymen a portion of that melancholy pleasure he experienced, on the pe- rusal of the effusions of Chatelar, his utmost wishes will be gratified ; and it shall then he his endeavour, to elucidate in a similar manner many unknown cir- cumstances attending the fate of the beautiful, but un- fortunate, Mary Queen of Scotland, which are de- rived from the same authentic source as the contents of the present volume. CHATELAR. FRAGMENT I. WHAT are sublunary considerations to the mind of fire ? — What has this world to do with love ? All — all is vanity, nothing but the neglected chaff wafted on the rude wings of the northern blast Avaunt — fly from me power and riches, and give me love, nought else but love. — It shall be my state, my fortune, and I will be proud with it though robed in the gar- ments of worldly wretchedness. Love knows not want—he has no such inmate as Poverty ; if he smiles, he has but one dread foe; if he frowns, he has but one true friend ; and both concentrate in the oblivion of death. But must we die ? is there not in love sufficient fire to keep this earthly frame from marble coldness ? —Yes ; while Mary lives, the soul-invigorating fire of her celestial eyes must keep alive this 2 CHATELAR. frame of mine But, ah ! who am I that dare thus ally myself with heavenly beauty and ter- restrial greatness ? -=- What is Chatelar ? — No imperial title, no transcendent qualities are mine Yes ! oh yes ! I am ennobled ; for Cha- telar wears within his breast the never-fading in- signia of love, and his qualifications are fer- vency and immutable truth.-— Who dares dis- pute my claim ?— Cold world I hate thee — I soar above thy grovelling trammels, and wing my way amid the expansive regions of glowing fancy. Mary is a queen, Chatelar is a lover: such is my plea, and who dares dispute the au- thority of love ?— Hear then, bright goddess of my soul, in pity hear me ; let me but catch the softened lustre of thine eyes, and Chatelar will dare confess himself; yes !— wrench from his bo- som the reeking dart which thou hast planted there, and give his soul full vent. Why should I speak of time, that had exist- ence ere yet I knew how exquisite it was to love? Oh Scotland! thou gavest me birth; *twas here I first inhal'd the breath of life, where now I live in extacy. Nobility of blood 1 boast not ; but proudly may I assert that claim to ho- nour, which is the legacy of a father schooled in virtue and in truth. Why recapitulate the scenes of boyhood, and the revolutions in my fate ? — I became the miniOn CHATELAR. 3 of the court of France, and secretary of the Marechal D'Anville— Oh ! that name !— -Yes, even he, my benefactor and my friend, awakens every pang : for he dares look on thee-— and looking, dares to love. 'Twas then, enchanting queen ! my eyes first gazed upon those charms I since have learned to reverence, with all the fervor of matchless truth. Whene'er I saw you, my pulse beat with an un- wonted motion, and the throbbings of my heart spoke to my soul a language it had never known before — my brain became on fire, and ere I knew the term, I knew what constituted love.— To look in speechless rapture on your beaming eye, to mark the symmetry of that angelic form, and contemplate the graceful motion of your step, were then my height of bliss. — Love had not taught me what presumption was, I rather stood the awe-struck victim of his all-puissant will. You left the court of France — Yes— Mary left it, and with her all the rays of beauty and of grace fled Gallia's shores for ever. — Never shall I forget the hour when the Marechal D'An- ville gained your acquiescence with his wish; for that blessed hour made me too the partner of his voyage hither.* We embarked, and the * The Merechal Danville, to whom Chatelar was secre- tary, though a married man, was passionately enamoured b2 4 CHATELAR. white surge, as if obedient to the queen of love, retired at her approach Oh, that night !--- fond recollection ! — how my entranc'd soul catches at every thought that pictures Mary to my fever' d mind. — Yes ; that dear enchanting night was spent in bliss unspeakable !-— I lay upon my pallet, watchful as the party-coloured lynx, for my mind told me that Mary's form reposed within the cabin which adjoined to mine. The mariner, ever and anon, sung to the breeze a ditty to his love. — 1 left my couch — Oh sleep ! thou wast not there— in vain thy leaden pinions, steeped in second death, lay heavy on the lids of all around me ; I was alone invulnerable, nor felt thy potent influ- ence. I arose — yes ; I dared approach the hallowed entrance of thy cabin — my knees trembled, and I sought support; — love's faintness drew its cur- tain o'er my senses, and I lay ensteeped in bliss of Mary Queen of Scots; and when she determined on quitting France for Scotland, he obtained her permission to escort her thither. The Marechal was a nobleman of the most refined manners, very accomplished, and remarkably handsome. Some historians have even thought that Mary suffered him to indulge his headstrong passion too far; but this may have arisen from her predilection in his fa- vour, as she was by no means blind to his shining qualifi- cations. CHATELAR. 5 immortal. I awoke, and on my knees implor- ed sweet slumbers to attend thy couch— -I did more ; it was the first bold impulse with which love nerved me — I dared to wish that dreams might conjure to thy brain the form of him who burned with extacy. — Perhaps it was illusion, but methought my prayers were heard. A silence of the grave ensued— I scarcely suf- fered the feverish breath to pass the portal of my lips.— Again the sailor from above sang to the winds his tale.— A something inexpressible swelled my heart, and though, perhaps, the ut- terer of those sounds was not so exquisitely framed as me to feel the thrill of love, yet still he seemed to love ; and that was in itself suffici- ent to excite the tenderest sympathy in the bo- som of Chatelar. Quitting my cabin, I ascended to the deck, and hailed the pilot of the night; at my ap- proach he bowed respectfully. " Friend," said I, " that ditty once again, I " do entreat thee; for it hath charms to lull " me into quiet." He sang the melancholy strain, which so vi- brated on the thrilling chords of my soul, that never have the words escaped me; they ran as follows, and the ditty in responsive sadness breathed what the poet told.— - B 3 CHATELAR. THE SAILOR'S DITTY. Tell ye winds, that bleakly blow, All the damsel's tale of woe ; Tell, thou deadly yawning main, All the love-sick sailor's pain ; Let each plaintive accent prove Margaret's truth and Henry's love. Myrtles blighted, Loves benighted, For the willow Shades their pillow, Sadly moans the turtle-dove. Hush, I hear the hollow wind Breathe the truth of Marg'ret's mind ; Hark, the dashing waves impart Henry's fervent, faithful heart : Winds and waves in union prove Matchless truth and ardent love. Myrtles blighted, Loves benighted, For the willow Shades their pillow, Sadly moans the turtle-dove. Sailor-youth the main you cross'd, Oft by raging billows toss'd ; Gentle maid unseen you sigh'd, Languish'd, pin'd, and love-sick died CHATELAR. While thy Henri's struggling breath Blcss'd thee in a wat'ry death. Myrtle's blighted, Loves benighted, For the willow Shades their pillow, Sadly moans the turtle-dove. The moon in pale majesty rode through the dark ethereous expanse, and the stars in glitter- ing lustre bespangled the firmament around ; it seemed, indeed, as if the elements combined to rock the slumbers of bright beauty's queen, and sooth her into sweet forgetfulness. The last sad note of the seaman's strain faded on the breeze of night, while still entranc'd I wished for more.— There is in music, to the soul of love, a stealing softness, that preying on the senses lulls them into melancholy.— The tear was in my eye ; thy name, oh Mary ! trembled on my tongue. " Friend/' said I, " where learnedst thou " that little soothing ditty, and who attuned " thy voice to keep such exquisite harmony; " thy trade is rugged, and ill seasoned to such " notes of tenderness and love ?" " A Norman youth am I," replied the sea- man, " and the air is one of those well known B 4 8 CHATELAR. " where I was born. I often sing it at this " drear hour to banish heavy thoughts." " To banish them ? — thou meanst to feed thy " sorrows, friend/' The seaman paused ; his bonnet hung o'er his brow, but, as if to screen a hidden mystery that might betray itself, he gently drew it more upon his face. — Still was he mute — O Mary ! there is sometimes in silence a language inexpressibly sublime. " My friend," said I : the seaman heard the sound, and suddenly replied — " It doth not feed my sorrows, but it sooths " them." " Then are thy feelings those of the heart." " They come from thence, if to remember " those we reverence, and her we love, has any u connection with the soul." The mariner then told his little tale of woe ; 'twas liberty he wanted, and to give his heart where it could alone find rest. Kind, generous protector !— Yes, Mary, it was I that told the Marechal all the sailor's misery. — You commiserated him — yes; Mary deigned to feel for the child of luckless fortune, and D'Anville paid his ransom. I gloried in the deed — for, though Chatelar remained unknown to all as the great instrument of peace to him that needed it, nothing could rob me of the CHATELAR. g bliss internal, which applauded me for the deed, and whispered to my soul— Mary too must one day join her praises with the plaudits of my soul, and own that Chatelar was not incapable of love. CJIATELAR. 11 FRAGMENT IT. Jlassiow — Ah! no; it cannot be passion : Love is all pure, all refined; it is a mixture of ten- der pity, noble generosity, and candour open as the face of day, where every thing is given, and nothing ! no, nothing ! but a heart glowing with the most enthusiastic ardour required. Passion is extinguishable ; but love, almighty love, alone constitutes a world of bliss, or probes with scor- pion sting that wretch who nourishes by nature this extatic sensation of the soul, and yet suf- fers it to pine away unregarded. The northern blast, that nips the ripening blos- som of renovating spring, is not so chilly and so piercing cold, as the tormenting ravages of heart- corroding jealousy, which cankering by absence wound beyond the power of time to cure. I stare with vacancy upon boundless expanse ; it is like time illimitable, and is measured only by our hopes Ah! Hope, thou art indeed 12 CHATELAR. but a faint expression, a simple star amid the blaze of noon-tide day, when thou wouldst en- deavour to conjure to my fancy the bliss of that reality I pant for — of that heavenly emotion which now consumes my bleeding heart, and flies through the wide expanse of thought, only to be precipitated still deeper in the gulph of misery from the dread assurance of impossibi- lity. ' Where am I ? — why do I rave ?— It is heaven ordains it ; I was to be unfortunate. — I tax thee not ; sweet, lovely excellence !— No, Mary, 'tis not in thee to inflict a pang so cursed as that I feel— to strike the soul that owns thee mistress of its fate for ever. Come Reason! come, thou rallier of the scattered senses, poise my un- steady brain, clip the eagle-pinions of my rag- ing fancy, and bind me with thine icy chain to some fixed centre. * * * * * * * * * * You trod the wished-for shore — yes ; Scotland saw its mistress and its queen; you came like the soft zephyr of the spring to plant perfection in this sterile land; and all who saw you wondered, worshipped, and admired the heavenly excellence ingrafted here. Day still succeeded day, and every coming dawn proved what gave bitter anguish to my soul. D'Anville thou wast my rival, but thou wast also my noble benefactor.—-! never cursed CHATELAR. 13 thee — no ; witness for me every minister of light. — I never in the agonizing struggles which my love endured e'er tainted with so foul a stain my love-sick breast. — Nay, why affirm it, Mary ? It could not be; for had such baseness marked my mind, love had ne'er found sanctuary in this breast of mine. Yes ; D'Anville loved thee, loves thee still. — How oft at midnight have I heard him vent the sigh, while from my bosom the responsive groans have numbered out the lingering hours. Ah ! lit- tle thought my noble friend how watchful was his Chatelar.