>ZJ* ■ wry >> ► ' > - > > 3>> ^>^> >:>>> '^>'" > > ,V >*»^ >s» :> > ) > :»>;? ' ;> :g»J* 5> ,i ; -^WB > jjp/^ } ? j .-<«* •> 3SVS > «>> :> 3>J8> > > iO>> »3* > ■* »^ ^ ' < >>2* > 2>:s> .•3> • 2» X»2».,J xj>~> >» u» Z? 3> > >:> , p ^ > j» _» -j* ^> - ^> 2» >» > x> > 3> » > 3: - » >> >» > > » » >;> y _> ^ :> *> > >2»> > ■■;> 3 gr..„ .>.>;> 9» * >3CK) 2> s > ) »» • > - » ».> i ■■■■> ■».>. S» :> > -5 1. >3.x -^ : II K ,/- %*_- L>*- ■ r / /frfZyz^- su& # f-c^/ &■ ?A /7<~e-<, • m I I POETICAL SKETCHES. CHA^ci 3 fflCAL ®KET Cti x5T /////• (S - /L d4sU) :TII EDITION PTHBHTSEtElD BIT TMBDUK^T, CJILaVNCE & C« 6S.ST IPA'UX.S CHITRC JHL TTA1RID , 182 7. POETICAL SKETCHES. OTHER POEMS. by y ALARIC A. WATTS. ILLUSTRATED WITH ENGRAVINGS FROM DESIGNS BY T. STOTPAKD, R. A. AND W. NESFIE T .D LONDON: HURST, CHANCE, AND CO. 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD. MDCCCXXVIIL ZILLAH MADONNA WATTS THIS VOLUME IS MOST AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. Thou dost tell me where to borrow Comfort in the midst of sorrow ; Mak'st the desolatest place To thy presence be a grace, And the blackest discontents Be thy fairest ornaments. Poesy ! thou sweet'st content That e'er Heaven to mortals lent, Though they as a trifle leave thee, Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee ; Though thou be to them a scorn That to nought but earth are born ; Let my life no longer be, Than I am in love with thee ! Though our wise ones call thee madness ' Let me never taste of gladness, If I love not thy maddest fits More than all their greatest wits. And though some, too, seeming holy, Do account thy raptures folly ; Thou dost teach me to condemn What makes knaves and fools of them ! WITHER. ADVERTISEMENT. The sale of another impression (consisting of a thousand copies) of this little volume will perhaps be received as a sufficient apology for its re-ap- pearance in a new form. Some corrections, and it is hoped amendments, have been made on the pre- sent occasion, and if these have been less frequent than they ought to have been, the omission has arisen, not from any contumacy on the part of the author, (who is far from being unconscious of the numerous defects of the book,) but from his con- viction that it is in the condition of the High- lander's gun, that wanted only a new stock, a new V1I1 ADVERTISEMENT. lock, and a new barrel, to make it just what its owner wished it to be, — a degree of improvement he has neither the time nor the inclination to effect. He must, therefore, beg his readers will do him the favour to bear in mind that, with the exception of one or two poems, the whole of the contents of the following pages were written at a very early age. It may be proper to add, that the delay (of nearly three years) which has arisen in the pub- lication of the present edition, has been occasioned by circumstances over which the author could have no control. CONTENTS. The Profession . . . . . .1 The Broken Heart . . . . .10 1 Think of Thee ! . . . . . .23 A Sketch from Real Life ' . . . " . .28 Ten Years Ago . . . . . .33 The Closing Scene ..... 38 To Octavia, the eighth Daughter of John Larking, Esq. . 43 Chamouni ...... 48 Remember the Past . . . . .52 The Waking Dream ..... 59 Years of Anguish and Gloom have gone by . . . 65 .Etna ....... 69 Stanzas. From the Italian . . . . .73 To a Poetical Friend . ... . .76 The ^Eolian Harp . . . . . .79 CONTENTS. Stanzas to the Memory of W. P. Watts Morning ........ Evening ...... Woman. An Episode . An Epicedium ... ... Europa ....... Lines written beneath a Picture Posthumous Fame . , A Farewell ...... Stanzas, supposed to have been written in the Envelope to a Lock of Hair . Forget thee 1 — No never Cythna ...... Lines written in the ' Angel of the World' Autumn ...... STANZAS FOR MUSIC. Music ...... Tis Eve on the Ocean .... While I upon thy Bosom lean A Serenade ..... Sacred Melody ..... The Home of Taliessin .... When shall we meet again 1 PAGt 82 86 88 91 97 100 103 106 109 112 115 117 119 121 125 128 131 134 137 139 142 CONTENTS. 1U PAGE Come let us banish Sorrow .... 145 And dost Thou love the Lyre .... 148 My Race is almost Run . . . .152 Yes, methinks that I could, without weeping, Resign . 154 Retouch, Sweet Friend, Retouch the Lute . . 155 The Pains of Memory . . . . .156 The Soul that was Shrouded . . . .157 What need of Years ? . . . . .159 Consolation . . . . . .160 SONNETS. The First-born . . . . . .167 Written at Clarens . . . . .168 To * * * * . • . . . .169 To Sensibility . . . . . .170 From the Portuguese of Camoens . . .172 Written in a Church- Yard .... 173 Written at Sea . . . ; . .174 On a Domestic Calamity . . . . .175 To Suspense . . . . . .176 Mirzala. From the Arabic .... 177 Notes ....... 181 1 THE PROFESSION. A SKETCH. For her the Fates, severely kind, ordain A cool suspense from pleasure and from pain ; Her life, a long dead calm of fixed repose, No pulse that riots, and no blood that glows. POPE. I. On Santa Croce's golden-pillared shrine, A thousand tapers pour their blended rays In one rich tide of radiance. Like a pine, Lifting its lofty head amid the blaze Of sunlit snows, stands forward to the gaze Of the assembled throng, the Priest supreme, In full pontificals. His hand he lays Upon a gorgeous crucifix, the theme Of the oracular words from his pale lips that stream, B Z THE PROFESSION. II. Upon his open brow a dignity That well beseems his office is enthroned ; And if the brightness of his coal-black eve Is something tamed by time, it must be owned It hath a chastened lustre far beyond The fire of youthful glances ; — and if Care, With lines of premature decay, hath crowned His thoughtful forehead, as in fervent prayei He bends, unfailing faith, hope, peace, are beaming there ! The chancel-portals, with a crash, unfold, And a long train of close-veiled nuns pour in, And gather round the palisades of gold That gird that glorious shriving-place for sin. The stately Abbess enters : — then begin Sweet far-off voices on the ear to steal With dim > delicious melodies, that win Their way to the deep heart, — till bursts the swell From organ, harp, voice, lute, in one magnificent peal. THE PROFESSION. 8 IV. The chaunt hath ended; — and throughout the throng Heart-hushing silence reigns, and every brow Is raised in keen expectancy. — Ere long, Once more the Pontiff at the shrine doth bow Before the golden crucifix ; and now Calls on the fated victim. — She attends The awful summons, and with footstep slow Draws near, — the altar's marble stair ascends, — And on the velvet pall, with knee submissive, bends, v. Then breathes the man of God, in eloquent strain, The pious exhortation ; — he dilates Upon the wild varieties of pain Which, in each labyrinth of life, awaits 1 The world's tired denizen ;' — portrays their fates Whom Pleasure 'witches with her syren charms ; And promises to her who dedicates Her youth to God, — from Passion's vain alarms A shield, and sure repose in mild Religion's arms ! B2 4 THE PROFESSION. VI. All hearts are stirred,— but chiefly hers who kneels In silent homage there : she lifts her face To Heaven, but still her milk-white veil conceals Its features from the view. Her form of grace, Through its dim, shadowy foldings you may trace, Fair as those curves of beauty in the skies Which speak of Hope when storms are near, and chase The clouds of dark despondency. All eyes Are fixed upon her, now, in pity or surprise : VII. For, hark ! In measured tones, the convent-bell Booms heavily on the ear. With stooping brow — As mindful of the duty its deep knell Proclaims, — and voice, sweet as the musical flow Of desert waters, she repeats the vow That shuts her from the world. In accents mild, The father questions, if the words that now Are registered on high, are unbeguiled By circumstance or wish, unstable, vain, or wild ? THE PROFESSION. 5 VIII. She answers him ' they are.' — Tis well, he cries, And from the altar takes a golden ring, And, gently bidding the young vestal rise, 'Tis fixed upon her finger. — Then they fling The snow-white veil aside ; but ere they bring The last black ensign of the awful rite, In shroudless beauty stands that lovely thing, — A delicate star soft beaming on the sight, Like Hesper when he breaks from curtaining clouds of night. IX. O'er her white brow her wandering hair descends In rich unbraided rings ; — a coronal Of lilies, wreathed amid each cluster, lends An added grace : and, as at evening's fall Day struggles with th' annihilating pall That darkness would shed o'er it, so the gleam Of her transparent forehead shines through all The chestnut curls that shadow it : — so stream With tremulous light the rays that from her deep eyes beam. 6 THE PROFESSION. X. Hers is that nameless loveliness that sinks On the beholder's heart ; and if he seeks, Whilst his full glance her blaze of beauty drinks, To know where lurks the charm which thus bespeak* His passionate admiration ; — if in cheeks Of rose — or ruby lips — or violet eyes — It is in vain ! — Not in the separate streaks Of that rich bow of gathered beauty lies The spell of power, but in its full, united dyes. XI. She looks around : — upon her delicate lips A smile of melancholy sweetness plays ; But soon a passing thought, in dark eclipse, Hath veiled it from the view ; — and now they raise Once more to Heaven the pealing notes of praise : Her eye grows brighter ; — on her cheek a flush Of deeper crimson mantles, and her gaze With holy zeal upturns, as the full rush Of the loud organ's tones grows gathering gush on gush. THE PROFESSION. 7 XII. And now she joins the choir, whose voices swell, Swell and subside, then rise, and sink again, Like ocean's billows when the winds rebel, And surge on surge prevails. Sudden the strain Hath ceased ; as when upon the watery plain The oil of peace is poured, and the waves glide Untroubled on their way. I list in vain ! Hushed is, at length, that wild and witching tide, And organ, harp, voice, lute, have into silence died. XIII. The sable veil is brought, — the prayer is said ; The silken tress and lily wreath removed ; And sighs are heaved, and silent tears are shed By friends around, so loving and beloved. Ah ! who could view this last sad rite unmoved ! — Youth, beauty, virtue, in their earliest prime, Crossing the threshold of a home unproved ; Where bigot forms are hallowed but by time, And filial duty ends, and love becomes a crime ! O THE PROFESSION. XIV. Yet she is firm, and with unfailing voice Pours forth the final hymn ; and it would seem, Taught by some secret instinct to rejoice That she hath scaped the worldling's chequered dream. Religion, now, must be the only theme On which her heart may dwell. Life's darkest ills Can ne'er again disturb the peaceful stream Of her sweet though ts,delayed Hope's withering chills, Ambition's glittering gauds, nor Passion's thousand thrills, xv. Wake discord on her mind's melodious lyre, The convent's portal passed. Perchance her heart Hath been too fiercely chastened in the fire Of kne's deep phantasies, — until the smart Bade her all bleeding from the strife depart, And seek nepenthe in a fate like this. What man el then, if no big tear-drops start ; If schooled in sorrow thus she bends submiss : Since whatsoe'er her doom, to that it must be bliss. THE PROFESSION. 9 XVI. But see ! the altar is deserted now ; The crowd pours out from Santa Croce's walls. Behind the gazing throng, with thoughtful brow, I linger yet amid the flower-decked stalls, Deep musing on the past : — the last foot-falls Are faintly echoing o'er the marble floor ; Yet, still, some spell my conscious heart enthralls; — At length I slowly gain the closing door, And bid the scene farewell, — now and for evermore ! THE BROKEN HEART. A SKETCH. O melancholy Love ! amidst thy fears, Thy darkness, thy despair, there runs a vein Of pleasure, like a smile 'midst many tears.— The pride of sorrow that will not complain,— The exultation that in after-years The loved one will discover— and in vain, How much the heart silently in its cell Did suffer till it broke, yet nothing tell ? BARRY CORNWALL. I he hand of Death upon his brow had stamped Its never-changing impress ; — yet his cheek Had lost its wonted paleness, and appeared — As if in mockery of the hues of health — THE BROKEN HEART. 11 Tinged with a crimson flush, which came and went, Like the red streaks of summer's evening sky, When Phoebus floats upon the western wave ; And from the depths of his soul-searching eyes, Glances, of more than mortal brightness, beamed On those around him, — till they quailed in fear From his so ardent gaze. Sadness had sunk Into his inmost soul, though none knew why, And few might guess the cause. Some deemed the grave Had terrors for him ; but, though he had need (Like other earth-born creatures) of the grace From Heaven to man accorded, no foul crime Hung on his spirit's pinions ; — and if grief, Intensest suffering, those wild woes which wring The human heart to breaking, may atone For youthful follies, — then, the fear of death Wrought not the gloom that clouded his young brow. But there were other feelings deeply shrined Within his heart of heart; — thoughts he had nursed, 12 THE BROKEN HEART. Through years, with fond inquietude, and hopes Cherished in passionate silentness ; — their source, Love, — fadeless and unquenchable. Long time, He strove, by mixing with the empty crowd, In bowers of heartless revelry, to break The charm that spelled his bosom ; for he feared The gentle one he prized, might ne'er be his. Was it the Demon of Fatality That whispered this dark omen in his ear ? It might, or might not be ; yet still he wove Her name with his rude minstrelsy, and poured Full many a tender strain from his wild lyre, She heeded not — perchance she never heard ! in. Was he beloved again ? — This, who may tell ! 'Tis said, a strange and wayward chance first threw The youth and maid together : she had leaned Upon his arm, and listened to his lays With seeming gladness, and had often praised The earliest wreath of song his muse had twined ; THE BROKEN HEART. 13 And words of gentle import, on the soul Of the young poet, waked a feeling sweet He knew not to define ; — they fell like dew Upon the thirsting flowerets of his heart, Giving them strength and freshness ; for, till then, The voice of soothing kindness ne'er had shed Its rich, melodious music on his ear ! IV. The minstrel loved, but never told the maid His deep devotedness ; — for he was one On whom the smiles of Fortune seldom dwelt ; And though a Croesus in his heart, had few Of what the world calls riches ; so he quelled, Or strove to quell, the tumult in his breast, And left his gentle Deity, to seek, Not other idols, but forgetfulness ! The maiden knew not of his love, unless His passionate glance at parting, when he clasped Her hand in token of farewell, revealed The tale his lips had uttered not. Howbeit, 14. THE BROKEN HEART. He was not long remembered ; for when time, Whose days were years, had passed, and fate again Led him to gaze a moment on the face Of her he loved so well, her eye betrayed No beam of kind acknowledgment, but turned Hurriedly from his. He had not asked for love ; But, ah ! how little had he looked for scorn ! v. He bent him then, in silence, on his way, To where the Alpine monarch, crowned with snows, — The eminent Montblanc — heaves into Heaven Its pure and stainless pinnacle. Amid Nature's stupendous scenes the minstrel roved, And half forgot his sorrows. He would climb The lofty Jura, and from thence look down Upon the world beneath him, till deep thoughts, Passions and feelings, crowded on his mind In swift and numberless succession ; but The first, the last, the sweetest, and the best, Was love, though wild and hopeless! He would dwell THE BROKEN HEART. J 5 Intensely on the past, and oft evoke Bright shades of visionary bliss from out The inmost depths of his day-dreaming soul ; P Till Reason, with her flaming sword, sprang up And drove him from his Paradise of thought. vi. Moons rolled away ; yet still it was his choice To make the wilderness his home, and wander 'Mid Nature's giant offspring. When the sun Shed its retiring beams of crimson on The glittering snows that shroud their searchless heights, In breathless admiration, would he mark The last rich halo sinking ; — and when day Had left the world to darkness, would return Home to his low-roofed dwelling at the foot Of frowning Jura, — silently to muse On all the wild vicissitudes of life ! This might not long endure ; back to man's haunts Once more the minstrel, with unwilling feet, 16 THE BROKEN HEART. Wended ;— for there were duties, unfulfilled, The world professed to claim from him, and he Was not disposed to disavow, although They had no charms for him. Again he sought The busy mart, and mingled with the throng, — Was flattered, cheated, and caressed ; — now basked Awhile in Fortune's sunshine, — and now mourned His little, lessened by the wiles of those Who prey upon credulity ; and this Because he had not learned to hate the world, Nor deem men villains, till he found them such ? vii. But heavier woes awaited him : the seeds Of sickness, which Misfortune's hand had sown, Began to germinate. His spirit pined In voiceless anguish, for he scorned complaint ; And whilst his lips were wreathed into a smile, The worm of death was preying on his heart. Kinless, and almost friendless, was he left To sink into the grave. No anxious eye THE BROKEN HEART. 