.■^^\ ^0^ . o^ * N ^ \<^^ ■-^Ky-^ > 0- °- -0" .^M'*.'^^^ ' ' Ij -t -Si" ^ oN 0°^ / > Zl 0^ -^ ■ .^^ ' / o '';^^^ , \ • "^^^ 1. - ^^.^V>' .* ^^■^ ^ -^^ .0 0, « t. -V cK. «- #•*- .^■^^ •\ ■7^ ,0 c '^' ^XV * ^HN/kC'!''!- .-."^'^ "^ 0^ «.X'-^^^/t'o V^-^^'^X--X^^-^\/.>^^ V '^ ^'^^ ^Vv^' // C' "^ ■5 '^ ■" -'^^ -^ ^^ -f» *-. /' V if ... -^ 'p m^/'A, ■.V'^^ <^ '^'^.S' ^t.. v^ N-^:^^,z; v-^X' ■O' >H ^^, a, t ^ ^ ^ <■• vja y. s ^ V\ ^^^ Y^' -^^^ V^^ .v\^^ '^>. '-X "^ '' "' ' THE rOEMS AND PROSE WRITINGS SUMNER LINCOLN FAIRFIELD. IN TWO VOLUMES. 6 Vol, I. FHILADELPHIA. PRINTED FOR THE PROPRIETOR; AND FOR SALE BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA. 1841. < k CONTENTB Introduction, .... - Page 5 The Cities of the Plain, - - - - - 9 Household Hours, » - . - - - 36 The Summer Evening Hymn, . - - - 38 The Last Night of Pompeii, - - - - 41 Westminster Abbey, - - - - - 167 Pere La Chaise, - - - - - 173 An Evening Song of Piedmont, - - - - 176 The Courtezan, ..... 178 TheLozel, . - - - - 181 Lines Composed while Ascending the Mississippi, - - 184 The Hour of Death, ..... 186 To My Son in Heaven, . „ _ - 188 Sonnet, ...... 191 To My Daughter Genevieve, - - - - 192 Sangs to Clara, - - - - - 196 Sonnet, . - - » - 218 Grave Watching, . - - ., - 219 The Confessional, - - - - - 231 Fancy's Faith, . - - - - 224 The Sunset Voice, ..... 227 The Sachem's Chant, - - - - - 230 The Treasure of the Forest, .... 232 The Suliote Polemarque, - ... - 235 Song, - - - - - - 239 Reihembered Wrongs, ..... 240 Memento Mori, . - . . . 242 iv CONTEMS. The Auspices, ...--- The Poet's Night SoliluJe, - - - ' ^46 Sonnet, ..... 249 The Autumnal Eve, ----- -^^ Sonnet, ..---- 254 The Trial of the Troth, - - " ^55 Music Amalgamated, - - - ' " Thanksgiving, ... - - 268 Ancient Worship, - • - ' " ^' Sonnet, ..---- 272 The Lay of the Lost, .... - 273 Night Dreams, ... - - 276 Abaddon, the Spirit of Destruction, - . - . 279 To Isolina, - - - - - ^^^ Lines, ..---- 317 The Lay of the Colonist, - - - ' 318 The Dirge, ..-.-- 321 A Monody, . - - - " 324 Glendaloch, ...--- 326 Sonnet, ...--- 328 Phantasie, .... - . 329 The Reign of Genius, .... 333 The Lay of the Fatherless, ... - - 336 Sunset at Sea, ... - - 339 The Last Song, - - - - - - 343 The Idealist, ..... 344 The Dream of the Sepulchre, - - - - 348 Olympiads, ..... 362 The Desert Horseman, . . - - - 367 Visions of Romance, - - - - 370 Hope, ...... 374 The Father's Legacy, .... 375 Religion Unrevealed, .... - 378 The Chief of Hazor, - - - - - 381 The Spell of the Gloamin, - - ; - - 388 To the Owl, - - - - - - 392 The Wane of the Year, - - - - . 394 I'^aileas More, . . . - . 398 INTRODUCTION. In accordance with the judicious counsel of a venerated friend, the author of these writings has deferred the publication of the contemplated biography, though he is not unacquainted with the desire of many to peruse it. Perhaps, the reason assigned is a cogent argument — namely, no biography of a wellknown writer should be published during his temporal being ; lest, as it luould result now in a perpetuation of calum- nies, it might induce, among inveterate foes, a vindictive controversy little calculated to aid the author during the paroxysms of epileptic disease, or gratify the public by a recapitulation of the injuries, and and wrongs, and violences to which (not destiny, but) the evil passions of men have subjected him. A minute and elaborate narrative of aU which has been endured might become painful, if not trresoirre ; and, after all that has been suffered, the writer is as willing to leave his productions to the honest and szncere judgment of men, as he hopes to be ready to surrender his spirit to the immaculate and irreversible decree of jEHavAH. He has not laboured altogether in vain, for, by the untiring aid of loved ones around him, he has sustained dependent children who, else, might be outcasts and the victims of his enemies. That the life of a poet — unprepared to encounter the rude hostilities of common flesh, and unfitted to contend (in their own vulgar fashion) with the God-forsaken miscreants of an hour — is one of trial and trou- ble and care and agony, no one familiar with the history of Genius for a thousand years, needs now to be informed. His sensibility is a curse ; his eccentric thoughts wander far from those of the world's dwellers ; and when the elysian dream of imagination has passed, his mind sinks into gloom and despair. It has, therefore, been resolved to present, in the first volume of these writings, merely a brief outline of the Author's life, which has been permitted by a Just Judge to outlast much malevolence, and yet to contend with more. The interested and virulent assailants of all who bear my name have had occasion enough to attack me, for their wilful mendacities and mangling butcheries of character liave been to© well known and appreciated to demand from me a moment's thought. All that the herd desire is humiliation to their degree. Of this the author is not capable r the consort of fiends would be preferred ; the tortures of Hades maintain some dignity ; M'ith them all is the gross- M ivrnoDrcTiurc. ness of swine l)Utc]icrs — ilnink wiih rum and blood. They are welcome, however, to tlieir cannibal feast if they can gnaw flesh enough from their anticipated victim to glut their worse than satanic appetites. It has, also, been determined to withhold, for the present, the portrait which was promised. The subsequent poems are gloomy enough, it is feared, without increasing their .cfTect by presenting the despondent image of their author ; but the chief reason for this omission is the ex- pense attendant on engraving, which the heavy cost of these writings will not justify an unfortunate and unfriended individual in assuming. Perhaps, if better days occur before the publication of the second volume, the engraving may appear in that ; but the work now sent forth has been already too long delayed by inevitable misfortunes, to permit any farther procrastination, and the very bread of unhappy children depends upon its immediate appearance. No emotion of vanity has been repressed — no ambition of notoriety has been sacrificed by the suppression of the biography and portrait ; for the author has seen too much heart-breaking misfortune and sorrow, and suffered too much misery, both in his own bosom and through those defenceless innocents whom Heaven has bestowed upon him, to entertain any solicitude about such trifles. The only thing to be regretted will be the disap- pointment of any patron ; but the reasons given are suflicient, it is hoped, to justify the writer in the course he has adopted. In the autumn of 1802, Dr. Abncr Fairfield was married to Miss Lucy Lincoln, both of Massachusetts, and on the 25th of June, 1803, \ their only son was born in Warwick, a mountain town not far from the frontiers of the State. The first three years of his changeful and trou- bled life were characterized by all the exuberant gladness of an innocent and enthusiastic spirit; but in October, 1806, the midnight of destiny fell upon his pathway, for his skilled and ardent and faithful father perished, in his thirty-second year, a victim to his most responsible and laborious profession, during the ravages of a pestilential epidemic. The widow with her two children (for a lovely daughter had been add- ed to the family) found refuge in the house of her father. Gen. Lincoln of Worcester County, whose large landed possessions and great energy of character conferred upon him, during a long life, a respectability and influence some might envy but no one could condemn. Among the romantic hills and valleys of the Fatherland of Freedom passed the earlier years of the writer. Few opportunities for mental cultivation were aflbrdcd, for all on the General's estate were acquainted with labour; but his mansion was a refuge in widowhood and orphanage, and the tears, that were due to the grave of the martyred husband and father, were not left to fall unheeded by a cold and callous world. INTRODUCTIOK. Vll . But a new affliction was impending. Marietta, the beautiful sister just mentioned, was seized on the first of September, 1810, by a fatal malady, which, within a few days, closed her unoflending career, and wafted her spotless spirit far beyond the taint and trouble of the earth. There were murmurs heard as her sweet body descended into Earth, for the child was a radiant being of loveliness and love ; but amidst all the desolation of bereavement, those most nearly allied could not, when the first agony had subsided, question the wisdom of the unerring Father of the Universe. Had her years been extended to woman- hood, she might have suffered like her brother ; with him she would have borne all that the fiends of earth could inflict, and the soft pulse of joy might have become the agonizing throb of sympathetic anguish. Four years after this melancholy bereavement — none but the Creator knows how gloomily the time wore on- — the mother of the author re- moved him from the temporary guardianship of his grandfather, resolved, though unprovided with the comrnon necessaries of life, to fulfil the expiring wish of her husband, and confer upon him a collegiate educa- tion. The ambitious orphan boy was, then, about twelve years of age, and knew nothing beyond his rudiments ; yet, in less than a year, through most arduous study, he was fitted for and entered college in advance of his class. Severe illness, which almost terminated life, was the necessary con- sequence of this ; but the widow's toil was not unseen, and every hour which could be snatched from repose, was devoted to studies that might, it was earnestly hoped, bring forth a recompense and reward for all maternal love so religiously conferred. That evil desti- ny has denied, until even now, the accomplishment of this fervent as- piration ; that expectations the most rational have not been fulfilled ; that perpetual struggles have eventuated in merely temporary triumphs; and that all the acquirements of many solitary thinking years have fail- ed to fulfil the yearning desires of a heart alive to all the sensibilities of our nature, justice will refer to circumstances beyond human con- trol — not to perversity of disposition or error of action. The same se- vere system of study was pursued in the University during the two years which the health of his mother permitted the author to con- tinue there ; and not an hour of vacation was left unimproved, for at the age of sixteen the writer began to aid his only parent by teaching school in the neighbourhood of his college. All exertion, however, was in vain, and in the midst of his erudite pursuits, the poor fatherless boy was compelled to resign his eager hopes and dazzling dreams and de- part to mingle and struggle with the chilling aau reraoraele&s v/orld. The two subsequent years were spent in Georgia and Carolina, as principal of academies ; and in the solitude of <:ouatry life the first VIU INTRODUCTION. poetic imaginings awoke within the unconinuining heart. Better far lor rest and peace and prosperity, that they had shimbered on forever ; but the birthday doom was to be fulfilled, and human power could not avert the catastrophe of the mania. Two pamphlets of rhymes were published during the eighteenth year of the author, which he would shrink from reading now, but which — their only merit — contributed, through the kindness of friends, in augmenting limited means, and thereby adding to the comforts of a mother's suffering under painful and protracted illness. No hope remaining of her restoration, it was determined to return to the North ; but, after the lapse of months, find- ing no benefit from removal, the writer resolved, by the advice of friends, to test the result of a transatlantic voyage, and visit Europe for a time. This was happily accomplished ; the hues of health stole slowly over beloved features long wan and emaciated, and from that time forth, Fate sealed the doom of the Poet. All but intense feeling and high thought was cast aside ; though marts of business were filled with jostling shadows , all ordinary pursuits seemed vain and worthless ; and for the evanescent rainbow glimpses of imagination, all the paths that lead to opulence and power were forever abandoned. Whether, under these circumstances, it was folly or madness that instigated the wanderer, on his return from France in the summer of 1826, to forge the manacles of matrimony, it is diflicult to decide; but the wedlock ceremony, second only in solemnity to the burial service, to which it is often a preliminary, was most canonically performed in September, by the Bishop of New Jersey ; and six poor innocents, since then, have encircled the poor man's hearthstone. Even if space permitted, a history of the persecutions, the wrongs and miseries, which have been inflicted on the author, would be far from agreeably interesting to the reader ; and a thorough exposition of events, involving both public and domcsiic individuals, would certainly be most painful to the exponent. Nothing, therefore, is left to be added now save this — that amid all his wanderings and trials, his anxious days and restless nigiils, his solitude of heart and agony of spirit, the composition of these and many other poems has been almost the only comfort of the author. This has l)een a pleasure in loneliness, desertion and want, — which no malevolence could impair, and of which no blasphemer could deprive him ; and now he casts his bread upon the waters, not with the eager arm of confiding and expectant youth, but with the melancholy deliberation of one who looks for no reward du- ring his terrestrial existence save the retrospection of pleasures long de- parted and the consciousness of having fulfilled, so far as merciless mis- fortune would permit, the duties involved in his position and character at, a man and a water. Jiii}r I, 1811. THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. THE ARGUMENT. This Poem is founded on the terrible incidents recorded in the nineteenth chapter of Genesis. All readers of biblical history are thoroughly acquainted with the ineffa- ble crimes — the luxury and abandonment — the impiety and shamelessness — and the merciless fate of the inhabitants of the Cities of the Plain. Whether their utter de- struction was the result of natural causes or the immediate infliction of an offended Deity, it is unnecessary to inquire, as this is a matter of no importance to the Poet, It avails not to controvert or confirm the assertion that no bird can fly over the Dead Sea ; that no fish can live or human being drown in its bitter waters ; for all the pur- poses of poetry, it is enough to know that Desolation has spread its wings over the countless dead and that no voice, during thousands of years, has startled the ravining wild beast from his idle search of prey. THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. O'br the blue verge of summer's glorious vault, In godlike beauty, rolled the tropic sun, Wrapt in his gorgeous splendors, like the hope. The last wild hope that leaves us desolate. Most radiant at the hour when dusky night Waves her dim pinions, and, with clouded smiles. Looks o'er the darkening earth and deep blue heaven ; And, 'neath the shadow of an ancient palm. Towering in majesty, its ample boughs. Green in the dew, far branching round his tent. On Mamre's plain, in Hebron's pleasant Land, The Father of the Faithful sat alone. Flowers of all hues blushed beauty while they breath'd Their odours o'er the scene of peace and love ; The rose, the enamour'd heart's fair history, The bulbul's worship since the Lesbian maid Transfused her burning soul into its folds; The violet, tender as a maiden's fame. Whose bloom grows deeper at the kiss of air ; The rich geranium, whose colors burn Amid the incense of its threaded leaves ; The purple lotus floating on the stream. That seems to catch its radiance as it flows. E'en as the prophet breathes the breath of heaven ; And each delicious thing that buds and blooms In the fair Orient — the realm of light. Beneath the palmy shades, their noontide bowers, The flocks and herds leapt up and snuff''d the air. And feasted on the verdure wet with dew, Drinking the freshness of the evening breeze; And plants, and flowering shrubs, and crispy grass Lifted their drooping fibres and shrunk leaves 1'2 THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. In silent worship unto heaven ; and birds, Tlie happiest minstrels of eternal love, Sung vesper hymns, while the tall cedars threw Their solemn shadows o'er the boundless fields, And eve's soft-tinted clouds hung in the sky In that fantastic form and wild array Lovers adore and poets paint; and airs. Born in the fairy realms of ether, swayed Their filmy folds, and pictur'd magic domes, Fair temples pinnacled, and palaces. Sweet groves and gardens, and the seashore cliffs, Which changed, each moment, like a summer dream. Raised by the spell of necromantic power. At his tent-door, amid the shadowy scene, Reposed the Father of the Faithful now ; And there he led the quiet life of love. Whose annals are good deeds and hallowed thoughts, And purified affections — love to man. And gratitude to God ; thence he upraised Heartfelt orisons, every morn and eve. To Him, the Supreme Good, whose works and ways, Howe'er mysterious, are forever just ; Rendering continual homage, that His laws, In peril's hour, when many evils came From men and things, had shielded him and kept Tlie light of beauty burning in his heart; Had been to him a glory and a crown. Earth never could confer or rend away. Thus, as he worshipped in the sanctitude Of a forgiving heart, Three Forms, like men. Save that their seraph brows wore majesty That shamed the common sons of earth, appeared, Unsummoned guests — unheralded by ought Familiar with earth's usage ; for no sound Of footstep rustled in the grove — no shade Glimmered amid the twilight to reveal Approaching visitants; and these, that now Came, strong avengers, to Gomorrah's bowers THE CITIES OF THE PLAIff. 13 And Admah's halls, in outward senriblance seenn'd But wayworn palmers, destined to the shrine Of sanctity; yet sacred was the name Of stranger in the East, and household bread Sealed the true bond of heartfelt brotherhood. So the great Father of the Faithful rose To do them reverence as his pilgrim guests, And to their seeming and intent purveyed His hosi)italities ; then on their way Held consort for a time, and treasured well Angelic counsel humanly bestowed. While thus they communed on their path, amid The shadows of the oriental night ; Quick as the barque leaps o'er the cataract, Or gossamer is borne on tempest winds, E'en in a moment's unperceived elapse, The Glory of the Triad turned his eye Full on tfie gleaming Cities of the Plain, And his broad brow glowed like a fiery cloud, As, trumpet-like, his awful voice arose, Denouncing judgement — " They must perish !" Far, Through lower and mid and upper air, and thence Through all the starry spheres, and upward still From heaven to heaven arose the dread decree — All angels, from the cherub full of love And gentleness, to the archangel throned On thunders, crying in the voice of death. Awfully echoed — " They must perish." — Then The rush of mighty winds went by; wild sounds Mysterious murmured in the startled sky; The quick earth quivered, and the hillgirt sea, Through its dark mass of troubled waters, heaved, Moaning to its unfathomable abyss; And ever}' sable forest and bare clift' Gave forth strange accents — and the world was full Of fearful omens. Silent mid the Three The awestruck Father stood, while through the skies Flew the dread mandate, and the Earth, aghast 14 THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. With terror, to its deep foundation shrunk. Silent he stood; how awful was the pause ! Thrice o'er the fated cities, dark as night, A giant vision passed ; thrice o'er them flashed A fiery sword and sceptre broke in twain ; Thrice rung a warning cry, that rose unheard, Though conscious Earth did quake : then all was still — Still as the realms of Hela, still as fear. Whose pulse doth sound like midnight's deep-voiced knell. Wildered and crushed by terror and despair. The Shepherd Prince on Earth's cold bosom fell, And a wild vision of the woes to come, In broken tumult, searched his burning brain. But Faith has godlike power, and holy men May intercede, when terrors are abroad. With God as with their high and holy friend. E'en when his messengers are bolts of flame, And thunders wake the astonished universe To utterance of His awful destinies. Strength to contend and fortitude to bear Attend the heroic spirits of the Good ; Alike in desert land and meadows green, Tissued with dimpling rills, that purl in smiles ; Alike in pleasure and adversity, The strong persuasion of avoided ill And shunn'd allurement fills the heart with joy, And the unsinning for the guilty pray Though destined wrath hath ratified their doom. Upheld by faith that falters not in woe, The intercessor rose and cried aloud For mercy on the guilty race : — " Slay not "The scorner in his scoffing! shall the voice " Of blasphemy be heard e'en in the grave 1 " Oh ! must they die in utmost guilt — debarr'd " Forever from thy light and beauty. Lord ? "Beyond atonement and the reach of hope?" " Counsel, entreatment, menace they have heard " In vain ; their doom is fixed and cannot change." THE CITIES OF THE PLAIPf. 15 To the blue heavens, o'ercanopied with stars, Serene in glory — oracles of years ! In anguish, then, he lifted up his soul. And yet once more besought. " Wilt thou destroy " The sinner and the saint together, Lord ? "The son of Belial and thy covenant's heir?" " The Righteous are redeemed," a Voice replied. Again and yet again the holy man Implored forbearance, still, with faltering voice, Pleading in awe with the Supreme of Heaven, To stay the hour of vengeance — but in vain ! For not among the nations, on whose pride The signet of destruction had been set, Was left the least redemption from the wrath Omnipotent — most awful when deferred ! So o'er the plain of Mamre, 'neath the glow Of the starr'd firmament, slowly in grief. Lone as the breaking billow of the main, The Patriarch trod his melancholy way; Yet oft turned back to weep and gaze once more On the doomed cities, where destruction called Dark desolation to attend his path, And Ruin flapped the air with bloodred wings. On Zion's hill (the name of other days) _ The Father of the Faithful sought repose, And grief fell on his heart, and dreariness Came o'er his spirit as he watched the storm That gathered round the Cities of the Plain. In starlight beauty lay the pleasant plains Of Jordan ; and on every hillock green Slept the white flocks, dotting the uplands green, And imaged household bliss ; the slumbering herds Were gathered round the wells, awaiting morn Never to dawn on them ; the shepherd's crook Leaned idly by the palm, while, mid his fold, He watched and read the stars, and skill'd in lore By solitary commune, gave them names Unfolding nature ; all their potencies IQ THE crri£.s of the i'Lai\. O'er birlh-hours and successive times he knew ; How in their n^arch they bore our fate along. And mingled good and evil lot below With their eccentric motions; how our Hie Revolves from pleasure to calamity In ceaseless alternations, as the stars Describe their evolutions in the skies. Thus to the old Chaldee heaven's watchers were High Deities, and worship, morn and eve, When they came forth in the blue deep of heaven, And when they faded in the dayspring's gush, Was rendered unto them ; and so he grew Resigned to their mysterious destinies, And they became his gods, revealing powers. Benignant or malign. Or, by the side Of fellow herdsman lying, he became The historian of the elder days, when Earth Was full of love, and all its motions were Sweet poetry ; and then he told the tales Of reverend eld, how sun-winged angels came In the world's youth, and held converse with men. Ministering condolement to their grief, And counsel for their guidance ; how the Earth Sprung into life at His immortal word. And forests rose from the unfathomed sea, Blooming in beauty; and how, when their sire Had sinn'd, and woe was born of his offence, And troubles came, and he was driven forth From Paradise, on diamond pinions flew Young Hope before him on his exile way, AVinning him gently from his cherished grief. And lighting with her smile the rugged path, That, through the gloom of years, led unto bliss. In such discourse on laws and legends passed The lingering night, and not a sound revealed The terrors of the awful day to come. The dewy glistening of the starlight groves, The hush of the broad leaves, the scudding clouds, Through whose dim folds full many a diamond star THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. 