— How often hath he called me to him — looked on me with a vacant stare — shook me by the trembling hand, and moistened it with his tears. Oh God ! the pang of jealousy was then no more ; it slept within me harmless as the new-born babe; I pitied the best, the noblest friend and master — yes ; tears have mingled fast with his. — 1 knew the solemn truth, and yet, by Him who rules on high, 1 did not like a dastard triumph in his miseries. — I knew that D'Anville was another's, being bound by the sacred bond of the Divinity 1 knew that he was married ! Oh ! had I felt within me a spark of gratified malignity, might I then have been accursed for ever. " My friend, my Chatelar !" would he ex- claim, " from thy slumbers have I aroused thee !4 CHATELAR. *' — yes ; I have cruelly banished from thine eyes " the charm of sleep which had ensteeped them " — cruelly have I done so ; for why shouldst " thou too suffer ? — Quit me ; go once more to " thy repose, dear youth — forgive ; and if thou " canst, forget the peevish temper of thy lord/' I have bathed his hands with my tears — I have fervently blessed him — yes ; from my soul have I called down peace to his aid — in vain at inter- vals has the black demon, jealousy, pictured all my lord's transcendent acquirements — in vain was represented to my brain a fancied smile of more than even glowing approbation, which thou, O Mary ! hadst conferred upon my benefactor ; pity had then usurped unrivall'd sway, and ba- nished from my soul each grovelling sentiment — yes ; it was the struggle of conflicting passions ; and though my love was undiminished, my ho- nour and my gratitude were also free from stain. * * * * * * * * * # ■* * * * * * Tis midnight — O my queen! It is the solemn hour when thus I give those rap- tures vent, which I retrace with agonizing plea- sure — yes ; for rapture, such as mine, treads on the heel of agony so fast, that both are lost in extacy ! I'll pray — yes, pray ; but to whom ? — Have I religion ? Reason answers in the affirmative ; CHATELAR. 15 but my passion will not let me offer praise where contrite prayer is due. — To whom then must I address myself? To love and Mary.—— ******* ******* * Oh, matchless power ! — Oh, mistress of my heart ! thou in whom existence centers — extend thy benignant powers to the most fervent of thy creatures — pour upon my devoted head some pitying ray, to illumine the prospect of an s existence rendered by thee dark as Erebus, and cheerless as the cavern of despair. — Let thy in- vigorating beam infuse into my chaotic soul one bright spark of heavenly comfort, from whence may blaze the unextinguishable flame of requit- ed love No ; it cannot be : — Custom, hate- ful custom, thou art my bane, and Mary must be lost to Chatelar ! — lost to him for ever ! For ever ! — Oh, horror — inexpressible ! — words of death ! — Hold, my brain, least burning mad- ness seize me. ***** ******* Faint and weak I arise from my pallet — all has been at peace-— a torpid chill ran through my burning veins— and I've been wafted to Elysium.™ Oh ! had I awoke no more ! for then the last memorial of my fate had now been registered.— And yet, should I not have lost my queen I — What ideas now flash 10 CHATELAR. upon my intellects ! — Death ! what art thou ? — A dream, a separation from all functions of this world — but, shall we know our friends in hea- ven — shall we love ? — All must be love ; there- fore my paradise in heaven will be my queen. — For her I'll barter all the bliss futurity may have in store ; for in the balance they might counter- poise the very heaven of heavens ! Impiety ! — Who calls me impious ? — was I not framed the creature of love ; and is not love my reli- gion ? — yes ; all is love with me, and therefore all futurity may have to grant concentrates in my queen. CHATELAR. V7 FRAGMENT 111. W hat have I now to register, but the hateful names of those who are my deadly enemies ? — In all the lustre of Aurora dressed, my queen ap- peared ; all Edinborough seemed illumined with the radiance of her charms — I was alone the gloomy object of sullen melancholy — D'Anville too appeared with more than usual grace, and Mary smiled upon him. Oh ! how the dag- gers pierced my soul, at every glance bestowed upon my friend ; — Hamilton's great Earl was also there, array'd in all the pomp of proud nobility, and with him came his youthful son, the Earl of Arran.* — I marked his eye — I saw the rosy hue * The young Earl of Arran was one of the lovers of Mary ; and, from his rank, and the wealth of his father, he aspired to possess her person, and the crown of Scotland ; but the ambitious views of the parent, and the love of the young EarJ, were alike unsuccessful, although the boldest steps were put in practice to obtain her. C 18 CHATELAR. mantle his comely face, as he beheld the form of lovely Mary* — He approached her, and on his knee made reverence to his queen beside his aged sire. — She smiled upon him — yes; raised him with a look of sweet beneficence — I sicken- ed at the sight, and at that instant my fire-flash- ing eyes fixed on D'Anville. — Oh ! if conflicting passions wrung my soul, I had a partner in my sufferings — yes ! — the Marechal walked hand-in- hand with Chatelar in misery. — Where was then the distinction of rank and title — D'Anville, the great, the noble D'Anville, was as wretched as the creature whom he styles his slave ? — I hailed the convincing auspice — 1 bowed more awe- struck before this soul-subduer, this almighty love. — A paleness, like the livery of death, o'er- spread the features of my friend— -black despair and fiery jealousy shot from his eyes by turns ; they were the indexes of his soul; they were emanations of the consuming agonies of Chate- lar. Ah ! were this but all, a spotless day amid my calendar of woe would have transpired ; but more was left behind to wound the heart of D'Anville; more yet remained to torture the wretched Chatelar. Amid the splendid crowd came the great Earl of Huntley, and with him the paragon of excel- lence in man : It was his son, the youthful Gor- CHATELAR. lp don — Heavens ! what majesty was in his port ; his shape was symmetry, and his countenance man- ly and open as the face of day. — Upon his knees he came to greet his queen ; but as he knelt, such grace was in his motion, that had Apollo's self been there, the god had been a Gordon. Must 1 note it down? — accursed moment !~~ yes ; Mary gazed upon him, looked upon young Gordon,* and with such a glance as spoke inter- * John Gordon, the Earl of Huntley's son, was esteem- ed the handsomest youth in Scotland ; and it is recorded, that he was as accomplished in mind as he was perfect in symmetry of form. He fell passionately in love with Mary, and it is pretty obvious from history, that she was not blind to his perfections. The two families of Huntley and Ha- milton were consequently inveterate foes., as the two young heirs to the titles both aspired to ally themselves to the queen by the bond of marriage. The intrigues of the court at length precipitated the unfortunate young Gordon into the most daring actions; and having recourse to arras, he was taken prisoner, when Mary was by compulsion oblig- ed to affix her sign manual to the warrant for his execution; and, that it might appear she had never felt a passion for Gordon, his enemies, who had every ascendancy over the unfortunate Mary, forced her to be personally present at the execution : in order to which, she was stationed at a balcony, commanding a view of the horrid scene. The lovely John Gordon, after protesting his unalterable love, and extolling the beauty of Mary, addressed himself to her from the scaffold, saying, that she was the most lovely but cruel of her sex ; when, resigning himself to his fate, the c 2 20 CHATELÀR. nal admiration of his beauty ; the glow that rob- ed her cheek came and returned with such pre- cipitancy, that all who saw her with the eyes of Chatelar must have confessed her soul was fraught with love— yes ; D'Anville confessed it, and his bleeding heart sickened with Chatelar's at the contending agonies which wrung it. But if Mary loved, Gordon became her lover also ; his eyes, each gesture of his countenance, the very motion of his body spoke his soul ; 'twas fettered in the rosy chains of love, and illumined with his poignant dart. Detested rival ! un- happy Chatelar, when will thine anguished bo- som find repose — when will thine eye-lids close in tranquil sleep ?— never, oh ! never, never !— peace was ne'er made for Chatelar ; sleep hath forsaken him ; D'Anville too will rest no more, and Arran's Earl must share with me the bitter- ness of conflicting jealousy — we are slaves ; 'tis Gordon lords it o'er us — he is the chosen son of light, and we must wander in chaotic gloom. — Oh ! for Medusa's serpent-locks, the eye of basi- lisk, or the thunderbolt of Jove, that I might hurl destruction on him -.—Revenge lights up my executioner severed his head from his body, while Mary, overcome by the poignancy of feelings arising from the struggles of pity and love, fell lifeless into the arms of her attendants, who bore her from the shocking sight. CHATELAR, 21 soul; furies are in my heart; curses are on my tongue ; rage is in my soul, and death within my grasp ; not all the host of hell is half so terrible as thou, O Gordon ! * * * * Peace, peace, fell furies ; down accursed, malign revenge; for not unto thee, Oh Gordon ! should be attributed the blame. — Thou didst not mould thyself in manly majesty, or give to every action witching grace : — No, no ; nature and love conjoined to frame thy matchless symmetry ; and beauty hath given thee all it could bestow-— yes : for thou hast Mary's heart, and having that, not Paris, with his boasted Helen, was so doubly bless'd ; for thou art master of the goddess, not her gift. Hark ! 'twas D'Anville's bitter groan disturb- ed the solemn stillness of the hour ; for Chatelar is not alone condemned. Gratitude, I thank thee ; for thou hast infused a balm within the bitter draught that curdled all within me— yes : the memory of my benefactor's pangs have tran- quilized my mind. — D'Anville is unfortunate, and Chatelar owes D'Anville gratitude.— Beneficent emanation of the Divinity ! thou comest to my woe-worn heart like dew-drops from on high, that feed the parched-up lily of the field; or, like the melody of that sweet songster of the night, which, wafted on the stilly breeze of spring, af- fords a melancholy comfort to the mother weep- c 3 22 CHATELAR. ing the loss of her departed babe.— Not unto these alone may'st thou compare heart-thrilling gratitude; for thou art kindred to God, and dwellest with the angellic host. Still to court peace, and lull my senses for a transitory period, I will invoke my muse; for poetry can sooth the saddened breast, and harmo- nize the contending feelings ; it is the music of the mind, the language of the soul, which played upon, yields, like the silv'ry-chorded lute, when touched by Mary's ' witching finger, a harmony divine. CHATELAR. 23 BALLAD TO MY QUEEN. An ! say not winter's winds blow bleak, Nor tax the snow and drifting rain ; They'll blight the roses of the cheek, But never give the bosom pain. Ah ! blame not age's icy dart, For nought so marble-cold can be As Mary's unrelenting heart, For she can pity all but me. Ah ! curse not fortune's wav'ring mind, For nought so fickle e'er can prove As she who blights with frown unkind The child of truth and matchless love. Oh Arran ! thou hast pow'r and state To cancel ev'ry hope of mine — Oh Gordon ! thou art bless'd by fate With manly form and port divine. Yet, though eclips'd by state and pow'r, Nor these or beauty can controul Those flames which ev'ry sense devour, That passion which enslaves my soul. c 4 CHATELAR. 25 FRAGMENT IF. How vain are all the efforts of human reason, when put in competition with the impetuous flood of despair ; like a barrier incessantly wash- ed by the torrent, it resists for a time only to fall with more vehemence beneath the overwhelming tide. 1 see her ; I am for ever in her pre- sence ; I live in the beam of her eye; I bask in the sunshine of her beauty — yes ; I am for ever in the presence of my adored queen, my august and lovely sovereign. — Oh Gordon ! my throb- bing heart, my woe-worn countenance, beholds thee with unutterable anguish ; thy rank, thy wealth, but more than all, thy form and Mary's affection give thee a claim which the unhappy Chatelar can never aspire to.' But, what are claims ? they ha\e no tie upon love ; they can- n: t nip the blossoms of the heart, nor blight its fond pretensions : Chatelar may therefore love, though he is denied e'en hope.