17 To gaze upon his face, and soothe his pain With looks of tenderness. And there was Hope In wild contention with Despair, within The cell of his dark bosom ; — and they strove Which might obtain the mastery, till a sweet And calm-browed angel, with her lamp of light, Religion, scared the ravening fiend away ! Then were the minstrel's dreams all gentleness, And he could bear to think on years gone by, And those yet hidden in the womb of time ! VIII. Still there was one regret, one deep regret, Which haunted his young spirit ; — 'twas that he, The unowned breathings of whose lyre had wrought Favour with those who knew him not, should speed To his eternal home, nor leave behind A wreath of sweet remembrance for his name ; — And so he garlanded the wilding flowers His youthful muse had gathered from the mount Of time-hallowed Aonia, and deemed, c 18 THE BROKEN HEART. Most fondly deemed, his chaplet would find grace (Even for the sake of him who culled its blooms> With one sweet breast at least ; since pride might now No longer interpose its chilling chain Between him and the load-star of his love ! It was an idle thought : — those simple strains (The only incense he could offer then) Which he had breathed for her in earlier years, Had perished from her memory ; and even His name was unremembered now, who never Had parted with a tender thought of her ! TX. Such was to be. — They said her vows were given To one of Fortune's favorites, and one Of whom the world and its reports spake fair ; Then what had she to do with thoughts of him, Whose only wealth was of the mind ; — whose rank Was slight, — unless nobility of soul May cope with blazoned 'scutcheons ! It was meet That he should be forgotten— if he e'er THE BROKEN HEART. 19 Had been remembered, 'till the grave had closed Between him and mankind, — and then his name Might ask the tribute of a tear, nor wrong Those who possessed a title to her smiles ! x. Did he reproach her even in thought 1 — Ah, no ! She had not wronged him ; — she had vowed no truth To him ; and he had never sought to gain Her pity or her love ; — nor even revealed Aught that he felt for her ; unless, indeed, In years long past, when (though so brief the time Relentless Fate allotted for such bliss) She sometimes leaned upon his arm, and held Sweet converse on the mighty ones of old, (The immortal poets of their native land) With him — that wild enthusiast, — then the fire She kindled in his soul would burst to light, And each deep-rooted sentiment shine out In glances, from his passion-darting eyes ! Yet, it may be, she marked them not, — or deemed c 2 20 THE BROKEN HEART. The mention of their fadeless names who were As stars of his idolatry, called up The deep suffusion of his cheek, and lit His eye with momentary brightness. Once, Ay once, he fancied that the maiden gazed As if she guessed the secret of his soul, And pitied,— almost loved him ; — and he clasped The hand that she withheld not, — but was silent ! — Why was he mute at such an hour as this ? Ye to whom feeling is beyond a name, Perchance, can answer for him ! Had the wealth Of ' Ormus or of Ind' been his, his love Had surely found a tongue ; but as it was, Honour — it may be pride too — made him voiceless ! XI. They parted, — never more to meet, as once They had been wont to meet ; — yet glorious Hope, That morning-star of Love, put forth its beams — Its beautiful beams of promise, — and the youth, Spite of the clouds that circled it, believed THE BROKEN HEART. 21 The sun of Fortune, the deep noon of bliss, And the calm evening of subdued delight, Would follow their bright harbinger. But, ah ! How many a day of turbulence and gloom Is ushered by the sweet and peaceful rays Of fair Aurora's planet ! So it was Even with the minstrel's Lucifer ; for soon It shrouded its bright beams, and left his soul To a dark day of ceaseless cloud and storm. XII. They parted ; — and, since then, his bark hath ridden The rough and roaring waters of the world ; Now whelmed beneath the billows of Despair, Striving with passion's whirlwind ; and now dashed With furious violence upon the rocks Hate, and Oppression, and blind Chance have reared Amid the waves of life's tumultuous sea. The tempest hath subsided ; and that bark Sailless, not rudderless, with tremulous heave (As mindful of the ills it hath sustained) 22 THE BROKEN HEART. Now drifts before a mild and favouring gale To its deep haven of repose — the grave ! Master of mortal bosoms, Love ! — O, Love ! Thou art the essence of the universe ! Soul of the visible world ! and canst create Hope, joy, pain, passion, madness, or despair, As suiteth thy high will ! To some thou bringest A balm, a lenitive for every wound The unkind world inflicts on them ; to others Thy breath but breathes destruction, and thy smile Scathes like the lightning ! — Now a star of peace, Heralding sweet evening to our stormy day ; And now a meteor, with far-scattering fire, Shedding red ruin on our flowers of life ! — In all— Whether arrayed in hues of deep repose, Or armed with burning vengeance to consume Our yielding hearts, —alike omnipotent! I THINK OF THEE ! In alto poggio, in vail' im' e palustre : Libero Spirito, od a' suoi membri afflisso : Pommi con Fama oscura 6 non illustre : Sara qual fui ; vivro com' io son visso Continuando il mio sospir trilustre. PETRARCA. I think of thee, I think of thee, And all that thou hast borne for me ; — In hours of gloom, or heartless glee, I think of thee — I think of thee ! ii. When fiercest rage the storms of Fate, And all around is desolate, I pour on life's tempestuous sea The oil of peace, with thoughts of thee ! 24 I THINK OF THEE ! III. When Fortune frowns, and Hope deceives me, And summer-friendship veers and leaves me, A Timon, from the world I flee — My wreck of wealth — sweet dreams of thee ! iv. Or if I join the careless crowd, Where laughter peals, and mirth grows loud, Even in my hours of revelry I think of thee, — I think of thee ! v. I think of thee, — I think and sigh O'er blighted years and bliss gone by ; — And mourn the stern, severe decree That hath but left me — thoughts of thee ! VI. In youth's gay hours, 'mid Pleasure's bowers, When all was sunshine, mirth, and flowers, We met — I bent the adoring knee, And told a tender tale to thee ! I THINK OF THEE ! 25 VII. 'Twas summer's eve, — the Heavens above — Earth, ocean, air, were full of love ; — Nature around kept jubilee, When first I breathed that tale to thee ! VIII. The crystal arch that hung on high Was blue as thy delicious eye ; — The stirless shore, and sleeping sea, Seemed emblems of repose and thee ! IX. I spoke of hope ; — I spoke of fear ; — Thy answer was a blush and tear ; — But this was eloquence to me, And more than I had asked of thee ! x. I looked into thy dewy eye, And echoed thy half stifled sigh, — I clasped thy hand, and vowed to be The soul of love and truth to thee ! 26 I THINK OF THEE ! XI. That scene and hour have past ; yet still Remains a deep, impassioned thrill, — A sun-set glow on memory, Which kindles at a thought of thee ! XII. We loved : — how wildly, and how well, 'Twere worse than idle now to tell ! From love and life alike thou rt free, And /—am left — to think of thee ! XIII. Though years — long years — have darkly sped Since thou wert numbered with the dead, In fancy oft thy form I see, — In dreams, at least, I'm still with thee ! XIV. Thy beauty — helplessness — and youth, — Thy hapless fate — untiring truth, — Are spells that often touch the key Of sweet but mournful thoughts of thee ! I THTNK OF THEE ! 27 XV. The bitter frown of friends estranged ; The chilling straits of fortunes changed ; All this, and more, thou'st borne for me : Then how can I be false to thee ? XVI. I never will. — I'll think of thee Till fades the power of memory ! — In weal or woe, — in gloom or glee, — I'll think of thee ! — I'll think of thee ! A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. What now, to her, is all the world esteems! She is awake, and cares not for its dreams ; But moves, while yet on earth, as one above Its hopes and fears— its loathing and its love. CBABBE. ^Tis said she once was beautiful ;— and still — For 'tis not years that can have wrought her ill, — Deep rays of loveliness around her form Beam, as the rainbow that succeeds the storm, Brightens a glorious ruin. In her face, Though something touched by sorrow, you may trace The all she was, when first in life's young spring, Like the gay bee-bird on delighted wing, A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 29 She stooped to cull the honey from each flower That bares its breast in joy's luxuriant bower ! O'er her pure forehead, pale as moonlit snow, Her ebon locks are parted, — and her brow Stands forth like morning from the shades of night, Serene, though clouds hang over it. The bright And searching glance of her Ithuriel eye, Might even the sternest hypocrite defy To meet it unappalled ; — 'twould almost seem As though, epitomized in one deep beam, Her full collected soul upon the heart, Whate'er its mask, she strove at once to dart : And few may brave the talisman that's hid 'Neath the dark fringes of her drooping lid. Patient in suffering, she has learned the art To bleed in silence and conceal the smart ; And thence, though quick of feeling, hath been deemed Almost as cold and loveless as she seemed : 30 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. Because to fools she never would reveal Wounds they would probe — without the power to heal . No, — whatsoe'er the visions that disturb The fountain of her thoughts, she knows to curb Each outward sign of sorrow, and suppress — Even to a sigh — all tokens of distress. Yet some, perhaps, with keener vision than The crowd, that pass her by unnoted, can, Through well-dissembled smiles, at times, discern A settled anguish that would seem to bum The very brain it feeds upon ; and when This mood of pain is on her, then, oh ! then A more than wonted paleness of the cheek, — And, it may be, a flitting hectic streak,— A tremulous motion of the lip 01 eye, — Are all that anxious friendship may descry. Reserve and womanly pride are in her look, Though tempered into meekness. She can brook A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. 31 Unkindness and neglect from those she loves, Because she feels it undeserved ; which proves, That firm and conscious rectitude hath power To blunt Fate's darts in sorrow's, darkest hour. Ay unprovoked injustice she can bear Without a sigh, — almost without a tear, Save such as hearts internally will weep, And they ne'er rise the burning lids to steep ; But to those petty wrongs which half defy Human forbearance, she can make reply With a proud lip and a contemptuous eye. There is a speaking sadness in her air, A hue of languor o'er her features fair, Born of no common grief; as though Despair Had wrestled with her spirit — been o'erthrown, — And these the trophies of the strife alone. A resignation of the will, a calm Derived from pure religion (that sweet balm 32 A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE. For wounded breasts) is seated on her brow, And ever to the tempest bends she now, Even as a drooping lily, which the wind Sways as it lists. The sweet affections bind Her sympathies to earth ; her peaceful soul Has long aspired to that immortal goal, Where pain and anguish cease to be our lot, And the world's cares and frailties are forgot ! TEN YEARS AGO. That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures ! Not for this Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur. Other gifts Have followed, for such loss, I would believe. Abundant recompense. WORDSWORTH Ten years ago, ten years ago, Life was to us a fairy scene ; And the keen blasts of worldly woe Had sered not then its pathway green : Youth and its thousand dreams were ours, Feelings we ne'er can know again, — Unwithered hopes, unwasted powers, And frames unworn by mortal pain. Such was the bright and genial flow Of life with us — ten years ago { 34 TEN YEARS AGO. II. Time has not blanched a single hair That clusters round thy forehead now ; Nor hath the cankering touch of Care Left even one furrow on thy brow. Thine eyes are bright as when we met, In love's deep truth, in earlier years ; Thy rosy cheek is blooming yet, Though sometimes stained by secret tears ; — But where, oh where's the spirit's glow That shone through all — ten years ago ? in. I, too, am changed — I scarce know why ; Can feel each flagging pulse decay, And youth, and health, and visions high, Melt like a wreath of snow away ! Time cannot sure have wrought the ill ; Though worn in this world's sickening strife — In soul and form, — I linger still In the first summer month of life ; TEN YEARS AGO. 35 Yet journey on my path below, — Oh ! how unlike — ten years ago ! IV. But, look not thus : — I would not give The wreck of hopes that thou' must share, To bid those joyous hours revive, When all around me seemed so fair. We've wandered on in sunny weather, When winds were low and flowers in bloom; And hand in hand have kept together, And still will keep, 'mid storm and gloom ; Endeared by ties we could not know, When life was young — ten years ago ! v. Has Fortune frowned ? — Her frowns were vain ; For hearts like ours she could not chill ! Have friends proved false? — Their love might wane, — But ours grew fonder, firmer still ! D2 36 TEN YEARS AGO. Twin barks on this world's changing wave, Stedfast in calms — in tempests tried, — In concert still our fate we '11 brave, — Together cleave life's fitful tide ; Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow, Youth's first wild dreams — ten years ago ! VI. Have we not knelt beside his bed, And watched our first-born blossom die ? Hoped, till the shade of hope had fled, Then wept till feeling's fount was dry ? Was it not sweet in that dark hour To think, 'mid mutual tears and sighs, Our bud had left its earthly bower, And burst to bloom in Paradise ? What, to the thought that soothed that woe, Were heartless joys — ten years ago ? TEN YEARS AGO. 37 VII. Yes, it is sweet, when Heaven is bright, To share its sunny beams with thee ! Yet sweeter far, 'mid clouds