17 i ■j Looked beautiful — the stillness and the charm 1 Of Night — the poet's hour of love — when heaven \ Bends o'er his bosom smiling ! all the scene ' Breathed sweetness and blushed odours ; rivulets ^ Glided along in music, faint and soft ! As the low breathing of a newborn babe, And the trees sighed their melancholy song To the night-breeze, so indistinct, the ear Could catch the hum of silence ; in the vale The flow of Jordan by its reedy banks. Where hive the honey-bees and herons build, Mysterious rose, and melancholy notes, ! (Such as float o'er the heart in rapture's hour I When lofty thoughts with inspiration burn,) Sighed o'er the hills and mingled with the breath Of flocks that slept upon the upland mead. It was a lovely scene — a holy time, | A season of deep feeling, and a place i Whose garniture was love ; the senses sleep i The spirit wakes to bliss on such a night ; ^i The outward forms of cold realities j Are mellowed into beauty, and the heart \ Is lifted up into a realm of dreams | And visionries ; and glory fills the mind, 1 And we become the pure abstracted things j Imagination pictures, when we rove \ By flowery brooks or on the mountain side, j Or mid the hyrst's deep solitudes and muse ■■] On the heart's mysteries — its hopes and fears, Its trials and its final destiny. Life — what is human life ? quick breathings sent From the deep pulses of a bleeding heart ! i Life ! 'tis the shadow of the dial-stone, : The echo of the solitary bell! i Life! 'tis the music of departed days, Dew upon earth and vapour in the sky, i A beauty and a glory — and a dream ! ^ 3 I 18 THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. On such a holy night the pleasant scenes Of earlier life recur in all their bloom, And faded glories waken, and the heart Is young again ; the fountain of the soul, Stirr'd by the wings of angels, brings forth joy. That springs to being as in olden lime Heaven's daughter irom the ocean's silvery foann. But green leaves wither in the autumn winds, And desolation marks the closing year ; Years blanch the head and harrow the quick heart. And furrow the fair brow and crush the frame. And leave us blighted hopes and broken hearts. And scattered vestiges of wasted power; And we are left alone in the cold world. Without a friend, and to life's lingering close Our toil must be the weary gathering-in Of blasted fruits and mildewed flowers (that youth Planted in gladness) and despair o'erlooks The harvest of our agony — alas ! How deep we feel without participant When silence slumbers on the dreamy heart I But soon 't will prove a silence none can break, The shadowing of oblivion! when the hopes, That light the spirit's glorious orrery, (The golden Chersonesus of our dreams,) Will vanish, and the fearful night of doom Will come, as came the tempest of despair O'er the proud nations of the fruitful Plain. In meek and solemn worship Haran's son Had offered up his evening sacrifice When the angelic visitants appeared. From the outer gate of Sodom, revently The unpersuading advocate of truth , Among the faithless Funics of old days, The moral Centaurs of a peopled waste, — Whose nameless guilt in latter time hath grown Into the proverb of supremest shame, A word ineffable — arose, sole good Mid evil, mid the bann'd sole bless'd, and bowed THE CITIES erP THE PLAIX. 19 Before the avenging ministers of doom. Onward through mocking multitudes he led The heavenly visitants, and, though reviled, He answered not again ; the holy light Of his example, like the Hyades, 8hone in a cold and cloudy clime ; to him Truth was a triumph, virtue a reward, And evil things the dusky hues that gave His glory lustre ; like Gyrene's sage, He felt the troubles of humanity, But not like him pourtrayed them; he was meek And patient in his sufferance of earth's ills. For 'mid the worst of woe he e'er beheld Redeeming judgement in a holier world. He had gone f«rth by Jordan's banks to pray With heart as pure as the famed river's springs The fountain Paneade : and he had gazed On Palestine's blue hills, and breathed the airs Of Araby the Blest, while pondering o'er The sin, the shame, the guilt, the wanton lust, Of all who shared the mercies of the Lord E'en with his chosen ; the good man alone Had wandered forth to pray, and more, pere hance. To lead some atheist to the tree of life. And so he sat in Sodom's gate, and night Look'd down upon him from her starry throne With a mild sorrow, and her gentle dews Fell round him in the starlight, and his heart Grew Ccilm beneath the blessed influence Of that sweet hour when dovelike breezes bring Soft odours from the flower, and the stars Are full of glory, and the dark cold earth Looks beautiful amid the holy light. Wrapt in his high communion, passers-by Blasphemed him as they went and on him threw Reproach and scorn ; like misbelievers now, Unto his warnings rendering mad replies — " Hoar hypocrite ! thy drivelling suits thee well !" But faithful still and reckless of his doom. Like the first martyr dying at his shrine, His voice was raised against all evil men, 20 THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. In peril's hour his spirit slumbered not. Strong in his faith, temptation he o'ercame, Collusion scorned ; with priests and haughty kings, Like Agelnoth and Agobard, he held His soul triumphant, though wassailers drowned His fond orisons in loud mockeries. " The mercy of the Lord doth linger long, " His loving-kindness hath been sorely tried/' Said Haran's chosen son ; and — as he spake — The dread destroyers entered Sodom's gate. In ancient days, ere Shiloh's advent, God Held commune with his chosen, as a man With his familiar friend ; his angels flevv> Invisible couriers of sightless air, On good or evil mission, like the bolt That lightens through immensity, till earth Drew near : then as their glorious pinions fann'd The dark, gross atmosphere of this lower world. They, on the instant, took a human shape, And clothed their heavenly essence in the garb Of human habitude. And these that now Left their bright thrones on men and evil things To pour long suffering vengeance, wore the forms And did observe the usages of men, Apparent sustenance and rest received, Indulged discourse of earthly interests, And held the stranger's converse for a while : How flocks and herds did prosper; how the fields Yielded their vintage ; how the cities thrived In commerce with the nations. Thence they spake Of government and laws, and moral use Of privilege vouchsafed ; " Doth man retain, " Like the seashell when taken from the deep, "A living witness of his godlike birth? " Or, like the rose-flower's spirit, doth his heart " Derive its breath of praise from holy air?" With downcast eyes and clouded brow, their host Sighed mournful disallowance, and a tear Fell from the good man's eye — it could not save The guilty wantoning in loathsome crime ! THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. 21 Amid their speech a hum of multitudes Far distant rose, and shouts and lozel cries, With fiendish imprecations, blasphemies, Wild howlings and loud mockeries ; and a rush Of a vast throng was heard, like autumn winds Pent long in mountain hollows, when they burst At the dead midnight forth ; and the deep tramp Of feet wex'd audible, and human forms Distincter grew in one tumultuous mass. Nearer they came and wilder rose their cries. Blent with the clash of weapons, swords and spears And instruments of carnage : confident. Exulting in their power, no law with them Availed to shield the guiltless, or deter The sinner, save the insolent caprice Of hot-brained revel. Onward so they came, Like billows breaking over ocean reefs. And leaguered the lone mansion, summoning. For deeds ineffable, the stranger guests. But silent stood the Arbiters of Doom, Though o'er their seraph brows a glory passed, Like the revealment of electric fire On the dark outskirts of the hurricane. Again wild curses rose and blasphemies. Again the summons pealed aloud — but yet The High Three mov'd not ; fear to them unknown, And peril, they beheld the guilt and grief Of man, with marvelling and ruth ; and still They held their awful strength unmenacing. On pressed the maddened tumult, and the gate Rung, shook and shivered 'neath the mad assault. But yet their fixed gaze changed not ! Vainly now The eloquent voice of Haran's son arose, Vain his fond prayer, his intercession vain, His last despairing sacrifice to save The perpetration of the unhallowed deed. They mock'd, they spurn'd him ; shouts and savage yells, Loud oaths and curses, intermingled, rose Far o'er the city, and the starlight skies Echoed the startling echo — while the hearts 22 THE CITIES OF THE PLAIIT. Of Lot's beloved fainted in tiieir fear, And exultation bade the throng rush on, And seize with ruffian grasp, and bear away — — Back fell astonished the vast multitude ! Silence stood listening for their blasphennies ! Amid the throng no voice was heard, nor sound Of human life; like pillars in the gloom Of Night they stood — blind, motionless and dumb ! The earth beneath them quaked, a moaning sound Passed o'er their spirits like the distant roll Of chariots in the battle, or the sea Searching the caverns of the mountain rocks, Where the proud lion meets leviathan. And mammoth gores behemoth ; then they fell In the highway, and side by side sunk down. Victims of unseen power ; they rose no more ! " Go, warn thy kindred that they tarry not, "For wrath awaits, and vengeance is abroad ; '•Loose not the girdle of thy loins — break not " The latchet of thy sandal-shoon — away! " The bow is bended and the arrow drawn, " The hearts of men are branded deep with guilt, " The earth is stained with evil, and the voice " Of stern oppression reacheth unto heaven. *' Go forth among the Zuzims, seek thy kin, " And cry woe, woe to him who tarrieth here ! " The Chastener lifts his sword ! the Avenger comes! " Like the strong oaks of Bashan, they shall fail, " The mighty — blasted as an autumn leaf, "E'en in the strength of their dominion — now! " The slayers are abroad — the storm of death " Already hurtles in the troubled air. " Haste ! haste away !" — And forth the good man went. — O Hope ! creator of a fairy heaven ! Manna of angels! rainbow of the heart, That, throned in heaven, doth ever rest on earth! From our first sigh, unto our latest groan. From the first throb until the heart is cold. THE CITIES OP THE PLAIN. 23 Thou art a gladness and a mockery, A glory and a vision — thou sweet child Of the immortal spirit ! In our days Of sorrow, with thy bland hypocrisies, Thou dost delude us, and we love and trust Thy beautiful illusions, though the soil Of disappointment yet is on our souls. Thou eldorado of the poor man's dream ! Sire of repentance! child of vain desires ! The bleeding heart clings to thee when all hope Is madness; o'er our thoughts thou ever holdst Eternal empire — and thou dost console The felon in his cell, the galley slave. The exile and the wanderer o'er the earth, And pour'st the balm of transitory peace E'en on the heart that sighs o'er kindred guilt. Guided by thee, forth went the holy man, And told of gathering ruin, but his sons Held banqueting with lemans, and they scorned The warning of their hoary sire ; and e'er. Amid the blandishments of soug and dance. The music, perfume and bewilderment Of heart and brain — the dreamy revelries Of a rejoicing spirit, high and proud, His daughters listened not in danger's hour ; " Father ! thy dreams ill suit the festive hall ! " Thy beggar pilgrims will o'erturn the world ! " The winged creatures of the fair blue air " Would scern the deed discourteous ; shall they mar " Our mirth to whom unceasing joy and love "Are one eternal birthright? Oh! rejoice! " The deluge hath been once — the bow is set — " Chaos is passed — lead on the joyous dance ! " Aw^ay ! away ! alas, the mad old man ! " Woe to gainsayers when the Lord commands ! '* It seemed the sighing of the summer wind Or echo of the viol, and the dance Moved on — the banquet and the wantoning. Thus to the last beseeching and the wail 24 THE CITIES OF THE PLAIJT. Of agonized affection made reply The sons of heatheness — the bitter fruit Of many a wakeful watching — many an hour Of toil and trouble and redeeming joy. They scorned the prophecy and they were scorned In its accomplishment ; a father's voice, Unheeded, called aloud on righteous heaven, And desolation on their pride came down. With a sick heart the son of Haran turned From grandeur, guilt, and madness — and pursued His lonely way with faltering steps and slow; And oft he stopp'd and gazed and wept alone For his doomed children — left in ruin's grasp — Then followed on his solitary path, Wailing and weeping, as he passed away. Around his dwelling all was stillness now And silvery silence, and the good man paused In meditation on his earlier days, When far away, in Ur of the Chaldees, He felt the bliss of being, ere the woes Of life came o'er him — ere his bosom knew The canker that corrodes the hollow heart, The last extremity of grief, the strife Of earth and heaven — of fervent, long-tried love With conscious worthlessness ! It was the hour When rosy Morn meets her dark sister Night Upon the confines of their wide demesnes, And the gray shadows darkened while nor sun, Nor moon, nor stars, held empire o'er the world. Dark fell the dream of other days upon The Chaldee's heart ; a vision rose before His spirit — and he wept ! — " Haste ! haste away ! " Cried the destroyers — and the upper air Was full of voices, crying " haste away ! " The storm of ruin sleeps till thou art past " The mountains of thy refuge ; heaven doth bear " The guilt of men till thou hast fled afar. " Fly to the deep clefts of the rugged rocks, " The mansions of the ancient hills — away ! THE CITIES OF THE PLAIIV. 25 i " Must they be left in unredeemed despair, = " Doom'd to the death of demons — they who clung | *' Unto thy bosom, Love ! whose smiles and tears 5 " Were rainbows to our bridal blessedness 1 \ " Who were to us a treasure and a joy, : " A trouble and a triumph o'er the ills I " That ever wait our portion on the earth ! ? "Must they be left who laughed and leapt for joy j " Amid the green woods and the viny fields, \ '* Adoring the Supreme whom now they scorn ? \ " Oh ! must they perish in their guilt 1 " — " Away! " j A cold, stern answer to a father's love ; J And tears gushed from his aged eyes, and grief Swelled in his widowed bosom, as he turned i On his departure — yet such tears and woes — ^ So deep — so awful — even angels felt A portion of their bitterness, though none ■. Flow from the sunlight fountains of their bliss. I Slowly the Orient kindled in the dawn, j And dusky vapours curled, in grotesque forms, i O'er vale and upland, tinged with lurid light, That heaved in masses o'er the ancient hills, ,! Darkening the brow of snowy Lebanon, And over Tabor, Hermon, and the plains ? Of Ezdraelon hanging like the smoke j Of Hecia o'er Icelandic solitudes. ' Forth went the Chosen Family, in haste, ' And the High Three, like towers of strength, behind Majestic marched ; o'er Siddim's purple plain, i (Late field of slaughter, where the haughty king Chedorlaomer battled with his foes. The rebel sovereigns of the tribute towns) '■ They fled in terror to the hills ; and dark \ And darker grew the heavens ; fitful gleams ] Of gory gloom threw o'er the sable skies i Unnatural blackness ; bloodred clouds arose, ] And all the horizon quivered as they rushed ) In giant armies to the cope of heaven. | Like fiery vapours of a burning world, ; They gathered round and shut out light and joy J(}j 86 THE CITIES OF THE PI.AI1V- From the devoted victims of despair. And they, who were in after ages called Mothers of nations, gazed in shuddering fear Where the red banner of destruction shook O'er Palestine's dark mountains and the towers Of Sodom and Gomorrah; and deep sounds. As of the sundering of the earth, arose, And hollow meanings, as the world bewailed The ruin of its fairest though its worst. The birds, with open beaks and fluttering wings. Rose from the creaking woods and fled in haste Unto the pinnacles of mountains, crowned With forests inaccessible, or down Mid dells and gorges and cliff'-arched ravines Took refuge, trembling — ever and anon Peering with terror o'er the rugged rocks. Then shrinking quickly back ; the flocks and herds Looked up amazed as o'er the morning skies Gathered the miracle of horror's night ; The green turf withered and the fountains turned To poison, and the leaves in cinders dropped, And the dark waters quivered and men's breath Became an agony, and all the air Seem'd panting ; and the starting eye grew wild) Beholding things o'erturned and mixed and lost In a strange chaos; 't was a fearful time, A desolation to the trembling heart; And nature groaned through all her matchless works When Guilt called down the vengeance of the Just. "Time wears apace — Almighty vengeance waits, " Flee to the caverns — to the mountains flee ! " Look not behind, for desolation's wings " Winnow the Cities of the Plain ; they are, " They shall not be ; like a forsaken bough, *' Whose fruit doth turn to ashes, or a tower " Left in deserted vineyard to become " The dwelling of the owl and bat — so they '* Shall be a hissing and a scorn forever ! " Their days are numbered and their guilt is sealed ; THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. 27 " Like chaff before the whirlwind, when the storm " Howls o'er the hills, in all their pride and power, "E'en in a moment they shall disappear: " And never more the sound of mirth — the song, " The voice of bridal or of banqueting, " The prayers of idol worship or the noise " Of battle shall be heard in all their realms. " The hour draws nigh ; the sons of evil now " Are ripe for judgement ; lo ! amid the skies " The banner of the Terrible ! away ! " Thus urged the high Avengers and their cry Was ever to all searchings into doom — " On ! for the judgement of the Lord delays ! " Behold ! the heavens grow darker and the clouds " Hang in the sky like Ararat's great ark " Above the drowning world — a fearful sign " To earth and heaven ; dark stand the forest trees " And leafless — verdure hath forsaken earth — *' And bird and beast are gasping out their breath, " That soon will close — and yet the Cities sleep ! " The shattered elements are leagued in war — " Terror before and wild affright ; behind, " Fear, feeble as the unweaned child that shrinks " And shudders while the tempest sweeps along ! " Unto the mountains of thy refuge fly ! " And on they hurried ; but the human heart Lingers, like Adam near lost paradise, Loth to forsake the objects of its love, Cleaves to its wedded blisses and imparts Its sweet affections, like the sun to heaven, To all it cherished in life's earlier years. When days of evil come and sorrows crush Our quick and fine-toned feelings to the dust; And we must wear the sackcloth of the heart. And leave beloved things and pass away When Danger's eye is on them and the sword Is ready to devour — the spirit 's tried As in a fiery furnace ; when despair Asunder rends the bleeding bonds of love, And to the bosom even guilt is dear, 29 THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. How dreadful is the sacrifice of all The soul hath sanctified! Without a pang, A last, long lingering gaze that bids farewell Forever and forever, who can part From beings loved though lost to loveliness ? It is a bitter trial to forsake. E'en for a season in this changeful world, The things we cherish ! strange uncertainties Await the briefest interval — an hour Hath changed the destinies of half the world, A moment sundered hearts that met no more. But, oh ! to part from dear familiar scenes And creatures of endearment and to know Death and eternity will be between All future meeting — 't is a cup of woe. That burns and burns forever in the soul, Till the grave closes o'er its agonies. Vain, from the lips of angels, is the best, That bars the love of mother from her child ; Love, which is born of woe and sanctified By suffering ; knows no limit, feels no want When fearful maladies assail; in days Of cold adversity shares every grief. And is a higher joy than earth affords When sunny seasons blossom ! From the fount Of her devoted heart her spirit flows Through every vein whose life was born in hers, — And death may stifle but can never quench The love whose birth-hour is eternity. Fromi the last hill top that o'erlooked the plain, When the last glance must now be rendered back, The last sigh given for forsaken love. Ere from the view she sunk forever, turned The Victim Mother once again to weep The guilt and ruin of the loved, the lost, The young, the beautiful ; her writhen brow Breathed anguish, and her wildly straining eyes Sought vainly for the dwellings of the doomed ! With outstretched arms and quivering lips, she stood In agony unuttered — unrelieved, THE CITIES OF THE PLAIIf. 29 By sigh or tear ; and so her spirit fled, The broken heart lay bleeding, but the life Vanished — and there, Death's chosen monument, She stands, o'erlooking the Dead Sea, e'en now, Where herb, nor tree, nor winged bird can live, Where all her hopes were buried in the gulf Of desolating ruin ; there she stands, The mother dying for her children's sake, The Niobe of nature! sculptured Love ! More beautiful than Venus in her pride ! Draw near, behold the triumph of the heart O'er terror and the war of earth and heaven ! From every point of heaven the black clouds rolled In masses to the zenith, and the woods Crumbled to ashes, and unearthly sounds Moaned in the caverns of the ancient hills. And every rushing stream was like a flood Of flame that burned along its blacken'd way. There was no sun in the o'erpurpled East, But a dark gory globe, the abode of fiends. That like a mighty wreck, mid fire and gloom, Tossing along the billows, but revealed Terrors the spirit shuddered to behold^ — For Retribution sat enthroned in Heaven. While thus the Chosen fled unto the hills, Amid the glorious oriental night, The voice of Songsters and the viol's play, The merry music of the psaltery. And dulcimer and harp and tabret rose Through palace court, the chambers and sweet bowers Of the proud, purple Cities of the Plain ; And caroUings of high carousal blent With lozel strains and battle songs and jests Not to be uttered in these latter days. And maniac shouting, with the long, loud laugh. Revealing a light heart, whose breath was mirth, That throbbed, undreading ill or pain or death. In confidence of many joyous days 30 THE CITIES OF THE PLAIlf. Sunny as Yemen or the paradise Of Islam's dark-eyed houris ; and the cup Was pledged lo beauty while the mazy dance Echoed the sound of sweet-toned instruments, And eyes voluptuous, brighter than the gems That glittered on the full white bosom, rolled Around the pillar'd halls, and, wantonly, Their magic glances flashed on every heart. Like sunbows arched along tlie wavy cloud. Born of the lightning and the rain-shower. Love, High master of the revel, threw around His wizard glances and the throng obeyed The eloquent behest ; white bosoms heaved Beneath transparent draperies, that gave Mysterious beauty to the bounding limbs, And the flushed brow and burning cheek and lip, The rosy wines, the mellow fruits — the glow Of thousand lights — the gushing waterfalls, Whose music stole along the outer courts. The bloom of nature and the flush of hope. The shadowed forms, the winning attitudes, And the wild fever of excited sense — All filled the brain with visions of delight, And the heart rioted in wanton bliss. O holy Night ! unto the sage thou art, And to the poet and the prophet e'er A time of gladness ; when, mid antique lore, And visionary phantasies and dreams, And glorious revelations, they become Beings of brighter worlds than this, thou art A season of deep counsel and high thoughts. Or when the hollowness and falsities Of earthly things oppress the lofty mind In day's rude glare, thou comest with a step So gentle that the weary heart hath rest In thy soft shadows ; but, to evil men And evil purposes, thine hours become The robe of guilt that gloats and feeds on shame. Oh ! many a deed, darker than is thy gloom, THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. 