— Is it, then, one 26 CHATELAH. dreary blank ; am I henceforth to look on life but as one dreary waste, a trackless desert ; and is all before me withered and accursed ?— My brain cannot withstand the horrid contempla- tion ; my blood feels the quick revulsion, and rushes with tenfold more precipitancy to my heart; and yet, my languishing but sickened fancy struggles to present once more in thought the beauty and enchantment of my lovely queen. Ah ! what a glance, what a stolen but rap- turous gaze I this day bent upon her features !— Yes ! I devoured in speechless amazement the soul-subduing charms; I pant but to enjoy, and then expire with rapture.— Her chamber— Yes; I passed it ; I caught the blissful moment when, absorbed in meditation, she thought herself a- lone Ah ! that chamber ! Where is the rash being who would venture to seek repose within that sanctuary of love and beauty ? I would tear him from existence — Yes ! I could refine on savage cruelty; the monster should be blotted from the race of men ; for who can dare contend with me the rivalship of a scene too mighty even for my glowing senses ? * * * * * * * This rosary was the theft of love,— surely 'tis forgiven; I stole the secret moment, and in the absence of my love I made myself possessor of these beads unseen. — Heavenly powers ! they were Mary's ; her ivory CHATELAR. 27 fingers, with love-thrilling touch, have pressed these little amber studs ; her lips ! love, love, omniscient love ! her lips too have kissed them ! Come, come to mine — thus — and thus ; — and thus I scent their fragrance, and I suck their sweets ! — Oh, balmy essence! nectareous juice ! ting'd with the vermil die of those moist rubies, which moving utter dulcet music, and dispense around the violet's rich perfume. O ! mouth more exquisite than fragrant May ! more luscious than the busy bee's rich store ! thus, then, I taste thee ; for nought that thou hast pressed can ever be be- reft of sweets.— Mary too has knelt, while pres- / sing this rosary to her lips — sink, then, my obedi- ent knees, and learn, O Chatelar ! to offer up thy orison. — But, ah ! to what a summit must I rear my humid eyes, ere I can obtain one faint ray of light that may illumine my prayers, and render them as acceptable as Mary's at the Throne of Grace ; still will I pray ; these beads will surely give me inspiration ; for they were an angel's, and mercy is the first, the greatest attribute of Heaven. CHATELAR. 29 FRAGMENT V. I thought myself the most accursed of be- ings ; throughout the wide world's expanse I did not imagine there existed one so hapless as Cha- telar. Ah ! D'Anville, my friend, my patron, / and my benefactor, what are now thy thoughts ì Who can picture all thy sum of wretchedness ?— They banish * thee, they force thee from the ob- * The Earl of Hamilton, and the Earl of Huntley, anxi- ous for the success of their respective sons, and witnessing the noble qualifications of the Marechal D'Anville, and the pointed marks of attention manifested towards him by Mary, determined on banishing so formidable a rival ; and to effect this, through their interest a very old and obsolete law was put in force, banishing all such as were residents in Scotland, being foreigners by birth ; this order of course comprehended the Marechal D'Anville, who was compel- led to quit Scotland, leaving his secretary, Chatelar, who was by birth a Scotchman, to forward all his communica- tions to the queen, and, by his poetry, and every other means he could devise, preserve his memory fresh in her mind. 30 CHATELAR. ject of thine adoration ; awe-struck at thy per- fections, the Earls of Hamilton and Huntley drive thee hence unto thy native shore ; for thou art a foe too puissant to escape their, rancour and their jealousy — Yes ! Arran fears thee — nay, even Gordon, anxious for more bliss than 'longs to mortal man, envies a smile conferred on any but himself. Wretched D'Anville, fortunate Chatelar ; and yet not so : for I must either wrong the best of friends, or plead his cause against mine own Cruel fate !-« What ! can I stain my soul with base dishonour ? Can Chatelar, schooPd in vir- tue and in truth, descend to vile deception ? Can he forget his lord and benefactor ? — Never ! no, never be it said I stoop'd to such detested mean- ness.— I will be just— I will be generous; nor wrong the heart that fostered me.— But, ah ! how little thinks my friend the task he has imposed ; how little knows he the workings of that breast, to which he has confided all the raging madness of his own. He hath but now retired, I will not say to rest ; for he, like Chatelar, forgets the name of sleep ; within his trembling hand he grasped the fatal mandate for his banishment— madness was in his eye; death overspread his cheek; despair and love marked every gesture — —Oh ! my heart still bleeds for his distress ; and for his quiet I CHALELAR. 3! would barter my peace, my liberty, my life — nay, every thing but love ! D'Anville must quit her — he must tear himself from happiness ! — Great God! and what could tear away poor Chatelar ? — Nothing ! — nothing but his will; and yet all are superior in their claims to Chatelar, who in his turn lords it o'er them in love. D'Anville is noble — yes; he possesses every attribute to claim a queen ; but then, he has a wife already. — Oh ! had that all-potent spell not bound my lord — even thou, O Gordon ! wouldst have wept unheeded, and forlorn. Proud Arran, riches are thine, and rank and title thou commandest to merit such alliance; and yet the bliss evades thy fervent grasp. Thou too, O Gordon! hast title, riches, man- ly beauty, and perfections rare — nay, and pre- ference from the angel thou adorest. — To coun- terpoise all these, behold poor Chatelar: nor wealth, nor title, nor exquisite endowments, un- to him belong— love is his fortune, love his title, and love his only claim to merit Mary's favour. — To the frigid world 'tis poverty ; with Chatelar 'tis every thing, if it can but purchase one ray of commiseration from the goddess of his soul. To-morrow's sun lights D'Anville to his fate; he quits his idol — quits her, perhaps, for ever ! while the unregarded Chatelar remains to bask 32 CHATELAR. in the full radiance of Mary's charms — nay, and perhaps the predilection for my lord may prompt her more than ever to indulge my fervent wishes in her presence — yes ! — I will plead the cause of D'Anville, but the effusions must be those of Chatelar ; I will read my love-sick tales as in be- half of him I serve ; but if my eyes and falter- ing tongue betray me, love is to blame, not Cha- telar. Methinks I see expectant Arran glorying in the defeat of D'Anville, and lording it o'er my benefactor's misfortunes. — I could annihilate the monster who felt pleasure at his miseries; for even I — yes, Chatelar, who has most cause for joy at his dismissal, because he has the least ex- pectancy — even he can pity D'Anville.— - But 7 ah ! fond youth, thy bitter foe remains behind ; Arran must still encounter Gordon, and Gordon too must meet a Chatelar. If I must perish, let me nobly meet my fate ; let me expire beneath the arm of Gordon, or Gordon yield to mine ; for he alone remains to harrow up my frenzied thoughts, and plant within my soul the sting of lasting jealousy.— Corrosive madness ! infer- nal fiend! — What art thou, Jealousy? — Thou mak'st me almost deny the heavenly attributes of love ; for thou art its sure attendant, and what can taste more than thee of dire damnation ?--- Hold, hold, the bitter hath its sweet ; the rose CHATELAR. 33 its thorn; the gilded snake its poison and its sting : — What is more sweet, more fragrant, or more witching to the sense, than love ? — Our cup is mingled, and to our every drop of bliss ensues a sea of woe. — Love is on earth the ex- tacy of pleasure, and jealousy the dire excess of pain : nature ordains that one should counter- poise the other, and he who has the most of love, must feel the more acutely jealousy. But is it just, that Chatelar should bear the galling anguish without expectancy; that he should pine unheeded and forlorn, even where most he would be unconcealed ? must he be doom'd to witness foe succeeding foe, and live upon his groans, his tears, and jealousy, without the bold confession of his flame ? — perish the thought! — She shall — yes! Mary, my queen, shall know the pangs of Chatelar ; for that, and that alone, may yield me victory — yes ; for Mary has a soul for tenderness and soft commi- seration. — I need it now ; the busy fancy recon- ciles impossibilities, and, as the mariner who feebly grasps the plank surrounded by a sea of deadly horrors, so Chatelar, amid the gloom of black despair, illumines the fallacious torch of hope, and wanders ki the mazes of gilded fal- lacy. Ah ! Hope, thou flitting phantom, thou gaudy illusion, thou fond misleader of the wrecked sen- D 34 CHATELAR. ses, that fram'st a paradise of airy nothingness, canst thou in pleasing dreams still picture possi- bility to D'Anville as to me ? if so, thou art the veriest cozener of created beings, the ignis fatuus of existence, and man should drive thee hence with reason's icy lash, and chain thee in the fa- thomless depths of everlasting oblivion. Why am I ? wherefore was Chatelar created ■? to whom are his praises due ? — scarce nineteen summers yet have mark'd my pilgrimage of life, and I am doom'd to love, and love in vain. — Oh ! that I could drive the demon, melancholy, from me ; that fiend, who now sits hovering o'er my soul, affrighting every gleam that might afford me comfort. No ! not e^en the air- framed phantom of my queen can chace the gloom away. — Life is all a blank to me ; for reason bids me cease to hope. — Better be warm'd by madness, than chill'd by coward fear ; better burn with jealousy, than die the silent fool of black despair — yes ! — I see him, he smiles ; Gordon, the happy Gordon, mocks my grief, and Mary, cruel Mary, sanctions all — yes ! her eyes beam heaven upon him ; Gordon is bless'd, and Chatelar accursed for ever. The flame is kindled in my veins ; 'tis the murderous hour of night; furies now prowl ; in church-yards beldams sing their in- cantations ; and Chatelar too is the slave of jea- lousy. ****** CHATELAR. 35 TO THE DEMON, JEALOUSY. To such as feel the body's pain, And cry with anguish, I would say — With joy your agonies sustain; For I am sufPring more than they. To such as feel the weight of care, And curse the world with bitter tear, I fain would say — your sorrows bear j For agony is only here. If any rail at Fortune cross'd, Td say, your wealth you may regain; But all my peace and joy are lost — My days are woe, my nights are pain. If death of parent, or of wife, If loss of infant, or of friend, Assail the mind , yet still the strife May wear away — mine hath no end. Nor malice, or revenge can live/ Like those fell pangs which I endure; For time may teach them to forgive, But time my woes can never cure, D2 36 CHATELAR. To say what can surpass all these, And prove that torture lives in me, It is that sting which knows no ease — The pang of hell-fraught Jealousy. CHATELAR. 37 FRAGMENT VI. i-yHATELAR, thou hast drained the sluices of thine eyes, and not a tear remains to commise- rate thine own distress. — For D'Anville thou hast wept ; for him whose friendship fostered thee, / and whose rank protected thee ; for him who bids these shores adieu for ever, hast thou render- ed the flood of agonizing woe. This morn he took a solemn sad farewel of lovely Mar} 7 ; upon her beauteous hand he left the parting kiss, and with it fell a pearly tear, that sparkled like the May-morn gem upon the lily's spotless bosom. — Heavens! what sadness mantled Mary's brow ; what pale dejection clad the features of my lord. — He look'd, as did our first parent, Adam, when at the portals of the paradise he'd forfeited ; he gazed upon the ste- rile expanse that surrounded him, a monumental effigy of fix'd despair. The Marechal in silence left the queen; he strove to speak, but utterance was denied him ; D 3 38 CHATELAR. yet, ah ! what language was there in his manly eye, which to the last bent languishingly on the queen. Can it be?