and blight, To have thee near to weep with me. But dry those tears, — though something changed From what we were in earlier youth, — Time, that hath hopes and friends estranged, Hath left us love in all its truth ; — Sweet feelings we would not forego, For life's best joys — ten years ago ! February, 1924. THE CLOSING SCENE. A SKETCH. Who can bring healing to her heart's despair, Her whole rich sum of happiness lies there ! CROLY. Pale is his cheek with deep and passionate thought, Save when a feverish hectic crosses it, Flooding its lines with crimson. From beneath The long dark fringes of its drooping lid Flash forth the fitful glances of his eye, Like star-beams from the bosom of the night. Above his high and ample forehead, float The gloomy folds of his wild-waving hair, Even as the clouds that crown a lofty hill With sterner grandeur. On his quivering lid The swelling brow weighs heavily, as though Bursting with thoughts for utterance too intense ! THE CLOSING SCENE. di His lip is curled with something too of pride, Which ill beseems the meekness and repose That should, at such an hour, within his heart, Spite of this world's vexations, be enshrined. Tis not disdain, for only those he loves Are 'round him now, with mild low-whispered words Tendering heart-offered kindnesses, — and watching, With fond inquietude, the couch whereon His slender form reclines. What can it be ? — Perchance some rooted memory of the past ; — Some dream of injured pride that fain would wreak Its force on dumb expression ; — some fierce wrong Which his young soul hath suffered unappeased. But thoughts like these must be dispelled before That soul can plume its wings to part in peace. And now his gaze is lifted to the face Of one who bends above him with an air Of sweet solicitude, and props his head, Even with her own white arm, until at length 40 THE CLOSING SCENE. The sliding pillow is replaced ; but, ere His cheek may press on its uneven down, Her delicate hand hath smoothed it. What a theme For those who love to weave the pictured spell, And fix the shadows that would else depart From all but memory, on the tablets fair Of the divine Euterpe ! Her blue eye*, With tenderness, grow darker as they dwell Upon the wreck before her ; — and a tear, Collected 'neath their fringes, large and bright, Falls on the snow of her high-heaving breast. Too well divineth he the voiceless grief Which breathes in each unbidden sigh, and beams From forth her humid eyes ? Too well he knows That love and keen anxiety for him Have paled the ruby of her lip, and chased The roses dye from her so beautiful cheek. His quivering lips unclose, as if to pour The fond acknowledgments of grateful love THE CLOSING SCENE. 41 On that sweet mourner's ear ; but his parched tongue Denies its office. Gathering then each ray, Each vivid ray of feeling from his heart, Into a single focus — in his eye His inmost soul is glassed, and love — deep love, And grateful admiration, beam confessed In one wild passionate glance ! The gentle girl Basks her awhile in that full blaze — then stoops, And hiding her pale forehead in his bosom, Murmurs sounds inarticulate, but sweet As the low wail of summer's evening breath Amid the wind-harp's strings. Then bursts the tide Of woe that may no longer be repressed, Stirred from its source by chill, hope-withering fears, And from her charged lids big drops descend In quick succession. With more tremulous hand Clasps she the sufferer's neck. Upon his brow The damps of death are settling, — and his eyes Grow fixed and meaningless. She marks the change 42 THE CLOSING SCENE. With desperate earnestness ; and staying even Her breath, that nothing may disturb the hush, Lays her wan cheek still closer to his heart, And listens, as its varying pulses move, — Haply to catch a sound betokening life. It beats — again — another — and another, — And, now, hath ceased for ever ! What a shriek- A shrill and soul-appalling shriek peals forth, Now the full truth hath rushed upon her brain I Who may describe the rigidness of frame, The stony look of auguish and despair, With which she bends o'er that uumoving clay 1 Not I, — my pencil hath no further power : So here I'll drop the Grecian painter's veil ! 4 . TTtjoxl Ml The damps of . I YFifli.de s] Her breathythat nothing -niay disturb The tush, ■ Haply to catch a s ! ' -z X HUTtS I CHATSTCE A 09 6 5 , S * PAUXS CHTTRCH. Y.ABJD . TO OCTAVIA, THE EIGHTH DAUGHTER OF J. LARKING, ESQ. Ah ! mayst thou ever be what now thou art, Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring ! LORD BYRON. Full many a gloomy month hath past, On nagging wing, regardless by, Unmarked by aught, save grief, since last I gazed upon thy bright blue eye, And bade my Lyre pour forth for thee Its strains of wildest minstrelsy ? For all my joys are withered now, The hopes, I most relied on, thwarted, And sorrow hath o'erspread my brow With many a shade since last we parted : Yet, 'mid that murkiness of lot, Young Peri, thou art unforgot 44 TO OCTAVIA. II. There are who love to trace the smile That dimples upon childhood's cheek, And hear from lips devoid of guile, The dictates of the bosom break ; — Ah ! who of such could look on thee Without a wish to rival me ! None ; — his must be a stubborn heart, And strange to every softer feeling, Who from thy glance could bear to part Cold and unmoved — without revealing Some portion of the fond regret Which dimmed my eye when last we met ! in. Sweet bud of Beauty !— Mid the thrill — The anguished thrill of hope delayed, — Peril — and pain — and every ill That can the breast of man invade, — No tender thought of thine and thee Hath faded from my memory ; TO OCTAVIA. 45 But I have dwelt on each dear form, 'Till woe, awhile, gave place to gladness, And that remembrance seemed to charm, Almost to peace, my bosom's sadness ; — And now, again, I breathe a lay To hail thee on thy natal day ! TV. O ! might the fondest prayers prevail For blessings on thy future years ; Or innocence, like thine, avail To save thee from affliction's tears ; Each moment of thy life should bring Some new delight upon its wing ! And the wild sparkle of thine eye — Thy guilelessness of soul revealing — Beam ever thus, as beauteously, Undimmed — save by those tears of feeling — Those soft, luxuriant drops which flow, In pity, for another's woe ! 46 TO OCTAVIA. V. But vain the wish ! — It may not be ! Could prayers avert misfortune's blight, Or hearts, from sinful passion free, Here hope for unalloyed delight, Then, those who guard thy opening bloom Had never known one hour of gloom. No : — if the chastening stroke of Fate On guilty heads alone descended, Sure they would ne'er have felt its weight. In whose pure bosoms, sweetly blended, Life's dearest social virtues move, In one bright, endless chain of love ! VI. Then since upon this earth, joy's beams Are fading — frail, and few in number, And melt — like the light-woven dreams That steal upon the mourner's slumber, — Sweet one ! I'll wish thee strength to bear The ills that Heaven may bid thee share ; TO OCTAVIA. 47 And when thine infancy hath fled, And Time with Woman's zone hath bound thee, If, in the path thou'rt doomed to tread, The thorns of sorrow lurk, and wound thee, Be thine that exquisite relief Which blossoms 'mid the springs of grief 1 VII. And like the many -tinted Bow, Which smiles the showery clouds away, May hope — Grief's Iris here below — Attend, and soothe thee on thy way, Till full of years — thy cares at rest — Thou seek'st the mansions of the blest ! — Young Sister of a mortal Nine, Farewell ! — Perchance a long farewell ! Though woes unnumbered yet be mine, — Woes, Hope may vainly strive to quell, — I'll half unteach my soul to pine, So there be bliss for thee and thine ! 1817. CHAMOUNI. A SKETCH ON THE SPOT. The lips that may forget God in the crowd, Cannot forget him here, where he has built For his own glory in the wilderness WORDSWORTH I. I is Night ; — and Silence with unmoving wings Broods o'er the sleeping waters ; — not a sound Breaks its most breathless hush. The sweet moon flings Her pallid lustre on the hills around, Turning the snows and ices that have crowned — Since Chaos reigned — each vast untrodden height, To beryl, pearl, and silver; — whilst, profound, In the still, waveless lake, reflected bright, And, girt with arrowy rays, rests her full orb of light. CHAMOUNI. 49 IT. Th' eternal mountains momently are peering Through the blue clouds that mantle them ; — on high, Their glittering crests majestically rearing, More like to children of the infinite sky, Than of the daedal earth. — Triumphantly, Prince of the whirlwind ! — Monarch of the scene ! — Mightiest where all are mighty ! — from the eye Of mortal man half hidden by the screen Of mists that moat his base from Arve's dark, deep ravine. in. Stands the magnificent Montblanc ! His brow Scarred with ten thousand thunders ; — most sublime, Even as though risen from the world below To mark the progress of Decay : by clime, Storm, blight, fire, earthquake injured not ! Like Time, Stern chronicler of centuries gone by, Doomed by a heavenly fiat still to climb, E 60 CHAMOUNl. Swell and increase with years incessantly, Then yield at length to thee, most dread Eternity ! IV. Hark ! There are sounds of tumult and commotion Hurtling in murmurs on the distant air, Like the wild music of a wind-lashed ocean ; — They rage, they gather now ; yon valley fair Still sleeps in moonlight loveliness, but there Methinks a form of horror I behold With giant-stride descending! Tis Despair, Riding the rushing avalanche ; now rolled From its tall cliff, — by whom — what mortal may unfold ? v. Perchance a gale from fervid Italy Startled the air-hung thunderer ; or the tone Breathed from some hunter's horn ; or, it may be, The echoes of the mountain cataract, thrown Amid its voiceful snows, have thus called down The overwhelming ruin on the vale. Howbeit a mystery to man unknown, CHAMOUNT. 51 'Twas but some Heaven-sent power that did prevail, For an inscrutable end, its slumbers to assail. VI. Madly it bursts along,— even as a river That gathers strength in its most fierce career ; The black and lofty pines a moment quiver Before its breath, but, as it draws more near, Crash — and are seen no more ! Fleet-footed Fear, Pale as that white-robed minister of wrath, In silent wilderment her face doth rear ; And, having gazed upon its blight and scathe, Flies with the swift Chamois from its death-dooming path. E2 REMEMBER THE PAST ! Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past which she cannot destroy ! MOORE. I. " Remember the past !" — Oh ! since Fate has bereft me Of each star that once beamed on my pathway of life, — Since the storm is abroad, and no beacon is left me To guide my lone bark through the waters of strife,-^- What can still the black billow, or hush the loud blast, Like the spell that is wreathed with the thoughts of the past ? REMEMBER THE PAST ! 53 II. I have struggled, and wildly, with Hate and with Malice ; In the dews of affliction my heart hath been steeped ; — I have dregged the last drops of Misfortune's dark chalice, And from seeds of delight only mournfulness reaped ; — Yet, 'mid all my wild wanderings, a halo was cast On the gloom of the ■ present' — by thoughts of the past ! III. When Detraction's keen arrows were rushing around me, And, though Truth was my buckler, had branded my name, When the friends who long years firm and faithful had found me Were the first to upbraid, and o'erwhelm me with blame ; 54 REMEMBER THE PAST! What said I ? — Conviction will strike them at last ; — They once loved me ; — I'll turn to the thoughts of the past ! IV. I have sought in the wine-cup a Lethe for sorrow, And quaffed its warm tide till my spirit grew light ; But that mockery of mirth always fled ere the morrow, Leaving nothing behind it but blackness and blight ! And 'twere well : — who would wish that oblivion to last, Which with bitter must banish sweet thoughts of the past ! v. Like the bubbles of brightness which mantle and sparkle, When the juice of the grape in the goblet is gushing, And but shine for a moment, then sullenly darkle,— So the joy wine creates may as gaily be flushing O'er the pale cheek of woe, — but it fleeteth as fast : — Is it so — is it so with sweet thoughts of the past ? REMEMBER THE PAST ! 55 VI. No ; — the garland of Memory new beauty discloses, When chastened by sadness and mellowed by years ; And though thorns but too frequently mix with the roses Whose stems have been watered and reared by our tears ; Let them circle the brow ; — sure the pain is surpassed By the gladness we gather from thoughts of the past ! VII. Then believe me, dear Zillah, there needs not a token To bid my heart dwell on the dream it loves best ; For each pulse must be withered, each chord must be broken, Ere the stamp of thy loveliness fade from my breast. Yes ! Ill think of thee, gentle and kind as thou wast, And the 'joy of my grief shall be thoughts of the past ! REMEMBER THE PAST VIIT. 'Twas thine, when dark Fate, one by one, had been stealing Each hope I most cherished and clung to on earth, To unchain with thy glance the chilled fountain of feeling, And restore its locked tide to light, sunshine, and mirth. Gloom again is upon me ; — my soul is o'ercast ; — But there's balsam and bliss in the thoughts of the past ! IX. When we met, thy young brow with deep sadness was clouded, — Yet though pensive thy smiles, they were grateful to me ; And the bud woe's long winter had icily shrouded, Burst to bloom in an instant when glanced on by thee : Though the Simoom hath sped, and hath breathed its hot blast, There are blooms still unwithered — the thoughts of the past ! REMEMBER THE PAST ! 57 X. Is the friendship sincerer — the love more enduring, Which years of probation alone can create, Than that which springs up, with a moment's maturing, In bosoms with passion and feeling elate ? . Surely not ! — If it is — what care I, so thou hast Pleasure, thrilling, as I have, in thoughts of the past ! XI. But it never may be ! In souls ardent as ours, When the seeds of affection have once been im- planted, A morning's bright sun-shine will call up the flowers, And prove, plainly, 'twas warmth and not ages they wanted ; — And though clouds burst above them, their blossoms will last, And gain freshness and strength from the thoughts of the past ! 58 REMEMBER THE PAST! XII. Fare thee well ! — Fare thee well ! — If these wild -woven numbers May claim a fond place in a bosom so pure, Till death from mortality's coil disencumbers Thy soul, — and earth's dreams may no longer endure, Let the glass of thy mind give thee back, undefaced By time, absence, or sorrow, the thoughts of the past ! XIII. Fare thee well ! — Fare thee well ! — Whilst a pilgrim I wander, Unsoothed and unloved on this cold-hearted earth, On the hour we first met, and last parted, I '11 ponder, Till visions of gladness from grief shall have birth ; — Whatsoe'er may betide me, life's sands to their last Must have sped, ere I cease to remember the past ! THE WAKING DREAM. A SKETCH. had a dream, which was not all a dream. BYRON. [It is scarcely possible to describe the thrilling sensations of bliss which he « who long has tost On the thorny bed of pain' experiences, when permitted for the first time to ' breathe and walk again ' under the glorious canopy of heaven. Gray, in his Ode on the Pleasures arising from Vicissitude, observes of a person under such circumstances, with infinite beauty as well as truth :— « The meanest floweret of the rale, The simplest note that swells the gale, The common sun, the air, the skies To Him are opening Paradise ! ' 60 THE WAKING ORRAM. In the fulness of heart which the contemplation of a setting sun, diffusing its hues of golden light over a wide and singularly beautiful extent of landscape, and this, too, after weeks of sultriness and suffer- ing, were the following lines poured forth. Every one has, doubtless, on such an occasion, invested the fantastic clouds which sport in a summer sky with such personifications as best consorted with the associations and temper of mind of the moment. The writer had just laid down Milton's Paradise Lost, and this will in some measure account for the fanciful vision he has attempted to depict.] "W hy, what a Paradise is earth to-day ! Some heavy torpor, sure, hath locked my soul In dull, unvarying listlessness 'till now ! — Some envious film hath, sure, obscured my sight, And veiled this world of beauty from my view, For long, long years ! — Yon ever-glorious sun Darts his life-giving beams upon my heart, And stirs it to a deeper sense of bliss, Than e'er it felt before. My pulses grow THE WAKING DREAM. 