31 J Lies hidden in thy lone recesses here, i But, over all, there looketh forth an Eye, To which the darkness is no covering. •! Sabea's caravan, the worshippers Of Mythra and Zohail and Mazzaioth, Loaded with gorgeous raiment and perfumes, From Araby the Blest, and pearls and shells, ; From Oman's sea, whose shore the wild kings roam, Pictured like rainbows or the leprous heart Of a proud priest whose soul is sacrilege, J Ere that dread eve of judgement, when the Lord > Gathered his terrors for an utter war And desolation of unrighteous men, Had entered in Gomorrah and diffused ' Gladness through all the Cities of the Plain. i Oh! then they dreamed on long bright years of wealth ' And glory and rejoicing, and their hearts Rebelled in haughty confidence ; their gods Became a jesting and a mockery ; I Earth was elysium — for the world had poured • Its treasures o'er them and their lot was blessed. \ Trusting their own frail pride, they scorned the Power, That spanned the heavens, forgetting He could wear : Garments of vengeance and hear not the voice i ... i Of dying supplication, when He trod | The winepress of his wrath and on them poured J Dark retribution^ — when the cup of woe Was drained unto iis deepest dregs — and when He wrapt the blazing heavens around His brow, i And in the majesty of glory came, Earth, seas, and skies dissolving at His frown. Far streamed the fsstive lights through colonnade And banquet hall and palace bower, and forms, i In bright array were flitting there, and all The sons and daughters of the wise Chaldee '[ Were gay as birds of Paradise ; the voice ; Of beauty chanted the lascivious song, j And perfume floated in the music's breath. i But, oh, the madness of the mirth ! no dream 33 THE CITIES OF THE PLAlW. Portended woe to come ; no omen taught Mysterious prophecy; the hoary sage, The tiar'd priest of the strong Emims failed In knowledge of his lore; the enchanter now, Amazed, beiield his magic science lost. Lone stood the temples — every idol fell, But none were there to mark the prodigy. The starry genii held their altitudes Indicative of no disaster now, And not a whisper breathed that could forewarn The terrors of the dawn ; so joyance leapt In every heart until their halls grew dim, And weary nature craved repose; — then sunk The gay host into slumber; death were not A deeper solitude — save where the step Of the bent pilgrim, hastening on his way, Broke the deep silence of the cities doomed, Or the lone caravan, departing, sent The echoes of their many hurrying feet. The storm of wrath had gathered and it hung In giant folds of blackness round the skies. Revealed, not lightened by the glorious sun. Whose disk gloomed like an universe of blood — A burning ocean from the hearts of men. The thick, hushed atmosphere did seem alive, And beings diabolic in the clouds Laughed louder than the storm's mysterious roar. Beneath the black and sundered rocks the herds Lay gasping in their agonies, and oft The forests and the crags fell down and crushed The dying ; yet no wind stirr'd the dead boughs, But all the world seemed waiting — mute and still — The bursting of destruction's barriers. Yet the bare, leafless, blackened forests shook, Reeled and uptorc the solid earth and crashed Down the deep precipice — and tigers howled, With famished wolves, and owls and bitterns moaned, And vultures swooped and screamed, and eagles wheeled, (Shunning to taste the prey that Ruin gave,) THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN. 33 Through the red scorching air and shrieked on high. Now heaved the Earth, and deep low muttering sounds Passed o'er her dark abysses, while above Voices did question and reply, in words That sounded like a deep toned organ's roll. These were the oracles of coming doom, But none did hear them save the Shepherd Prince And Haran's son in Zoar — and they knelt In prayer for all who were to perish now. Darker and darker grew the storm ; the glare And gloom were terrible; the pause — the awe- — The riot of the hurrying elements — The howling of the demons o'er their prey — The bursting earth and the dissolving sky. Wild meteors burst amid the lurid heavens Louder than all the world's artillery, And shattered globes of fire glared o'er the gloom, Like hell's eternal billows through the night Of death that dies not — horror without end. As when the sea-flood, Orellana meets In conflict with the ocean, every isle Of Amazonia quivers in the shock. So the earth trembled when the whirlwind rose And howled through ether with a louder roar Than the tornado of the equinox. Unearthly voices echoed through the heavens As every hurrying cloud of fire on high Had its peculiar captain in the war Of God with men. Now, at the appointed hour Of vengeance, burst from every point of heaven The tempest of destruction ; awfully The shattering thunders broke — the lightning fell In one wild blaze unquenchable — a flood Of flame as if the fountains of the skies Were broken up and earth and nature given A sacrifice to judgement 1 — Now awoke The slumbering Cities in their agony And utter woe, for o'er them leapt and hissed, In serpent wreaths, the master element, - 5 34 THE CITIES OF THE PJLAIlf. That mounted up in pyramids of flame, As it would mingle with the burning heavens. Ye terrors of an angry God ! above, Below, a penal world of gory light No power could quench, and thunders, not like earth's. At intervals, but one unceasing roar. So loud, all worlds replied ; so strong, they shook Ten thousand meteors from their sightless spheres. Then forth, like Eblis and his legions driven By Azrael from the gates of Paradise, In madness rushed the myriads of the Plain. From falling tower and crushing colonnade. And melted roof and shattered battlement. They leapt in raving agony — the flames Clinging, like serpents, to their tender flesh. Then rose the voice of wailing ; then the arms Of the young mother grew around her child. And the son clung about his father's neck, And lovely maidens fainted in their fear And woke no more ; then sorcerers tried their charms In vain ; and priests invoked aloud their gods Without reply. Amid the awful storm. Among their dying people, stood the kings, The haughty gods of idol worshippers, Powerless and helpless as the unweaned child. While heaven above and hell beneath conjoined In the destruction; and their crowned queens And daughters beautiful and kindred high Clung round them wailing, and ten thousand prayers Shrieked with unnumbered curses ! Towers of fire Rose round them high as heaven, and their flesh Consumed, and then their hollow cries and prayers And imprecations waxed more terrible. The awful glare for leagues around revealed The dying nations ; Jordan's swelling stream Boiled through the furnace, and the mountain clifls Unto their deep foundations shivered — Earth, A trembling mass of fiery ashes, heaved Beneath the countless multitudes; the world Reeled to and fro and all the heavens did seem THE CITIES OF THE PLAm. 35 J Ready to fall. — .Hosts upon hosts now lay ! Dead, and the dying fell upon them there, ' The monarch and the mendicant — 'the prince n And peasant, the fair dame in Persian robes > And the poor outcast, side by side were thrown, 1 And, mid the pauses of the tempest, rose Loud yells of agony; and demons then .' Mocked their last anguish, till an angel voice, ^ \ That shook the heavens, drowned the dying groans, s And cried " It is enough !"— -the skies were bright ! And on the instant, the astonished Earth ; Yawned in a bottomless chasm 'neath the host Of Sodom and Gomorrah; and the dead j And dying, mingled in a mass of fire i And blood, went down into the gulf of woe, And burning temples, palaces and towers Glared wildly o'er them as they fell ! From depths Dark and unmeasured, like a spectre, rose i The Dead and Deadly Sea ; an outstretched arm | Quivered, at intervals, along the wave, ] Once rose a shriek of Death — and all was still ! ; HOUSEHOLD HOURS. Howe'er the sceptic scoffs, the poet sighs, Hope oft reveals her dimly shadowed dreams, And seraph joy descends from pale blue skies, And, like sweet sunset on wood-skirted streams, Peace breathes around her stilling harmonies, Her whispered music, — while her soft eye beams — And the deep bliss, that crowns the household hearth. From all its woes redeems the bleeding earth. Like woods that shadow the blue mountain sky. The troubled heart still seeks its home in heaven, In those affections which can never die. In hallowed love and human wrongs forgiven ! From the fair gardens of The Blest on high The fruit of life is yet to lost man given. And 'mid the quiet of his still abode Spirits attend him from the throne of God. The mild deep gentleness, the smile that throws Light from the bosom o'er the high pale brow , And cheek that flushes like the Maymorn rose ; The all-reposing sympathies, that grow Like violets in the heart, and o'er our woes The silent breathings of their beauty throw — Oh ! every glance at daily life doth prove The depth, the strength, the truth of woman's love ! When harvest days are past, and autumn skies The giant forests tinge with glorious hues. How o'er the twilight of our thought sweet eyes The fairy beauty of the soul diffuse ! HOUSEHOLD HOURS. 37 The inspiring air like spirit voices sighs Mid the close pines and solitary yews, Though the broad leaves on forest boughs look sere, And naked woodlands wail the dying year. Yet the late season brings no hours of gloom, Though thoughtful sadness sighs her evening hymn, For hearthfires now light up the curtained room, And Love's wings float amid the twilight dim : Lost loved ones gather round us from the tomb, And blest revealments o'er our spirits swim. While Hopes, that drooped in trials, soar on high. And linked affections bear into the sky. Then, side by side, hearts wedded in their youth. In their meek blessedness expand and glow. And, though the world be faithless, still their truth No pause, no change, no soil of Time may know ! They hold communion with a world, in sooth, Beyond the stain of sin, the waste of woe. And the deep sanctities of wellspent hours Crown their fair fame with Eden's deathless flowers. Frail as the moth's fair wing is common fame. Brief as the sunlight of an April morn; But Love perpetuates the sacred name Devoted to its shrine ; in glory born, The Boy-God gladly to the lone earth came To vanquish victors and to smile at scorn. And he will rise, when all is finished here. The holiest seraph of the highest sphere. As fell the prophet's mantle, in old time, On the meek heir of Israel's sainted sage, Woman ! so falls thy unseen power sublime On the lone desert of man's pilgrimage ; Thy sweet thoughts breathe, from Love's delicious clime, Beauty in youth, and Faith in fading age ; Through all Earth's years of travail, strife and toil, His parched affections linger round thy smile. 38 THE SUMMER EVENIPfG HYMV. In the young beauty of thy womanhood Thou hvest in the being yet to be, Yearning for blessedness ill understood, And known, young mother ! only unto thee. Love is her life ; and to the wise and good Her heart is heaven — 't is even unto me, Though oft misguided and betrayed and grieved. The only bliss of which I 'm not bereaved. Draw near, ye whom my bosom hath enshrined ! O Thou ! whose life breathes in my heart! and Thou Whose gentle spirit dwelleth in my mind, Whose love, like sunlight, rests upon my brow ! Draw near the hearth ! the cold and moaning wind Scatters the ruins of the forest now, But blessings crown us in our own still home — Hail, holy image of the Life to come ! Hail, ye fair charities ! the mellow showers Of the heart's springtime ! from your rosy breath The wayworn pilgrim, though the tempest lours, Breathes a new being in the realm of Death, And bears the burden of life's darker hours With cheerlier aspect o'er the lonely heath. That spreads between us and the unfading clime Where true Love triumphs o'er the death of Time. THE SUMMER EVENING HYMN. With what a shadowing of her broad dim wings Pale Twilight stealeth over vale and hill ! And what a floating crowd of fairy things Render mute homage to her voiceless will ! Blest Eventide ! thy silent coming brings Remorseless Quiet and Contentment still. Gay Fancies and rejoicing Hopes, that roll Like fair stars o'er the shut lids of the soul. THE SUMMER EVENING HYMN. 39 Welcome ! reliever of midsummer heat ! A blessing waits upon thy bounty now : Breath, that is bliss, attends the heart's deep beat, And fresh winds fan the dull and weary brow. Lo ! how the sunset, in a showery sheet Of rich light, waves along the horizon low, While o'er yon isle its parting glories rest Like Memory's brightness in the good man's breast. The songbird lifts its voice in vesper praise And then mid dewy leaves seeks out its nest. And flocks and herds, that sleep on burning days. Graze on the clover now like creatures blest; 'T is joy unto a heart that widely strays O'er the dark sea of life and hath no rest, To blend its sympathies with all that breathe. And unto woods and streams its thoughts bequeathe. Along the gleaming brook, that purls and plays Among the pebbles and o'erarching roots Of this old elm — the haunt of careless days — (Ah! little now their simple pleasure boots !) Let me repose and with a heart of praise Render meet thanks for every joy that shoots Up from the hedge of thorns — the barren road — Which year by year my faltering feet have trod. It is no season for repining care. And my free spirit falters not, for yet There is a magic in the rosy air And dewy earth, when summer's sun hath set, That lifleth up my thoughts, in silent prayer. Where human weakness or demurring let Taints not the springs of Thought, whose secret home Is in the twilight bowers of time to come. The changeful beauty of the sunset sky Fades softly o'er the blue of Alna bay, Like hallowed thoughts of saints who meekly die, Whose faith was true, whose deeds were just alway ; 40 THE SUMMER EVENING HYMN. White clouds, that o'er the azure ocean fly, Retain awhile the holy light of day. Then all is dimness, stillness, soft repose, The hour of love for Nightingale and Rose. Gush, ye blue waters from your fountain dell ! Soar, ye dim mountains to the fading heaven ! The upland woods of Edgecomb softly swell, The Camden hills, amid the dusky even. Throned o'er the hoary pilgrim's holy well, Like prophets stand — to whom all worlds are given. The pensive heart, with all the w^orld at rest. Sleeps mid the shades of its own peaceful breast. In the deep woods of Damariscotta's glen. Though rude yet holy, stands the ruined fane. Devoted, in this wild of warrior men, Ages ago, to God ! the evening strain, The morning prayer and psalm rose grandly then. For lurking foes were near — a hideous train! Few, feeble, faithful, there the pilgrims prayed, And holy be the Temple of the Glade. The sacred places of the elder time Retain no more their everlasting name. But long their memory shall be held sublime Who for their faith into the forest came. Dared all the perils of a cruel clime. And held their holy freedom ample fame ; Holier, a hut in ruins mid our woods Than all Palmyra's marble solitudes. The valley brook hath now a mighty voice, The larch and fir trees sigh their vesper hymn, The Thousand Stars upon their thrones rejoice, And Nature slumbers on her mountains dim. Far from the throng of men and city's noise. While shadows glimmer as they sink and swim, My heart finds gladness in this tender gloom. And deeply yearneth for the life to come. THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII: A POEM IN THREE CANTOS. ! CANTO I PREFACE. The cities of Herculaneum, Pompeii, Retina, and Stabise, with many beautiful villages^ were destroyed by an eruption of Mount Vesuvius, during the first year of the reign of Titus, on the 24th of August, in the year of our Lord, seventy-nine. Buried during more than seventeen hundred years, even their very names were almost for- gotten, when the plough of a peasant struck upon the roof of the loftiest and most magnificent mansion in Pompeii; and the excava- tions of the last fifty years have furnished the tourist, the antiquarian, the novelist, and the poet, with many a subject of picturesque and glowing description. The cities of the dead have not wanted fre-* quent and often faithful historians; every disinterred temple, amphi- theatre, statue, pillar, tomb, and painting has found admirers. It was expedient, therefore, to throw action into a picture at all time^ impressive, and to delineate, without flattery, those existing manners^ customs, and morals, whichj sanctioned as they were, not only by usage, but by legislators and the priesthood, can leave little regret and less astonishment at the terrible overthrow of cities as excessive and not so venial in their crimes as Gomorrah. The founders of Rome, like the Pelasgi of GreecCj were outlawed fugitives from almost every nation — ^the very seminoles of the worlds Their earliest laws, discipline, science, and literature were all created by habitual war. Political ascendancy, acquired by remorseless mili- tary skill, was with each the highest good ; and hence, though less capricious and somewhat more grateful than the Athenians, there never was a period in Rome when the people, after long suffering, exacted their rights, without incurring the vengeance of the patriciansi The aristocracy held the supreme power ; in their esteem the com-' monalty were vassals of the soil. To resist these arrogated privil- eges, the tribunes instigated factions, and the venerable Forum be- came the arena of revolt, conspiracy, and blood. The very senators ascended the rostrum spotted with gore. Liberty was defined by 44 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. philosophers, developed by rhetorical declaimers, and adored in the fictions of poesy, but it was never enjoyed. There were grandeur, vastdominions, empires in bondage, triumphal processions, unrivalled wealth, magnificent prodigality and profligacy, but no just freedom. Roman citizenship was national pride, not individual prerogative. — The ignorant cannot govern, though they may tyrannize ; and ancient sages and priests were too wise to instruct the multitude, though they valued uninitiated sectaries ; for communicated knowledge would su- persede the lucrative occupations and mysterious powers of their suc- cessors. Csesar rose upon the ruins of the consulship as that had risen upon the decemvirate. Authority now became personal, concentrat- ed and unappealable, but otherwise there was little change. The Senate had long been the mere market of ambition ; the people were mercenaries or serfs ; the consuls were colluders of some faction, per- petually renewed, or its obedient slaves ; and the victorious comman- der of the legions, long the arbiter of the Roman destinies, on the field of Pharsalia, merely decorated imperial power with a diadem. Titus was the tenth emperor, and doubtless a just man ; but the epithets of exaggerated praise bestowed upon him sufficiently indi- cate the character of, at least, seven of his predecessors ; and his own brief reign, which was terminated by the poison of his inhuman bro- ther Domitian, demonstrates the morals, humanity, and courage of the age. Therefore, in the picture I have attempted to draw, I have not been intimidated by the victories, arts, literature or mythology of the Romans, but have desired to paint with fidelity the universal li- centiousness, which, having infected every heart, left the battlements of the Eternal City ready to fall before the barbarian avenger. Every province of the vast empire rivalled the imperial capital, and almost every proconsul imitated — sometimes even exceeded — the despotism and debaucheries of Caligula and Heliogabalus. The union of civil and military power, while it concentrated the energies of government, conferred upon the provincial commander an irrespon- sible authority, against which it was folly to remonstrate, and mad- ness to rebel. The fathers of Rome were too corrupt to investigate the sources of their revenue or the characters of its gatherers; and too indolent in patrician profligacy to execute any edicts, except such as suited their own haughty yet grovelling passions. The fountain being thus contaminated, its thousand streams distributed corruption over the whole empire; and all, who drank its waters, partook the charac- ter of them who watched beside the wellspring. Few of those, who CANTO I. 45 wore the Roman crown, died by the ordinance of nature ; the Preeto- rians, like the modern Janizaries and Strelitzes, obeyed the decisions of their turbulent prefects ; and what a Sejanus failed to accomplish for himself, a more politic Macro effected for another, through whom he ruled everything but that imperial folly which ended in assassi- nation. Yet sanguinary as was the ascent, unhappy the possession, and quick the downfall of power, the governors of the provinces were less implicated in the royal revolutions than almost any men in Rome. While the Qusestor of the Palatine discovered no defalcation of the revenue, and no rumour of sedition reached the Senate, the procon- sul remained in his lucrative government during pleasure ; and none of all the Conscript Fathers deemed it expedient to examine the con- dition of the country over which he swayed his iron rod. THE ARGUMENT. An Italian Sunset. Evening in the Apennines. Hymn of the Ves- tal. Introduction of Pansa, a Roman Decurion converted to Chris- tianity, and Mariamne, a captive Jewess, also a convert. Fore- bodings of the destruction. A picture of Pompeii and of Jerusa- lem in ruins. The Forum of Pompeii ; the manners and morals of Campania pourtrayed. Diomede, the prsetor. The night storm. Vesuvius threatening. Dialogue of Pansa and Mariamne. The midnight Prayer. The comet rushing amidst the shattered clouds of the tempest. Mariamne relates her interview with St Paul, and Pansa describes the martyrdom of the great Apostle, which he is supposed to have witnessed. Pansa and Mariamne seized in the cavern of Vesuvius by the emissaries of the praetor, and dragged se- parately away to suffer the vengeance which pagan hatred inflicted on Christian fortitude and fidelity. Mid mellow folds of gorgeous purple clouds, The flowered pavilions of the spirit winds. That danced in music to the Ausonian breeze, Along the deep blue vault of Italy, Like a descending god of Fable's creed, (Titan in ancient dreams, whose faintest smile 46 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. Elysian splendours breathed through ocean's realrn,) Casting aside earth's throbbing dust, to put His diadem of deathless glory on, The sun went slowly down the Apennines. Far up the living dome of heaven, the clouds, Pearling the azure, like a seraph's robe, Wreathed o'er the blessed and beaming face of heaveny And glanced, mid blush and shadow, o'er the sky, Full of the gentle spirit of the air, The mediator of the elements. As if imbued with virgin thought, the leaves Smiled in their love and tenderness ; sweet airs Sighed o'er the summer earth, their music, soft As hymns of heaven o'er spirits disenthralled; And odours rose from vale and hillside green Like the incense of a heart earth ne'er can soil. The hills cast giant shadows, in whose depth Wild jagged rocks and solitary floods. And forests gnarl'd arid hoar, looking deep awe. Like the vast deserts of a dream, replied To voices of unresting phantoms, there, Till daydawn, wrapt in dark sublimities. On the fair shores and seaworri promontories. Where many a Doric palace, in its pride And hoary grandeur, hung above the lapse Of twilight waters whispering vesper Songs And matin anthems, childlike slumbered nOw> In speechless beauty, the last light ; afar, The avalanche in the ravine glimmered back The trembling and most transitory glow; The beaked arid burnished galleys on the wave With quivering banners hung, and gay triremes Passed by each isle and headland like the shade Of Enna's idol through the realm of Dis. All nature, in her holy hour of love, Lifted in rapture the heart's vesper prayer ; The prayer, which purer hearts in every age Uplift when Time or Grief casts over earth The shadow of the tomb, and fills the soul With influences of a happier world. And from Pompeii's Field of Tombs the voice CANTO I. 47 Of Vesta's priestess, o'er Love's sepulchre Bending beneath the holy Heaven, sent up The anguish of bereavement, and the doubts Of an immortal mind, that knew not yet Its immortality, yet seeking Faith, And sighing o'er the pomp of paynim rites. THE vestal's hymn. Zephyr of Twilight! thine ethereal breath. With spirit strains, steals through elysian groves: Bringst thou no memories from the home of death? No whispered yearnings from departed loves ? Fann'd not thy wing, ere stars above thee glowed, The pure, pale brow that on my birthhour smiled? And bearst thou not from Destiny's abode One kiss from mother to her vestal child ? Cold sleep the ashes of the heart that breathed But for my bliss — when being's suns were few ; And hath the spirit no bright hope bequeathed ? Oh ! must it drink the grave's eternal dew ? Hesper ! the beauty of thy virgin light Blossoms along the blue of yon sweet sky ; Yet vain my heart soars — from the deep of night No voice or vision thrills my ear or eye. From Vesta's vigil shrine no light ascends Beyond this realm of sin, doubt, grief, and death ; Reveals no heaven where meet immortal friends, Shadows no being victor over breath ! Around the throne of Angerona lie. Buried in darkness, all the hopes of Time ; Dreams, auguries, oracles beyond the sky Predict no Future filled with thought sublime. What realm mysterious, wrapt in loneliest gloom, Lives, Oh, my mother ! in thy love's sweet light ? 