— Yes! — Chatelar confes- ses, that pity stifled envy in his breast; he felt not for himself, but for D'Anville. Supported on my arm my wretched lord, with an unsteady step and downcast look, bent his course towards his chamber. — Still was he speech- less, and still within his hand he clasped mine own ; he fixed his gaze upon me, and, after vent- ing forth a struggling groan, he thus bespoke me : — " Dear youth, my friend, my Chatelar, would " that I might exchange with thee the bliss of -" still remaining here, and sighing out existence " 'fore the queen of love. — Thou know'st my " soul — but, ah ! thou know'st not all the pangs " which it endures, my Chatelar. — To thee must " I commit my fate ; plead for me, my friend ; " and, if in language is to be conjured up, expres- " sion bold enough to picture all my anguish, " then let that language be my friend's. — Speak " of my love, my grief, my madness, and my " jealousy Oh ! detested bondage that en- " slaves me — accursed tie which has for ever " link'd me to another ! — Had I not worn those " fetters, Mary perchance might have been mine, " and 1 for ever blessed with love and inexpres- " sive extacy." CHATELAR. 39 D'Anville arose, he threw his arms around me, and manly tears flowed fast upon me ; mine too kept them company, and every blessing of gratitude rush'd impetuously upon my soul. " Farewel, farewel, my Chatelar !" D'An- ville exclaimed ; lt thy friend commits his heart " to thee— Adieu, and Heaven for ever guard " thee/' The Marechal rush'd from the chamber, his attendants awaited below their lord's approach ; I uttered a sad farewel to him I reverence, but my streaming tears forbad my attendance on him. From yonder casement, through which the moon now throws its steady ray, I saw the miserable D'Anville vault his steed ; first towards the lattice of Queen Mary's room he turned his glistening eye — he saw not the object which he sought; towards poor Chatelar bis gaze then turn- ed ; he placed his hand upon his heart, then rear- ed it towards heaven:— 'twas the signal of his love, and unto me a lesson of fidelity.— Again towards the queen of love he turned his wistful look— he beheld her; D'Anville gazed upon the bright star of day ; taking his bonnet from his brow, he waved it thrice in air, and wafting as love's messenger one parting sigh, he quickly dis- appeared. Thus parted D'Anville from the heavenly maid, and thus is Chatelar by friendship bound to plead d 4 40 CHATELAR. his cause — yes ; now shall I be permitted to at- tend the source of all my extacy and all my pain ; in private I shall view her, and feed upon her rapturous charms; sing ditties to her listening ear, and speak the language of my breast with- out controul. Dares Chatelar require more joy ; should I not for ever bless that fate which gives to me what it denies D'Anville^ which even will allow the presence of Chatelar, when favour- ed Gordon's self is not permitted to approach ? — 'Tis too much— heaven opens to my panting brain— I live, I bask in love !— Can the warm poet's fancy picture to my senses such elysium as I feel ? — Where is such light as Mary's eyes dis- pense ; where is the fragrance of her breath — the music of her voice — the symmetry of her form — the graceful motion of each limb — and that enchanting smile that plays around her ro- seat lip ? — To live within the vortex of all these surpasses what my sick'ning soul could hope for. — A rhapsody of joy entrances me — I am not of this earth ; 'tis not in this sublunary state to feel as I do! * * * * * * * * * * I faint 'tis rap- ture Mary! My queen! My love — my love — — CHATELAR. 41 AIR. TRISTE AMOUR.* Une reine est maitresse de raoa cacur ; Elle reigne part tout, Car ses beaux yaeux, Sont les deux sceptres de Paraour; Et quand vers raoi ils tournent leurs brillantes flames, Le feu d'amour s'empare de tout mon ame. Heneux si j'etois souverain, De tout le ciel Peut etre elle, Ne voudras pas que j'aime en vain ; Mais comme je suis en silence je soupire J'ose bien aimer, mais je n'ose pas le dire. * The annexed French ballad is conjectured to be that al- luded to by Chatelar in the ensuing fragment ; and it ap- pears, that this effusion was the first written by the unfortu- nate youth after the departure of his patron, the Marechai D'Anviile, from the court of Scotland : it is certainly ex- pressive of the most fervent love and adoration, and the conclusive couplet is peculiarly applicable to the hopeless flituation of the unfortunate writer. The editor has given this little composition as a specimen of the original produc- tions of Chatelar, to which he has subjoined his translation^ 42 CHÀTELAR. AIR. TRANSLATION. A queen is mistress of my soul ; I idolize Her brilliant eyes, Love's sceptres which all hearts controul ; And when tow'rd me their ardent fires they turn, Love's flames within my breast more furious burn* Were I but sov'reign of the sky, Her love might be Conferr'd on me, And I unheeded should not sigh ; But as I am, in silence I must feel Love's sacred flame, and vet that flame conceal. and from this specimen he conceives, it will appear obvious how far inferior his attempts at imitation are to the original productions in the French language. CHATELAR. 43 FRAGMENT VII. A day of uninterrupted bliss has now tran- spired—Oh ! let me chronicle the welcome truth, and chequer with the renovating smile of love one page of that great book which has hitherto been sullied by bitter misfortune. This morn a summons called me to my queen : Mary deigned to invite poor Chatelar, who, on the wings of timid hope, expectancy, and love, obeyed the welcome mandate. As I entered, a single female attendant waited her commands, when, scarcely had my trembling knee paid her the homage due, ere Mary dismissed her. Upon the left-hand rested the lovely cheek of my god- dess, her taper fingers being partly concealed by the profusion of auburn hair that flowed in wavy tresses upon her milk-hue' d bosom; her right- arm in graceful negligence rested upon the flow- ing drapery of sable velvet wherewith she was arrayed; it looked like Farian marble embossed 44 CHATELAR. on jett, while her hand, on which were visible the faintest streaks of azure hue, held the divine ef- fusions of Petrarch to his Laura well beloved. From beneath her robe stole forth her little foot, and, to heighten still more the blissful enchant- ment, her exquisitely formed ancle was just ob- servable, speaking the perfect symmetry that reigned above. — She gazed upon me— yes; she looked with kindness on Chatelar, while her moistened lips just moved the order for my quit- ting the prostrate position I had assumed, when thus my queen continued : " Chatelar, thou art the highly-favoured of the " Marechal D'Anville ; he hath spoken much of *' thy deserts, and prayed me to look kindly on " thee. He hath also made known thy love of " poetry and music, and, to sooth the hour of " sweet retirement, have 1 therefore summoned " thee into my presence. — Take then the lute, u and to the melody of some plaintive air attune " its dulcit chords, to kill the sadness of my " soul/' I bowed obedience;— exquisite moment which enabled me to breathe my love-sick pain. — I took the lute — my voice was softened into more than mortal thrill*-— my trembling fingers scarcely touched the strings. — I sung the melancholy dit- ty, Triste Amour Yes ! even Mary was sur- prised ; such mighty power had Love within me, CHATELAR. 45 that he commanded admiration from my queen. This little effusion of my brain gave satisfaction to the goddess of my soul, and she continued im- movable, save when her hand was raised to wipe away a glistening tear, that rendered her azure eye more witchingly enchanting.— I know not what was in my voice, but every gesture must have spoke the language of my breast; my soul o'erflowed with keen delight ; and with quick palpitation my fluttering heart made the response to every swell of Mary's lovely bosom.— I ceas- ed ; and as the cadence died away, a sigh from my o'ercharged bosom eased the acuteness of my bliss, which almost stifled utterance. A pause ensued ; my queen seemed lost in me- ditation, while I devoured in speechless rapture the world of bliss before me. — Raising her eyes at length she fixed them on my countenance, say- ing, in a melting tone of voice " The Marechal has not o'er-rated thy abili- " ties, Chatelar, and I shall become a constant u intruder on thy kind condescension ; say, were " those lines the effusions of thy pen, which did " but now accompany the air thou sangst ?" Yes; Mary deigned to ask the question— -nay more, she hath required of me a transcript of my ditty, as token of her approbation. — Who can be more favoured than Chatelar ? Can there be showered on mortal man a greater blessing ? 46 CHATELAR. Again she bad me strike the lute, when at that moment the volume of Petrarch fell from her hand; I sprang forward to raise it from the ground, my royal mistress too had bent her love- ly form towards it — I seized the precious volume which had been rendered inestimable by her touch, and, turning hastily, presented it upon my knee But, at that instant — Oh ! heaven- ly sight ? — Yes ! Mary's reclining posture gave to my eyes the swelling riches of her neck and bosom. — A momentary annihilation seized me ; every pulse was immovable ; the current of my blood was stopped, and my fainting heart forgot its wonted palpitation. God ! what a sight ! they sweli'd like snowy orbs crowned with two blushing rose-buds of the fragrant spring. " No, Chatelar," breath'd my goddess with a smile, " Petrarch shall be thine :" — Mary pre- sented me the volume ; I bowed, and as I hid it in my bosom, my heart just palpitating whis- pered — " Oh ! let me then live for love and Laura." I raised the lute; my senses were scattered ; all recollection wandered in the mazes of forget- fulness ; — my fingers too forgot their wonted mo- tion ; I was annihilated to every sensation but rapturous love ! — It must have been perceptible; Mary could not but witness all the conflict of my mind. Generous, gentle creature; she CHATELAR. 47 did not frown at my distress, nor did her tongue repeat the wish of hearing me. My recollection again returned ; 'twas grati- tude then swelled my soul to tears; benignity was in Mary's eye.— Almighty love can only tell what passed within my heart ; heaven can alone unfold what must have struck the soul of my adored, on witnessing my agitation. I would have offered an excuse — the words were on my lips, but they refused to utter aught but truth, and truth would have been love. I struck the string, and in the extacy that entranced my soul, thus gave to sound the momentary bliss which had enraptured me.™ BALLAD. Ah .! cruel love, why rove unseen ? In myrtle fetters bind the queen, Who shuns a humble youth; On wanton pinions send thy dart, Fresh purpled from my bleeding heart, And wing'd with matchless truth. So should I reign o'er ev'ry charm, Nor feel dread jealousy's alarm, But taste of joys above. I ask not wealth, or to be great, With her I'd scorn the frowns of fate, And only live for love. 48 CHATELAR. I dared not raise mine eyes, fearful of meet- ing the glance of her I loved ; methought I had been too presumptuous, and my blood turned icy cold, till Mary's sweet words infused reanima- tion. — " The voice that yields such melody ," said my queen, " must be as capable of reading as of "harmony; take, then, these manuscripts of " Ronsard, * and let me listen to his verse/' As she spoke she gave into my hand the volume which contained the pleasing strains ; I read, and at each pause my ear was greeted with some kind word of praise for my endeavour. Here let me pause awhile ; the day of bliss I passed de- fies the aid of language ; there is no tongue, no unison of sounds so sweety as can convey the harmony of the love-entranced soul. Sweet- est of poets ! Petrarch revered, now rendered even more divine by the gentle giver's touch ; * The French poet, Ronsard, lived in the time of Mary Queen of Scots, and was very popular in his native coun- try : He flourished under Charles the Ninth, then King of France, and the Editor, therefore, conjectures that the ac- complished Mary, anxious to become possessed of the ef- fusions of a living genius, (with whose writings the French court were conversant) must have made application to Ronsard, from whom she received the manuscripts here al- luded to. There are old editions of the works of Ronsard still extant in the French language. CHATELAH. 