61 Instinct with new existence, fresher life, — And all around me gathers as I gaze, Hues of a more pervading loveliness Than it was wont to wear ! The clouds above Stream on like molten silver ; now and then Fretted with crimson tinges, — and anon Streaked with the deep blue of the upper sky That spreads and spreads behind them in a sea Of living sapphire. Multitudes of forms, Palpably bright and beautiful, are moving Athwart the depths of the eternal heavens, Making an unimaginable theme For after-thought to dwell upon ! I see (So fancy in her wayward mood would deem) File upon file of rich and gorgeous shapes, Advancing, and advancing without end, Bearing the banners of the Lord of Hosts ! Throned in a car, inwoven of the beams Of the descending sun, whose flashing wheels 62 THE WAKING DREAM. Leave a long trail of glory as they speed, Towers the mighty and majestic form Of the imperial Captain ; — HE who led The forces of the Omnipotent against The dark and daring Lucifer, and hurled The ' race rebellious ' to * combustion down ' And ' bottomless perdition !' On his brow — His starry brow — a coronal is wreathed, Worthy the temples of the King of Kings. His shining sword is sheathless, — and its blade — Like a death-dooming meteor ere it falls In ruin upon earth — flashes in light, In terrible light, whichever way it turns ! Celestial scorn, — defiance without pride, And all the wrath the son of God may own, Hath curled his lip in ' beautiful disdain ;' His deep eye streams in lightning ; — and he grasps Ten thousand thousand thunders ! On the distance, A huge and moving mass appears to rise THE WAKING DREAM. 63 Darkening the air. I look again, and lo ! Myriads of forms, in phalanx firm conjoined, Rush on to ruin in one turbulent host Against the great Messiah ! In the van, The master-demon lifts his lordly crest, In fierce and insolent triumph, and abroad Waves his tremendous falchion ! In his eye, Pride — Hate — Ambition — Cruelty — are glassed, As in a mirror. O'er his lofty front His ebon locks, Medusa-like, are wreathed In many a snaky fold ; and on his brow, Undiademed, are throned revenge sublime, Bloated defiance, lust of pomp and power, And resolution not to be subdued. The hostile bands move on, and now have gained Midway the arch of heaven ! — They pause awhile ; — Then to the charge, — and straight from pole to pole, The brunt of battle rings ! 64 THE WAKING DREAM. The sun hath dropped Into the blushing bosom of the night, And with it the bright pageant too hath vanished ! The clash of helm and shield, the bray of war, Fancy had wafted on my dreaming ear, Have sunk to silence. Not a breath disturbs The ' deep serene ' around me ; and above, Rises a lofty cupola of sky, In blue, eye-soothing beauty and repose ! No battling seraphim are there ; but clouds Slow sailing on, in placid loveliness, Like pleasure-barks upon a summer sea. No shields and helms shine forth in dazzling lustre ; But where the God of day hath left his smile, Are countless hues chameleon -like, that change As the glance strives to trace them, and become Momently paler than before. Anon, Twilight begins to weave her fairy web Of light and gloom, and, from the deepening East, Night spreads her ebon arms to clasp the world ! YEARS OF ANGUISH AND GLOOM HAVE GONE BY. I will not court Lethean streams My sorrowing sense to steep, Nor drink oblivion to the themes O'er which I love to weep. LOGAN. I. Years of anguish and gloom have gone by Since I last drank the breath of thy sigh ; And — compelled by hard Fortune to sever, — We parted in sadness — for ever ! ii. What a host of remembrances rush On my brain, — and my tears how they gush. When in solitude's hour I dwell On thy wild but prophetic ' Farewell ! ' P 66 YEARS OF ANGUISH III. Yes, * for ever ' thou saidst, though I deemed Fortune kinder, perchance, than she seemed ; And, chiding thy fears with a kiss, Bade thee dim not those moments of bliss ! IV. Even then death's dark web was around thee ; The spells of the spoiler had bound thee ; And the Angel from Heaven that brings Fate's last flat — was waving his wings ! v. We parted. — What pen may portray The despair that o'ershadowed that day ! And even deeper our grief had been then, Had we known we should meet not again ! VI. We parted. — Long years have now past Since the hour that I gazed on thee last ; But, fresh in my memory, yet Bloom the flowers of most mournful regret ! AND GLOOM HAVE GONE BY. 67 VII. Tis said, that for sorrow's worst sting Time a swift-healing balsam can bring ; — That earth's ills all must own his dominion, And recede when they're touched by his pinion ! VIII. Could the power of Oblivion control All the gloom that oppresses my soul ; Could even Time with his wing interpose, And freeze feeling's bright fount as it flows ; — IX. I would scorn the hard chain that must chill In my bosom affection's fond thrill ; For the boon were ungrateful to me, If it banished one sweet dream of thee ! x. But this thought shall afford me relief, In my moments of passion and grief, That — whate'er be the depth of my woes — They can never disturb thy repose ! f 2 * YEARS OF ANGUISH, &C. XI. No : — the venom-dipped arrows of doom Cannot pierce to thy heart through the tomb ; And, though bitter, 'tis balm to my breast, To know, thou'rt for ever at rest ! XII. No :— the clouds that burst over me now Cannot ruffle thy beautiful brow ; — In its sorrows my soul may repine ; — They can wake no wild echoes in thine ! XIII. Let the storms of adversity lour ! So that thou hast escaped from their power ; They may pour forth their wrath on my head ! — They can break not the sleep of the dead. xiv. And the poison of Envy and Malice, May still further imbitter Life's chalice ; But the cup, with a smile, shall be quaffed, Since thou liv'st not to share in the draught ! iETNA. A SKETCH. I looked, and saw the face of things quite changed. PARADISE LOST. It was a lovely night ; — the crescent moon, (A bark of beauty on its dark blue sea,) Winning its way amid the billowy clouds, Unoared, unpiloted, moved on. The sky Was studded thick with stars, that glittering streamed An intermittent splendour through the heavens. I turned my glance to earth ; — the mountain winds Were sleeping in their caves, — and the wild sea, With its innumerous billows, melted down To one unmoving mass, lay stretched beneath 70 JETNA. In deep and tranced slumber : giving back The host above with all its dazzling sheen, To Fancy's ken, as though the luminous sky Had rained down stars upon its breast. Suddenly, The scene grew dim — those living lights rushed out, And the fair moon, with all her gorgeous train, Had vanished like the frost-work of a dream ! Darkness arose;— and volumed clouds swept o'er Earth and the ocean. Through the gloom, at times, Sicilian ^Etna's blood-red flame was seen Fitfully flickering. The stillness now Yielded to murmurs hurtling on the air From out her deep-voiced crater ; and the winds Burst through their bonds of adamant, and lashed The weltering ocean, that so lately lay Calm as the slumbers of a cradled child, To a demoniac's madness. The broad wave Swelled into boiling surges, which appeared, Whene'er the mountain's lurid light revealed JETNA. 71 Their progress to the eye, presumptuously To dash against the ebon roof of heaven. Then came a sound— a fearful, deafening sound — Sudden and loud, as if an earthquake rent The globe to its foundations ! With a rush, Startling deep Midnight on her throne, rose up, From the red mouth of ^Etna's burning mount, A giant tree of fire, whence sprouted out Thousands of boundless branches, which put forth Their fiery foliage in the sky, and showered Their fruit, the red-hot levin, to the earth, In terrible profusion. Some fell back Into the hell from whence they sprang ; and some, Gaining an impulse from the winds that raged Unceasingly around, sped o'er the main, And, hissing, dived to an eternal home Beneath its yawning billows. The black smoke, Blotting the snows that shroud chill Curaa's height, Rolled down the mountain's sides, girding its base 72 iETNA. With artificial darkness ; for the sea, Catania's palaces and towers, and even The far-off shores of Syracuse, revealed In the deep glare that deluged heaven and earth, Flashed forth in fearful light upon the eye. And there was seen a lake of liquid fire Streaming and streaming slowly on its course ; And widening as it flowed (like the dread jaws Of some huge monster ere its prey be fanged). At its approach the loftiest pines bent down, And strewed its surface with their trunks ; — the earth Shook at its coming ; — towns and villages, Deserted of their 'habitants, were whelmed Amid the flood, and lent it ampler force ; — The noble's palace, and the peasant's cot, Alike but served to swell its fiery tide : Shrieks of wild anguish rushed upon the gale, — And universal Nature seemed to wrestle With the gaunt forms of Darkness and Despair. STANZAS. FROM THE ITALIAN. I. ibs ! Pride of soul shall nerve me now, To think of thee no more ; And coldness steel the heart and brow That passion swayed before ! Think'st thou that I will share thy breast, Whilst dwells a fondlier cherished guest Deep in its inmost core ? No ; — by my hopes of Heaven, I'll be All — all — or nothing unto thee ! 74 STANZAS. II. Thy hand hath oft been clasped in mine, — Fondly, since first we met ; My lip hath even been pressed to thine — In greeting wild ; — but yet, Lightly avails it, now, to tell Of moments only loved too well — Joys I would fain forget, Since Memory's star can ill control The moonless midnight of my soul ! in. But I'll reproach thee not ; — Farewell ! Whilst yet I'm somewhat free, 'Twere better far to break the spell That binds my soul to thee, Than wait till Time each pulse shall lend A strength that will not let it bend To Reason's stern decree : Since Fate hath willed that we must part, 'Twere better now to brave the smart. STANZAS. 75 IV. Not seldom is the soul depressed Whilst tearless is the eye ; For there are woes that wring the breast When Feeling's fount is dry ; — Sorrows that do not fade with years, But — dwelling all too deep for tears — Rankle eternally ! — Such now as in my bosom swell, Read thou in this wild word, — Farewell ' TO A POETICAL FRIEND. Be not over exquisite To cast the fashion of uncertain evils ; For, grant they be so, while they rest unknown. Why need a man forestall his date of grief, And run to meet what he would most avoid ? MILTON. All hail, dear friend ! The winds are singing The year's wild requiem fitfully And Autumn, now, is swiftly winging Her golden flight, o'er the heaving sea, To some lovelier clime than this ; — in sadness Of heart, I gaze on her farewell beam ; — But away ! This strain shall be one of gladness f I'll startle thee not with a selfish theme ! TO A POETICAL FRIEND. 77 II. All hail, dear friend ! — Though clouds may lour, And wintry storms descend awhile, Ere long shall Spring resume her power, And Summer come on with her radiant smile. Then a truce to gloom ; — though a shade of sorrow May darken our beams of bliss to-day, — Heed it not ! — Joy's sun will rise to-morrow, And chase each deepening tint away ! in. Shall we, whose hearts of warmth and feeling- Vibrate to Pleasure's tenderest touch, Supinely grieve, that Fate's hand is stealing Some flowers of life — we have loved too much ? Shalt thou — who cleav'st, with eagle pinion, The loftiest skies that Genius knows, Stoop thy plume of pride to the base dominion Of each ruffian blast that beneath thee blows ? 78 TO A POETICAL FRIEND. IV. Forbid it, ye who prompt the numbers That soothe the Bard in his wildest mood ! — Forbid it, ye who on his slumbers In dreams of glory and light intrude ! No ; — hearts that each thrill of joy may waken Should, bear unmurmuring, Sorrow's sting ; Nor Genius from its height be shaken By every buffet from Fortune's wing ! THE vEOLIAN HARP. Methinks it should have been impossible Not to love all things in a world like this, Where even the breezes and the common air Contain the power and spirit of harmony. COLERIDGE. Harp of the winds ! What music may compare With thy wild gush of melody ! — Or where, 'Mid this world's discords, may we hope to meet Tones like to thine — so soothing and so sweet ! Harp of the winds ! When summer's Zephyr wings Its airy flight across thy tremulous strings, As if enamoured of its breath, they move With soft low murmurs, — like the voice of Love Ere passion deepens it, or sorrow mars Its harmony with sighs ! — All earthborn jars 80 THE JEOLIAN HARP. Confess thy soothing power, when strains like these, From thy bliss-breathing chords, are borne upon the breeze ! But when a more pervading force compels Their sweetness into strength, — and swiftly swells Each tenderer tone to fulness, — what a strange And spirit-stirring sense that fitful change Wakes in my heart : — visions of days long past, — Hope — joy — pride — pain — and passion — with the blast Come rushing on my soul, — till I believe Some strong enchantment, purposed to deceive, Hath fixed its spell upon me, aud I grieve I may not burst its bonds ! — Anon, the gale Softly subsides, — and whisperings wild prevail, Of inarticulate melody, which seem Not music, but its shadow ; — what a dream Is to reality ; — or as the swell (Those who have felt alone have power to tell) THE /EOLIAN HARP. 81 Of the full heart, where love was late a guest, Ere it recovers from its sweet unrest ! — The charm is o'er ! — Each warring thought flits by ! — Quelled by that more than mortal minstrelsy, Each turbulent feeling owns its sweet control, And peace, once more, returns,, and settles on my soul ! N Harp of the winds ! Thy ever tuneful chords, In language far more eloquent than words Of earth's best skilled philosophers, do teach A deep and heavenly lesson ! Could it reach, With its impressive truths, the heart of man, Then were he blessed indeed ; and he might scan His coming miseries with delight ! The storm Of keen adversity would then deform No more the calm stream of his thoughts, nor bring Its wonted * grisly train ;' but, rather wring Sweetness from out his grief, — till even the string On which his sorrows hung, should make reply, However rudely swept, in tones of melody ! STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM POWER WATTS, AGED THREE TEARS. Sweet flower ! with flowers I strew thy narrow bed ! Sweets to the sweet ! Farewell ! SHAKSPEARE. I. A cloud is on my heart and brow, — The tears are in my eyes, — And wishes fond, all idle now, Are stifled into sighs ; — As musing on thine early doom, Thou bud of beauty snatched to bloom, So soon, 'neath milder skies ! I turn — thy painful struggle past — From what thou art to what thou wast ! TO THE MEMORY OF W. P. WATTS. 