48 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. I Whither, upsoaring from Earth's prison tomb, ; Wanders thy spirit on the shores of night ? j Sunlight and fragrance, dewbeam and still eve Shed not tlieir bliss and beauty on thine urn ! Has Earth no hope time never can bereave? ; No power again to bid the pale dust burn? j The rippling rills, the radiant morns, the flowers, Bursting in beauty, showers of iris hues, Starlight and Love — the Graces and the Hours — Each — all must vanish like the twilight dews ! Budding to wither — lingering to impart Life's hopeless pangs when thought shall sink in gloom- Can all earth's beauties soothe the shuddering heart? Or e'en the Thunderer's eye illume the tomb ? Alone, and in her soul bewildered, to her shrine Of old accustomed worship slowly passed The solitary seeker after Truth. And now from mountain tents 'mid ilex woods, Or gay pavilions in Campanian vales, Wandered, on twilight airs, through clustering vines, The cithern's music, and the lute's soft strain Echoed the spirit of love's melody. The hills seemed living with delight, and there, As summer's burning solstice felt the breath Of gentlest Autumn, had the wise and gay Retired to revel or to meditate, In fellowship or loneliness, and seek Felicity or wisdom from the woods ; And there the dreams of Arcady — high thoughts, That, in the elder days, inspired the soul Of sage or poet with revealments caught From heaven, that clothed all earth with light, became The blest companions of the pure in heart. The gorgeous radiance of the sunset fled Like young Love's visions or the arrow's plume, O'er the dim isles and sea of Italy, CANTO I. 49 'Mid the dark foliage mingling like the hopes Of morn with night-fears, when Thought's shadows blend With beautiful existences beyond The mockery and the madness of this life. In glimmering grandeur lay the glorious sea, Whose waters wafted spoils from orient realms, And mirrored Nature's beauty, while dread war Bathed Punic banners in the gore of Rome. The Evening Isles of love and loveliness Slept in the soothing solitude, wherein The awful intellect of Rome sought peace In grey philosophy, while faction drenched The earth with blood, and dark conspirators Walked the thronged Forum, dooming, at a glance, The loftiest to extinction ; here the bard Unfolded earth's and heaven's mysteries. Creating the world's creed, and Fiction's brow Wreathing with the immortal buds of truth. Among the sanctities of groves and streams, The worn and wearied bosom breathed again Its birthright bliss, and wisdom, born of woe. Uttered its oracles to coming years; And in the midst of all that thrills and charms, Weds beauty unto grandeur, earth to heaven. Here tyrant crime achieved, by nameless deeds, The world's redemption from remorseless guilt.* Bland airs flew o'er the faded heavens, and streams. That in the noonday dazzled, and e'en now Drank the rich hues of eventide, purled on With lovelier music, and the green still shores Looked up to the blue mountains with the face — The cherub face of sinless infancy — With hope and joy perpetual in that look ; For, 'mid all changes, still the faded bloom Shall be renewed — the slumbering heart revived. The pearly moonlight streamed through softest clouds With an ethereal lustre ; and the stars. The dread sabaoth of the unbounded air, ■'The ineffable enormities of Tiberius while he lived, amid massacre and debauchery, at Capri, start- led even the degraded Romans into a sense o>f shame as well as fear. 7 50 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII, From the blue depths between the snowy drifts. Gleamed like the eyes of holiest seraphim. Beneath the dying glories of the day, And the unspeakable beauty of the night, Yet in the haunt of peril, looking o'er Pompeii's domes — two Forms in silence stood. Pale, yet unfaltering — famished, yet in soul, Fed from the altar of the Atoner's love. One — a tried warrior by his eye and brow And dauntless port — leaned on the shattered ledge Of a Vesuvian cavern, o'er which trailed Dark matted vines and cedars thickly hung, Hoar, hideous, wedged in rocks, and fleckering o'er The jagged vestibule with living gloom, And shutting from the inner vault, where slept The banned and hunted Nazarenes, all beams That on the outward world shed life and love. With dark eyes lifted to his troubled face. Her head upon his bosom, half reclined A Hebrew Captive, dragged amid the spoils Of holiest Moriah, when the hour Of Desolation fell on Zion's towers, To swell the victor's wild array, and add Another cup of vengeance and despair To the death banquet of world- wasting Rome. There, amid Volcan's wrecks and the wild gloom Of Nature's loneliest and most fearful scenes. The wedded Christians dwelt in Love's own heaven; There Mariamne clung to Pansa's breast, Fearing no fate she e'er might share with him. The melancholy loveliness of Love, That dares the voiceless desert and inspires The forest solitude, around her hung Like wreathing clouds around an angel's form ; On her pale brow the very soul of faith Rested as on its shrine ; and earth's vain pride Ne'er found a home within the chastened heart Which burned and breathed Love's immortality. Like her, the sun-clothed vision, in whose crown Gleamed the twelve orbs of glory as she stood CANTO I. 51 I j Amid the floating moon's young shadowy light, i When to the earth the giant Dragon cast I The stars, triumphing o'er his spoil ; so, 'mid grief, !| And want, and loneliness, and danger, stood i The Daughter of the East, in every woe ' Fearless, in every peril quick in thought. j Thoughts, winnowed from the gross and grovelling dust ; Of earth, and glistening with the hues of heaven, j Passed o'er their mingled spirits in the depth J Of the hoar Apennines,* and thus he spake — \ The Roman warrior, who had made his home, In earlier days, ere Truth had pierced his heart, On tented battlefield — whose joy had been i The spoil of nations gasping on the waste I Of conquest ; but amid the flames and shrieks Of Solyma, he heard the Voice that fills ] Infinity, with awe ineffable, i And worshipped 'mid the scorn of pagan bands. I Relentless as the edict he obeyed, 3 His dauntless soul with war's own wrath had burned, j And in the Triumph's madness, mocked the moans i Of fallen freemen, as his fellows did, j The Legions of the Loveless ; but the Faith, \ Whose Founder wept the doom which guilt had wrought, \ Sunk on his bosom, as the sunset sinks Upon the wild and savage mountain peak, ; Clr'thing its barrenness with beauty ! — Thus His saddened but serene mind communed now. i i "Oh, the still, sacred, soothing light that bathes \ The blue, world-studded heavens — while the air ■ Gushes in living music, and inspires 1 The purified and thrilled spirit with the power I To cast aside the thrall of flesh and soar l To converse w^ith the seraphim, and prayer ; Beneath His throne whose death-groan rent all earth ! | Men's madness comes not here — it cannot dwell ■ Within the bosom's temple that imbibes \ The oracles of Truth in every breeze. , Thou need'st not, Love ! thy tephilimf to lift * I have represented Mount Vesuvius throughout the poem as a portion of the Campanian Hills. .< t Charms in Hebrewr and pagan worship, the tricks of jugglers and imaginary protections agamst evil 1 ■•pirits and earthly calamities. 62 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. Thy thoughts within the vail, nor seek I more The prestiges of augurs to impart The destined future, nor vain amulets To guard what He, who gave, can well preserve- Look, Mariamne! on the dimpled sea. That slumbers like the jasper waters seen In the apocalypse of Patmos, hang The crowding sails of merchant barks delayed, The altars at their prows casting pale gleams. While by the dagon deities of earth. The terrible apotheoses, wrought From desolating passions, vainly now The mariners invoke the gale to bear Barbaric treasures to the imperial mart ; But lo ! nor leaf nor flower the pearl-dew stirs By Twilight wept o'er forest, in reply !" Wrapt by the charm and majesty — the bloom. Verdure and stillness of the world and skies — Yet looking far beyond them, thus replied The High Priest's banished child unto the thought Of the baptized and scorned Decurion. "Methinks, my Pansa ! that in evil times, The soul becomes a prophet to itself. And, like the seer before the unholy king, Predicts the woe it shudders to conceive. The shadows of the hoar and giant woods. The sea's unearthly gleam, and hollow voice. All the unlimited heaven, where phantom shapes Glimmer amid the void immensity. And meteors madly rush through shoreless space. In .agrvful silence, o'er the universe Throned like Death's Angel, sink upon my soul, With an unwonted dread, and throng my brain Like breathless ministries of doom. Among The rifted ruins of the Volcan's wrath. Scoriae and dusky foliage scorched and sear, The pale green moss, thick shrubs and mazy vines Of these dark rocks, a spirit seems to breathe Wild revelations of a fiery doom. Like the mysterious and unvoiced Name, CANTO I. 53 Upon the white gem written, which none beheld But the anointed, fearful characters Seem to my startled vision forming now Among yon dense and fire-winged thunderclouds, Whose dusky peaks ascend above the hills ; And, lo ! with what a brow of majesty Vesuvius, through the bland transparent air, And pallid moonlight, o'er our vigil bends ! Dwells there not terror in earth's breathlessness ? And peril in the slumber of the Mount ?" Sadly the Roman turned his gaze below Upon the fated city, gleaming now With countless lights o'er pageantries and feasts, That flared in mockery of the hallowed heaven, Then thus to Mariamne's fear replied : "The happy deem not so — discern not ought Beyond the wanton luxuries of Time : For, knowing not the evil, which, (as clouds Impart a lovelier glory to the skies,) Invests all good with loftier attributes. They fear not Justice which they never knew. Behold Pompeii's gorgeous luxuries — The maskings, orgies, agonalia now Madly triumphing o'er her lava streets ! Her frescoed palaces and sculptured domes Flash back the torchlights of licentious throngs. And countless chariots, rivaling their God Of Morn, are hurled along the trembling side Of this most awful Mount, as if the fire Had never wreathed to heaven and poured o'er earth In bloodred torrents ! By the Nola gate. Towers the proud temple of the Idol, first Made and adored by earth's first Rebel — him Called Belus, and exalted to a God By the debased and impious sons of Ham. There Parian columns and Mosaic floors. And golden shrines and lavers and proud forms Wrought by Praxiteles with godlike skill, And pictures glowing with unshadowed charms To tempt, or mythologic pomp to awe 54 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. The enthusiast and the sceptic, can attest Idolatry's magnificence. Within, The secret stair — the victim, whose wild shrieks Are oracles — the flamen o'er his wine Or darker deeds of sacrilege, while throngs Of blind adorers in Fear's madness bend And pile first fruits and gold around her shrine — These are the illusions and the destinies Of Isis, and her earthborn vassals, love ! Feargotten phantoms triumph there ; and all Impurities exult in their excess. The rites of Thamuz and Astarte blend, — Union unhallowed ! and cast o'er the heart Darkness and desolation and despair. What recks the augur of his auguries ? The aruspices, of portents ? or the priests Of Egypt's Isis, of their oracles ? Think they of aspects men believe they rule ? Dream they of perils in their revelry ? Know they the God whose least respected works They mock, as deities, by all excess Loathsome and nameless to the human ear?" Thought hurried fast through Mariamne's soul, And on her brow the mighty spirit burned Of the Judsean dynasties, while thus She poured the passion of her wrecked heart forth *'The destined hour of justice and despair, When they shall gather wisdom, flings its shade Upon the dial of the conqueror's doom. Said not the Christ from the bright Olive Mount, Looking upon the temple in its pride, And glorious beauty, that the Holy Place Should be defiled — the city trampled — all Its princely dwellers captive, slain, or strewn Like sear leaves o'er the unreceiving world, Or scorned for uttering creeds the torture taught ? And not one stone upon another left To mark where once Earth's Sanctuary stood ? Alas ! she sleeps in desolation's arms, The city of my childhood, and not one CANTO I. 55 Of all the pleasant haunts, the palmgrove plain Of Sharon, and Siloa's holy fount, And Lebanon's pavillioned wood — which Love, At daydawn and the twilight, sanctified. Is left amid the ruins of my home ! But, Pansa ! thou my home and temple art. And the Atoner, whom my people slew, The God of this wrecked heart — wrecked when it felt Its father slain, its race to bondage sold Beneath the patriarch's Terebinth ! alas ! That bigot faction — pride unquenched by woe — And thanklessness and treachery and wrath, Perpetuated by all punishment. And more than either, the one awful crime That ne'er shall be forgiven, till the faith That mocked and shall mock, ages hence the same, Without a country, law, chief, priest and home, They were, in glory, with them all — shall fill Their dark and desolated minds with light — Alas ! these led the Romans to the spoil. And allied with his bands to our despair ! — But I do grieve thee, love ! by selfish plaint. And shut my soul from knowledge of the rites And ministrations of thy monarch race. Power and impunity with them, as all. Forestall, I dread, their doom ; but yet once more. As we behold Campania's loveliest realm Unfolded far beneath us, let me learn The polity and faith of Italy. Yon Dome, that now in dusky grandeur soars O'er all Pompeii's fanes and palaces ?" *' Was once," said Pansa, with a Roman's pride And grief, "ere Freedom perished, and the car Of conquest bore the tyrant to his throne, The venerated home of Human Right, Liberty's temple, where the tribune's voice Forbade the consul's edict, and the least, Unworthiest citizen of Rome's great realm Saw himself honoured as a son of Rome. Now, beautified by Parian colonnades, \ 56 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. i And jetting fountains and immortal busts > Of Home's immortal mind, when power, conferred j In peril, was resigned in safety's arms ; \ Now, 'mid Mosaic corridors and halls, ' And princely trophies, from the spoils of Greece, i Of Zeuxis and Apelles, and the forms I Of Phidias, warrior statues, giant steeds, : And consuls stern in look, austere in life, Dispensing bondage from the Capitol, Or tributary diadems to earth — JVow, o'er this pomp of intellect and might. The serpent spirit of a helot race, Licking the dust of purple tyranny, j And crushing thought that dares be fetterless, ; Through the mind's ruin, fraught with venom, glides. Behold yon pillared ranges to the east ! I (A sceptered figure overtops the dome, Her brazen scales are superfluities — ) ! In the Ausonian days ere heaven revoked * Its holiest gifts to man ; ere granite gods, ' Sphynxes, cabiri,* apes and crocodiles i Became corrupted nature's deities. There reigned Astrsea, bright Aurora's child, 1 The Titan's seraph — gentle e'en to crime. Radiant in beauty to the Good ; the clouds j Of passion never darkened her sweet brow, j Revenge and hate and venal compact ne'er j Confronted her calm look of sanctity. I Then the Basilica? were temples meet i For prayer and hymn to the Divinity, 1 And Majesty and wisdom, peace and love 1 Dwelt with a sad yet just humanity. i Alas, for the brief vision ! and alas i For the world's madness ! giant Evil rushed ! Through wrecked hearts and crushed spirits, and o'erspread \ All realms ; and casting earth's stain from her wings, ^ The goddess rose to the elysian throne | She left to meet derision and despair. 1 Then grovelling men groped through the dens of g-uilt, ] * Mj .stcrious demigods of Egjpt and Samotliracc. I CANTO 1. 57 Blaspheming and infuriate with crime. The agonies of guilt without its shame, Remorselessness and misery, to their home — The sepulchre, their sons built to defile. Thus felt, though feigning, pagan Rome's best minds : And since the fated hour when faction raised The tyrant's banner and the Caesar's blood Poured o'er his rival's pillar, none have stayed The fiery deluge of unpunished wrong. The Ambracian waters* were not deeper dyed Than judgment in yon courts ; there's not a stone. That bears not witness to man's wrong and woe, Injustice, calumny and death ; wrung tears Have stained the Preetor's seat of perfidy ; And sighs unsolaced through the long arcades Echoed like voices of accusing ghosts ; And hopeless shrieks ascended from the cells Beneath the dark tribunal^ where the will Of one that cannot be arraigned, dooms all To lingering anguish or unwitnessed death. Alas, my Mariamne ! while I gaze On those dread mansions, burning terrors thrill My heart, lest this dark, dripping mountain vault. The home of fear and famine, where we wake Gasping amid the sulphur fumes and blind With the volcano's gory glare, and awed By the earthquake's shudder and the mountain's roar— Lest even this should be no refuge, love ! And fail to shield us from the felon clutch Of Diomede's apparitors If forefend, O Heaven ! the hour of our betrayal ! once My stricken and stunned soul beheld the death — Let us within, my love ! my heart misgives E'en while it images the wanton power, * The battle of Actium, fought upon the Ambracian gulf, forever decided the fate of Roman liberty. The glory of Octavius CaBsar rose from the blood of that fearful day, and most fearfully did it glow till barbarian retribution made Italy's charms a Curse. 1 1 have appropriated to the Chief Ruler of Pompeii, the name of its wealthiest citizen. It has been asserted, by some, that he was only a freedman ; yet the Emperors seldom hesitated to confer their judicial or fiscal offices upon any who scrupled not to embrace the most oppressive means in tlie irre- sponsible administration of power. His character, therefore, as I have attempted to depict it, would synchronize with tlie condition of the age and the avowed crimes of Pompeii. Apparitors were officers of justice or uijustice — bailiffs — so called from their suddenly appearing when undesiied. 58 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. The gnawing avarice, the bigot pride, And pagan hate, the maddening lusts of him, Whose sire — (and ne'er had father truer son) Sejanus taught, Tiberius trusted in, CaHgula exalted ; Nero loved This subtle, quick Sicilian, and all since Upon the imperial throne have left in place Pompeii's Praetor — for his heart feels not ! Honoured by these, what have not we to fear ? His minion's glance is ruin unto both ! My life, his prey, thy beauty — stand not so, Beyond the shadow of the precipice ! His seekers are abroad — the assassin games Of yon vast amphitheatre will feast. Erelong, the merciless idolators ! Enter the cavern, Mariamne ! hark ! Torn lichens fall from the steep rocks o'erhead — A sandal hath dislodged them^ — yet no eye Of mortal may discern us from the crag That beetles there — again ! I hear the fall Of guarded steps — so, softly, love ! within !" Darkness around the rugged crypt — (wherein The pard had sorted with the serpent, ere The Koman Convert made his home there, sought By the fierce demon of the idol faith) — Floated in wreaths, and round the jutting rocks, Whence trickled the hill fountains, drop by drop, Mocking the pulses of each lingering hour, Hung in its home of centuries ; but now Gloom e'en more terrible from thunder clouds Rushed on the tempest's wings o'er every star Of bright blue ether, and o'er laughing earth, (Breathed on by Zephyr from his vesper throne, Late when the Oreads danced upon the mount,) And winds in moaning gusts, like spirits doomed. Swept through the cavern ; and the giant trees. Through shivering canopies, their voices cast Upon the whirlwind ; and the Apennines Loomed through the ghastly midnight, shadowing forms Like Earth Gods in the revel of their wrath. CANTO I. 59 With whom through ages of quick agony, Vengeance had been an ecstacy ; and whirled In fury o'er the crags, huge boughs, and leaves, And dust, leaving the gnarl'd grotesque roots bare. Quivered along the sky ; and lightning leapt O'er cloven yet contending woods, from mass To mass of all the surging sea of clouds, That rioted amid the firmament, Flashing like edicts from the infinite Mind Of Godhead ; and from sea, shore, cliff and vale A deep wild groan in shuddering echoes passed Through the earth's heart, and met the crash and howl Of momentary thunders in mid air. In silence from the moss couch of their cell, 'Mid the deep arches of the grotto, prayer Ascended from the pale lips but tried hearts Of earth's unfriended exiles — heaven's redeemed ; And there, as o'er their voiceless orisons The wild tornado's music rushed, the Faith Sublime, which, through all torture and all dread, The Christian Martyr in heaven's triumph bore. Pervaded every thought that soared beyond The doubt and fear and anguish of their fate. The first vast masses of dark vapour poured Their deluge, and the torrents from ravines And precipices hurried, in wild foam. To channels bright with verdure and dry beds Of mountain lakes, flinging their turbid floods Down the deep boiling chasm and with the sea. Now hurling its tumultuous waves along The echoing shores and up the promontories, Conflicting for the masterdom. Each glen. Tangled with thorns, and every dim defile, O'erhung with jagged cliffs, to the dread hymn Of the night storm, shouted their oracles ; And from the summit of Vesuvius curled A pyramid of vapour, tinged and stained With a strange, smothered and unearthly light. Portents and prophecies more awful fell On every vigilant awed sense than e'er, 60 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. From Pythia shrieking on the tripod, sent Terror and madness to the undoubting heart. But, while the hollow dirge of the strong blast Startled the dreaming world, the unruffled minds Of the disciples with The Paraclete Communed and gathered from the Cross new power O'er famine, danger, loneliness and death. Forth from the cavern's freezing gloom again Came Mariamne, and upon the verge Of the black rocks she with her wedded lord Stood gazing on the tempest — then thus said : "Thou fearest not now, my Pansa ! though the Mount Unquenchable beneath us quakes ; wars not The dread of human wrath with thy fixed trust In God ? thine eye shrinks not when all the heavens Blaze, and thine ear shuts not when thunders burst, Shocking the immensity ; why fearst thou man ?" " I know him, and that knowledge is worst fear. The Little and the Mighty are with him In peril imminent ; his passions grasp All, being or to be, and what his love Spares, his hate dooms — and what his avarice, Ambition tortures ; and his envy creeps, A cold, still, mortal serpent, o'er the wreck Of the quick heart he rends. But He, who died For crime not his, hath taught my else fierce heart To bend in meekness ; therefore, fear invades My too acquainted spirit when the shade Of Diomede along my night dreams stalks. But from His revelations I do know The Maker, and his holiest name is Love, And that consists not with the sceptic's dread. Man, gifted with a might above all law, And made exempt by guilt from punishment, ( And such is this proconsul) must become The tyrant of his province ; and the heart. That weds a persecuted faith, and loves A banished mortal, who on earth to him CANTO I. 61 Is as elysium, must from peril quail, And shudder e'en at shadows menacing." "Yet paynim hate but lifts our thoughts to heaven," Said Mariamne, (e'en in woe like hers. Breathing the thoughts which Miriam from the shores Of Edom's sea breathed o'er the drowning host,) " Their fountain first and final home, as feigned Thy poet, of the Titans, thrown to earth By might supernal, yet unconquered ; still They from the bosom of their mother sprung With strength renewed, and added wrath, pourtrayed Upon their godlike majesty of mien. Man may destroy, but cannot desecrate ; May mock, but never can make vain our faith ; And if our hopes, like Christ's own kingdom, are Not of this world, why should we linger on In this unworthy fear, and shun the crown Laid up for martyred witnesses of truth ? Let the worst come in the worst agonies ! We part, my love ! but for an hour of woe ; Nor shall we leave — the sport of heathen scorn — Bright sons and gentle daughters to endure Inherited affliction, homeless need, Perpetuated vengeance ; round our hearts, In the dread trial hour of tortured flesh. The parent's matchless and undying love. With all its blest endearments, and the charms Of budding childhood's rainbow pleasantries, Gushings of the soul's springtime, falling o'er Maturer years like sunbright dews of heaven, Will never cling and chain our daunted minds To earth's vain interests. We shall depart Like sunbows from the cataract, renewed By luminaries that have no twilight — where Winter and hoar age, doubt, care, strife and fear, The desert and the samiel, the realm ^ Of flowers and pestilence, the purple pomp And tattered want of human life are not. What say the Greek and Roman sages, love .'