49 come to my soul, and let me feast upon the ma- gic music of thy heavenly numbers, till the soft soother of the senses lulls my soul to rest with dreams of bliss and Mary.— Come too sweet ro- sary, and rest thee on my heart, for poesy shall be my prayer, since my divinity is love. To-morrow, in robed majesty, my queen re- ceives the titled subjects of her realm — yes ; in state I shall behold her, and think with smiles of joy on all the happiness of this bless'd day, while Arran, and aspiring Gordon too, can only sigh their fond desires in cold respect and awe-struck admiration. Triumphant thought! more grateful to my senses than sweetest music to the sadden'd soul, or soothing sleep to glare-eyed watchful madness. Peace rocks my soul ; all heaven is in my mind ; rapture swells my breast ; blessings are on my tongue ; while dimpled love with glowing arrow paints the form of Mary on my bleeding heart. CHATELAR. 51 FRAGMENT VI1L It has transpired — the day of grandeur now is closed, and Chatelar is left to give his feelings unrestrained vent. -Amid this morning's pa- geantry how pensive was my soul; my youth- ful mind, dead to the feelings which should mark my age, felt not even one solitary desire to min- gle with the gaudy throng : enfolded in the arms of love I stood, nor deigned to cast a thought on sublunary greatness. The goddess of my adoration, decked in sub- limest majesty, commanded admiration from the noble throng : Arran and Gordon strove for mas- tery, but her smiles were diffused on all alike, and neither seemed to gain pre-eminence. — As when the beaming eye of day casts all around its noontide lustre, reanimating every plant with the same fostering and invigorating ray, so did my queen dispense around the soften'd lustre of her azure eyes to gladden each observer. £2 52 CHATELAR. Arran desponding, from the presence of his queen retired, and Gordon's brow, overshadowed by the gloom of pensive melancholy, gave signal token of the anguish that preyed within his soul. Chatelar, the seemingly despised, neglected Cha- telar, was alone at peace, and feasted mentally on hope and love. To-morrow I shall see the lovely Mary — yes ; to-morrow, freed from restraint and courtly ma- jesty, my queen will deign to look upon me; her ears will listen to my fervent love :— Oh ! would that she devined, and cherished in her breast, the truth which this fond soul avows. Hope gilds my fancy, and 1 breathe again. — But, ah ! what do my warm desires infuse — what is it 1 wish for ? — To languish in the arms of her 1 love— to die on Mary's bosom ? Heavens ! what new ideas now flash upon my brain— that volume of * Francis Petrarch was a native of Arezzo, in Italy, and was born in 1304. He w as a refined scholar, and the most classical poet of his time : Being at Avignon, he there first beheld the beautiful Laura, a married lady of that city, in whose praise so many of his effusions were composed ; but so romantic was the passion of Petrarch, and so fervent his love, that, it is said, he was in her com- pany but once during the period of twenty years, content- ing himself with beholding her in the streets of the city, where chance so ordained itt ha the should meet her. Pe- trarch, to indulge his melancholy, retired to a romantic CHATELAR. 53 thy love, Petrarch,* should instruct me how to feel supremely happy. — Thou hadst not even hope ; thy Laura was another's ; and thou the votary of pure religion. — Twas given me by my queen— yes ; this volume is the lesson of true love, and Chatelar must learn to live a new Pe- trarch. — Blighted in celestial joy, thy brow, sweet poet, wore the blooming wreath of honour — yes ; 'twas thou who from Apollo took'st the lyre, and with such plaintive sweetness tuned the string to love's soft note, as gave thee everlasting fame. — Teach me, like thee, to live for ages on a look, and hang with rapture on the air-drawn form of her I reverence. — Am I not more bles- sed than tongue can tell, or ardent fancy picture to the senses ? Come Petrarch, come kind physician of my doating soul ; from thy delicious spot near Avignon, called Vaucluse ; but he was called from this seclusion by two embassies ; the one from the Roman senate, the other from the University of Paris, both being desirous of crowning him the Prince of Poets. Petrarch, to use his own expression, chose Rome for his co- ronation, as being ■* the capital of the world, the queen of cities '" and he in consequence was invested with this ho- nour in the capitol of that city. He died at an advanced age, still cherishing to the last the flame with which his taura had inspired him. £ 3 54 CHATELAR. stream of love-sick harmony will I now quaff my fill, and what I cannot realize, still learn to sub- stantiate in mental rapture. CHATELAR. 55 FRAGMENT IX. Day has succeeded day, and every rising sun has bless'd me with the sight of Mary. — A thou- sand times I've tun'd the lute to strains of love, or read the passionate effusions of the wrapt poet's soul, to the celestial queen of bliss! — She has listened, she has wept, she has applauded me.— In vain at midnight have I taken up my pen, to trace the raptures that entranced me ; the thread was broken, and to give to language what my soul concealed was not in Chatelar, nor in the brain of human nature to impart. Week has crept on, and still another ushered in fresh extacy; and now hath time just mea- sured out three moons, since D'Anville left his Chatelar in full possession of a world of joy. — Three secret letters have by me been given unto my queen, the sad effusions of my lord,— I have watched the features of my love, when o'er the lines her beamy eyes have roved ; — dejection sat E 4 56 CHATELAR. upon her brow, and frequently the pitying tear would course adown her cheek, from whence the rose was plucked by tenderness and grief. A day of trial must ensue ; the morrow's sun lights Gordon to my queen : he hath entreated, and she allows him her consent to speak awhile in private to her. — It is the first dark cloud that hath arose to throw the gloom of sadness on the bright hemisphere of pleasure that has environed me. — Why should not Chatelar presume ere it be yet too late ? why should not Mary know that I among the rest have yielded up my soul to her all-subduing charms ?-- -What is thy family, Oh Gordon ! that Chatelar should not, like thee, make his claim known unto the queen ? Hast thou more honour in thy nature, more courage in misfortune, more valour in the hour of peril, and half the sum of love which now consumes me? if in all these thou art not mor. exalted than myself, then Chatelar ranks in Nature's book of immutable truth as great as thou thy- self art. Nature knows no claim of sublunary great- ness; imperial dignity cannot enshield the wearer from the pàng of grief, the agonizing torture of consuming pain, or the fell shaft of annihilating death : man is but man, and greatness, like the gaudy beam of day, must yield unto the scarfing robe of ebon night. 1 defy thee — yes, Gor- CHATELAR. 57 don, Chatelar dare defy thee ; and did thine arm possess the iron sinews of a second Hercules, still would I throw defiance in thy teeth, and rest my hope of victory in love my hope— my assur- ance I would say ; for what could controul the fury of a heart burning with such affection as now blazes forth in me ? I would meet the hungry lion in his den, or the fell tyger prowling for his prey ; I would face the winged dragon of the rocks, or teach fell Cerberus to lick my very feet, and sue for mercy.— Passion when shackled becomes the frenzy of the soul, nor spares the being who would dare oppose it.— I own no power but love —I reverence no creature but my queen : to lose her would be death ; and he that should attempt to rob me of her love encounters a twofold ene- my : I strive for love, and life without it, I'd thank the created man who should at once anni- hilate; but thus possessing the smiles of Mary, not all the world shall tear the jewel of existence from me ! Come Dante* let thy glowing page * Dante, the Italian poet, was one of those transcen- dent geniuses that very rarely spring up to dazzle the world with a sublimity of composition. This poet, who lived in a dark and superstitious age, was not shackled by any of the trammels which had marked the compositions of his successors ; on the contrary, he seemed formed to prove to the world the astonishing powers of the human intellect. The mind has in general advanced by progressive steps, 53 CHATELAR. instruct me how to act ; teach me, with the fir of thy transcendent lines, to tyrannize with love ; teach me to give my heart the adamantine ar- mour of hatred, to all who dare oppose my soul- entranced passion. Thy numbers, most sublime of men, break upon the fancy like aweful thunder riding from afar upon the gloomy clouds, or as- the dashing torrent roaring from on high, and foaming in its rapid fall ; even so thy pen, in terrifying numbers, hath astounded every sense, and taught my sou' sublimity. — Yes, Dante shall be my theme to night ; he shall awaken every dormant faculty I will rivet mine eyes unto his god-like verse, anc learn to verify the poet's heaven-fraught fiction Come mind, with rapture fraught, and cou- ple with a kindred spirit ; Dante shall be to Cha- telar as fewel to the blazing fire — yes : I will dar every thing that honour shall approve, and love and Mary sanction. and it is very rare, indeed, that we find a genius soaring above the usual standard ; but it is in this instance that Dante ranks so eminently conspicuous. In the delineation of every passion he was alike transcendent ; whether ty janny or cruelty, virtue or vice, craft or imposture, wen the subjects of his muse, the same fire and truth marked hi verse. — In short, no age has produced a genius more sub lime, and so perfectly calculated to correct the taste, anc give birth to the genuine eiFusions of unfettered poetry. CHATELAR. 59 FRAGMENT X. He hath beheld her : this morn in private Gor- don saw my queen. — What a torture of suspense ensued — yes : I might have heard his protesta- tions, and beheld his fervent gestures, but the meanness was too dastardly for Chatelar; I could not taint my soul with slave-like baseness. Heavenly powers ! how sluggard pass'd the mi- nutes of their hated interview. — I felt Oh I Mary, let me not tell thee all the scorpion stings, that wrung my heart with anguish. — He left thee; Gordon retired : with pensive step I saw him pace along the gallery It was not D'Anville, and I hated him. — Yes ; Dante had put to flight all woman's weakness, and every inmate of my breast was rage, revenge, and jealousy! — A lin- gering hour ensued, and then my Mary summon- ed me : I looked upon her sadden'd eye, that Ian- 60 CHATELAR. guishingly spoke internal sorrow. — Thy precepts, Dante, were no more ; I sunk in the sweet dream of love, and to these numbers touch'd the thril- ling string, that spoke the beauties of my queea beloved. — THE PICTURE OF MT QUEEN. Ah ! wou'dst thou see the azure sky, And feast upon the blooming rose, Etherial blue is Mary's eye, The. damask tinge her cheeks disclose. Wou'dst thou behold the lily dress'd And view each graceful wave display'd, Gaze on her gently heaving breast, And see her locks in gold array'd. Or wou'dst thou hear the bird of night, Whose notes melodious fill the grove, 'Tis Mary's song that vields delight, So peerless is the queen of love. Scarcely had I sang to thee my strain, O queen of bliss, when thou didst deign address me,— Never shall I forget thy words : they shall be noted on my tablet, that, if the shaft of fate CHATELAR. 