83 II I think of all thy winning ways, Thy frank but boisterous glee ; — Thy arch sweet smiles, — thy coy delays, — Thy step, so light and free, — Thy sparkling glance, and hasty run, Thy gladness when thy task was done, And gained thy mother's knee ; — Thy gay, good-humoured, childish ease, And all thy thousand arts to please ! in. Where are they now X — And where, oh where, The eager fond caress ? The blooming cheek, so fresh and fair, The lips, all sought to press ? — The open brow, and laughing eye, — The heart that leaped so joyously ? (Ah ! had we loved them less !) Yet there are thoughts can bring relief, And sweeten even this cup of grief. 84 STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF IV. What hast thou 'scaped 1 — A thorny scene ! A wilderness of woe ! Where many a blast of anguish keen Had taught thy tears to flow ! Perchance some wild and withering grief, Had sered thy summer's earliest leaf, In these dark bowers below ! Or sickening chills of hope deferred, To strife thy gentlest thoughts had stirred ! v. What hast thou 'scaped ? — Life's weltering sea, Before the storm arose ; Whilst yet its gliding waves were free From aught that marred repose ! Safe from the thousand throes of pain, — Ere sin or sorrow breathed a stain Upon thine opening rose ! And who can calmly think of this, Nor envy thee thy doom of bliss ? WILLIAM POWER WATTS. 85 VI. I culled from home's beloved bowers, To deck thy last long sleep, The brightest-hued, most fragrant flowers That summer's dews may steep: — The rose-bud — emblem meet — was there, — The violet blue, and jasmine fair, That drooping, seemed to weep ; — And, now, I add this lowlier spell : — Sweets to the passing sweet ! Farewell ! MORNING. A SKETCH. Yet hath the morning sprinkled through the clouds But half her tincture ; and the soil of night Hangs still upon the bosom of the air. CHAPMAN. T ROM out the purple portals of the East, Peers the first dawn of day upon the world, With dim, uncertain light. Huge clouds still wrap The base of fiery Stromboli ; — and Night, With her black waving pennons, lingers yet, Far in the western hemisphere. — Long trains Of tremulous mist curtain the deep blue breast Of Adria's waveless ocean. Some repose, In folds fantastically graceful, on The glassy waters ; — others, slowly wind Their way in silvery circuitings to heaven ; MORNING. 87 And, as in mockery of the glance that strives To trace their airy wanderings, dissolve, Invisibly, whilst yet the gazer's eye Strains its in tensest nerve. Light breaks, With giant stride, upon the earth, and breathes The breath of life into the stagnant veins Of slumber-locked creation. Yon white clouds, That seem to rise like mountains from the sea, Garbed with untrodden snows, suddenly grow Radiant with streaks of gold ; — a deeper blush Of crimson now pervades them, and the sun, Lifting his orb above the wave, looks out In glory on the world ! Nature around Hath wakened from her trance, and shaking off The night dews from her beauty, stands revealed In rainbow-tinted loveliness to man. EVENING. A SKETCH. The holy time is quiet as a Nun, Breathless with adoration ! WORDSWORTH. 1 is Evening. — On Abruzzo's hill The summer sun is lingering still, — As though unwilling to bereave The landscape of its softest beam, — So fair, — one can but look and grieve To think, that like a lovely dream, A few brief fleeting moments more Must see its reign of beauty o'er ! EVENING. 89 Tis Evening ; — and a general hush Prevails, save when the mountain spring Bursts from its rock, with fitful gush, And makes melodious murmuring ; — Or when from Corno's height of fear, The echoes of its convent bell Come wafted on the far-off ear With soft and diapason swell. But sounds so wildly sweet as they, Ah, who would ever wish away 1 — Yet there are seasons when the soul, Rapt in some dear delicious dream, Heedless what skies may o'er it roll, What rays of beauty round it beam, Shuts up its inmost cell ; — lest aught However wondrous, wild, or fair, Shine in — and interrupt the thought, The one deep thought that centres there ! 90 EVENING. Though with the passionate sense, so shrined And canonized, the hues of grief Perchance be darkly, closely twined, The lonely bosom spurns relief! And could the breathing scene impart A charm to make its sadness less, 'Twould hate the balm that healed its smart, And curse the spell of loveliness That pierced its cloud of gloom, if so It stirred the stream of thought below. WOMAN. AN EPISODE. I'm fon(J of little girls ; I should not say Of little only, for I have for all Ladies a tender penchant, whether they Be young or old, thin, fat, or short, or tall ; — But here the meaning I would fain convey Is, that I love them when they're young and small, — Just at that age when Life's delicious bud Begins to burst the bonds of babyhood ! 92 WOMAN. The April of existence ! When the eye Is bright and unacquainted with a tear, Save such as hope can in an instant dry ; The brow and bosom ever calm and clear, — Or if disturbed, but like the changing sky Of that first delicate season of the year, Dim for a moment — in the next to shine With added grace, and lustre more divine. There is a blue-eyed cherub whom my Muse In earlier hours hath sung of, in whose cheeks, Collected in one blaze, the rainbow hues Of childish beauty beam, like the rich streaks Of the deep East at sunrise : I did use To fondle this arch prattler, watch her freaks And infant playfulness, until I grew Enamoured of the blossom ere it blew. And oft in after-times, when years had rolled On their eternal way, and cares came on, — WOMAN. 93 When Fortune frowned, and summer friends grew cold, — Have my thoughts turned upon this youthful one, — This early bud, — this babe of five years old, — With sweet and tender yearnings ! Fate hath strown Full many a thorn upon my path below, Since last I kissed her bright and sparkling brow ! I cannot say I'm partial to a boy, At any age ; I've noticed from his birth, There's always an admixture of alloy In Man ;— his clay would seem of coarser earth Than our all-wise Creator did employ In moulding our first mother. There's a dearth Of kindliness in him ; — the sordid elf Too often thinks — plans — acts — but for himself ! Whilst Woman — gentle Woman, has a heart Fraught with the sweet humanities of life ; Swayed by no selfish aim she bears her part In all our joys and woes ; — in pain and strife 94 WOMAN. Fonder and still more faithful ! When the smart Of care assails the bosom, — or the knife Of ' keen endurance ' cuts us to the soul, First to support us — foremost to console ! Oh ! what were Man in dark misfortune's hour Without her cherishing aid ? — A nerveless thing, Sinking ignobly 'neath the passing power Of every blast of Fortune. She can bring * A balm for every wound.' As when the shower More heavily falls, the bird of eve will sing In richer notes ; sweeter is woman's voice When through the storm it bids the soul rejoice ! Is there a sight more touching and sublime Than to behold a creature, who, till grief Had taught her lofty spirit how to climb Above vexation, — and whose fragile leaf, Whilst yet 'twas blooming in a genial clime, Trembled at every breath, and sought relief WOMAN. 9 If Heaven but seemed to lour, — suddenly, Grow vigorous in misfortune, and defy The pelting storm, that in its might comes down To beat it to the earth ; — to see a rose Which in its summer's gaiety a frown Had withered from its stem, 'mid wintry snows Lift up its head undrooping, as if grown Familiar with each chilling blast that blows Across the waste of life — and view it twine Around man's rugged trunk its arms divine ! It is a glorious spectacle ! — A sight Of power to stir the chords of generous hearts To feeling's finest issues ; and requite The bosom for all world-inflicted smarts. Such is dear Woman ! When the envious blight Of Fate descends upon her, it imparts New worth — new grace ; — so precious odours grow, Sweeter when crushed — more fragrant in their woe ! 96 WOMAN. So much for Man's sweet consort,— Heaven's best gift, Beloved and loving Woman ! Even a thought Of her, not seldom, hath the power to lift My soul above the toils the world hath wrought Round its aspiring wings. — But I'm adrift ; Again have left my hero ! Well, 'tis nought ; Wiser than I have wandered from their way When Woman was the star that led astray ! AN EP1CEDIUM. By foreign hands his dying eyes were closed j By foreign hands his manly limbs composed ; By foreign hands his humble grave adorned j By strangers honoured, and by strangers mourned. POPE. I. He left his home with a bounding heart, For the world was all before him ; And felt it scarce a pain to part, Such sun-bright beams came o'er him. He turned him to visions of future years, The rainbow's hues were 'round them ; And a father's bodings — a mother's tears — Might not weigh with the hopes that crowned them. AN EPICEDIUM, II. That mother's cheek is far paler now, Than when she last caressed him ; There's an added gloom on that father's brow, Since the hour when last he blessed him. Oh ! that all human hopes should prove Like the flowers that will fade to-morrow ; And the cankering fears of anxious love Ever end in truth — and sorrow ! He left his home with a swelling sail, Of fame and fortune dreaming, — With a spirit as free as the vernal gale, Or the pennon above him streaming. He hath reached his goal : — by a distant wave, 'Neath a sultry sun they've laid him ; And stranger-forms bent o'er his grave When the last sad rites were paid him. AN EPICEDIUM, IV. He should have died in his own loved land, With friends and kindred near him ; Not have withered thus on a foreign strand, With no thought, save of Heaven, to cheer him. But what recks it now ? Is his sleep less sound In the port where the wild winds swept him, Than if home's green turf his grave had bound, Or the hearts he loved had wept him \ Then why repine ? Can he feel the rays That pestilent sun sheds o'er him ; Or share the griefs that may cloud the days Of the friends who now deplore him ? No ; his bark's at anchor — its sails are furled, — It hath 'scaped the storm's deep chiding ; And, safe from the buffeting waves of the world, In a haven of Peace is riding. LofC. H * EUROPA. FROM A PAINTING BY GUIDO IN THE DULWICH GALLERY. Her golden ringlets float around her form In bright but wild profusion ; some repose In radiant clusters on her stainless breast, Like the rich beams of summer's noonday sun On rocks of alabaster ; — others stream (Pennons of beauty to a bark of love) Loose to the ocean breezes. Her blue eyes, Lit with intenser and more passionate thought Than would beseem the wonted air of peace That characters her countenance, dart forth EUROPA. 101 Glances of wilderment — it may be fear On the wild waves behind her ; and she clings Closer and closer to the stately neck Of that imperial spurner of the spray, — That lord of lowing herds, the milk-white bull ! With unremitting speed the godlike brute, Rejoicing in his glorious freight, moves on : — What are the waves to him ? they may not stay His ardent course ; — the warring winds may howl With fitful violence round the vessel's prow, And turn it from its track ; — the whirlpool's depths May draw it down to never-ending night ; But all their powers conjoined may ne'er prevail Over this living, beauty-crested bark, Which proudly dashes on — and on — and on — To where the towers of Crete lift up their heads Above the dark blue sea. With what a front — A stern unyielding front — he stems the wave, And strains each lusty nerve to gain the strand, .Now swelling on his sight ! 102 EUROPA. Well may we 'count The Boy-God's power omnipotent, since he (And sure those witching fables that would prove His force on human hearts, we half deem true) Could thus stir up in an immortal's breast His deep-pervading passion, and incite Even the Almighty Jove to change his form — His own majestic seeming — and imbrute His mighty spirit in a coil like this,' All for an earthly maiden. LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. Nay, reproach me not, sweet one ! I still am thine own, Though the world in its toils hath detained me awhile ! The deep vision that spelled my lone bosom is flown, And — a truant to love — I return to thy smile. It hath ever been thus ; — when condemned or deceived By the many I scorned, or the /en? that I loved ; Whilst I breathed my contempt, or in silentness grieved, It was bliss to remember whose truth I had proved ; And the falsehood of friends, the crowd's hollow decree, Served to bind me more fondly and firmly to thee ! 104 LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. II. Yes, I still am thine own : — though I sometimes may mingle, In lightness of spirit, with fools I despise ; In my heart — my dark heart— dwelling silent and single, Is the thought of all others it soothes me to prize. If I join the loud throng in its madness of mirth, I but think how much purer our pleasures l^e been ; — If I gaze on the fair- bosomed daughters of earth, Tis to turn to thy beauties— of beauty the Queen ! And if from man's dwellings to Nature I flee, Glen, mountain, and ocean, seem breathing of thee ! When a soft soothing glance from the eye of Affection Breaks my midnight of gloom with its halo divine, How surpassingly sweet is the fond recollection Of the passionate lo\c ever beaming from thine ! - LINES WRITTEN BENEATH A PICTURE. 105 'Twill beam on me no more. — Yet though Death has bereft me Of a form such as seraphs from heaven might adore, — In this image thy features of beauty are left me, And the lines of thy soul in my heart's core of core ! Then reproach me not, sweet one ! for time shall not see The hour that estranges one deep thought of thee ! POSTHUMOUS FAME. WRITTEN AFTER PERUSING A PARAGRAPH RESPECTING THE MONUMENT RECENTLY ERECTED TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS. It is a well-known fact, that bards have ever, From Homer downwards, lived upon their wits ; And though, no doubt, they always have been clever At brandishing their knives and forks, tid bits Of calipash or venison have never, Or seldom, been reserved for them ; and spits With good roast joints not often have been turning For them, men deem the beacon-lights of learning. POSTHUMOUS FAME. 107 Their's have been fame and flattery alone, (But pudding is more nourishing than praise ;) They've asked for bread, and oft received — a stone ! Living, have passed unheeded through the maze Of a cold-hearted world : — their deaths once known, The titled fool hath forward pressed to raise Tombs o'er their ashes, that he thus might claim One leaf of laurel for his paltry name. Shades of the mighty dead ! arise and say How much ye scorn such mockery ! —Stand forth, Ye heirs of immortality ! that they, The proud, who deem nobility of birth Surpasses rank of mind, no longer may Cherish the weak delusion, but to worth Yield, as becomes them, precedence — and learn To honour those whom they were wont to spurn. 108 POSTHUMOUS FAME. Match me among the Magnates of the world — Those things of splendid nothingness — bright names, Who, when the roll of glory is unfurled, Upon posterity can show such claims As Milton, Shakspeare, Spenser. Those have hurled Some fellow-despots from their thrones, their aims Still purchased but with blood ; and they have made, Their worship of the shadow of a shade ; But these, the Muses' sons, have toiled to gain Renown which could not profit them ; — through years Of unregarded poverty and pain, — Slaves to their wild and passionate hopes and fears, — Oh ! how intensely did they strive to' attain Fame that should be immortal ; and the tears Of blood their hearts have wept, have been repaid With wreaths of laurel that can never fade ! A FAREWELL. Have we not loved, as none have ever loved, And must we part, as none have ever parted? MATURIN. I. Yes, — I will join the world again, And mingle with the crowd ; And though my mirth may be but pain, My laughter, wilderment of brain, — At least it shall be loud ! II. Tis true, to bend before the shrine Of heartless revelry, Is slavery to a soul like mine ; Yet better thus in chains to pine, Than ever crouch to thee ! 