* What Judah's peerless monarch,* mid the wealth, * Solomon. "Vanity of vanities ! all is vanitj'." 62 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. The radiance and the perfumes and the power, The majesty of thrones and diadems, And the excess of mortal pleasure, said In his immortal wisdom (how 't was soiled By passion, in his age, for idol charms, Heaven knows and sorrows o'er humanity,) Ambition, pride, pomp, pleasure— all Are but the vanities that tempt man on To shame, satiety and death — or worse. Reckless dishonour and shunned solitude. Living with dire remembrances of joy." To Judah's daughter thus her lord replied : "The God, my Mariamne ! who for guilt. Incurred in other forms or worlds unknown. Ere the great cycles brought our being here, (As some have deemed, if erring or inspired I know not,) clothed our .spirits in this robe Of frail flesh, subject to necessities From birth to burial, ne'er debased the mind Unto the body's weakness, yet left not Thought, at all seasons, master of our clay. "Wander not oft the wisest ? sink not oft The strong ? and blench the fearless ? and delay To reason with blasphemers the most skilled ? And tamper with temptation, the most pure ? In the imparted strength of heaven I trust. When the last trial of my faith shall come, That the disciple will not prove apostate. But having thee, my bride ! e'en from the mouth Of this wild Cacus vault, that looks beneath Into the chaos of the mountain gorge, The air, the forest, the blue glimmering waves, The meadows with Iheir melodies, the cliffs Curtained by countless waving vines, or dark With desolate magnificence, o'erwhelm My soul with grandeur, love and beauty, till, Uttering to thee the bliss which nature breathes, And thrilled by her seraphic eloquence, I mingle with the tenderness and bloom Of her unfolded scenes, and shrink to meet CANTO I. 63 The power that rends away these charms — this love So sternly proved through each uncertain hour Since from Moriah's temple, wreathed with flame, I snatched thee, pale and shuddering, and abjured | Fame, country, faith, home, hope to win thy love, And share the bliss of its immortal bloom. ^ Life pure amid corruption, will to bear : Protracted evil, gratitude for all ■ The gifts of God, and prayer and praise in grief, i May prove a sacrifice to heaven not less ! Than all the tortures of the martyrdom. ; The tempest passes and the night wears on ; The dome of heaven is filled with prophecies ! ': With voices low, but heard where breathless thoughts ] Are oft the most accepted music, let Our evening hymn ascend, and then to rest." I I THEMIDNIGHTPRAYER. j From the wild cavern's still profound, : From cliffs that hang o'er viewless flame, i Our spirits soar beyond the bound ' Of being to thy hallowed name. In gloom and peril, God ! thou art Our hope amid the lion's lair, - And from the desolated heart, ,1 Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! i The lustres* of our lives are few, On darkened earth, our bliss still less ; i Yet daydawn hears, and evelight dew, \ Our hymns of love in lone distress : i By no green banks, as prayed our sires, \ Our sighs win heaven to Time's despair, j .But*we are hea-rd by seraph choirs — \ Hear thou, Christ! our midnight'^prayer ! j No magian charms or mystic dreams, i Or Delian voices, uttering doubt, ' ' Xttsfra— periods of fifty inoiilhs : at ttis elosa <»f wliieh, sacrifices of purification were oflered. ■ 64 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. By fountains dim and shadowy streams, The fear, the awe of doom breathe out ; By shrines, red bolts have sanctified, While dragons haunted meteor air, We worship not as shadows glide — Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! The breathing earth, the gleaming heaven, The song of sea, mount, vale and stream, While dimness waves o'er holy even, Blend our glad souls with beauty's beam ; But darkness, danger, torrents raise Our hopes to Thee, Death- Victor ! where In virgin light fly tearless days — Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! The bard bereaved from Orcus' gloom, Through Hades, led his love to light, And thine adorers from thy tomb Drink glory in their being's night ; More blest to need as thou didst. Lord ! Than be the Phrygian monarch's heir, Wanting the rapture of thy word — Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ? Judea's incense hills are dim And silent, where the song went up ; Hushed holy harp and temple hymn — The slayer drinks the spoiler's cup ! Earth o'er the sophist's vision sighs, O'er deeds, king, priest, and people dare, And wilt thou not from pitying skies. Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! Loosed from dark homage unto Fear, Lamiffi, lares, teraphim, And Delphian voice and Ebal seer. Thy bright re vealments round us swim, Pouring upon the path we tread. Though perill'd, lone, and rough and bare, Light that inspires the martyred dead ! Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer ! CANTO I. 65 ] In sleep and vigil, guard and guide, ] In secret quest of earthly food, From outward foes and inward pride, i And the fiend's wiles in solitude ! \ O'er idol rites Thy radiance pour, Till, like the myriad worlds of air, I The Universe, as one, adore ! i Redeemer ! hear our midnight prayer I ; " What terrible and ghastly blaze flares through j The cavern, filling its abyss with flamel" | Said Pansa, hurrying from the grotto's gloom, i As the last breathings of the solemn song j Whispered along the arches. " Love ! behold ! ! The surges of the tempest fluctuate In fierce tumultuous masses 'neath yon orb | Of livid fire that from the north careers ' O'er the astonished and convulsed firmament I \ Nor terror nor surprise is in thy look. For well thou know'st that awful herald, seen j Through shadows of events yet unconceived j By all, save Him who mourned while all the pomp Of thy Jerusalem before Him glowed. ' The comet I meteor of despair to man ! ■ liike a condemned, demolished world of flame, i With a vast atmosphere of torrent fire, ; It traverses immensity with speed Confounding thought, hurled on by viewless power j Omnipotent and unimagined, robed j In dreadful beauty — heaven's volcano — home, i Perchance, of those gigantic spirits cast \ From holiness to hopelessness by pride. \ Lo ! how it sweeps o'er the sky's ocean ! wreaths ^ Of purple light along its borders mount What seem innumerable colonnades ' Wrought by the seraphim, most meet to bear [ A temple huge as Atlas ; myriad hues, j Deeper and lovelier than prismatic lights, | Curl o'er the quivering arch as if to roof * l The vast mysterious fabric of the sea 9 , \ 66 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMrjCil. Of clouds ihal throng eternity, to which Egypt's most mighty pyramid were not More than a tinted shell to Caucasus. Are those, that swirl like wrecks amid the surf, Vast mountains wrenched from their abysses, thrown From one fire billow's bosom and engulphed To be asain hurled on another's crest? Lo ! through the sky, air-rocks, hissing and red, From the volcanic worlds of heaven descend! What terrors of infinity they speak ! What revelations of Almighty Mind ! What be yon dark and spectral images That tiirough the bickering fiery waves move slow Yet haughtily ? oh, what a furnace glare Rolled o'er the shadows then, and left their forms Radiant with ruin! and above, methinks. Broad wings of diamond brilliance wave and flash. What said thy sires. Love ! Israel's holy seers Of such revealments of divinity ?" With dark eyes lifted to tne troubled sky. And voice subdued by awe, and heart o'erfraught, Thus Mariamne to her jord replied. " Seldom they came and brandished o'er the world Their flickering and serpent tongues of flame : Seldom — for generations, centuries passed, And men saw not the burning heavens o'erwrit In gory characters of forewarned fate. Yet deemed our sages, least of dust, that all Tiie meteors warring with the myriad worlds. That circle through the abyss of air, had been, Ere man, time, sin, or death was, stars of bloom, Casting their beauty and their fragrance on The zephyr, hymning, on their flight through space, The Maker, and awaiting life to All Their groves and valleys with the prayer and song. Yon shattered mass of boiling minerals, Thus in its whirlwind madness driven on O'er shocked and startled ether, starskill'd eyes Of the Captivity's prophetic Eld CANTO I. 67 Beheld in vision ere, in arcs and wreaths, The gory torrents of volcanic fire Precipitated through the sphere of earth. Much in dread visions when between the wings Of cherubim The Glory rested — much In banishment and desert solitude — And more in ruin — to the soul of seers Was given to know ; more than all human thought Through all its systems can impart to man. Yet with least erring eye the Apostle saw, What time he felt the martyr's hovering crown. " The cohorts of the conqueror, when we trod—. (A banished nation from our birth soil rent, Outcast from earth and heaven — from home and hope) The path of bondage, paused beneath the hill Of sycamores, when the meridian sun Hurled his fierce arrowy splendours; and around The cool o'ershadow^ed fountains, scowling on The scorched and agonizing captives, lay The imperial legions, casting bitter scorn And ribald merriment on each who passed Among their stern battalions to assuage His deadly thirst : — scarce deigned plebeian hate This solitary solace; — and they held Each pilgrim by the beard and bade him bow In adoration to the Labarum, And then with cruel scoffs, they questioned him Of the sacked Temple's spoils — what hoards of gold The chalices, cups, lavers, shrines would bring To the vast coffers of the Palatine ! With lips unmoistened, weary, sick in soul, I turned aside into a dreary rift Of rock o'erbowered with briar and aconite, To pray and perish, for I had on earth No friend ! my father, on that morn, had laid His weary head upon my breaking heart And died. They bound him to a blighted tree Upon a desert crag, and, to my shrieks Shouting, ' The traitor may forget the path 68 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. The Avenger treads ! let him look on to Rome !' The savage spoilers dragged me from his corse. Thus to the earth I cast me, wailing low, When a hand lifted me, and I beheld A form, a face, so towering, worn and full Of grief and intellect and holiness, Of majesty and mildness, that, methought, 'T was the Love-Angel ! then his deep soft voice Passed through my mind's depths like a cherub hymn. ♦ Daughter !' he said, ' one doom is sealed in blood ! The Holy City, stained by guilt, defiled By treason, sacrilege and rapine, sleeps In dust — and" who but God shall bid her wake? Yet judgment tarries not, because the arm Of Rome's proud Desolator worked the will Of heaven, fulfilling his own ruthless lust. Thou shalt behold the destiny of them Who from the furnace of ambition cast Their brands of ruin o'er the world — for me — The numbered hours rush on. My daughter! hear! Thou art the child's child of one great in all That magnifies the mind and fills the heart With earth's sublimest influences — all That clothes our flesh with spirit light, and lifts Our dim thoughts from the dungeon of our clay. Gamaliel, thy wise ancestor'— My soul Glowed at the name, and, gazing on that face Which never blanched with fear though tyrants frowned. Nor in success exulted, proud of gifts. Quickly I said, 'Who should have talked with him, Master in Israel, and yet survive V <'T is Saul of Tarsus !' said he, with his eyes Downcast in pale contrition: * he who first Bore faggot, brand and crucifix, and watched O'er the red garments of the martyred saint ; And, when the Temple's vail was rent, and heaven Shuddered as the pale King of Shadows vt^aved His sceptre o'er the Son of God, — was held Aloft, amidst the people, to behold CANTO I, 69 Him by our sires blasphemed and slain.— If toil, Baffled temptation, patient suffering, Perils by land and wave, and every ill Mortality hath borne — added to zeal And many years of vigil thought, may hope For pardon of my crime, I have not lacked. But, daughter ! as I rested on my path. And saw thee clinging to thy father's corse, I sought to unfold to thee, now wrapt in grief, The sole Redemption our ost fathers spurned.' " She paused as on its wandering orbit now Rushed madly the lost star, and gazing, cried ; " — But mark red Ruin's summoner ! beneath The quivering zenith and the zodiac dimmed By his wild glories, how the herald scorns The dominations of the dust, and dares The loftiest hierarchies of the heaven ! Ghastly with lava light, the molten clouds In cloven masses swirl before his path, And with the crash and uproar of the war Of all the antagonizing elements, The demon comet cleaves the shuddering air !" " And now," said Pansa, " lo ! the meteor flings Its glare o'er the voluptuous wantonness Of Baice and Pausylipo, upon The fairest bosom of earth's beauty laid To stain, defile and desecrate ! beyond. The waters of Parthenope, along The curved and blossomed shores, from the dark brow Of the Misenum to Surrentum rocks And Capreas's isle of carnage, curl and moan ; And on the ebbless sea the furnace fires. With darkness struggling, cast their horrid light. The promontories and proud Apennines Seem to uplift their precipices o'er The wild air and affrighted sea in dread ; And the deep forests, quaking yet beneath The Alpine torrent blast, through all their clouds 70 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. or leaves, drink the dark crimson streams that pour i In lurid cataracts of flame from heaven: ! And every breathing thing — man, beast, tree, flower — ] Pants in the siroc that from Lybian sands Hastens to mingle with the withering breath Of von gigantic world of Death ! Fear holds ; My spirit captive to the majesty ' Of the unearthly Portent. But thou, Love ! ] With the Apostle didst commune, thou saidst — I O God! I saw him die !-r-what said he, then, \ In his own peril and thine agony ?" \ "Thus spake the prophet saint, with voice as sweet As when he uttered blessings on his foes. ' Fulfilled by Christian faith, the Law, whose voice Was judgment to our fathers, by the blood -j Of the One Victim unto all becomes The very soul of Love !' Thus he began, And with an eloquence that thrilled my heart, i Contrite and meek, interpreted the law, That spake in thunders from the Desert Mount ; — He, the Awakener of nations, whose high gifts, E'en in the grandest spheres of fame, had won , The palm and laurel crown, but that in vain ! Cajoling tempters spread their blandishments And the seducings of apt sophistries Tangled their meshes round him. Affluence, Dominion o'er the treasures and the thoughts 1 Of traitor worshippers, the feigned awe breathed "^ By vassal sycophants through tainted courts, Thronged temples, porticoes, and schools of sects, He cast aside as winds do dust to dust. ' He felt his intellect's supremacy, I And shrunk from moulded clay that hpped his name In interested ecstacies — he knew Himself and sought not other knowledge here. In place of men's dissembled treacheries, I He, clothed with immortality's own hght, | Pictured the Passion, spread the Eucharist, ; Soothed the quick pangs of lonely malady, CANTO I. 71 i Warded the fold of faith assailed, and stood In every danger on the vanward tower To watch, guard, counsel, lead, bear scorn, and die ! Brief was our converse, for the Flavian trump, With its deep echoes, startled the great host. But from that hour, through agony and shame, I have not trembled to confess The Word, Whose smile is, e'en in the worst evil, heaven. ' Farewell! my captive child !' he said, ' when power Purples the rills with blood of martyrdom And wanton crime mocks thy unpitied moans, Forget not Calvary and Gethsemane ! Forget not that my eye beholds e'en now, Down the dark lapses of Time unconceived, A terrible atonement of the doom That made our Solyma a desert! o'er Infinitudet ne vision rushes — earth With shrieks of wrath and quick convulsions hails The herald of despair — it whirls and leaps. Like living madness now, and tosses o'er Unterminating and unsounded air Perpetual deluges of flame, to warn The scoffer and the. rioter. Farewell! Desolate daughter of a slaughtered sire ! Forget not ! and the Paraclete console Thy lingering sorrows ! mine are almost done !' The fountain of my heart o'erflowed ; I looked, Yet never more beheld the godlike brow Of Christendom's apostle ; through the shades Of the descending cavern slowly waved His mantle, the white turban seemed to hang A moment in the gloom ; his sandalled feet Sent back a few low sounds — and he had passed Unto his mission and his martyrdom! But tell me, love ! beneath this ghastly light, The story of his doom — how passed his soul From torture into triumph when the flesh Clung round the spirit in its agony ?" "In calm magnificence that spirit passed From gloom to glory, through its martyrdom, ..J 72 THE LAST NIGHT OF rOMPEII. I Triumphant over agony and scorn !" ! Said Pansa, casting on the o'erhung crags And piles of rifted scoriae half green'd o'er, : (Beauty embracing ruin,) glances quick j As through the midnight smothered sounds arose j Like breaths held back, and then, at intervals, . Gasping in sobs, like moanings of the surf. ! With startled ear, strained eye and quivering brow. Listened the Christian ; but the dells reposed In their green blessedness, the hills looked down 1 From their cold solitudes; above, the flame 1 Of the banned star flared far and dim — beneath, '• Pompeii lay, folded in sleep that flings Oblivion o'er the exhaustion of desire; ' And, breathing terror from his burdened heart, He thus pourtrayed the passion of the Saint. ^ " No psalteries or harps their music poured Around his death-hour ; no bewailing dirge 1 Gushed from the tabret, and no gentle voice ^ Arose, lamenting o'er his felon doom. Alone amid his slayers and the foes ' Of Him they crucified, Paul calmly stood, i Nor daring pagan hate nor dreading it, j His white hair streaming on the autumnal wind. His countenance, trenched o'er by thought and care \ And toil and suffering, gathered, as he looked Upon the Praetor on his throne of power, ) The grandeur of his youth, the matchless light I Of a triumphant intellect that grasped An immortality of bliss, and feared i No mortal agony when death was heaven. * Thou art a Christian V Paul held up the Cross, ' Thou art a Hebrew?' ' Ay, I teas, and worse !' ' ' Thou art a Traitor V ' Not to God or man !' Cried the Apostle, and his monarch form I Rose from the ruins of his years, and stood. Like the unpeered statue of Olympian Jove, Before the quailing Paynim. ' Edicts, hurled By Agrippina's son, had Rome a soul, i i i THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 73 E'en from blasphemed humanity would call For vengeance on ih-e utterer. Where 's the guilt Of thought? the crime of faith, whose very soul Is low- voiced worship and still charities T The loftiest mind most lovos humility ! The imperial ban, ('t was uttered by the banned,) Leaves deeds untouched but criminates the thought : Hales famished, homeless and (for this vain world) Hopeless believers of an humble faith. To judgment, not to trial, and allows The apostacy, it e'er arraigns as crime. Death or Denial ! is the only law Of Rome, whose wings are o'er the world, to men So poor, they have no pillow, and so fevy^. They have no power : and yet the Palatine Fears they — they may subvert its giant might ! Is Truth so terrible to the Immortal Gods, That they should tremble at a mortal voice ? Dreads the fierce Thunderer the cicada's song? Or your gay god of Revels, lest the charm Of his wreathed thyrsus may depart, when woods And caverns are the palaces, and rills And berries all the banquet of his foes? Yet none of all thy fabled deities, Save hirsute fauns and lonely oreads, Behold our rites, or need shrink to behold. How should conspiracy consort with want And weakness so extreme, they lack the power To lift the dying head or bear the corse Beyond the grotto where they weep and pray ? And who of all Rome's judges can arraign The Christian for a deed that could design Possession of a hamlet, or a hut ? We seek no empire save tho free soul's thought.^ We court no patron save The Crucified ; We win no crown save that of martyrdom.' * Smite, silence the blasphemer !' shrieked the judge. Robing his fear in wrath ; ' too long we waste The Empire's time — chain the conspirator ! Aiad, lictors ! guard his cross from slaves^ and all 10 74 CANTO I. The baser multitudes that throng to hear The maniac treasons of the Nazarenes. Hoar breeder of sedition, thou must die!' 'Nature said that when I was born, and God» Ere that, a thousand ages, when Sin rose From Hades ; not in vain have all the power. Splendour and guilt of Rome before me passed In danger yet in soHtude, and now I fold unto my bosoni that deep death I never sought nor shunned, and thank the ruth Of that derision which ordains the Cross. The MASTER of your vast — of every realm, Sea, earth and sky hold, taught me by His groaq That the last breath was agony, but He Hath sent the Paraclete to o'ershadow all Who perish by his Passion, and I go, Purple idolater i having wandered long Through many years of weariness, to rest, Where, couldst thou ever share my bliss, this hour, With less of anguish, would pass o'er my soul !' Then led they him unto the Accursed Field* Beyond the Patriot's Precipice, 'mid bands Of mailed Praetorians, in the blaze of noon, Bearing the Labarum, whose folds were dipped In the world's blood ; and proudly in the van The aruspices in purple trabeas walked,f Their oakleaf chaplets waving : then in throngs. The mad Luperci, atheist priests of Mars, In crimson togas and broad burnished plates Of brass that ntiirrore.d c{irnag.e, followed quick. And the wild flamens of Cybele, stained By the red vintage, and the countless cro\y4 * The Campus Sceleratus, where vestal virgins were buried alive when they followed the example of Rhcea Sylvia. The Tarpeian Rock was not far removed frojji such ap- propriate neighbourhood. -j- The prognoslicators of Ivomo were allowrd extraordinary honours ; and their trabese, , or robes of otTice, nearly resemblod those of (he Emperors. Every superstition exalts its ^ expositors; and the Roman priests vvrl! knew the power which fear and ignorance con- ' ferred upon them, and abhorred in the same degree that they dreaded the illumination of 1 Christianity. The fasces, the trabea;, pretextte, and c«nde chair were introduced by 'i'ar- quin Prisons from compiercd Tuscany. THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 75 Of magi, augurs, senators and slaves, Paphians and vestals, through the marble streets, From dusky lanes and sculptured palaces, Temple and forum and Cimmerian den, Outpoured in pageantry or squalid want, Like Scylla's whirlpool fiends, to feast on death. 