6ì should summon me into another world, thine eyes, dear mistress of my heart, may once recal them, and teach thy soul to waft one pitying sigh for the departed spirit of him that loved thee. You spoke— yes, tenderly addressed me thus : " Chatelar, methinks some soft and hidden r sentiment must attune thy muse, which ever " breathes the strain of love and melancholy ; so f young thou art, and yet so sad, that it should r seem indeed as if some canker preyed upon thy P soul— say, is it within the scope of Mary's poor " ability to serve thee ; for I can pity others woes, r and willingly relieve them ?" I was motionless, the lute escaped my hand, a mist o'erspread the visions of my sight, and all the world was lost to Chatelar ! * * * ■* * * * * * * * I awoke, and on my pallet I found myself, whither thy gen- tleness and pity commanded that I should be borne, while thy attendants gently vied in kind endeavours for my re-animation. Ah ! could I then have spoke, my fate had been at once de- cided ; but feeling stopped the current of my voice — I wandered in the mazes of extatic bliss — I died with love ! It must ensue, my queen must know I live for her, and her alone ; her words demand it ; she f2 CHATELAR. sanctions the, confession, and shall hear the glow- ing truth. But, ah ! I cannot in her presence speak it, else had my Mary yestermorn been* guardian of my love-sick tale. — I will on paper give the effusions vent; a letter shall confess them to the mistress of my heart. Yet hold, my mind is ill assorted to such a theme : come my Petrarch, let thy softened phrase teach me in plaintive strains to breathe my passion. Thou too Boccacio* shall aid me in this bold attempt : yes, thy Laberinto D 1 Amove will tutor me to give my world of passion vent : thy TJ Amoroso, Visione shall picture all I feel. Oh ! that I could pluck a quill from love's down wing, or write my warm confession with his blazing arrow dipped in my heart's best blood ; then might I perchance * Boccacio was born in 1313, and was the natural son of an Italian merchant, who endeavoured to instil into his mind a love of trade ; but his genius soaring above the pur- suit of commerce, he was then intended for the study of the law, which he proved equally averse to, and launched at length into the field of composition. His poetic effusions are by no means so worthy applause as his prose ; and no production perhaps, of the same kind, ever surpassed his II Decamevoiie ; being a collection of One Hundred Tales, He was the bosom-friend of Petrarch, and never was a more striking instance of fervent attachment between the two greatest geniuses of the age they lived in, than was witnes- sed in the persons of Boccacio and Pttrarch. CHATELAR. 63 in part explain the passion that consumes me, and melt my Mary into fond compassion. The die is cast; to-morrow shall make Chatelar for ever blessed, or yield him up the victim of de- spair. CHATELAR. 65 FRAGMENT XL Come death! come sweet annihilation and terminate at once the horrors of existence ! Mary — yes my queen discards me, contemns my pas- sion, and sends the fatal mandate for my dismis- sal hence. Do I exist? Is this the happiness I fondly pictured ? — Fool that I am ! poor doating infant, how have I quaffed the sweet illusions of hope only to feel the venom of despair more poignant to my soul. And wilt thou not befriend me, death ? Dost thou contemn me? I have the will, I have the power, and who can stay me ? Come faithful steel, and end at once this conflict of my griefs ; come ; for 'tis Mary sends thee on the annihila- ting errand, and therefore do thy work with chearfulness. There is but this, 'twixt me and the cold grave, and then I rush from misery and hopeless love. But whither, Ah! where do I hurry ? Is it forgetfulness ? Is it annihilation ? Re- 66 CHATELAU. ligion, thou bring'st a phalanx of contending thoughts to puzzle and appal me. Self-immola- tion! hath the Omnipotent then placed a bar 'twixt this life-ending dagger and my heart ? must I endure and be accursed here, or seek my fate and still exist the creature of thy wrath hereaf- ter ? how determine, how explore the labyrinth which entangles me ? Cowardice! — What, can it be coward-like to spurn the certainty I have, and fly to regions unexplored ? Where hope exists, life would become a stake too dear to hazard at one fell cast; but all with me is dreariness; and if I live, existence pictures to my mind one cheer- less blank ; a life of hopeless love, despair, and jealousy. Can I behold her another's? can I surfer a creature to bask in the full blaze of her charms, and not hurl him to perdition ? Impossi- ble ! then life still cherished must taint my soul with murder ! Time, what art thou ? the space of life is but a day; and shall not I still bear my agonies ? in vain, therefore, wouldst thou still physic my sad mind with hope that years may steep my griefs in sweet forgetfulness. Never; no, never, will Chatelar forget to love; never can he banish Mary from the tablet of his heart; she lives, she blazes there for ever and for ever ! Religion, thou art to me no comforter. Time, thou art no healer of my pain; then still must I recur to thee, life-terminating dagger. What, CHÀTELAR. 67 èan my brain still conjure up excuse upon ex- cuse, and war against my better reason? I will give thought full scope, though nothing can stir me from my determination — Death. The grave! yes, Chatelar, it may be found, and honourably found without thy stir. War may accomplish thine intent, and bury thee with Honour. Thou may'st court it in the field ; thou may'st bare thy bosom to its shaft and sink re- nowned into the shades of calm oblivion. Dost thou not mock me all-devouring death ? wilt thou not fly me then, and laugh thy wretched supplicant to scorn? No — still art thou here: still may this keen weapon do its work, and Chatelar rest with thee **■**#** * * * * * * j w yj b e g 0ne . heavens ! that ever Chatelar should live to say it: yes, 1 will rid thee, Mary, of my hateful form for ever. France shall behold me : I will tear myself from love's celestial court, and hie me to the bloody banquettings of hungry Mars : but not like him shall I return again unto the queen of love. Rest here then, steel, for still I look to thee. Come, dearest rosary, that when I press the sod drench' d with my flowing blood, I may imprint on thee a parting kiss, and on life's terminating sigh waft forth the name of Mary. Come too Petrarch, for Chatelar is now more hopeless than ever thou thyself wast: yes, come then, r 2 68 CHATELAR. sweet gift of my bright queen, rest here upon my heart, for thou shalt be my study till I yield my breath upon the field of honour. Thanks, eternal Providence, that Chatelar was not the child of greatness; for no creature but my offended Mary desires the fate of him who dies her slave ; 'tis true she hath dismissed me, but with tem- pered sweetness bids me learn to know my state, and then she may accord a kind forgiveness. To my bright queen alone the passion of my heart is thus revealed ; and she, I am sure, will not re- fuse forgiveness in the grave. Perhaps the fate of Chatelar will call forth a tear of kind commi- seration for his sufferings, and Mary will embalm his fleeting soul in peace. The morning breaks, and the first tinge of day, lights me to wretched- ness. Now then to horse poor love-sick and de- spised Chatelar; that none may be the witness of thy sad farewell to all in life that could ensure thee peace and happiness. CHATELAR. 69 FRAGMENT XI 1. Thy shores, dear land, now fade in mist before my sight; and the foam-tipped surge, as if to give my bosom still more pain, seems eager to transport me from my lost Mary. How different is now the scene from that which bore me from the Gallic coast : my queen was then within the barque : I breathed the self same air, but now each minute wafts me from her to a distant shore ; yes, leads me to the grave, that fatal region of mystery and doubt where all is here conjectural. Now Gordon launches on the wide sea of bliss ; love is the pilot of his soul, and the bright beam of gaudy pleasure illumines his tract, as the soft zephyrs of love fill his warm fancy, which lead him to the shores of matchless beauty : no rocks impede his course, no hidden quick-sands are there to undermine him, for now he lives with bliss, freed from the piercing eye of searching jealousy. f3 70 CHATELAR. I can no longer remain in sadness, and watch the spot where long has faded every trace of Scotia's shore; nought now appears but watery expanse, and the declining sun which seems to set in angry majesty upon the bosom of the wes- tern deep. The sullen winds begin to roar ; the surge more furious groans ; and from the north comes rolling on the o'er-fraught clouds, to give their watery burthens to the briny deep. — More busily the mariners now set the sails, the signal of approaching danger. How lowering is now my mind; the anger of the elements cannot appal me; the crash of worlds would not affright me; I court annihilation, and in any shape I shall greet it with gloomy pleasure. Hark! hov the distant peals reverberate through the vaulted canopy above; blaze on ye forked fires ; death's pale ministers, I welcome your sulphurous light; rock on ye angry billows, and rear your burthens to the clouds; then into yawning horrors dash me ; I can still observe you with steadiness, nor feel one trembling of the heart, nor witness in my pulse accelerated motion. For w 7 hy ? because the tempest rages more within my breast; and what is painful to the soul of sweet tranquillity becomes a sweetness to the mind of anguish. What is this elemental conflict, when compared with mine ; thy thunder, Jove, is dulcet'music to the unstrung chords that crash upon my soul; CHATELAR. 71 thy lightnings are but faint emanations of the dread fires of jealousy that wither up my heart- strings, and appal the sweet soother sleep, who flies affrighted from me; thy troubled bosom thou expanded ocean, is peaceful to the conflict that rages in the breast of Chatelar : my heart, like this poor rocking barque, has been and still remains the rude sport of passions warring sea: it has been reared to the summit of expectancy : it has been dazzled with the resplendent rays of pleasure, and then precipitated into the fathom- less gulph of blackest horror, of endless despair. To these, what are the threatenings of the angry winds and waves ? I could be rocked by them in sweet oblivion, when compared with that I feel within me. Hark ! what a yell was that which echoed to the roaring winds! again it sounds upon mine ear. Yes, it is the signal of despair, for each enhorrored sailor cries out for mercy and salvation. Ah ! what is it whispers to my mind, i receive this lesson, Chatelar, from him who made thee V It is reason throws reflection into my boiling brain, and tells me that I am self- ish, since I alone now call on death as my true friend, and would embrace it by sacrificing to its hungry power those who regard it as their greatest enemy. Thanks ! salutary reflection, thou shalt have weight with Chatelar, who asks no partner in his griefs. Come then, dear beads, by Mary's F 4 72 CHATELAR. fingers oft times pressed, and do your wonted office : Yes, for others I will, in contrite prayer, ask peace and safety ; though for myself, all sup- plication were but vain. * * * * * * * * * Rescued by Providence divine, I ought to bend the knee in token of my gratitude to heaven; but this sicken' d soul yearns out for death, and cannot prey. Like unto the vessel, from whose shattered hulk her inmates have been so late preserved by more than mira- cle, even so is Chatelar the wrecked bark of hopeless love, for the rude sea of fate to buffet to and fro Hold ! let me now picture re- gions of delight I ne'er must hope to taste on this side of the grave. 'Tis the hour when Mary's heavenly beauties, stretch' d upon the couch, court the sweet invigorating balm of sleep : me- thinks I now behold her form, unshackled by the robes of day, and clad in loose attire, reclined more graceful than the queen of love ; now mark her heaving bosom, which gives gentle motion to the lily covering that enshrouds it ; upon the left-arm rests her rosy cheek, while her rights hand concealed would even hide still more the source of female coyness, and bid defiance to the Shower * of Jove. Perhaps her eyes un- * The Editor conceives, that Chatelar must have had reference to Ovid's fable of the beautiful Banea, the daugh- CHATELAR. 