110 A FAREWELL. III. Ay, better far to steep the soul In pleasure's sparkling tide ; Bid joy's unholy sounds control The maddening thoughts that o'er it roll, Than wither 'neath thy pride. IV. Yet I have loved thee — ah, how well ! But words are wild and weak ; The depth of that pervading spell, I dare not trust my tongue to tell, — And hearts may never speak ! v. The stubborn pride, none else might rein, Hath stooped to love and thee ; But, as the pine upon the plain, Bent by the blast, springs up again, So shall it fare with me. A FAREWELL. Ill VI. Still, whilst I darkly sojourn here, Spite of each vain endeavour, Thy name, through many a future year, Will be the knell, to my lonely ear, Of bliss — gone by for ever ! VII. Though thou hast wrapped me in a cloud, Nought now may e'er dispel, In silentness my wrongs I'll shroud, And love, reproach, pain, passion, crowd Into one word — Farewell ! VIII. 'Tis done — the task of soul is taught ; At length I've burst the spell, Which, round my heart so firmly wrought, Fettered each loftier, nobler thought ; And now, 'Farewell— Farewell ! STANZAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN ON THE ENVELOPE TO A LOCK OF HAIR. Fledge of a love as pure and deep As ever thrilled in mortal breast ! I would not, could I break thy sleep, Recall thee from the couch of rest, Where thou art now in peace reclining, A stranger to the world's repining ! [I. No ! Bright as was thy brief career, In this wild waste of storm and gloom, — And much as I have wished thee here, My soul's dark sorrows to illume, — In loneliness I'd rather languish, Than have thee here to share my anguish ! STANZAS. 113 III. Besides, would even Heaven allow Thy advent to this earth again ; That boon to thee were cruel now, Since human ills — a numerous train — Would cross thee in thy path of life, And stir thy young sweet thoughts to strife ! IV. Yet looking on this sun-bright tress Unlocks the source of dried-up tears ; And thoughts, intense and maddening, press On my hot brain ; — though hopes or fears, Since thou and thy sweet mother perished, Have ne'er by me been felt or cherished. v. Blossom of Love ! Yes, on my mind Strange and unusual feelings rush ; The flood-gates of my heart unbind, And bid its waters wildly gush, — As gazing on these threads I see The all that now remains of thee ! 114 STANZAS. VI. Blossom of Love ! Farewell ! — Farewell ! I go to join the noisy throng ; But, in my soul's deep — inmost cell, Thoughts that to thine and thee belong, Will ever bloom as fresh and fair , As when they first were planted there ! VII. And, oh, if tears of woe may nourish The flowers of Memory in the breast ; Then those in mine will surely flourish, And each succeeding hour invest Their stems with charms unknown before, — Till we three meet to part no more ! FORGET THEE 1 NO, NEVER ! Wrong thee, Bianca* No, not for the earth ! Not for earth's brightest ' MIT.MAN. Forget thee ? — No, never ! — Why cherish a thought To the friend of thy soul, with injustice so fraught? Why embitter our fast-fading moments of bliss By suspicion "so wild and unfounded as this ? Forget thee ? — No, never ! — Among the light-hearted, Love may sink to decay when the fond ones are parted ; But affection like ours is too deep and sublime, To be chilled in its ardour by absence or time. Then, gentle one, banish all doubt from thy breast : By the kiss that so late on thy lips I impressed, — By the griefs that have blighted the bloom of my years, — By the hope that still calls forth a smile thro' my tears, — T 2 116 FORGET THEE? NO, NEVER ! By the hour of our parting — thus sweetly delayed, — By truth firmly tried — and by trust unbetrayed, — I will not forget thee ! — till life's latest ray In the dark night of death shall have melted away ; 'Mid ambition — fame— fortune — and power, — and gladness, — Pain, — and peril — and hate — and contention — and sadness ; — Though changes the darkest and brightest betide, — Thy friendship shall soothe me, thy counsels shall guide, And thy memory at once be my solace and pride ! CYTHNA. The glassy splendour of her eye Already sparkled of the sky; The kindling of a world of bliss, For it was not the light of this. WIFFEW. Yes, in her eye there lived until the last, A strange, unreal light, — a fearful glance, Wild, yet most beautiful ; — and o'er her cheek Hues of such passing loveliness would stray, As seemed not of this earth ; but rather caught Like the electric beams that dart across The roseate clouds of Summer's softest eve — From the high heaven above ! Upon her lip Hung ' bland persuasion ' eloquently mute ; And, in her very silentness there dwelt Music's best half, — expression ! She had borne, 118 CYTHNA. With an untiring spirit, many a grief ; And sickness, that had wasted her fine form, Had tainted not her soul, for that was pure As the last tear which Pity draws from Love. LINES, WRITTEN IN THE ANGEL OF THE WORLD. It is a sunny vision — a deep dream — Too full of beauty for the heart to dwell, Unpained, upon the dazzling rays that stream Around the Bard's creations ! Music's swell Voluptuous on the ear ; — the camel-bell, Borne softly on the distance ; — banners bright, Instinct with gems ; — that angel ere he fell, And starry Eblis, — in their mingled might, Deluge each weary pulse with too intense delight. 120 ON THE ANGEL OF THE WORLD. II. We turn away with dim, delirious sense From that so fervid blaze ; and seek repose From Eastern splendour and magnificence, From gorgeous palaces and clouds of rose, Sceptres and thrones, and diamond-crested brows, — Pluming our spirits' pinions at the page, Where sweet Floranthe warbles forth her woes, In strains, of power each turbulent thought to 'suage, And bid the passions cease their fierce, wild war, to wage ! III. Surpassing Lyrist ! from thy powerful hand, The thunders and keen lightnings of the Muse Speed forth in glorious might ! — Thou canst com- mand The noon-tide burst of poesy ; — yet infuse Its twilight calms and bloom-refreshing dew> Amid thy deep conceptions ; and canst braid Wreaths, rich and bright, with variegated hues, As those on an Arabian Heaven displayed, Ere day's last rainbow-beams have vanished into shade ! AUTUMN. Now Winter from her throne is hurling The deep-voiced matron of the year ; And fitful gusts are wildly whirling Her yellow hues on high ; though here, In many a fold of beauty streaming, It lingers still : — whilst from her eye The watery light of love is beaming As bright — but, oh, as transiently ; Filling the bosom with a sadness, Though born of grief— allied to gladness. 122 AUTUMN. II. Yes, Autumn's gloom to me is dearer Than Spring, or Summer's sunniest smile And speaks a language far sincerer Than their all cloudless skies. The wile Of Hope — life's darkly chequered vision, — Its passions, follies, pains, and fears ; Its dimness and its quick transition, — Methinks, are emblemed in her tears, Her bright though fading hues, and even The tempests that deform her heaven. November, 1819. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. MUSIC. Yes, Music has the key of memory, And thoughts and visions buried deep and long, Come at the summons of its sweetness nigh. CROLY. Mysterious keeper of the key That opes the gates of Memory, Oft, in thy wildest, simplest strain, We live o'er years of bliss again ! II. The sun-bright hopes of early youth, Love — in its first deep hour of truth, — And dreams of life's delightful morn, Are on thy seraph pinions borne ! 126 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. III. To the Enthusiasts heart, thy tone Breathes of the lost and lovely one ; And calls back moments — brief as dear — When last 'twas wafted on his ear. IV. The Exile listens to the song Once heard his native bowers among ; And, straightway, on his visions rise Home's sunny slopes, and cloudless skies. v. The Warrior from the strife retired, By music's stirring strains inspired, Turns him to deeds of glory done, To dangers 'scaped — and laurels won. VI. Enchantress sweet of smiles and tears, Spell of the dreams of vanished years, Mysterious keeper of the key That opes the gates of Memory ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 127 VII. 'Tis thine to bid sad hearts be gay, Yet chase the smiles of mirth away ; — Joy's sparkling eye in tears to steep, Yet bid the mourner cease to weep ! VIII. To gloom or gladness thou canst suit The chords of thy delicious lute ; For every heart thou hast a tone, Can make its pulses all thine own ! 128 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. II. TIS EVE ON THE OCEAN. WELSH MELODY. — AIR, ' THE ASH GROVE.' I. Tis eve on the ocean, The breeze is in motion, And briskly our vessel bounds forth on its way ;- The blue sky is o'er us, The world is before us, Then Ellen, my sweet one, look up and be gay ! Why sorrow thus blindly, For those who unkindly Could launch, and then leave us on life's troubled Who so heartlessly scanted The little we wanted, And denied us the all that we asked — to be free ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 129 But we've 'scaped from their trammels,— the word is ■ Away !' Then Ellen, my sweet one, look up and be gay ! II. On, on we are speeding, While, swiftly receding, The white cliffs of Albion in distance grow blue ; Now that gem of earth's treasures, — That scene of past pleasures, — The home of our childhood, fades fast from our view. Yet still thy heart's swelling, My turtle-eyed Ellen ! What recks it to us that we leave it behind ? Dark ills may betide us, But Fate cannot guide us Where foes are more bitter, or friends are less kind Than we've found them at home ; — but the word is 'Away !' Then Ellen, my sweet one, look up and be gay ! K 130 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. III. Now twilight comes 'round us, And dimness hath bound us, And the light-house looks forth from its surf-beaten height, Like Hope's gentle beamings, Through Sorrow's deep dreamings, Or the load-star of Memory to hours of delight. Though, self-exiled, we sever From England for ever, We'll make us a home and a country cfar ; And we'll build us a bower Where stern Pride hath no power, And the rod of Oppression our bliss may not mar. We have broken our chain, — and the word is ' Away !' Then Ellen, my sweet one, look up and be gay ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 131 III. WHILE I UPON THY BOSOM LEAN. I. While I upon thy bosom lean, And gaze into thine eyes, I turn from sorrows that have been, To those which yet may rise : — I think on thy untiring truth, And faster flow my tears ; I mark thy waning rose of youth, And cannot hide my fears. k.2 132 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. II. Oh ! light have been the pangs we've proved, To what may yet remain ; We've suffered much — but fondly loved ; — Parted — but met again ! Still, something speaks a wilder doom From which we ne'er may flee ; Well — dearest — let the thunder come, So that it spares me thee ! in. Even while I clasp thee to my soul, And feel thou'rt wholly mine, The bodings I may not control My lip breathes out on thine : Thy drooping lid — and pallid brow — The frequent gathering tear, — With voiceless eloquence, avow That I have much to fear. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 133 IV. And when to this I add the thought Of parting soon again, The future, as the past, seems fraught With undivided pain ; — But no ! I will not dwell upon Such dreams while blest with thee ; This hour is bright and all our own, Whate'er the next may be. 1&J. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. IV A SEREXADE. WELSH MELODY— AIR, ' THE DAW.1 OF DAY. T. Oh, burst the bonds of slumber, Sweet Ellen, awake, arise ! Night's shades are furled From the breathing world, And 'tis morn in the Eastern skies : Flowers, fair and without number, Unfold their gorgeous dyes ; Day speeds apace On his glorious race, Then open thy star-like eyes ; Sweet Ellen, awake, aki^e ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 135 II. Rich milk-white clouds are sailing Like ships upon stormless seas ; The heavens grow bright With liquid light, And fragrance loads the breeze. Morn's melodies prevailing, Sweep through the trembling trees, The lark's in the sky, And the linnet on high, And wilt thou be less blithe than these ? Sweet Ellen, awake, arise ! IIT. The dew-bent rose is baring- Its breast to the golden sun ; New splendours shower On temple and tower, And the stir of day's begun, We'll do a deed of daring 136 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. Ere Phoebus' race be run ; Our bark's below, And the breezes blow, And our goal will soon be won : — Sweet Ellen- , awake, arise ! IV. What recks it to hearts like ours, Where we resolve to flee ? Not far we'll roam For a blissful home, Since Paradise dwells with thee ! We'll steer for Pleasure's bowers, (With Hope) through Life's dark sea And Love shall guide Us through the tide, \nd our trusty pilot be. Sweet Ellen, awake, arise ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 137 SACRED MELODY. THERE IS A THOUGHT. I. There is a thought can lift the soul Above the dull cold sphere that bounds it, — A star, that sheds its mild control Brightest when Grief's dark cloud surrounds it,— And pours a soft, pervading ray Life's ills may never chase away ! 138 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. II. When earthly joys have left the breast, And even the last fond hope it cherished Of mortal bliss — too like the rest — Beneath Woe's withering touch hath perished, With fadeless lustre streams that light ; A halo on the brow of night ! III. And bitter were our sojourn here In this dark wilderness of sorrow, Did not that rainbow-beam appear, The herald of a brighter morrow ; A merciful beacon from on high To guide us to Eternity ! 1815. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 139 VI. THE HOME OF TALIESS1N. The remains (consisting of little more than the foundation-stones) of the dwelling of the celebrated Welsh bard Taliessin, are still pointed out in a romantic gorge of the mountains near Llannvyst, at no great distance from the Druid waves of Llynn Geirionedd. The view wmcn is commanded from this spot is one of the most picturesque that can be conceived 5 and the associations connected with it, render it, of course, still more interesting. I. I stood on the spot where the famed Taliessin, That ' Prince of the Bards/ had his dwelling of old 140 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. Dark thoughts on my memory, unbidden, were pressing, Of hopes wildly thwarted, and friendships grown cold ! II. Eve was yielding to twilight ; yet still richly glowing, The deep skies reflected the sun that had fled ; And below me, in musical murmurs, were flowing The bright purple waters of Llynn Geirionedd. in. I looked on the mighty hills gathered around it, — That train of dark giants, with cloud-girded brows ; And I thought of the minstrel whose fame had so crowned it, As 1 gazed on their summits of shadows and snows. IV. I turned to the wreck that remained of his dwelling, — The ruin that time and the tempest had spared ; But a few scattered stones, and a mound rudely swelling, Were all that arose there to claim a regard. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 141 V. I called on his name who had roused from her slumbers Sweet Echo, how oft, in her green bosomed lair ; I asked, where, and oh where, breathes he now his wild numbers ? And the mountains around answered, 'where, and oh where ? ' VT. Years have fleeted since then ; — but in sickness and sadness, As I muse on the hopes that once promised so fair, I ask, where, and oh where, are those visions of gladness ? And my bosom's deep cell echoes, ■ where, and oh where ? ' 1819. 