'T was ever thus in Rome ; she nursed her horde Of bandits, from the first, on blood ; and war, Wedding with carnage, wrote her very creed In groans, and wrought her gods from myriad crimes. So on they led the Martyr stooping low Beneath the felon cross, his glorious brow. Oft wet with dungeon deW, soiled by the dust Of the armed cohort, yet his undimmed eye Flashing its birthlight radiance unto heaven, Drinking revealments of God's paradise. Oath, menace, jeer and ribald mockeries, The vulgar's worship of all greatness, passed Like the sirocco, o'er Campanian fiowers, Or snowpiles of the Apennines, gathering bloom And zephyr freshness, o'er bis sainted soul. His lofty nature did, a moment, seem Burning in scorn upon his lips, and once. Clasping the heavy cross as 't were a wand. He lifted his proud form and matchle&s head;. And o'er the helmed lictors looked upon The mockers — ^^and they shrunk beneath his glance Like grass beneath the samiel ; yet no more. Hushing the spirit of his^ grandeur, he Deigned to deem earth his home, or earthly things Fit wakeners of his thought. And so he came Unto the Accursed Field, and one, all shunned, Loathing, drave down the massy cross, whereon. With lingering patience, he had stretched and nailed, Through palm and sole, the Martyr, every blow Tearing the impailed nerves, and through heart and brain Sending a sick convulsion ; but the pangs Passed quickly o^er his features, though the limbs Quivered, and, as he looked to heaven, a light, Brighter than all Heaven's constellations blent, Fell round the Martyr in his agony ! 76 CANTO I. J * A prodigy ! Jove flashes wralh ! the gods j Forbid the death !' shouted the multitude, ] Like foHage fluctuating, as the spells | Of all-believing Fear fell on their hearts. i • All Rome shall perish if the Christian dies !' I I ' Hence, vassals ! fools ! home to your huts ! away !' Passed the proud Prefect's deep, stern, ruthless voice, ■ Whose echo was an oracle. * Ye slaves ! I The beast should batten on the slain, I know, And ye can taunt and torture helplessness, I Yet dread the very shade of Danger's ghost; \ But, by the Spectre River ! Rome's best spears " j Shall search your dastard dust, if ye but speak , Ere each adores his Lares ! hence ! away !' The Gracchi from the Aventine dragged forth* i For senators to slaughter well displayed i The liberties of Rome ; and they, who held ; The Briton chief barbarian, shrunk away, When a patrician bade, without a voice ! But bondage and brute violence are one. i I Then, as the steps of the vast throng retired i Like dying waves, the priests and guards outspread Their banquet on the plain beneath the tents, (The kalends of the seventh month had come) : They bore to shield the sun, while there they watched 1 The fever, famine, thirst and pangs of death. | Pheasants, Falernian, mirth, song, jest and oath ' Inspired the revel ^neath the cross, and all Care and command, save that which bade them see The Martyr die, fled from their spirits now. i Wanton with wine, the priest revealed to scorn * His wiles and sophistries and oracles, * For attempting, by the enactment of the Agrarian Law, to restrain the exorbitant i power of the patricians, Tiberius Gracchus was assassinated in the Capitol by Scipio- i Nasica ; Caius Gracchus and Fulvius Flaccus were killed by Opimius, the consul ; Sa- 1 turninus, the tribune, was murdered by a mob of Conscript Fathers ; and Livius Drusus,, I on the same account, was slain in his own house. All in Rome, who could not trace j their descent from the highwayman Romulus, or some one of his least merciful banditti, ! were esteemed no better than vassals. The Romans never understood either justice, mercy, or freedom ; their dominion was acquired by the sword without remorse, and U perished by the sword without regret. THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 77 Blessing the phantom gods that shadows held Dominion o'er the conscious fears of men. Warriors portrayed, m tales of other climes, Numidia, Arcady or Syrian realms, The splendour of the spoil, the gems and gold, The perfumes, luxuries and regal robes. Fair slaves and diamonds, from the Orient shores Wafted, in homage to the diadem That circled nations. Many a demon deed And dark career of crime then first to light Leapt from the dizzy brain of guilt, and moved Applause ar>d rival histories of acts O'erpast; hov^r dusky kings in palaces. Amid their pomp, gleaming magnificence, Did perish in the flame, and none could save The victim, though they bore his coffers forth. How queens and virgin beauties in their bowers, On broidered couches slumbering, while their robes Like zodiacs, glittered in the purple light, Felt not the serpent that trailed o'er their sleep. But died in their pavilions, voicelessly ! Then senators and knights, with mutual mirth, Discoursed of laws enacted or suppressed As suited Ceesar ; and quenched liberties. Naming them treason ; and asserted rights. They branded as seditions ; and revealed To the unshuddering guards the mysteries Of Rome's proud Forum, where the agonies Of desolated kingdoms, and the shrieks Of nations in their bondage, and the tears Of eloquent affection to the lords Of Power were music and unholy mirth. Then round the Martyr mingled voices rose Louder, and laughter to impiety Replied, and men, the gods, truth, chastity, Love, honour, courage and fidelity, All were but mockeries to the rioters. " Hercle T is this the Lupercal T ye howl Like Conscript Fathers when the spoil is lost f Peace !" said the Prefect — " see ye not the lips Of yon hoar traitor trembling with quick thou-ght ? 78 CANTO 1. Listen ! he speaks his last, — his heart 's too old To linger in the torture of the tree !" " The Isles shall wait, Jehovah ! for thy law,* And Knowledge to and fro shall spread, till earth Utter Thy praise like voices of the sea !" •« Thus spake the victim, in delirium. Wrought by deep anguish, wandering yet among The dear homes of his mission. " Dangers wave Their w^ngs around us, brethren ! and the waste, Boundless and shadowless, must still be trod ! Yet not by dim lights of a doubting faith Are ye led on through wrong and woe and want, For the Anointed hath not left us here Without a Comforter, and hath He not Laid up, in many mansions, crowns of joy, Where mortal doth put on immortality 1 Grieve not the Spirit! yet a little while, And ye shall reap the harvest and rejoice ; And though^ ere then, this flesh must see decay. Yet I shall mingle with your prayer and hymn. By morn and eve — and breathe the Saviour's smile O'er the glad Isles of Gentiles so beloved !" Then spasms of vivid pain passed o'er his face. His eyes rolled back upon the brain, and left The pale streaked orbs writhing in gloom-^the lids Now folded to their lashes, coiling now In nature's deep convulsion, till the veins, O'erfraught, seemed bursting o'er his haggard brow. His livid lips, parted by torture, breathed Deep undistinguished murmurs, then compressed Like sculptured curves and lines of thought; the limbs, Meantime, grew cold, and the dark gathering blood Forsook its own familiar channel, when The shadows of the sepulchre stole on. •I have ma<3e the dying ejaculations of St Paul to consist mostly of portions of his own powerful writings. Nothing more beautiful or splendid can be found in any compositions more vivid with ihe heart's best emotions and the mind's most lofty conceptions — than the remonstrances and arguments of the great Apostle, who devoted himself to the propaga- tion of that religion he had once assailed, with an energy and enthusiasm and utter oblivion ef self, which should find more imitators among the curates of men's souls; THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 79 " Dis leaves his realm to welcome him," said one. " Peace ! thou discourteous knight ! jeers skill not now ; Thy mii'th is motlied with mortality, And thou thyself mayst pray for Lethe ere The graceless Stygian grasps thine obolus. Put on thy knighthood ! peace ! he speaks again!" And the proud Prefect flung his casque to earth. In moans, like autumn gusts, the Martyr spake. Hovering o'er shattered memories like the sun O'er broken billows of the shoreless sea ! Let me behold thy domes, Damascus ! meet It is the arrows of Life's penitence Should pierce the persecutor. — Oh, farewell ! My brother ! blessed in Pisidia be Thy walk and watching !— To the Unknown God I Are ye the worshipped wisdom of all Greece, When ye disdain your thrice ten thousand gods, Adoring Doubt or Demon, knowing not The Deity revealed !— Ye can attest, I have not coveted the gold of earth. The gorgeous raiment or vain pomp of men, But ministered, in all, unto myself! — Ay, driven to and fro in Adria Upon Euroclydon, no hope is left But in the Wieider of the wave and wind. Despair not ! though sun, moon and stars are hid, Jehovah watches from eternity ! — Contend not, brethren ! untaught man may win Redemption from the deep crimes of his age. And be a law unto himself; e'en Rome Hath in her centuries of guilt had such. — Oh, sorrow not like them who have no hope ! The seed shall not decay though I am dust ! — Why do ye scourge me, soldiers ! know ye not I am a Roman 1 I appeal to Caesar ! — Bring me a winter robe when thou dost come Again — the night is cold among the hills, And I am very weary ! so, farewell !" Then the bare nerves and sinews sent their pangs For the last time upon his fainting heart, 80 CANTO I. ■ I And, as beyond the trembling battlements '■ Of agonizing flesh, the spirit strove To flee, beholding heaven, the bitter strife \ O'erawed the infidels, and round the Cross ^ Stood silent pagan revellers! Once more 5 The Apostle's peerless mind gleamed out — his eyes, g Living in the dark light of boyhood, flung ^ Their dying splendours o'er the Imperial Hills, The mountains and the waters — while his pulse Intensely throbbed and paused — and the heart's chill j And fever rushed to life's deep fount and spread ^ A shuddering faintness and sick gasping sense ! Of falling through infinitude, o'er all | The vital functions of his frame. " My God 1" ' 'T was the last breath that quivered on his lips — \ A hollow echo from the martyr's tomb, ! Yet it said " Saviour ! let me — see — Thy face !" j And Saul of Tarsus stood before his God !" { ] " As thou shalt stand before Gastulia's king. The Barcan lion !" cried the ruthless voice Of Diomede's outwatching messenger, I The pander of the Prastor's evil will, j Grasping the Christian while his fellows rushed | Upon his pale but dreadless Hebrew bride. " Well !" said the minion, '• traitors serve, sometimes, -; The empire's weal, and martyrdom, methinks, ] Hath a rare syren music, for ye stood | Wrapt in your exalted Nazarene, \ Till we could climb the chffs and do the best i Of the proconsul, unfulfilled too long ! j Come, Rabbi ! thou art skilled in subterfuge, And hast not scorned the sword in better times — I The games shall test thy genius — on with me ! I The Gladiator's banquet waits, and thou Shalt quaflfthe Massic or the Tears of Christ.* Veles ! thou hast thy charge ! the Prajtor's coin \ Rewards not slack obedience, though his wrath ' Ne'er palters with a thought of treachery ! 'i *The wine of Mount Vesuvius is profanely called Lacrymse Christi. J THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 81 The lady — (Venus ! but she hath a brow Like the coy Delian queen !) — must be disposed, With all respect, — lead on ! the day-star wanes !" " Thraso ! we were not foes when, side by side, We scaled Antonia's tower, and saw the walls Of Zion crushed. Why now? what are our deeds That thus from caverns we to death are dragged?" Said Pansa, with the heart's best eloquence, As down the steep crags turned the lictor band, Bearing his bride. " Why from my heart, by guile Betrayed, by violence asunder rent, Tear'st thou my Mariamne, mocking thus?" " And dost thou ask, apostate ? hast thou not Contemned the gods, scorning thy father's faith ? Forsaken the eagle banners, deeming rocks Better than camps! and sowed sedition, thick As sand-clouds, through the legions ? Thou hast wed A captive, too, whom, though with all thy gold Thou bought'st, poor fool ! yet hast not held, as bids The law, in bondage ! dost thou ask again? Mine office deigns no farther word, but more Thou soon shalt learn in bitterness ! lead on !" " Bear me with her, where'er ye drag, whale'er Ye or your lords in lawlessness inflict ! No more my voice shall crave or ye deny !" Cried Pansa, struggling with the lictor horde. " The Praetor's edict suits no purposes Apostates may desire ; your destinies Have separate mansions, renegade!" Along Ravine and precipice and lava bed, Vineyard, pomegranate grove and vale of bloom. The Pagan haled his victims, till the gate Of doomed Pompeii oped and Pansa saw, In speechless agony, a moment ere 11 82 CANTO I. The Maiiieitiiie abysses* were his home, Pale shuddering Mariamne through the gloom Of statues, pillars, temples and hushed streets, Where fountains only witnessed deeds of death, Borne like a shadow to a nameless doom. * Dungeons even more horrible than those of Venetian and Austrian tyranny, dug iinmeciiately beneath the elevated seat of the Praetor, in the hall of judgment ; and so called from the Roman consul IMamertinus, who jilanned their construction, and who should have been, like Phalatis and the inventor of the guillotine, the first to test the merit of his philanthropic ingenuity. % CANTO 11. Vandal and violator, Time ! thou art The spirit's mastei* — the heart's mocker ! thou Pourest the deluge of returnless years Over the gasping bosom, and on thought, That, in aurora streams of magic light, Flung its deep glory o'er the heavens, dost heap Clouds without flame or voice, cold, deep ami dark, Which are the shroud of the mind's sepulchre ! Far better not to be than thus to be ! Better to wander like the gossamer. The baffled buffet of each aimless wind, Than sink like dial shadows, all but breath Leaving the wreck that trembles on the strand. And why to man, feeble in youth's best hours Of bud and bloom, in all his holiest hopes So false unto himself and his compeers, Are strength, pride, power and burning thoughts assigned ? Why is his grandeur wedded to despair 1 His love to grief? his heart to hopelessness 1 His fame and his dominion to the dust ? Yet thou. Tyrant of Air ! hast chronicles Of darker import, and the world is filled With thine unpitying ministers of woe. Beneath the rush of thy dai'k pinions nought Lives, or life lingers, breathing at its birth The death that soon becomes an ecstacy. Wan yet not hoary, broken at the goal Of young ambition, myriads writhe beneath The agonies thou bring'st ; and nevermore, But in the tomb, seek solace of sweet sleep. Earth's beauty, heaven's magnificence, the charms Of zephyrs, verdure, azure, light, hills, streams, And forests castled by eternal rocks. Beheld long, fade upon the sated soul, 84 CANTO II. Exhaust by iheir sublimities, and slied Their fragrance, music and romance on hearts Inured and soiled — too weak to bear their bliss, Too cold to feel their glories ! And we roam The paradise of all earth's pleasantries, Amid the care, toil, phrenzy, want and strife Of the protracted agonies of breath. Feeding on raptures, that, fulfilled, are woes ! But o'er thy ruins. Time! and the thick clouds Of the heart's mysteries a sun shall burst, As now Apollo's steeds, caparisoned In hues of heaven, rush up the Apennines, Stareyed Eous and wild Phlegon first, Pouring the sungod's splendours o'er the domes Of doomed Pompeii nevermore to sleep. As from the violet pavilion stole The dayspring's beautiful and blessed light, Like rose leaves floating, and the mountains bent Their awful brows in worship at the fount Of radiance, by all ages sacred held As the peculiar home of deity, Mythra or Bel or Elios — (the name Erred, but the spirit filled the heavens with life,) Uprose the vassals from their earth-beds, late On yesternight pressed by the sinking limbs And breaking hearts of bondage ; no perfumes Soothed bodies gashed with scourges, or shorn heads , No lavers waited thraldom ; on they flung Rude garments soiled by servitude, and turned To grind at the accursed mill, and lift Their branded brows at the stern master's voice. In silence passing o'er Mosaic floors To bear the golden bowl or myrrhine cup, Falernian, or frankincense to their lords. For them no statue bowed in majesty, No council framed a law, and none of all The common deeds of earth had interest; For they were stricken from the roll of men THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 85 And banished from humanity,* and Rome Gazed from the temple of her trophies on The hopeless captives — from her triumph hills, Where armies shouted Liberty ! upon Her myriads of bondmen, with a smile, That thanked her thrice ten thousand deities, The o'ershadowing empire of the world was Free ! Waking to want from dreams of affluence. Parting from splendour to meet toil and tears, Then rose pale Indigence in shattered cells. Dusky and damp and squalid, yet o'ertaxed By the imperial rescript, to endure The taunts of mimes, the old indignities Of freed men, merciless in novel power, The insolence of taskers and the shame Of late dismissal with their pittance, when The proud patrician deigned to bid his slave Cast the base drachms at the plebeian's feet ! Ere melted the wre:ithed mists from isle or mount. City or lake, Pompeii's pinnacles Ascending in uncertain grandeur yet. The artizan went forth to build again The fabrics earthquakes had late sported with ; Doomed, ere the dial rested shadowless. To cease from toil forever ! — and the sounds Of early servile labour multiplied Through glimmering arcades and noisome courts, Thronged ever by the peasants pomp creates, As the bright sungod o'er the mountains rose, And his broad disk poured glory over earth. Late from their holy dreams in the profound Of their proud temples, ne'er by foot profane Invaded, waked the pagan oracles. The ministers of mysteries all unrevealed, * Probably among no people, not even the mercenary Africans themselves, who are always more ready to sell than the Christian trafficker is to buy, was the condition of slaves so utterly hopeless and irreclaimable as in the republics of Greece and Rome. Their vivid jealousy of personal privileges peculiarly fitted them to tyrannize over every people not incorporated within their chartered dominions. Nothing is so cruel as boast- ing philanthropy ; nothing so unjust as a dominant hierarchy ; nothing so capricious and despotic as an unrestrained democracy. 86 CANTO II. Save to the forgers of tlie fictions — gazed Bewildered on the amphorae that stood Beneath their sacred stores* — and turned, once more, To matin visions of deluding faith, Processions and responses, gorgeous robes, Banquets, and/ree bequests when they alone k Stood o'er the dying, and dominion bought By endless cycles of hypocrisies. All hierarchies, howsoe'er unlike In ritual, are in earthly hope the same ; Pleasure, their idol : ease, their ecstacy ; Power, their ambition ; and the will of God, The blasphemed dictate of their own mad lusts. The virgin dew yet on the verdure hung, When, one by one, the mourners of the lost Stole to the Street of Sepulchres and sat Beside the ashes of their ancestors. Watching the beams that nevermore would greet The perished, and, (they thought not,) nevermore Pompeii guide to her festivities ! Few, on this mission of elysian love. Left Tyrian couches and the bliss of sense ; Yet they were blest in the seraphic gift Of feeling, which in solitude is heaven ! Tombs were the earliest temples, the first prayers Gushings of grief, the holiest offerings. Tears of bereavement, and the loveliest hymns, Sighs over the departed ; worship, then. Rose from the heart, that mid these simple rites, Felt no delusion or vain mystery: Urns were the altars, and the incense, love. • The priests of Fompeii w>;rc no believers in pres'aJovvcd Mohammedan sohriety or the Genevan doctrine of total abstinence ; but, rather, devout apostles of good fellowship, bonhnmmie and biensearic, whose credenda have lacked no devotees among the admini- strators of a very diflerent religion. Their amphorse or wine casks were always amply supplied by votaries who did not doubt that their spiritual guides possessed the same pre- rogatives in Tartarus which less remote exclusives in sanctity assume to exercise in Hades. The skeletons of many priests, on the excavation of Pompeii, were found amidst the relics of their revel. Can we suppose that even the ministers of a degraded supersti- tion and a most lascivious mythology could trust in the protection of Jove or Osiris 1 or must we rather conclude that criminal appetite excluded natural fear and that they rea- soned, like Pompey on his last journey — " It is necessary that we should be gluttons and revellers, but it is not necessary that we should live?" THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 87 The sodden pulse, offered by humble faith. Desiring not demanding, far outweighed Oblations chosen from barbaric spoils; And with a purer purpose, poverty Knelt by the wayside image of a god Than gorgeous pontiffs by Olympian shrines. When sin gains sanction and the heart is soiled By unrebuked and customary crime. The tenderest yearnings of the bosom — love„ With its dependence and delight — its smile, Like rifted rose leaves, and its tear, like dew Shook from the pinions of the seraphim, Breathe unaccepted music ; the caress Of childhood hath no bliss — its early words And looks of marvel find no fellowship — For tiie evil usages of life, that dwells But in the glare and heat of midnight pomp, Corrode, corrupt and desecrate all love. Yet some preserve the vivid thoughts — the charms Of household sanctities ; and one such now Rose from affection's spotless couch and bent O'er the angel face of virgin infancy ; And thus her gentle and blest thoughts found words ; " Thou sleep'st in Love's own heaven, my child ! that brow No guilt hath darkened and no sorrow trenched : Those lips, which through thy fragrant breath receive The incense hues of thy sweet heart, no gust Of uttered passion hath defiled ; thy cheek Glows with elysian health and holiness: And all thy little frame seems thrilling now With the pure visions of a soul skyborn. The Lares be around thee, oh, my child I For never yearned Cybele over Jove With transport deeper than is mine o'er thee !'^ Then o'er her bed she spread the drapery. Kissing the shut lids and unsullied brow, Where the mind dreamed, perchance, of bliss foregone, And, shading with her byssus robe and flowers The sunbeams from the sleeper, with a step Soft as the antelope's, she stole and knelt in prayer for that loved one at Vesta's shrine. 