7 S closed, dispense their azure beams with languish- ingly melting softness; perhaps her fragrant breath issues in broken sighs, and her palpitating heart speaks a soft language she scarcely dares to comprehend. Perhaps, accursed Gordon flits before her fancy, and as she pictures all his charms, her restless form assumes a new, yet more enchanting position. Heavens! that I might fill that outstretched arm; that I might sigh my soul in rapture and expire ; that I might feast my eyes and drink whole seas of love; that I might rove o'er matchless symmetry and limbs of fire. ********* Where am I ? where hath my fancy led my love- sick mind ? why did I not expire in fiction, since reality can never be attained ? Oh ! cruel, cruel world, 'tis thou hast placed the barrier 'twixt me and the rapturous bliss I pant for. Had not fell custom robed my love in majesty, Chatelar might then have cherished hope: yes, custom shackles nature with her brazen chains, and rea- ter of Acrisius, King of Argos ; who was confined by her father in a castle of brass, because the oracle had prognos- ticated that he should fall a sacrifice to her son. Jupiter, who was enamoured of the charms of Danea, visited her, according to the fable, in the form of a shower of gold ; in consequence of which she conceived Perseus, who after- wards slew his grandfather, according to the prognostic of the oracle. 74 CHATELAK. son throws her chilling mantle o'er the exube- rance of fervid passion. Would custom and calm reason were expelled my breast, and love with nature suffered to be inmates of my soul for ever, So Chatelar would be supremely blessed with rapture and with Mary. CHATELAR. 75 SONNET, Ah ! say ray soul, is nature law, Or is the mind but passion's tool? Yes : all affection's but a flaw, For heav'nly love is custom's rule; So saith cold reason : but my raging heart Cries nay, and fain would act a nobler part. I wou'd be her's, whom custom's rule Hath plac'd on eminence so high, That soaring I should seem the fool, And yet not soaring I must die. Doth custom then, or nature play unfair, To plant the will when not the pow'r is there ? Passion and reason always disagree ; So I am left with love and misery. CHATELAR. 77 FRAGMENT XIII. 1 he dulcet strain of the lute is heard no more; the song of love no longer floats upon the breeze ; every thing has given way to war, and martial clangor now bursts upon the still bosom of air, I have joined the standard of the Prince of Condè and the good Admiral Coligni, against the monarch Charles and the Duke de Guise.* I * At this period there were two factions in France: King Charles the 9th, with his mother, Catherine de Medi- cis, and the Duke of Guise, supported the catholic faith, while the Prince de Condè, the King of Navarre, (after- wards Henry the Fourth of France) and the virtuous Ad- miral Coligni, with numerous other noblemen, took part with the Hugonots, wishing to establish freedom of wor- ship for the reformed religion, of which they were vota- ries, in opposition to the court. The Prince of Condè, conceiving that Orleans would be the most desirable post for his party to take possession of, as the neighbouring provinces were, for the most part, attached to the new sect, he in consequence dispatched D'Andelot, one of his most 78 CHATELAU. J have no clamours of the soul, for my reason gives me an assurance that my cause is grounded on the immutable basis of truth. I am an Hu gonot ; I cannot war against the certainty which my mind unceasingly presents ; for I am convinc- ed the purest faith must be the faith of the Re- deemer of the world. Yes : I shall die for Mary in the cause of per- secuted virtue, and that belief which has torn from Rome its mockery and superstition, to giv religion all its pristine glory. To-morrow sees experienced captains, to get possession of that city, which he accomplished, at the head of only three hundred veteran soldiers, of whom Chatelar, as will appear according to his statement, formed one. After various successes, the leaders of the Hugonots were at length lulled into a false security, by the artifices of the politic Catherine de Medicis, and her equally deceitful and cruel son, Charles the Ninth, who, together with the Duke of Guise, planned the horri- ble bloodshed at Paris, better known bj' the name of the Bartholomew Massacre, or the Parisian Matins; when, after three successive days and nights of slaughter, it is computed that six thousand Hugonots perished, among whom were five hundred of the nobility, the first victim being the brave and virtuous Admiral Coligni, whose mag- nanimous death was the fruit of a life spent in the prac- tice of virtue, truth, and honour. The Prince of Condè was only saved on a promise of renouncing his religion, and on account of his affinity to the blood royal; and the King of Navarre was spared, owing to his marriage with Margaret, the sister of the blood-thirsty king of France. CHATELAR. 79 me brave the perils of the field ; I will be fore- most in the glorious fray, and emulate the vete- rans that surround me. — My captain, the brave D'Andelot, admitted me among his chosen band, to share the honour of the arduous day : before the walls of Orleans I will act as befits the lover of a queen ; I will be present where danger threatens most; grim death shall bestride my sword, and I will force my way to glory and an honourable grave — yes ; I will end my woes, and terminate at once the hopeless struggles of my love. The breeze is hush'd, and not a murmur now disturbs our little camp, overshadowed by the lofty battlements of the devoted Orleans, whose cloud-aspiring turrets now are silver'd o'er with the faint radiance of the pallid orb of night. Mary now sleeps ; the queen of love is sooth'd by heavenly slumbers, while wretched Chatelar, doom'd to be the victim of her charms, with wakeful eyes numbers out the sluggard minutes that keep him from eternal sleep ; — but Chatelar is not alone ; D'Anville, my friend, experiences likewise the pangs of watchful misery. Ah ! may the Marechal ne'er know the fate of him, who venerated all his virtues, was grateful for his goodness, and knew how to commiserate his forlorn and heart-consuming passion. — Farewel, dearest of friends ; best of benefactors, farewel: 80 CHATELAR. perhaps thy Chatelar may once more view thee when the rude fever of this life is o'er. But, ah ! my soul, wilt thou be gifted in a world to come with mundane recollection ; wilt thou be susceptible of love and friendship in this state ì — Still are my senses hood-wink'd, and to every question which would dive beyond exist- ence here — all is a cheerless blank, and hope alone is left me. How dimly burns the lamp ; it scarce illumines the narrow confines of my tent ; it is the type of life within me, which must to-morrow be extin- guished ; and the gloom surrounding, is the un- certainly of an hereafter. Why flag my senses. why do my spirits droop ? love shall reanimate my soul, and thus will I address him : — TO LOVE. Love holds dominion o'er my breast, And all my senses doth enslave ; He is the foe of tranquil rest, Nor quits us till we're in the grave, He is a foe, He is a fire ; The source of woe, Or soft desire. Ah ! wou'd my goddess smile, I then might show, That bliss was love, not love of bliss the foe^ CHATELAR. Si But since in love no joys I find, My direst foe in him I serve ; And though a tyrant, still ray mind The rankling arrow must preserve. I am the slave, My goaler he — Nought but the grave Gives liberty. Come love's physician, come all-conqu'ring death, Strike here, and let me yield with love my breath. CHATELAR. 83 FRAGMENT XV. Can it be, that Chatelar should thus resume his theme of misery ? Have I in verity escaped the perils that environed me ; the death I sought so strenuously on every side ?— Why am I thus the sport of man's dread foe ; the dire exterminator of existence ? Why did not one of those unerring shafts, which at that moment struck so many of my fellow men, wing its exterminating course to Chatelar ? This morn I stood like a projecting rock amid a sea of desolation ; on every side the dying and the dead assailed my view ; and at my side fell many a noble comrade, never to rise again ; I was alone unheeded by the hungry mo- narch of the grave; Chatelar was alone invul-^ nerable. I mounted the deadly breach, but still no friendly arm wafted the messenger of peace to my longing soul : o'erpowered by numbers, D'An- deloty my captain, upon his knee valiantly defend- ed his precious life ; I came, I rescued the brave g2 84 CHATELAR. commander of our little troop, and victory soon crowned us with its verdant wreath. — We enter- ed masters of this city — yes ; triumphantly we passed the gates of Orleans, and exultation mark- ed each countenance, save that of the dejected Chatelar. * Soon came the noble Condè with his valiant troops, but Mars to us had given all the glory of the bloody fray: the Prince arrived too late to share the blooming laurels that en- twined our brows; he came but to receive sub- mission from his foes, already vanquished by our swords. Unmindful of the victory, regardless of the part I had sustained, and only dwelling on the thoughts of death and Mary, I had sought out the tranquil silence of this melancholy cham- ber, when suddenly a summons from my prince demanded my attendance. — I obeyed, and to the noble Condè was led unwillingly by D f Andelot y who, mindful of that life I had preserved, spoke with such sounding words of my poor merits in the horrid fray, as drew down commendations from my prince, who, as a token of his gratitude, * The history of Charles the Ninth, in speaking of the reduction of Orleans by the Hngonots, substantiates what is above stated, as it was the intention of the Prince of Conde to be present at the siege, but did not, however, ar- rive till its surrender to D'Andelot, with his small but cho- sen troop. CHATELAR. 85 presented me with this insignia of honour, which he bade me ever wear, and entitle him my friend. But what are princes' friendships ; what is ho- nour, glory, and renown, compared with thee, my queen ? How many youths would covet the bright field of fame, which now presents itself to Chatelar, who views it unregarded. Strange contrariety of fate : how versatile is fortune to the children of mortality ! Love found sanctuary in the breast of Chate- lar, but love was not requited. — I call on death ; I court annihilation, and bare my bosom to a host of darts ; they turn aside, and pass me unregard- ed. — I seek seclusion ; I wish to pine away with melancholy and despair ; and then comes honour and renown to marshal me where I shall meet the public gaze, and sicken with its plaudits. Is there no peace on this side of eternity ? must we for ever court an illusion which evades us ? must the heart-broken pilgrim of this world, when ebbing life fleets o'er his fever' d lips, re- ceive the token of the comfort he had sought for ? — Tis even so : we are as criminals condemned to perish, who, when the executioner has done his work, receive a sluggard pardon and reprieve that mocks them in the grave. But is there with Chatelar a ray of comfort ? even in death, can he expect the look of tenderness from her he loves? No; he must perish, far from the hea- g 3 86 CHATELAR. venly casket which enshrines the queen of bliss ; he must sink without a sigh in pity for his fate.- — Still art thou here, my comforter ; still may thy glittering point search out my heart, and give the death I pant for—yes ! — Ah, no ! religion now entangles me ; I have espoused that cause which seals with everlasting curse the crime of suicide. I have drawn upon myself the eyes of all the stanch adherents of our faith — what shame would then for ever blast my memory ; I should be disgraced where I now seek one gleam of com- fort; I should barter the applause of virtuous men, and sink into the grave the wretch of in- famy. — Mary, too— yes, my queen would hear my shame, and think the hour accursed that had presented to her sight a fiend so black as Cha- telar. What is to be resolved upon ?