142 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. VII. WHEN SHALL WE MEET AGAIN? I. When shall we meet again, — Meet ne'er to sever ? When will Peace wreathe her chain Round us for ever ? When will our hearts repose, Safe from each blast that blows, In this dark vale of woes ? Never, — no, never ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 143 II. Pride's unrelenting hand Soon will divide us, Moments like these be banned, Trysting denied us. Force may our steps compel, Hearts will not say farewell, Can Power affection quell ? Never, — no, never ! ill. By the thrice hallowed past, Love's tenderest token ; — By bliss, too sweet to last, Faith, yet unbroken ; — By all we're doomed to bear ; — By this sad kiss and tear ; — I will forget thee, dear, Never, — no, never ! 144 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. IV. If thou'rt as true to me, Fond and firm hearted, Hate's dull desires will be Half of them thwarted. When shall we meet again ? — When shall we meet again ? — In this wide world of pain Never, — no, never ! v. But where no storms can chill, False friends deceive us ; Where with protracted thrill Hope cannot grieve us ; There with the pure of heart, Safe from Fate's venomed dart, There we may meet to part Never, — no, never ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 146 VIII. COME, LET US BANISH SORROW. WF.LSH MELODY.— AIR, THE ' MINSTRELSY OF CHIRK CASTLE,' Come, let us banish sorrow, Nor think about to-morrow ! This hour so bright, May well requite Our hearts for the past ; And as for future sadness, Why should we mar our gladness, L 146 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. With boding fears, With sighs and tears, Lest bliss should not last ? What though Fortune frown on us, or friends prove unkind, We can never be poor, love, with wealth of the mind ; We can never be lonely — though all should depart, Whilst we live in the pulse-peopled world of the heart. II. What can there be to grieve thee ? Thou know'st I'll ne'er deceive thee ; Am I not thine ? Then why repine ? Say, what wouldst thou more ? Can fate have power to harm thee ? Can life's dark ills alarm thee ? Am I not near To shield thee, dear ? Say, what wouldst thou more ? STANZAS FOR MUSTC. 147 Then a truce to all gloom, we'll be cheerful and gay, Nor welcome the griefs that are yet on their way ; Let them come, at their leisure, we'll smile while we may, And, in spite of to-morrow, be happy to-day ! 148 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. IX. AND DOST THOU LOVE THE LYRE. I. And dost thou love the Lyre, Those strains the Nine inspire ? Ah ! beware the spell, Some have proved too well, Nor follow a wandering fire, Mary ! II. For genius is only a dream, An ignis fatuus gleam, That just lends its light ; But when sorrow's night Is deepest — withdraws its beam, Mary ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 149 III. Tis a passionate sense refined, That spells the enthusiast's mind ; That bids him cope With life's storms, and hope For a haven he never may find, Mary ! IV. As the hues of the mimic bow, Arching the cataract's brow, Though they gaily shine, — And seem half divine, Are but types of the chaos below, Mary ! v. So the glittering tints that rest, On Genius' star-bright crest, May lovelily glow, While despair and woe Hold their strife in his lonely breast, Marv ! 150 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. VI. Some have envied the Minstrel's art, Unknowing his oft-felt smart ; But this never might be, Could they once but see A minstrel's inmost heart, Man ! VII. It hath fibres so finely wrought, And depths with such feelings fraught, That a word may break, Or to melody wake Each chord in that Lyre of thought, Mary ! vin. Even when Pleasure her fingers flings O'er its most attenuate strings, In the passionate swells Which her touch compels, It oft wails while to gladness it rings, Mary ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 151 IX. But when Sorrow's ruthless hand Doth its tremulous chords command, They break in her clasp, For so rude a grasp They never were formed to withstand, Mary ! x. Then do not love the Lyre, Those strains the Nine inspire, But beware the spell, Some have proved too well, Nor follow a wandering: fire, Marv ! 152 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. MY RACE IS ALMOST RUN. I. My race is almost run, my days are nearly done, Yet my heart still is buoyant, my spirits are light, — It is but as the blaze of a dying taper's rays, Life's last >ivid flash ere it fades into night ! II. In my day-spring of youth, with a bosom full of truth, And feelings unwarped or unwithered by wrong ; With every sail unfurled, o'er the waves of the world My bark of existence sped gaily along, m. My pilot was Hope, and I fancied I could cope, If guided by him, with that storm-troubled sea; STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 153 Till dashed on Passion's rock, and shattered by the shock, I soon found how unskilful a helmsman was he. IV. But years have flitted past, and tried in many a blast, We both have grown wiser and steadier than of yore ; The rack hath o'er us rolled, and now cheerily we hold For a haven from whence we shall wander no more, v. My days are well nigh done, my goal will soon be won, And repose from the buffets of Fortune be mine ; Where Hate, however fierce, or Sorrow may not pierce, To bid my cold bosom a moment repine. VI. O Death ! I can brook on thine awful front to look, And can turn to thee now with a heart void of gloom ; To him whom Time can bring no balsam on its wing, There sure must be healing and rest in the tomb. 154 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. XI. YEB, METHINKS THAT I COULD. I. Yes, methinks that I could without weeping resign Both thy beautiful eyes, though so fondly they languish ; And thy lips, though they often have murmured to mine The soft tones of delight, I could lose — without anguish '. ii. To be brief; thou hast held so ungentle a sway O'er the heart that was given by Love to thy keeping, That at length from thy chains it hath stolen away, And methinks I might learn — to lose all without weeping ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 155 XII. RETOUCH, SWEET FRIEND— RETOUCH THE LUTE, Retouch, sweet Friend — retouch the Lute, Its tones may turn thy thoughts on me ; Let not its chords be longer mute ; Remember, 'twas my gift to thee ! Wake then its wildest, sweetest strain, And bid the past be ours again ! IE. Oh might it yield an answering sound To all my wishes, hopes, and fears ; Nor e'er be mute or tuneless found Till I forget thy parting tears ; Then would thy life, beloved, be One round of tenderest minstrelsy ? 156 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. XIII. THE PAINS OF MEMORY. I. When Joy its fairest flowers hath shed, And even Hope's blossoms too are dead, Though Memory through the cloud of woe A momentary gleam may throw ; ii. Tis but an ignis fatuus light, — A fleeting vision, frail as bright, — That mocks awhile the mourner's sight, To leave his soul in tenfold ni^ht ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 157 XIV. THE SOUL THA.T WAS SHROUDED. I. The soul that was shrouded in sorrow's dark night A peace-promising beam woke to gladness and light ; And the lute, that so long lorn and tuneless had hung, Once more with the wild notes of melody rung ! ir. Ah ! why did that beam only shine to beguile \ Ah ! why did it teach the fond mourner to smile ? Why faithlessly grant him a seeming reprieve, Then leave him in sadness still deeper to grieve ? ]58 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. III. The light is gone by — and the music is o'er, And the feelings so lovely — are lovely no more ; That soul, once again, its dark vigils is keeping, And the Lute 'neath the cold chain of Silence is sleeping ! STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 159 XV. WHAT NEED OF YEARS— LONG YEARS TO PROVE? I. What need of years, long years to prove The sense of Friendship or of Love ? What need of years to firmly bind The social compact of the mind ? II. In youthful hearts of kindred mould, Not slowly feeling's flowers unfold ; But oft — though 'neath a sky a gloom — They burst to instantaneous bloom ! 160 STANZAS FOR MUSIC, XVI. CONSOLATION". It is but lifeless perishable stuff That moulders in the grave. SOCTHEY. Look up, look up, and weep not so, thy darling is not dead, His sinless soul is cleaving now yon sky's empurpled bed; His spirit drinks new life and light 'mid bowers of endless bloom ; It is but perishable stuff that moulders in the tomb. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 161 Then hush, oh ! hush the swelling sigh, and dry the idle tear ! Look out upon yon glorious Heaven, and joy that he is there ! ii. Already hath he gained the goal, and tasted of the bliss, The peace that God's pervading love prepares for souls like his ; He hovers round the Throne of thrones on light and filmy wings, The Ariel of attendant sprites upon the King of kings ! Then calm thy sorrow-stricken heart, and smile away despair ; Think of the home thy child hath won, and joy that he is there ! T»I 162 STANZAS FOR MUSIC. III. When summer evening's golden hues are burning in the sky, And odorous gales from balmy bowers are breathing softly by ; When earth is bright with sunset's beams, and flowers are blushing near, And grief, all chastened and subdued, is gathering to a tear ; How sweet 'twill be, at such an hour, and 'mid a scene so fair, To lift thy streaming eyes to Heaven, and think that he is there ! IV. And when that fatal hour arives, the hour that all must brave, Ere thy full ear of life be reaped and garnered in the grave ; STANZAS FOR MUSIC. 163 Whilst deeply musing on the fate our prayers may not defer, What ardent longings after bliss each failing pulse will stir ; How sweet will be the glance to Heaven — the Heaven thou soon may'st share !- The memory of thy buried babe — the hope to meet him there ! SONNETS. SONNETS. I. THE FIRST-BORN. Never did music sink into my soul So ' silver sweet,' as when thy first weak wail On my 'rapt ear in doubtful murmurs stole, Thou child of love and promise! — What a tale Of hopes and fears, of gladness and of gloom, Hung on that slender filament of sound ! Life's guileless pleasures, and its griefs profound, Seemed mingling in thy horoscope of doom. Thy bark is launched, and lifted is thy sail Upon the weltering billows of the world ; But oh ! may winds far gentler than have hurled My struggling vessel on, for thee prevail : Or, if thy voyage must be rough, — may'st thou Soon 'scape the storm, and be — as blest as I am now ' 168 SONNETS. II. WRITTEN AT CLARENS Stranger ! if from the crowded walks of life Thou lov'st to stray, and woo fair Solitude Amid her woodland haunts ; — silent to brood, (Apart from worldly vanities, and strife,) 1 O'er nature's charms, and see her stores unrolled,' Let this sweet spot thy roving steps arrest. Say, dwells the canker care within thy breast ? Lake Leman, murmuring o'er its sands of gold, Shall soothe thee with soft music ; — and thine eye, Although unused to glisten with delight, — Survey the scene here opening on thy sight, With 'raptured gaze. — Oh ! if beneath the sky, Stranger ! to mortal man such seat be given. What may he hope, whose eye is fixed on Hea\en ! SONNETS. 169 III. Go, join the mincing measures of the crowd, And be that abject thing which men call wise, In the World's school of wisdom ! — I despise Thy proffered aid ! — Go ! Thou may'st court the proud, With ready smile, and ever bended knee ; But I do scorn to owe a debt to thee My soul could not repay. — There was a tie (Would it existed now !) which might have kept Peace, and good will between us : — I have wept, With tears of wild and breathless agony, That it should pass away ; — and sought to quell The angry thoughts that in my breast would swell, When dwelling on my injuries : — but yet — Though I forgive, — I never can forget ! 70 SONNETS. IV. TO SENSIBILITY. Though for thy.sake I am crost, Though my best hopes I have lost, And I knew thou'dst make my trouble Ten times more than ten times double, I should love and keep thee too, Spite of all the world could do. wither. I always loved thee, Sensibility ! And though thou hast but served to work me woe, Do love thee still ! — Nurtured beneath thine eye, 1 For me the meanest, simplest flowers that blow,' Can raise up thoughts that lie too deep for tears. Not all the joys the multitude can know, Should e'er seduce my bosom to forego Thy sacred feelings ! — Yet from earliest years, SONNETS. 171 Like that frail plant whose shrinking leaves betray The careless pressure of an idle hand, My heart, unschooled in guile, could ne'er command Its hectics of the moment : — let thy ray, Then, thou sweet source of sorrow and delight, Beam on thy votary's soul with more attempered light. 172 SONNETS. V. FROM THE PORTUGUESE OF CAMOENS. Vain was the frown of pride to disunite The hearts that love and sentiment had joined ; Vainly it urged its stern, unyielding right To break the spell-wrought fetters of the mind : — They would not be undone, for thy soft soul Scorned to be subject to such base control. Oh ! hadst thou been a dowerless village maid, And rich in nought beside thy native charms, I might have dared to woo thee to my arms, Thou not unwilling ; — in some peaceful shade We might have lived in blissful solitude, Scorning, if scorned by Fortune : — Fate's decree Hath fixed it otherwise ; dark cares intrude ; But what are all my woes to that of losing thee ! SONNETS. 173 VI. WRITTEN IN A. CHURCH-YARD. This is a spot to musing grief how dear ! Where, unobserved, she may pour forth her plaint, — Ponder on pleasures past without restraint — And breathe the sigh — ■ fools should not overhear.' Much do I love, alone, to linger here, What time the glow of summer's evening beam Brightens the landscape round, and Mersey's stream Sleeps in the mellow light. — Sometimes a tear Of wild regret will steal into mine eye, As, musing 'mid these mansions of the dead, The sweet remembrances of years gone by— Of joys departed — hopes for ever fled — Come crowding on my mind ; nor would I stem, For all the wealth of worlds, that woe's luxuriant gem ! 174 SONNETS. VII. WRITTEN AT SEA. Yes, Desolation, on her viewless wing, Even now, perhaps, is speeding with the blast In deathful haste ; — with angry visiting, The surges sweep around us, and the mast, Bereft of sail, bends like a fragile reed Submissive to the storm : — but for yon light* I had begun to deem this dreary night, For us, would have no morn. In Greatest need, When through life's sea man's erring bark' is driven, Thus doth the beacon Hope with friendly gleam Speak peace unto his soul ; and though its beam Bring not immediate aid, it can create Courage, to bear the bufferings of Fate With patience, till he reach the wished-for port of Heaven ! * Dungeness light-house. SONNETS. 