88 CANTO II. Breathing their bliss in melodies of love, Their pictured wings fanning the ether, flew The songbirds, and the groves were full of joy Too pure for any voice but music's, when. Lifting their dim eyes to the blaze of day, Campania's proud patricians deemed the hour So far removed from common time of rest. That, with due honour, they might breathe the breeze. That o'er the dimpled waters and the flowers. Since the first tints of dawn, had played like thought Over the face of childhood — yet bore now The vivid heat and dense effluvite Of culminating sun and marsh exhaled. To mask the treacheries of eye and lip Is pride's philosophy, the felon's skill, The code of kings, the priesthood's mystic creed. Unknown to commoners; and none beheld. Save the bronze lares, revel's quivering eye, And dull brow bound with iron, or the face Of matron guilt pallid with watch and waste, And trembling in the faintness of a heart Wrecked by excess of passion, yet again Gasping for midnight poison ! Untrimmed lamps, Sculptured with shapes of ribaldry to lure* Even satiety to sin's embrace, To tempt the timid and inflame the inured, Stood round the household altar, and upon The silken couch of customary crime Shed the pale, sickly light of vice o'erworn. Oh, that lascivious guilt at midnight wore The lurid look, the loathing shame of morn ! Bracelets of gems, enchanted amulets. And vases wrought with wanton images. And frescoes, picturing the satyr joys Of Jove and Hermes and the Laurel God, (For the old divinities were human crimes) And fountains, with nude naiads twining round * The sensualities of Pompeii wove not restricted by any deference to decorum even in external dissembling ; but the passions, which burned in their bosoms, were too graphi- cally represented upon their customary utensils. The secret deposites of the Museum Borbonico at Naples will illustrate this to any who are incredulous of the noisome excess to which sin may be extended. ^ THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 89 The unveiled tritons, with a maddened sense, And groups of Paphians, in the forest dim, (Where gloating forms lifted the filmy robes Of the bacchantes in voluptuous sleep, ) Holding their revelries with gods disguised, And every portraiture C)( pleasure known To them, M'hose whole religion was excess, — ■ All, in the chaos of the morning, flung Alluring raptures over sated sense And sickened passion, uttering, without voice, " Ye buy Repentance at the price of Hell !" Loathing the fiend they folded to their heartSjf The madness and the malady of life, The languor and the listlessness, that spring From the exhaustion of a maniac lust, The masters of the throng, in marble baths And Araby's perfumes and cordial cups, Sought tenovation for renewed delights. Odours and thermal waters may subdue The maddening fever of the flesh, but Time Never can hush the muttering lips of guilt, Nor quell Death's agonies which guilt inflictSo- The Sybarite from Salmacis arose* His orgies to renew with Sin's worst zeal, But Lethe had. no power o'er memories Of broken vow's and imprecating oaths Made by the River of the Dead, what time Cocytus moaned and Phlegethon upcast Its lurid gleams o'er torrent chasms of gloom, Bidding the banished reveller, who dared To mock the Styx, roam by its blackened shores Through the dark endlessness of shame and woe ! It was the Harvest Festival ; the corn Of Ceres filled the garners, and the vine Of the Mirth-Maker from the winepress poured * Even in the age proverbial for its efTeminacy and vice, tlie Sybarites were quoted as thfe acme of examples ; and the waters of Salmacis, by some mysterious properties, were corisidered capable of restoring the frame, exhausted by profligacy, to its original vigour. No one ^'ho had broken an oath made by the Styx (which not even ihe gods dared to infringe) could be permitted to drink of Lethe or oblivion of the evils and sufferings W'hich he had been doomed to bear for his crimes. 13 90 • CANTO 11. Divine Falernian ; and the autumnal feast, The Gathering of the Fruits, to all the gods, (Through the Idtean Mother, source of all) Was dedicated with a soul of joy. In every temple the proud priesthood put Their purple vestures and tiaras on For the solemnities they loved to hold, And masked the pride of most unholy power Beneath an austere aspect and a faith That spared no violator of their laws. With citharae and trumps and cymbals' clang, And blasts of buccin?e and softened strains Of flute and dulcimer, came all the pomp In its sublimest pageantry; the god Of light gleaming on banners wrought with forms Picturing theogenies or bridal rites, j Or earthliest deeds of the divinities. A First walked Jove's pontiff" in his diadem, [ His crowned and sceptred standard fleckered o'er With lightning bolts and tempest gloom, upborne By popa3 weaponed for the sacrifice. . • "^ Then in the mazes of a wanton dance. Lifting the thyrsus crowned with ivy wreaths. And muttering banquet hymns, the priests of mirth. With antic faces and wild steps, leapt on. Next, with a golden ensign, vales and hills Along its borders, filled with flocks and herds, And tall sheaves, in the centre, slowly trod The ministers of Saturn's Daughter blest. But, dimming all by splendour only known In Egypt's voiceless mysteries, above The long array now towered the gonfalon Of Isis, glowing with devices Shame Shrunk to behold, the shapes of Earth's worst sins* Deified fiends ! and with the lozel's smiles, Her crowned pastophori, proud of their shame, * The pamylia and phallephoria. The character of the Romans under the emperors renders it unnecessary for me to create any reluctance on their part to gaze upon objects in public processions, which, in other communities, would never have been imagined. Greece took her rehgion from Egypt— Rome hers from Greece— and both had public temples dedicated to the Aspasias, Galatoas and Campaspes of the age. The pastophori or priests of Isis, therefore, felt themselves much at home in Pompeii. J THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 91 Waved round the ribald picture, as they passed The mansions of their votaries, and maids And matrons hailed it from their porticoes. Apollo, from his eyes of ecstacy And lips of bloom filling the bosomed air With oracles ; and Hermes, in the embrace Of Iris, winging the blue heavens of love, With his enchanted rod pointing to earth ; Vesta, 'mid her Penates w^elcoming ; The heavenly Venus, with her starlight eyes,* Veiled brow and girded cestus, looking up To the pure azure, spotless as her soul ! Followed by the more worshipped Cyprian qusen, So shadowed by her draperies that guilt Revelled in beauty mocked with robes to tempt ; The Wargod, with the ancilia* and the plumes Of gory fight, whose triumph was despair ; Proud Pallas, with stern lips, and stainless browj Surmounted by its olive wreath, and eyes That never quailed in their calm chastity; Cotytto — the earth-passion's idol — 'mid The unclothed Baptae, painted with designs To startle e'en sear'd sense into a blush ; The Soaking with his trident ; the castout And shapeless Forger of the lightning bolts; The Deity of Erebus, with her He bore from Enna, and his son, the god Of gold ; Diana, in her treble forms. Magician, huntress, virgin of the skies ; Hirsute and pranksy Pan, amid his fauns; Nymphs, dryads, oreads and tritons ; — all The beautiful, or dread, or uncouth thoughts Imagination made divinities. In lengthened march, along Pompeii's streets, Tow'rd the Pantheon, in their triumph moved. Behind the glittering crowd, the hecatomb Of victims, led by golden cords, moved on, *The sacred shields of Rome — borne in the processions of Mars, who of all the mon- strous idols was the most worshipped because the least merciful. Is it net a singular anomaly of the human mind that in every creed the god of vengeance hdiS always been the most opulent and popular ? 92 CANTO H. To every god the sacrifice was meet ; The dove to Venus, and the bull to Mars ; To Dian, the proud stag — the lawless goat, That tears the vine leaves, to the deity Of the gay banquet : and their horns, o'erlaid With gold, tossed haughtily amid the crowd, ' As, rolling their undreading eyeballs round, They glared defiance and amazement, mute Yet merciless when fit occasion came, " An evil omen ! lo ! the victims strive, And we must drag them to the altar !"* said The trembling augur — " what most dismal grief And destiny o'erhangs to whelm us now !" Yet onward surged the multitudes, with boughs Of olive in their hands and laurel crowns. And Zeian barley spears folded in wreaths By locks from richest fleeces, as they passed The temple images, with practised skill. Bending their foreheads on expanded palms. And onward, o'er the Appian Way,-|- the host Of mitred, robed and bannered priests drew nigh The Fane of all the Gods, and, at a word, The music softened to a solemn strain. The measured voices of the holy chiefs Ascended in a song, and as they ceased. The people, like the ocean's myriad waves. Raised their responses to the harvest prayer. THE P^AN OF THE PANTHEON. STROPHE. Wielder of Worlds, that round Elysium dance Beneath the brightness of thy sleepless eye, Who from the bosom of the flame dost glance, And feel'st our time in thine Eternity ! Thou deathless Jove ! Monarch of awe and Love ! Look from the radiant height of thy dominion On thine adorers now, • Nothing could be more ominous of evil than any resistance or even reluctance on the part of the viclimsto be sacrificed. That the oflering might be auspicious it was neces- sary that the animal should seem to rejoice in its sacred death. I More properly, the Via Consularis. THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 93 And waft thy smile on Hermes' rainbow pinion, And bend thine awful brow ! Immortal and supreme! With vows and victims to thy shrine we come, , ' With hearts that breathe the incense of their praise, And first fruits borne froai each protected home, To bless thee for the blessings of our days ! Have we not heard thy spirit in the dreams, That glance o'er thought like morn's young light on streams 1 In visions, watched thy bird of triumph near The azure realms of thine ethereal sphere. Waiting behests of victories and powers And counsels from thy throne ! Hath not thy thunder voice, the summer showers, The lightning spirit, all thine own, 3ade strew the exulting earth with fruits and flowers ? Therefore, we render up The spotless victim from the wood And household field, and from libation cup Pour the rich vine's unmingled blood. Accept our praise and prayer, Sceptred Immortal of the chainless Air ! Chorus. — King of Elysium! hear, oh hear From thine Olympian seat ! To priest and people bow thy sovereign ear ! We dare not see thy face, but kiss thy sacred feet ! A N T I S T R O P H E, God of the Mornlight ! when the orient glows With thy triumphant smile, and ether feels The Hours and Seasons, 'mid their clouds of rose, Swept o'er its bosom on the living wheels Of thy proud car. When, through the abysses of the heaven, each star Before the splendour of thy spirit fades Like insect glimmerings in the noontide glades ! Hail, radiant Phoebus ! lord Of love and life, of wisdom, music, mirth. At whose resistless word 94 CANTO II. Being and bliss dance o'er the blossomed earth! O Pythian Victor, hear ! Pffionian Healer of our ills, behold ! Breather of Oracles ! thy sons draw near To feel the music of thy lyre unfold, As shadows change before the nnorn to gold, The sealed-up volume of our darkened minds. Breathe on Favonian winds, And from the effluence of immortal light Strew our dim thoughts with rays, Till, sorrowing o'er this failing praise, We know, with burning hearts, to sing thy deeds aright ! God of the harp and bow, Whose thoughts are sunbeam arrows, hear ! Giver of flowers ! dissolver of the snow ! Accept our gifts and let thy sons draw near ! Chorus. — lo Pasan ! from thy sphere. King of prophets, hear, oh hear ! From hallowed fount and hoary hill, And haunt of song and sunlight near, With inspirations come and every bosom fill. E p o u E. Reveal the shrine ! wave ye the laurel boughs. Dipped in the fount that purifies the heart ! Unsullied Dian ! breathe our holiest vows ! Storm-crowned Poseidon ! to the imperial mart Thou bearest the Median gems, And loftiest Asian diadems, And o'er thy billowy world we pour our praise ! Uranian Venus ! let the vesper rays Of thy beatitude around us float and dwell. Till thine ethereal loveliness o'ercomes The stains and shadows of thy mocker here, And high the Vinegod's song may swell Among the shrines of Vesta's hallowed home Without a following tear ; And Isis' mystic rites may thrill The soul with Plato's most celestial vision, And Pallas in her grandeur fill THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 95 The heart of Ceres with her mind elysian ! Blesser with bounty, hail ! What but thy gifts can mortals offer thee ? Smile on the banquet and the song and tale The Dionysius breathes to thy divinity ! Hail, all ye gods of heaven, earth, wave and wind ! Ye oceans from the streams of human mind ! With spotless garments and unsandalled feet. Purified bodies and undaring souls. We the Pantheon tread ! oh, meet, Meet your adorers ! lo ! the incense rolls Along Corinthian columns and wrought roof, Like Manes wandering o'er the fields of bliss! Chill not our worship with a stern reproof! Hail, all ye gods ! we worship with a kiss ! Chorus. — From shore and sea and vale and mountain, Hail, ye divinities of weal or woe ! Olympus, Ida, grottOj fountain, — We in your Pantheon kneel — around your altars bow ! Through the bronze gates, sculptured with legends feigned Of the theocracies, the pageant swept, A thousand feet dancing the song, and paused Around the shrines they dragged the victims up. Then, bending from Jove's altar to the east, The Pontiff raised the golden chalice, crowned With wine unmingled, and, amid the shower Of green herbs, myrrh, obelia* and vine leaves, Poured out the brimmed libation on the head Of the awaiting sacrifice, from flocks Chosen for beauty, and young quickening life. Then with a laurel branch, he sprinkled all. Circling the altar thrice ; the heralds, then. Cried, " Who is here ?" and all the multitudes Like the chafed billows answered, " Many and Good !" * A peculiar sort of sacrificial cakes. It was held unholy to offer up any maimed or imperfect creature, and herein the Judean ecclesiastical enactments agreed with those of the Greeks and Romans. All their animal sacrifices were " chosen for beauty and young quickening hfe." Any blemish inflicted by the Huntress or Py thius, by Sun or Moon namely, was deemed a particular offence to the deity. 96 CANTO II. " Breathe not the words of omen !" " Lo ! we stand Like Harpocrates in the vestibule !" The high Priest, 'mid the wreathing incense, raised The prayer; the augur, with his wandf marked out The heavens ; the aruspices, with eyes of awe, Behind the slayers of the sacrifice Stood gazing on the victims. " Hath no spot, No arrow from the Huntress' bow or dart Of Pythius stained the oifering ?" said the ])riest. " 'Tis fair and perfect, and unblemished stands To give its body to the Harvest Queen And all the gods ! — We pour into its car The holy water — yet it doth not nod ! We bend the neck — ^it struggles for the flight ! Dismal presages ! omens of despair !" The Pontiff quailed, not in the dread of gods, ( His sole divinity was his own power) But fear of superstition's evil thought, As from the fluctuating host arose A smothered shriek of terrour ; and, in tones Quick, stern, and deep as the exploded bolt, Commanded-^" Strike ! the wrath of Jove attends The impious delay !" — and, hushed as heaven When broods the hurricane on cloudy deeps. The worshippers stood trembling as they looked, — The agonies and ecstacies of fear And hope, in stormlike glimpses, shadowing o'er The broken waves of faces — on the shrine. And saw the axe of the cultrarius fall ! Maddened and bleeding, yet not slain, the ram Flung back his twisted horns — sent up a sound Of anguish, and in frenzy on the air Springing, in his fierce death-throes, fell amidst Dismayed adorers and gasped out his life. Shrieks o'er the panting silence rose and filled The temple, and in horrour shrunk the throng As o'er the accursed rites pale Nemesis, Leading the Destinies, had come to blast Tiie sacrifice with sacrilege; but now ♦ Lituus. '^T^ THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 97 The Pontiff's voice, bidding iiis licfors quell The tumult, called another victim up And stillness brooded o'er the stricken crowd. Gashing tlie lifted neck, the popas held The brazen ewers beneath the bubbling blood, And white robed flamens bade the people note The happiest augury — without a sigli Or tremor, seen or heard, the victim died. Then flayed and opened they the offerings Lifting the vitals on their weapons' points. With writhing brows, pale lips and ashen cheeks, And failing hearts, in horror's panic voice, The aruspices proclaimed the prodigies. " The entrails palpitate — the liver's Jobes Are withered, and the heart hath shrivelled upP' Oroans rose from living surges round ; yet loud The High Priest uttered — " Lay them on the fire !" 'T was done: and wine and oil poured amply o'er. Yet still the sacrificer wildly cried — ^' Woe unto all ! the wandering fires hiss up Through the black vapours — lapping o'er the flesh They burn not, but abandon ! ashes fill The temple, whirled upon the wind that waves The flame through smothering clouds, towards the Mount, That, since first light, hath hurled its lava forth 1 Hark! the wild thunder bursts upon the right! Ravens and vultures pass us on the left ! Fly, votaries ! from the wrath of heaven, oh, fly ! The Vestals shriek, the sacred fire is dead. The gods deny our prayers ! fly to your homes !" Prom the Pantheon struggled the vast throng. And rushed dismayed unto their household hearths, While from Vesuvius swelled a pyramid Of smoke streaked o'er with gory flame, and sounds, Like voices howling curses deep in earth, From its abysses rose, and ashes fell Through the thick panting air in burning clouds. All, save the haughty Pontiff, mocking fear. The Temple had abandoned, but he sate On the high altar, 'mid the trophied pomp Of vain oblations to the sculptured gods* 13 yS (JANTO II. Breatliing his scorn and imprecations on The dastard joeople and the blasted rites, When, heaving as on billows, while a moan Passed o'er the statues, the proud temple swayed. As 't were an evening cloud, from side to side. Rocking beneath the earthquake that convulsed Sea, shore and mountain, at its hollow voice. Hurled into ruin ; and his lips yet glowed With execrations on the sacrifice. When from its pedestal, bending with brow Of vengeance and fixed lips that almost spake, Jove's giant image fell and crushed to earth The Thunderer's mocker in his temple home ? Like an earth-shadowing cypress, o'er the skies Lifting its labyrinth of leaves, the boughs Of molten brass, the giant trunk of flame. The breath of the volcano's Titan heart Hung in the heavens ; and every maddened pulse Of the vast mountain's earthquake bosom hurled Its vengeance on the earth that gasped beneath. Yet mortals, then, the adored Immortals deemed Deified passions, swayed, like summer leaves. By orison or chanted hymn, from deeds. Ere time had birth, appointed. So, within Their secret chambers and the silent groves, While Ruin's eye glared in the living bolt With wrath and scorn on their unhallowed rites, The doomed idolators, abashed yet fain To win redemption from suspended wrath. Round their Penates cowered, while magians came, Sybils and sorcerers, to mock the mind With mystic divinations, and reveal, What prophets need not show, folly and guilt. To avert the doom, now Egypt's muttered spells And magic incantations summoned up Earth demons to unfold the future's deeds ; And thus the weird Canidia of the Time Invoked the Spirits of the Air to aid. THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 99 THE SYBIL'S INVOCATION From the hill forest's gloom, Where the Lemures dwell ; From the depth of the tomb, Whence the soul parts to hell ; From the dim caves of death W^here the coil'd serpent sleeps not, And the lone deadly heath Where the night spirit weeps not ; From the shore where the wreck lies, And the surge o'er the dead ; From the heart of the dark skies. Where the tempest is bred ; Ye Demigods, hear ! Ye pale shadows, ascend ! And ye demons, appear! To drink the bann'd cup ere the weird rites shall end ! From the ocean deeps come. Where the coral groves glimmer. In your trailed robes of gloom. Making Terror's face dimmer ; From the crag-pass of slaughter. On the voiced air of death. Come, shed o'er your daughter Your oracle breath ! On the night vapour stealing From the marsh o'er the mountain; On the bland air revealing No doom by the fountain ; Ye Demigods, come I Ye pale shadows, ascend I And ye demons, from gloom ! To drink the bann'd cup ere the weird rites shall end ! Be ye bless'd or accursed. Be ye famished or sated. In pale Orcus the worst, In Elysium the fated ; If ye roam by the shore Which ye never may leave, ' Or in nectar adore Where ye never can grieve ; Be ye gross and malign Or elysian as air — Come forth and divine What the future may bear ! Ye Demigods, come ! Ye pale shadows, ascend ! Ana ye demons, from gloom ! To drink the bann'd cup ere the weiid rites shall end ! But, 'mid the darkened necromantic haunts Of worse fiends than the evoked, no voice replied. Then, moulding effigies to suit her hate, And dropping venom in each pictured pore. The Sybil, with dishevelled serpent locks And Lamian features, bade the fiend of fire Unroll the ritual of hell, and read Revealings of the Destinies — and then, She drank from the bann'd skullcup poison draughts- Pledging the damned ! yet Silence looked reply. lOU CANTO 1. And each Promethean divination brought* Nor shadow nor response ; the mirrored glass Returned no image ; the drowned ring sent up No echo ; \vhirHng gusts effaced the forms Of letters writ in ashes ,• magic gems No longer kept their power; the daphne burned Without a sound ; and every poison herb, Though with unearthly skill distilled, no more. Like Nessus' robe and wild Medea's gift, Dispersed the agonies of maniac deaths. Restless in doubt, the human mind hath sought Knowledge in every hour of time, through tears. Want, anguish, madness, solitude and death. I^ike the lost bird from its sole refuge sent Forth o'er the drown'd world, hovering o'er the verge Of the eternal ocean, from whose depths Earth's ghastly spectres rise to mock at hope, The spirit follows through forbidden paths The meteor of its own vain thought, till Death Shrouds, palls and sepulchres the throbbing dust. Vain were petitions murmured to the gods Priapus and Cunina to dissolve The spells of Fascinators ; the evil eye Of the Illyrian or TribalHf sent Its wonted glance into the trembling breast, Possessing, as they feigned, the soul with fiends. Vainly, they wore baccharis wreaths — in vain. Their jasper, rhamn or laurel amulets On brow or bosom hung ! The magi dreamed. Scorned thus by demon and by deity. Yet by worst means to know the^ worst resolved. The priestled multitude, e'er then, as now, * See Potter's Antiquities, Von Hammer, etc. for the varioas superstitious observances of the Greeks and Romans. In the scene of the sacrifice I liave introduced evil omens — such as the Romans feared in their height of power — throughout the ceremonial. + The Barbarian inhabitants of Illyricum, Thrace and Mossia were held, by the com mon superstition of the age, to be sorcerers and magicians ; and various talismans or amulets were worn to ward off" the dreadful influences of The Evil Eye. It is humiliat- ing to perceive how little (he common minds of our own day are exalted above those of heathen ignorance and irreligion. THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 101 Slaves to the fears their crimes create, devote To Isis' shrine of shame and godless priests Pompeii's loveliest virgin* — in the bud Of innocence and beauty, love and joy, By men most evil doomed to die, that Fate, Through her prevailing blood, may speak their doom. Alas ! must Death, from his pale realms of fear. Breathe on that beautiful and radiant brow And leave it blasted : on the blossomed lips. Whence music gushed in streams of rainbow thought, And chill them into breathlessness and gloom ? That vermil cheek — those eyes, where thoughts repose. Like clustered stars on the blue autumn skies. That head of beauty and that heart of love — Oh, must they languish, moulder, and depart. Without a sigh, from the sweet earth they loved 1 Nought may the grief, wrath, agony, despair Of friends or kindred — nought the holiest laws Of Love — avail to shield the victim maid ; The Priest will have his sacrifice, though Earth And Heaven shriek out — 'Tis Lust's own sacrilege.' Ne'er hath the bigot, whatsoe'er his crownf Cidaris, mitre, oak or laurel wreath. Spared, having power to torture. Ne'er the slave Of superstition slackened in his zeal Of loving God by loathing humankind. Weep with the crocodile — embrace the asp — Doubt not the avalanche of ages — meet The famished wolPs sardonic smile — and sleep * Human sacrifices were not uncommon during the earlier periods of the Greek and Roman history ; and I cast no additional discredit upon the ancient character of heathen- ism, by representing the disappointed consulters of the gods putting in action their canni- bal ferocities. Iphigenia and Jephtha's daughter illustrate Grecian mythology and Jewish vows. I" I appeal to all history, civil, ecclesiastical and profane. Persecution is not exclusive; give preponderance to any sect or faction and it will tyrannize ; the faggot would be lighted, 1 he dungeon filled, the deathaxe red. The civil power would collude with the church as it has always done, when the latter claimed the prerogatives of heaven to exempt it from human accountability — because superstitious ignorance fears more the anathemas of a priesthood than the agonies and blood of a thousand victims. Repre- sentations of eternal punishments due to those who indulge humanity, by sparing the proscribed, the heretics, namely — have influenced mankind far more than the view of nations banished and provinces depopulated by the