— Must I then exist, and drag on to age a life of wretchedness ì Is there no hope of peace ? and will the ghastly terror still keep his icy signet from my burning heart ? -Impossible ! this frame must wear away ; internal pangs like Chatelar's must bring him to the pallet of wasting sickness— yes : I will feed my love ; I will drink draughts of pas- sion; I will give the rein to madding jealousy; I will goad my senses, and fan the fires of passion till the parch'd-up strings of my heart burst asun- der ; till this anguished flutterer be pulverised ! CHATELAR. $? Come Lorris,* thy Roman de la Rose shall feed my love Yet, no ; I will first lament the * William de Lords, the French poet, flourished as early as the period of Saint Lewis of France, and of our Henry the Third. It is justly said of Chaucer, that he was the fa- ther of English poetry, and so may Lorris be denominated the patron of French versification. Lorris derived his name, as was customary in those days, from the town of Lorris, situated about eight leagues from the city of Or- leans. His poem, entitled Roman de la Rose, was to have consisted of 22,734 verses, but the author only composed 4149, which defalcation originated, we may conjecture, in his early death, historians having recorded nothing respect- ing this astonishing genius upon which we are enabled to ground any material fact. His work is an allegorical tale, by which the poet wishes to show how many pains and plea- sures attend the pursuit of pure and virtuous love. The poem was completed some years after by one John de Meun, who wrote several other works. With respect to the talents of Lorris, considering the age in which he lived, too much panegyric cannot be bestowed upon his labours. He was brilliant in his ideas, and delineated the passions with a masterly hand; his allegory was just, and his ima- gery correct ; but we have not only to regard him in the Tight of a romance writer, as his production abounds with chaste representations of familiar life, by which he becomes the delineator of the manners of his own period, and the unfolder of the philosophy of the mind. The editor con- ceives it almost needless to inform the reader, that this pro- duction of William de Lorris was afterwards given in an English dress by Geoffrey Chaucer, who has preserved the same title in his translation. G 4 S5 CHATELAR. cold ingratitude of death ; I will apeak my pain in sadden'd numbers, and then to thy love-feeding page, dear book ! — Yes, Lorris shall be to Cha- telar the source of rest till the return of beamy day. TO THE DART OF DEATH. How oft hath Mars his blood-stain' d weapon rear'd While calmly smiling I have said — O ! strike, and number with the dead, This breaking heart, by love's hot arrow sear'd* In vain I profFer'd thus my bleeding soul; My bosom's flame too ardent burn'd, From ice to fire the steel was turn'd, And hungry death had lost his dire control. If thus the shaft neglectful turns away, How can my fetter'd soul expire ? Save in the blaze of that bright fire, Which beams, O goddess ! from thy heav'nly eye Since then thy dart, grim death, I soar above, My eyes her eyes shall meet, then die with love. CHATELAR. 89 FRAGMENT XV. JVIy days have been one round of dull monotony, and week has ushered in succeeding week with- out a pleasing change. — Love has been my mid- > night study, and the returning light has led me to the councils of my noble chiefs; honour still suc- ceeds to honour, and Chatelar is loved by all — Mary alone suffers me to droop with withering despondency. How lasting is the impression made upon the soul ; nor change of scene, nor absence from the well-beloved, can mitigate our pain ; we sigh amid the shouts of mirth, and in retirement conjure up those graces to our imagi- nations, (from which we are debarred) only to render absence more distressing. How gloomy is that contemplation, which pictures the impossi- bility of attaining what can alone rivet the mind to existence; what a cheerless scene does it pre- sent; what desires it gives birth to; and what in- gratitude does it not lead us to be guilty of, to- so CHATELAR. wards that Great Power who claims all reverence and praise from the creatures of his beneficence. How my mind struggles to be free ; how my restless reason combats with my love; I 'would, but cannot contradict the glaring truths which it impresses on my soul ; and yet, though I am thus urged to a conviction, I cannot act upon the principles which subdue me. I could learn stoicism, and be the calm philosopher in every passion, save only love ; but he is my divinity, and, like a defenceless babe within the giant's grasp, all struggles to evade him are but vain. I have looked into thy consolations, sage Boe- tius* Ah ! would that I might profit by thy * Boetius was a great lover of the sciences, and a most profound scholar ; he was once raised to the dignity of con- sul and principal minister of state ; he followed the doc- trines of Aristotle, and laboured in the cause of philosophy and of truth. Having been raised to power by Theodoric, King of the Goths, that monarch suspected him of holding a private correspondence with the emperor Justin; in con- sequence of which, Boetius, and his father-in-law, Symma- chus, were cast into prison, when Boetius composed his well-known treatise, On the Consolation of Philosophy. — Boetius was beheaded after an imprisonment of six months, anno. 59A. With regard to the merits of this work, men- tioned by Chatelar, none could be better calculated to rec- tify that exuberance of passion which hurried him on to ruin. The Consolatio Philosophic consists of alternate effu- sions, as well in verse as in prose ; and the real intention of CHATELAR. g\ studies ; but all in vain do I solicit such a bles- sing ; love laughs to scorn thy frigid precepts, and gives me in thy stead the confessions of a Gouer* the sonnets of Arezzo, f or the effusions of a Cavalcanti. t Boetius was to reconcile the doctrines of Christianity with the refinement of the classics, and the philosophy of the Grecians. The poetry of this production is much applaud- ed, and the work was formerly in the highest repute. A- mong numerous translations of Boetius into various lan- guages, the first in English was from the pen of Chaucer, who gave it throughout in prose; but it is most probable that Chatelar perused it in its pure original Latin. * Gower, the contemporary and friend of Chaucer, was a poet of considerable merit, and his ballads in French prove him to have been infinitely susceptible of the delicate effu- sions of the muse. His greatest work was bis De Confessio Amantis, supposed to have been written by order of Richard the Second, consisting of thirty thousand verses ; it is full of stories, and is supposed to have given Chaucer the idea of his Canterbury Tales. Although Gower has been much neglected, the greatest praise is due to his memory ; and he may indeed be said, to have shared with Chaucer in the meri- torious work of reforming the literature of this country. f Guitone D' Arezzo was a very old Italian poet, and the first who reduced that species of composition, called sonnet, into the form which it has ever since assumed in Italy, and other parts of Europe. X Guido Cavalcanti was also a very early Italian versi- fier, who gave proofs in his compositions of much taste and refinement. He died in 1300. p2 CHATELAR. How vainly thus does study come to aid the? precepts of my reason ; whene'er I have recourse to books, my mind takes flight, save when the theme is love, and then my senses are ensteeped in pleasing poison. O sleep! that rock'st all other creatures in thy renovating arms, thou hast no fascination for Chatelar. But yesternight, when thy oppressive pinions fanned my brain, even thou wouldst not allow me comfort, nor fright dread visions from my fancy. Methought the soul-attracting Mary stood be- fore me, lovely as perfection, and 'ray'd in che- rub sweetness ; I strove to approach the heavenly phantom, but all in vain ; an insurmountable at- traction seemed to rivet me to earth : methought I raved with madness, and burst at length the bond which had enchained me, when at that in- stant Gordon stood before me ; his brows seemed clad with blooming roses, and all his look and gesture spoke him happy — yes; blessed with the smiles of Mary ! It was beyond endurance ; the brand of jealousy illumined my breast, and tore asunder thy fetters, hateful sleep ! — I woke to taste new horrors, and curse the world, and all but her who reigns the mistress of my heart for ever ! 'Twas but this morn the noble Condè question- ed me, and strove to learn the source of my de- jection. Oh ! how he chid me with his words ; CHATELAR. 93 they seemed so many soft reproofs for want of confidence. — I acknowledged his bounty ; I told him of the lack of ability which was in me, to compensate for the honours showered upon my head : he would not heed my protestations, but proffered still more bounty, and trusted then he should be worthy the esteem of Chatelar. What conflicts wrung my soul, which seemed to feel the taint of base ingratitude ; I would have bartered worlds to breathe the truth, yet dared not make confession of my love.— —I cannot live in this uncertainty ; I wander like a melancholy fiend, and seem unthankful where most I would / be grateful :— -here too religion stays my hand from the infliction of that blow which I have vainly sought within the jaws of death. Where must I fly ? where hide my miserable form ? a trackless desart would be paradise to all I suffer here. — Oh! that I were wafted to some steril shore, where never human foot had made its pressure ; there would 1 tell my anguish to the heedless waves, and give my sighs to the neglect- ful air — no soul could tax me with ingratitude. —-Yes, there would I atone to Condè and my chiefs for my apparent want of gratitude, by yet enduring life a little, and then relieve my woes in everlasting sleep. * * * A lapse of time has given reflection scope ; I can by penitence regain the 94« CHATELAR. pardon of offended Majesty; I can once more gaze upon the lovely queen, and then retire to end the tragedy of my fatal love. — Yet being there, could I, when basking in the lustre of her charms, and greeted perhaps with her reanimat- ing smile — Ah ! could I then tear myself away ? — Compared with love so hot as mine, what is the boasted resolution of the soul ? — Hope then would cherish life, and life is misery. 1 am perplex'd in thought, and stand like a benighted traveller, doubtful of the track I should pursue. I can no more ; fate still must marshal me the way, where passions such as mine will lead, and I have therefore yet one blessing left to com- fort me. — Yes, I am so doubly curs'd, that I can laugh to scorn all other ills of life. Thy cup of misery is full, poor Chatelar ; but add one drop it must overflow, and life ebbs with it. CHATELAR. $5 FRAGMENT XVI. I am bewildered, and every occurrence of this life seems but illusion to my senses. — Can it be? are men the sport of heaven ? — Can the Omni- potent delight in torturing the creatures of his care? — It is incompatible with his boundless mercy. — Yet, what are we to conjecture ; what inference can be drawn from such a wilderness of woes as chequer the existence of Chatelar ? Three nights are passed, and I have still conceal- ed the truth ; I have forborne, my queen, to tell thee that Chatelar is beloved. — The poor deserts of him who dies thy slave, have won the heart of Angeline — yes ! of the noble heiress, Be Beau- mont. — Ah! that I could return the flame, and give to her one ray of that passion which only lives for thee, my Mary, But, no ! Angeline, like Chatelar, must bear the load of anguish; for never will my heart be touch'd with any thrill for her, save only melting pity. How noble is $6 CHATELAR. the race of Beaumont ; what honours would ac- crue to Chatelar from such an alliance ; Angeline too is lovely in all eyes, but those of the adorer of the heavenly Mary ! 'Twas D'Andelot confided to me the whole mystery of this luckless passion, that preys upon the maiden's heart, and she be- fore bestowed on rne a token of her love. Cruel fate ! wretched Angeline ! unfortunate Chatelar ! wherefore wast thou preserved to in- flict the wound thou feel'st, and lacerate the bo- som of another ? * * * * * ******** With D'Andelot and the dejected Angeline I had stray'd, far from the walls of Orleans, col- lecting choicest flowers; the songsters of the morn attuned their joyous lays— -all nature wore the aspect of serene tranquillity : methought that in my breast alone was treasured up the shaft of love and misery. Beneath an amply spreading tree we gained at length a cool retreat, by na- ture formed beneath a bank enamelled o'er with brightest verdure ; before the opening of the ca- vity luxuriant roses of the milky hue waved to the passing breeze— D'Andelot entered, whilst with Angeline I gazed in silence on the surround- ing scene. — Upon a distant hill a shepherd youth attended to his fleecy tribe, whilst ever and anon he tun'd his reed to some old Norman tale of love. CHATELAR. 97 u Chatelar," said Angeline, in a soften'd tone of voice,