175 VIII. ON A DOMESTIC CALAMITY Now is all love shut from me ; — I am left, Like the scathed pine upon the mountain's brow, Withered and branchless. — The last verdant bough That, 'mid the blight, put forth its freshening hues, Hath felt the lightning's wrath ; — my all is reft, And I must wend me through life's vale of woe In solitude and tears : — well, be it so ! — Yet these sweet thoughts shall soothe me, and diffuse A healing balm upon my suffering soul : — That I have been most happy, though so brief Were my young days of gladness — that my grief Was not of mine own planting, but the sole Endowment of misfortune ; — and that bliss May bloom, from sorrow's seeds, in brighter realms than this. 17f» SONNETS. IX. TO SUSPENSE Ill-boding Fiend ! How oft thy fiery breath Hath stirred the storm of passion in my soul, Until the waves of thought spurned all control, And swelled to a fierce Phlegethon ! — Beneath The wide expanse of yonder boundless sky, What hath the power to rack the feeling heart Like thy keen-torturing vengeance ? Where the smart, Can match the brain-bewildering agony Thy presence doth create ? — My lot, through life, Demon of dark uncertainty ! hath been To have sweet feelings maddened into strife By thy bliss-blighting influence ; — and each scene Of beauty, shadowed by thy wing accursed ! — When shall I 'scape thy fangs ? My heart — be still — or burst ! MIRZALA. FROM THE ARABIC. Love ! oh, young Love ! Why hast thou not security 1 Thou art Like a bright river, on whose course the weeds Are thick and heavy ; briars are on its banks, And jagged stones and rocks are 'mid its waves. Conscious of its own beauty, it will rush Over its many obstacles, and pant For some green valley as its quiet home. Alas ! either it rushes with a desperate leap Over its barriers, foaming passionate, But prisoned still ; or winding languidly, Becomes dark like Oblivion ; or else wastes Itself away.— This is Love's history ! I. She was beautiful as the lily-bosomed Houri that gladden the visions of the Poet, when, soothed to N 178 MIRZALA. dreams of pleasantness and peace, the downy pinions of Sleep wave over his turbulent soul ! it. She was more graceful than the Antelope ; and her skin was fairer than the plumage of the billow-stem- ming bird of Franguestan. in. Her golden ringlets streamed over her snowy and transparent shoulders, like the rich rays of the noon- day sun upon a rock of the purest alabaster. IV. Her eyes were as two imaged stars peering from the blue depths of untroubled waters ; and the vivid vermilion of her cheek was as the odour-breathing blossom of the peach. v. In sorrow, — ay, and even in joy, — the heaving of her bosom was like the tremulous motion of the Lake of Pearls, when the tempest that deformed it hath passed by. But for the heart that dwelt therein, — MIRZALA. 179 oh, its chords were ever musical, whether swept by the ruffian hand of Grief, or touched by the delicate fingers of Delight ! VI. As the mysterious pebbles of Kathay yield their harmonious murmurs, whether wrought upon by the storm-blast or zephyr, — so the soul of Mirzala always responded in melody. VII. The Anemone is a lovely flower ; but fragile and perishing as the forms that people the day-dreams of Fancy : the wind wringeth it from the stem, and quickly whirleth it on high. Even such was the daughter of Ben Azra, and so fared it with the maiden. VIII. There has been mourning in the Valley of Camels ; —Desolation dwelleth in the Palace of the Emir ; the lute and the ziraleet are silent in his halls; the dance and the revel have ceased ; — the echoes of Israfil are no more ; but hark to the wul-wulleh of Despair ! N 2 180 MIRZALA. IX. There is blood on the threshold of Ben Azra, — even the blood of the guiltless Abdallah ; — for the Prophet hath not forbidden us to love, — and this was the sum of his offending. The ataghan was sheathed in his heart ; — his turban-stone is whitening on the hill! x. O thou pervading Power of Love ! Thou art to some, sweet as the bubbling fountain of freshness to the burning brow of the desert-worn traveller ; but to others, terrible as the fiery pestilence, or the breath of the unmerciful Simoom ! NOTES. Note 1. Page 1. THE PROFESSION. In the former editions of this volume I gave, as an illustration of the Profession, an extract from the late Mrs. Radcliffe's admirable romance, " The Italian." Since then, however, I have met with an interesting description of the Profession of a Nun in Bell's " Observations on Italy," which I am gratified to observe coincides very nearly with my own little sketch on the same subject. " The convent, in which we beheld this ceremony, belonged to an austere order, styled " Lume Iacra," having several regulations, enforc- ing silence and contemplation. " One of their symbols resembles the ancient customs of the Vestal Virgins; like them, they are enjoined to watch continually over the sa- cred lamp, burning for ever. The costume of this community differs essentially from that usually worn, and is singularly beautiful and pic- turesque ; but, while it pleases the eye, it covers an ascetic severity, their waist being grasped, under the garment, by an iron girdle, which is never loosened. ■ It appeared that the fortunes of the fair being who was this day to take the veil, had been marked by events so full of sorrow, that her 182 NOTES. story, which was told in whispers by those assembled, was not listened to without the deepest emotion. Circumstances of the most affecting nature had driven her to seek shelter in a sanctuary, where the afflicted may weep in silence, and where, if sorrow is not assuaged, its tears are hidden. " All awaited the moment of her entrance with anxious impatience ; and on her appearance every eye was directed towards her with an expression of the deepest interest. Splendidly adorned, as is customary on these occasions, and attended by a female friend of high rank, she slowly advanced to the seat assigned her near the altar. Her fine form rose above the middle stature, a gentle bend marked her contour, but it seemed as the yielding of a fading flower; her deep blue eyes, which were occasionally in pious awe raised to Heaven, and her long dark eye-lashes, gave life to a beautiful countenance, on which resignation seemed portrayed. The places allotted to us as being strangers, whom the Italians never fail to distinguish by the most courteous manners, were such as not only to enable us to view the whole ceremony, but to con- template the features and expression of this interesting being. " She was the only child of doating parents ; but while their afflicted spirit found vent in the tears which coursed over cheeks chilled by sorrow, they yet beheld their treasure about to be for ever separated from them, with that resignation which piety inspires, while yielding to a sacrifice made to Heaven. The ceremony now began, the priest pro- nounced a discourse, and the other observances proceeded in the usual track. " At length the solemn moment approached which was to bind her vows to Heaven. She arose and stood a few moments before the altar , when suddenly, yet with noiseless action, she sank extended on the marble floor, and instantly the long black pall was thrown over her. Every heart seemed to shudder, and a momentary pause ensued ; when the deep silence was broken by the low tones of the organ, accompa- nied by soft female voices singing the service of the dead (the requiem). The sound gently swelled in the air, and as the harmonious volume NOTES. 183 became more powerful, the deep church bell at intervals sounded with a loud clamour, exciting a mixed feeling of agitation and grandeur. " Tears were the silent expression of the emotion which thrilled through every heart, This solemn music continued long, and still fell mournfully on the ear; and yet seraphic as in softened tones, and as it were receding in the distance, it gently sank into silence. The young novice was then raised, and advancing towards the priest, she bent down, kneeling at his feet, while he cut a lock off her hair, as a type of the ceremony which was to deprive her of this, to her no longer valued, ornament. Her attendant then despoiled her of the rich jewels with which she was adorned ; her splendid upper vesture was thrown off, and replaced by a monastic garment ; her long tresses bound up, her temples covered with fair linen, the white crown, emblem of innocence, fixed on her head, and the crucifix placed in her hands, " Then kneeling low once more before the altar, she uttered her last vow to Heaven ; at which moment the organ and choristers burst forth in loud shouts of triumph, and in the same instant the cannon from St. Angelo gave notice that her solemn vows were registered. " The ceremony finished, she arose, and, attended in procession, pro- ceeded towards a wide iron gate, dividing the church from the monas- tery, -which, opening wide, displayed a small chapel beautifully illu- minated ; a thousand lights shed a brilliant lustre, whose lengthened gleams seemed sinking into darkness, as they shot through the long prospective of the distant aisle. In the foreground, in a blazing focus of light, stood an altar, from which, in a divided line, the nuns of the community were seen, each holding a large burning wax taper. They seemed to be disposed in order of seniority, and the two youngest were still adorned with the white crown, as being in the first week of their noviciate. " Both seemed in early youth, and their cheeks, yet unpaled by monas- tic vigils, bloomed with a brighter tint, while their eyes sparkled, and a smile seemed struggling with the solemnity of the moment, in expression 184 NOTES. of their innocent delight in beholding the approach of her who had that day offered up her vows, and become one of the community. " The others stood in succession, with looks more subdued, pale, mild, collected, the head gently bending towards the earth in contemplation. The procession stopped at the threshold of the church, when the young nun was received and embraced by the Lady Abbess, who, leading her onwards, was followed in procession by the nuns, each bearing her lighted torch." Note 2. Page 33. Line 7. In his eye His inmost soul is glassed. Yon cliff that glasses Its rugged forehead in the neighbouring lake. Massinger. Note 3. Page 29. Line 7. The bright And searching glance of her Ithuriel eye. See the Fourth Book of Paradise Lost for the attributes of the Angel Ithuriel. Note 4. Page 83. Line 1. In the verses on the death of my nephew, W. P. Watts, I had a faint recollection that I was indebted to some one for the line, I think of all thy winning ways, or at least part of it, and accordingly attached inverted commas to it. An intelligent friend has suggested the source in Leigh Hunt's beautiful address to his child in sickness. I sit me down and think, Of all thy winning ways, And almost wish with sudden shrink That 1 had less to praise. NOTES. 185 Note 5. Page 131. Line 1. TV/rile I upon thy bosom lean. This line is taken verbatim from an old Scotch song, which I have somewhere heard or seen. For the last two lines of the same poem, This hour is bright and all our own, "Whate'er the next may be. 1 am also indebted to Mickle's exquisite song, ' There is no luck about the House.' The present moment is our ain, The next — who ever saw ! Note 6. Page 145. Line 1. Come, let us banish sorrow. This song, and those at pages 148 and 152. were written for Mr. Power's Welsh Melodies. Note 7. Page 154. Line 1. Yes, methinks that I could without weeping resign. These lines are imitated from a well-known Epigram of Martial. Note 8. Page 158. Line 4. And the lute y neath the cold chain of Silence is sleeping. See Moore's Farewell to his Harp. The cold chain of silence has hung o'er thee long. Which he refers in a note to an old Irish ballad. FINIS. REVIEWERS' OPINIONS, Mr. Watts writes with much elegance and simplicity, and we like his com- positions for their entire freedom from exaggeration. He writes sincerely, and his sincerity has been felt ; for we scarcely remember any instance of so unostentatious a writer as he is, and, without any boast of originality, acquir- ing so much popular favour in so short a time.— BLACKWOOD'S MAG. Jan. 1825. This little volume contains not a few of the sweetest and brightest gems of genuine poetry. Mr. Watts is one of the comparatively small number of poets or writers who have escaped the infection of the prevailing taste for exaggeration and elaborate eccentricity, and whose study it is to reflect back to the mind of the reader, images of simple nature and unsophisticated senti- ment. Hence it is that his compositions are distinguished by a delicate sim- plicity, a winning tenderness, and a purity of sentiment, as rare as they are delightful. In a word, he has succeeded in conveying to the minds of his readers the sentiments and feelings which infiueuced his own, and in breathing over his pages a spirit of deep sympathy with the beauties of nature, and the destinies of maD, which can hardly fail to render this little volume extremely interesting to almost every class of readers, and to secure to its author a per- manent rank among the best poets of the day.— Constable's Edinburgh Mag. Oct. 1823. For tenderness, true feeling, and poetical taste, few of our living hards ad- vance claims to regard superior to those unfolded in this small and modest volume.— LIT. Gaz. Oct. 3, 1823. The additional pieces are worthy of the beautiful and feeling compositions with which they have been associated. — Lit. Gaz. July, 1824. It is impossible for any one to read these poems without being deeply struck with their extreme beauty. They are full of touching appeals to our sympa- thies, and we scarcely know any living poet who has been more successful in his expression of the gentler affections.— Lit. Museum, Oct. 11, 1822. 188 The chief merit of Mr. Watts's poetry lies in pathos and tenderness; in describing some of the most exquisite sensibilities of our nature, in impressive colouring, combined with that genuine simplicity which never fails to please, and which is, at the same time, one of the best tests by which a true poet may be distinguished.— METROP. Lit. Jocr. Oct. 1824. Mr. Watts frequently reminds his readers of Moore, or Barry Cornwall. There is, however, more of heart, though less of brilliancy, in his lyrical poems than in those of the former ; whilst he displays more purity of taste and sen- timent than the latter. We could not pass over a volume of such modest pretensions, displaying, at the same time, so much genuine poetical feeling, sensibility, and refinement.— ECLECTIC REV. Jan. 1824. We perused these poems on their first appearance, and we have now re- perused them with no diminution of the pleasure we experienced at first meet- ing with them. They display throughout a true poetical vein. Some of the minor pieces are eminently pleasing. — New Mon. Mag. Nov. 1823. It is not on the descriptive merits of Mr. Watts, even in his most successful attempts, beautiful as they undoubtedly are, that we feel disposed to bestow our chief praise. This we would reserve for the pathetic pieces, which breathe the very soul of feeling and tenderness, in language which no contemporary poet, with the exception of Barry Cornwall, could equal. — Mo-N Mag. Nov. 1823. It would be a waste of time to discuss Mr. Watts's capabilities as a poet. His volume has attracted the favourable notice of almost every reviewer. In these times, it is certainly no small praise, that his poems do not contain a single syllable militating agaiust religion or morality. — Gent. Mag. July, 1824. Mr. Watts' s judgment has led him to disdain the loose and capricious metre of the modern school of poetry. We never read one of his stanzas without feeling that he draws his inspiration from the heart, and his style from the best models of our language. The " Death of the First-born " we look upon as one of the most exquisite poems in the English language.— Mc-N. Ret. Dec. 1820. In smoothness of versification, felicity of imagery, and vigour of description, Mr. Watts may rank with some of the most respectable poets of the day. There is scarcely one of his poems that does not contain some beauties.— LIT Chron. Oct. 25. 1823. /I u u C v » :> • — ^Ljjfct jslxm* > ~<^~± >>ss> > JlZ ?JE* > - *_j^tt »ZSI> > -> ~"~~?* ;>sa> :>_ 35 4£J20» > :^ ^QS> \ > , :> 3*^b> ^_: > &^ J-.>i>3: » > >2> tf^*CS to 32g> ^ » ^ -J »>» J >300> ,S RY0FC °NGR E SS 014 548 747 A Z^> »3 • ■