relentless malignity of some Torque- mada of paynimrie or Christendom. Factions and sects, in politics and religion, never yet won anything but ruin and disgrace, yet they are perpetuated and multiplied as the world wears to waste ! lO'Z CANTO II. Beneath the upas — but believe not man, Who clothes the Demon in a seraph's robe. With hurried footfalls o'er the lava walks,* Casting quick glances tow'rd the Mount of Flame, The vassal worshippers of Isis passed. And the proud temple gates behind them closed. Then from the altar of the Idol came The crowned liicrophant, in robes o'erwrought With mystic symbols, emblems of a power Invisible, yet everywhere supreme, As the air that shrouds the glaciers, and, like that, Waked to annihilate, by one low voice. Lifting his dusky hand, gleaming with gems, He waved the throng to worship, with hushed lips, And, with a gesture, bidding neophytes Come forth, and raise the victim, bound and stretched On the Mosaic floor, in horror's arms, With a hyoena's step, through pillar'd aisles, Dim, still and awful, to the vaulted crypt Of gloom and most unhallowed sacrifice He led the bearers of the victim maid. One shuddering farewell — one wild shriek gushed, And then in gloom her hyacinthine hair Vanished — and from the veiled recesses rose The music of the sistrum,-|- and strange gleams Of violet and crimson light along The shrine and statues flitted momently And faded ; and mysterious phantoms glanced O'er the far skirting corridors, and left The awed mind wildered with a doubting sense Of silence broken by what was not sound. Nor breathings of a living heart — nor tones Of forest leaves nor lapses of the wind — But a dread haunting of a sightless fear * The streets of Pompeii were paved with blocks of lava ; and the audacious apathy, which the inhabitants manifested amidst the tlireatenings of Vesuvius, may be ascribed to their famiUaiity with earthquakes and volcanoes. The wretched inhabitants of Portici, Torre del Greco and other exposed villages are, at this day, as unapprehensive of the peril that has overhung them since their birth, as were the Pompeiians at their death-hour. Cities buried in lava or ashes may lie beneath even Herculaneum and Pompeii. •j-A stringed instrument peculiar to the mysterious rites of Isis, which, like most other mystericp, '■oncealed the rj'>=t •I'-farions practices. THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 103 Of unformed p3ril — a crushed thought, that through The twilight dimness of the fane o'erhung Gigantic beings of diluvian realms, Voiceless and viewless, yet endowed with might To rend the mortal breather of a sigh. Down the chill, dusky granite steps the priest Guided the virgin sacrifice ; above, The massy and barr'd vauU door shut ; and Night, Shown in its ghastly terrors by wild rays Of many tinctured lights, fell on the heart Of the devoted, desolated maid. Through still descending labyrinths, where coiled All loathsome creatures, and dark w-aters dripped With a deep, sullen sound like pulses heard By captives dying in their dungeon tomb, The Egyptian glided hurriedly and still. Then o'er a green lagoon, whose festered flood Flung back a deathsome glare as the lights sunk On its dead surface, stretching into gloom, They, in a mouldered barque, went silently. The plated crocodile, on the earth and pool Suspended, yawn'd his sluggish jaws and looked Upon the priest with fawning earnestness; He gazed upon the victim and passed by And the loathed reptile dreamed of coming feasts. Rugged and spiral grew the pathway ; bats. Waving the spectre lights, winged through the vaults. Startled yet welcoming; and serpents lanced Their quivering tongues of venom forth and hissed Their salutations; and the lizards crept Along the cold, wet ridges of the caves ; And oft the maiden's agonizing eyes Beheld in niches or sarcophagi Mortality's abhorred resemblances. With folded serpents sculptured overhead ; And oft the feet of the familiars struck Strewn relics of the victims offered here ! Winding through tangled passages — her brain O'erfraught with the still horror — for no sound Lived through the endless caverns — thought and sense 104 CANTO II, Of being fled from the doomed maiden's heart ; Time, mystery and darkness and lone death, Like dim dreams, passed o'er her tranced brain, and earth And agony and wrong and violence Were but the shadows childhood sports withal ! She woke amid the gush and hymning voice Of fountains and the living gleam of fires, And swell of tenderest music ; and beside The purple perfumed couch, whereon she lay, In a vast chamber, hung with flowers and gems. The priest of Isis stood ; — his glowing eye No longer stern and chill, his lips no more Like sculptured cruelty, but bright and warm And moist with mellowest wine ; and o'er his face, Late masked in mockeries, the burning light Of Passion broke, as thus, with wanton smiles, He breathed his heart upon his victim's ear. " Thy path to pleasure, like the world's, my love ! Was through the empire of pale doubt and pain. Where many visions of detested things Will consummate the rapture deigned thee here. Oh, didst thou think, my queen of loveliness? That by Pompeii's dastard crowd of apes 'J'hou wert borne hither that the sacred lips Of Isis, parted by thy purest blood. Might give responses to fiend-loving fools ! The goddess hath a voice — when I ordain — And, when her mysteries have filled tiieir hearts With myriad terrors to which death is bliss. They shall not lack an answer to their quest. But this is Love's elysiuni ; men may seek Another by Jove's grace — but this lor me ! Be theirs eternities of prayer and hymn! But Time and Wine and Venus are my gods!" And thus, unweeting who bent o'er her couch, The maiden, in delirium, made reply. " O holy Dian ! hath thine Iris* come * The rainbow, in every mythology, has been beautifully personifieJ. Iris, its goJJess, was the messenger of the ancient deities; and though employed by jealous Juno to create "greeneyed monsters," she was more happily occupied, in general, in separating •virtuous souls fiom feeble frames and escorting them to Elysium. No one is ignorant of the Scandinavian bifrost, and the romantic tales of the Eddas. THE LAST NIGHT OF FOMPKII. 105 To lead me through Elysium's myrtle groves ? Thanks for the briefest pangs of death ! my soul Blends with the radiance, songs and incense here In rapture, unforgetting earth's dark ills, The victim bonds, gloom, terror, madness borne Amid the vaulted corridors — deep thanks, Chaste Dian ! for the dart that winged me here !"^ Thus she lay whispering faintly, while the veins^ Again, like violets, began to glow, And Thought from the elysian portals turned To shed, once more, its light along her brow. The lips, like rifted sunset clouds, burned o'er With beauty, and the sloe-dark eyes, from lids Of loveliness o'erarched like rainbows, flashed Upon the luxuries of wantonness With a delirious radiance; and she pressed Her fairy hand upon her troubled brain As dismal memories through all the pomp Around her thronged. " Do visions o'er me rush Through the ivory gate? or what is this? methinks The limbs of Vesta pass not Charon's ward- Yet bear I them ! and I behold no forms Like the supreme divinities who dwell Beyond the azure curtains of the skies ! "Look on thy suppliant worshipper, my love !" Said ihe voluptuous mocker of the gods. '* Thy Saturn, my Osiris, aptly feigned, With Horus and the laughing Boygod, wreathed With lotus and charm'd myrtle, must be now The only Guardians of our paradise — For thou art the voluptuous Paphian Queen, And must with kisses be adored ! thy breath Is odour — on that fair full bosom sleep A ihousand loves — those lustrous eyes enchant — ■ And the linnbs moulded by divinest skill" — " Reveal thy speech ! what import bear these words 1 Dream I, or art thou the hierophant Of Isis, who from Misraim's pyramids Brought'st new gods into Latium ? Nay, I skill not, For thou wear'st not the countenance that chilled 14 106 CANTO U. My soul, and proud Pompeii's crowd o'erawed, But rattier, like earth's faun or satyr fiend, Gloatest o'er some revenge for sin unknown !'' The maiden's lost mind came in all its strength And purity, and in the dreadless might Of thoughts unsoiled by evil, she resolved To match unfriended virtue with the power Of Passion, though it wore Religion's mask, And gloried in No-Hammon's lawless power. " Simple as Superstition's prostrate prayer !" With blandishments, said Isis' haughty priest. " Know'st thou not, loveliest ! that holy men Must never shame their gods by deeds unlike Their sacred exploits ? what were deathlessness Without delight ? eternity, without The ecstacies of woman's winning smile? Thy country's hoarest fathers, most for skill In counsel, and unequal virtue famed. In canon and enactment of old law. Did consecrate corruption and commit Captives to bondage of their tyrant's will, And build proud temples for the haunt of shame. We, then, are mimes of the Immortals, Love ! And why should the weak waiter on the rites Of the Omnipotents refrain from joy ? Folly must feel our masterdom, when words, Called oracles, are bought, but, in all else. The priest was framed for pleasure — and thy smile, Hebe of Beauty ! from thy vassal here Shall win a better augury than all Campania's hecatombs ! — Time wastes, my bliss ! Speak thou the oracle I shall repeat Through Isis' marble lips ! — the answer's thine !" " Thus, then," the Maiden cried, by hope inspired To shun impiety's most loathed caress, " Thus let the mystic oracle declare, * Ye shall pass o'er the Tyrrhene sea in ships Laden with virgins, gems and gods, and spoils Of a dismembered empire, and a cloud W THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 107 Of light shall radiate your ocean path !" Breathes not the soul of mystery in this?"* " Ay, love ! and after his desire or hope Each may interpret-— veriest oracles Must have a myriad meanings — and the voice Of Memphian Isis shall, at once, respond Unto the drivelling dreamers ; then, my life 1 While dotards live on riddles and embrace Shadows as did the Thunderer what time The oxeyed empress jeuloused of his deedsj We at Love's feast reposing shall regale And drink the ecstacies of mingled hearts ! — The sistrum sounds ! the sculptured lips shall speak!" Exulting thus, the Idol minister Disclosed a stairway through the sculptured form Of Serapis, whose giant head uprose Beneath the altar of the fane, and thence Through Isis' sphynxlike statue, from whose mouth Responses breathed that fitted any deed Or eera ; fable was religion's name. Up through the hollow bosom of the God, Saying, " The mocker Momusf hath his jest And more, since e'en the Immortal's breast bears now A mirror" — passed the priest — and soundlessly The deedal portal, bossed with vine- wreaths, closed. That moment, from the flowered and purple couch The maiden sprung, through any caverned path, — All peril and loathed sights and awful sounds, *The whole art of utteiing oracles consisted in choosing terms capable of any con-, stiuction. The desires of the consuker determined the meaning; and neither Delphi nor Dodona could commit its credit by the failure of a prophesy which, it might allege, was never properly understood. No one can have forgotten the celebrated response (which illustrates the sophistries and follies of the ancients) " Aio te, ^acide, Romanes vincere posse." The maiden now consents to give an Isean response, prefiguring the ruin impending from which all, who escape, must fly by sea, that the absence of the priest may afford her an opportunity to fly from the lascivious temple. -j-Momus, the Jester of the gods, when Jupiter presented the man whom he had created to his inspection, and asked him how, characteristically, he could find fault with such workmanship, replied with a sneer that the defect was both obvious and incurable — that one so wise as the king of gods and men should have placed a mirror over his heart that all might discern evil purposes in their first conception. The priest, by filling with his person the aperture of the image, pleasantly deems himself the mirror that reveals and directs the minds of men. 108 » ANTo n. To fly from pomp, pollution and despair. Rushing along the tesselated floor, She passed the beds of banquet, whose perfume From sightless vases stole, and gained the verge Of the vast gleaming hall — but now she met Black, silent, unknown depths that seemed to scowl On her vain flight ! to every side she flew But to encounter granite battlements. Coiled serpents, mouldering sepulchres, cold cliffs, Gigantic sphynxes, towering grim o'er lakes Of sulphur, or the dreadful shapes of fiends. The gorgeous lights grew shadowy, and stained clouds Of vapour floated o'er the pillared roof. Taking all forms of terror; and low sighs And muttered dirges from the waters stole Along the arches ; and through all the vaults, Into a thousand wailing echoes rent, A shriek, loud, quick and full of agonies, Burst from the deep foundations of the fane. With steps like earliest childhood's, to her couch The maiden faltered back, and there, with soul Too overfraught for wished unconsciousness, Gasping her breath, she listened ! — Sullen sounds Wandered along the temple aisles above ; Then came the clang of cymbals and strange words Uttered amid the faroff" music's swell: And the prostrated multitudes, like woods Hung with the leaves of autumn, stirred ; then fell A silence when the heart was heard — a pause — When ardent hope became an agony; And parted lips and panting pulses — eyes Wild with their watchings, brows with beaded dews Of expectation chilled and fevered — all The shaken and half-lifted frame — declared The moment of the oracle had come ! A sceptre to the hand of Isis leapt And waved ; and then the deep voice of the priest Uttered the maiden's answer, and the fall Of many quickened steps like whispers pass'd Along the columned aisles and vestibule. None deemed, the maiden in the earthquake's groan THE LAST MCiiT OF POMPEII. 109 And the volcano's thunder voice, had heard The hastening doom, and clothed it in dark words The blinded victims never could discern ; But to the bosom of their guilt again They passed, dreaming of victories and spoils! *' Gone !" said the priest, descending — " Serapis ! Pardon and thanks I crave and give thee, god ! — Gone to their phantom banquet with glad hearts — Such is the bliss of superstition's creed ! And they will glory o'er their fellows now. Deeming themselves the temples of the gods ! Brimmed with revealings of divinity: But Folly wafts us food, and we should laud The victim of night visionries who parts With virgin gold for fabled miracles! But that thy loveliness might peril prayers And change the rites to riots ill esteemed, Thou shouldst have been a pythoness, my love ! What shadow veils thy vestal brow t thou art My bride, and pleasure waits upon thee here — Let the pure wine awake thy thoughts to mirth !" "' Mirth at the altar which thou mockst with jeers ! Mirth in thy holy ministries, proud priest ! It fits thee not — and less thine evil speech To Laelius' child, who, while her father waits On royal Titus in imperial Rome, Betrayed, it seems, by thy fit parasites. Was hither borne by doomed Pompeii's throng, A victim, not to Isis, but to thee ! Beware, thou atheist pontiff! the shocked world Hath had and shall, through uncreated time. Have mitred scorners, who blaspheme the heavens, Mocking the faith with which they manacle The hearts that would deny yet dare not — like Thee, mocker of the idol thou dost serve ! Yet doubt not — years are but the viewless path Of the avenging Deity ! the earth, Elysium, Orcus, the sweet pleiades. The weeping stars, the depths of ocean swept By typhon tossing billows to the heavens — All live but in the will of One Supreme, 1 10 CANTO II. Whose breath inspires the universe — whose soul Is Immortahty ! and 'ncath His throne I kneel and wrap around my mortal fears The robe ot' His immortal purity, Bidding thee, Priest ! e'en in thy purple home. Tremble amid thy thoughts of sacrilege !" "lo Athena ! Pallas haih no gift To rival thine, my loveliest ! thy words, Like pungent herbs before the banquet, give A charm, a flavour, an Apician zest To the deferred delight that dawns in tear^^ Coy maidenhood ! the sage in all his lore Must learn the science of awaking bliss From thee, supremely skilled in gibe and taunt, Which are harsh preludes to long lingering bliss- Butthe wine blushes. Love ! to meet thy lip — Lo ! how it kisses the crowned cup and smiles ! Thou wouldst not leave me — (though thy free discourse Argues but ill) — for yon dim vaults, greened o'er By the dead dampness, where cold serpents trail And cockatrices brood, and livid asps Madden with unspent poison! thou hast seen A portion of the terrors — 't is thy choice To dwell with love and luxury and joy. Or have a farther knowledge — come, love! come1 The unfurrowed features of a priest ma}^ charm Thy dainty spirit well as dead men's smiles Sardonic, and the gleam of breathless flesh ! Are crimson pillows of the cygnet down Less fitting thy desire than jagged rocks Beetling o'er naptha fires and festering floods'? Or yon tapestried couch, thou wilt desert. Less to thy wish than wanderings through the gloom Of haunted charnel labyrinths beyond? Come, thou art wiser ! Passion is my god First worshipped — next, Revenge ! — my arms are chilled By cold embraces of the goddess — come !" *' Demon ! thy power is o'er me — none behold — Rome's banded legions could not rescue me — Yet I scorn, loathe, dare, trample thee, proud priest ! A THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. 11 I What art thou but corrupted clay beneath The furnace 1 but the loathsome bird that feasts On desolation's relics ? — Oh, there comes A glad sound on mine ear — a triumph sound — The deep earth-hymn of ruin ! hark ! it swirls Along the abysses of the hills and seas, Lifting the mountains with its breath — it comes ! Ye manes of mine ancestors ! it comes !" " What, scorner ! dost thou think to cheat my skill With thy Trophonian dreams, when I have clasped Delusions to my bosom since my birth 1 And juggled men by all circean arts ? I woo no longer ! thou art in my grasp — And by the Immortals I disown ! thou shalt" — " It comes ! the temple reels and crashes — Jove ! I thank thee ! Vesta ! let me sleep with thee !" And on the bosom of the earthquake rocked The statues and the pillars, and her brain Whirled with the earth's convulsions, as the maid Fell by a trembling image and upraised A prayer of gratitude; while through the vaults, In fear and ghastly horror, fled the priest. Breathing quick curses 'mid his warning cries For succour: and the obscene birds their wings Flapped o'er his pallid face ; and reptiles twined In folds of knotted venom round his feet. Yet on he rushed — the blackened walls around Crashing — the spectral lights hurled hissing down The cold green waters ; and thick darkness came To bury ruin ! Through the arches rent And falling on he hurried, and a glance Of sunlight down the granite stairwa}' came, Like a winged spirit, to direct him on. The secret door of the adytum swung Wide, and he hailed the flamens that above Hastened his flight — when o'er the marble stair The Nubian pillars of the chancel roof. Thrown by the earthquake o'er the altar, crashed Through shrines of gems and gold, mosaic floor And beams of choicest cedar, and around 112 CAiNTO II. The priest of Isis piled a sepulchre Amid the trophies of his temple, where His living heart, crushed by despairing thoughts. Found burial till the hour of havoc came ! Buttress and arch, pillar and image fell, And the green waters of the gloom were filled With hoarded treasures — vainly coffered up. Now rose the maiden on the quaking earth, And, like the liionghts of parted love in youths Rushed from the mitred violator's home. Through the felt darkness of the labyrinth. On sculptured capitals and heads of gods She passed the dismal gulfs, and trident tongues Hissed after her amid the turbid waves. Along a gorgeous banquet hall, o'erstrewn With porphyry tables, alabaster lamps. Half quenched, and shattered wine cups of gemm'd gold, With awe and wonder fraught, the victim fled. And now she grasped a flickering light and on Hurried, casting on dolesome objects round. And nameless things of horror, glances wild With terrour and deep loathing ; the death-dews Upon the walls, green with the deadly moss. Trailed in thick streams, and o'er her sinking heart Breathed the cold midnight of the sepulchre ; And from the shapeless shadows growing up. The startled spirit wrought the forms of fiends. Or, worse, pursuers charged to hale her back. The virgin flies along a corridor Ampler, and living with the daylight air,' And far, upon its boundary, she discerns An open portal, and a rosebeam gush Of radiance stieams upon the threshold stone. Like Delphi's Pythia in her maniac mood, She leaves the vaults of Isis, hurls aside The tissued curtains o'er the portal hung, And springs, bewildered yet exulting, through Voluptuous chambers, frescoed o'er with scenes Of earthly Passion in its last excess, Where the mind melts in odour, and the heart .J CANTO II. 113 Pants in the fever of the earthborn Love.* "Oh, veatching Dian! whither am I led? These mellowed lamps that burn in fragrant nard, Those violet couches — wanton picturess — brines Of chrysolite with myrtle wreaths o'erhung, And jewelled girdles loosened — what is this But Paphian Venus' temple ! oh, the vaults Of Isis are elysium to her bowers !" She turned to hasten, when a strangled shriek From the recess before her came, and sounds Of fear and strife, and hate and agony Rose indistinct yet with intensest strength. The maiden's only path of flight lay there. She drew aside the curtain, and with hair Tangled and drenched with vault dews, haggard face And eyes dilated, like a sybil stood, A moment, in the very bower of lust, Glaring in terror on two forms that strove, One with the strength of Virtue and deep wrong, The other with base Passion's baffled wrath. " No, never shall thy pride the power and love Of Diomede despise ! Here, in the home Of Isis' own luxurious priests, thou dwell'st Their slave, till thou art mine !" " No, tyrant, no!" The lovely victim shrieked, when from the vaults, In agony of fear, with horror wild. The Maiden rushed, and, like a spirit armed With Heaven's own vengeance, stood; then quick as light While still the violator gazed upon The sudden vision, hurling him apart. The feebler being rushed along the aisles, Through many a crypt and sacrosanct and cell Of mystery and wantonness and guilt. With face fearwrought and raiment soiled and torn. The maiden traced the fugitive, and ere The blood, now at the heart, might reach the brow, They stood together 'neath the open skies. " The Saviour for thy service bless thee maid !" * The Pompeiian temple of Isis was connected by subterranean passages with the luxurious abodes of the Egyptian priests or pastophoii, who were the supporters of pro- consular tyranny. HereAnteros reigned supreme, and wantonness was truly Pan, or everything. 15 114 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPKll. 'T was Mariamne — from the loathed embrace Of Diomede escaped — that quickly spake. *' I cannot ask nor answer now — but fly With me, for peril's look proclaims thee pure ! Quick, maiden ! Diomede will never spare — Yet Mariamne once again is free ! It should be noontide ; but a livid gloom Palls all things, and a ghastliness, nor light Nor darkness, wraps our flight and bodes an eve The workers of all evil, in their pride, Dread not, nor dream of! Pansa ! heaven in love Keep thy unfaltering thoughts beneath the wings Of cherubim, and clothe thy heart with strength To foil the fiend that dares or tempts to sin ! Where'er thou art ! we shall not fail to meet. For all shall be abroad, and earth and air And fire and flood shall mingle ere sun sinks. Away ! sweet maiden ! — now the Cyprian's fane — The equestrian Forum — the Prsetorians' tower — Are passed ; and 'mid the crowded huts, that lie Beneath the amphitheatre, we rest Till the deep justice of Jehovah comes !" " Art thou a Nazarene ?" the Maiden said. " A convert of the Crucified, whose fame Hath filled and overawed the Roman World V " I was a Hebrew and a princess — now I am a Christian and a captive ! Come ! This garb and guise of thine declares, methinks, Some mysteries of thy country's deities — This day, thou shalt not fail to learn of mine !" She breathed a strange word and a shrivelled hand Unbarred a low dark postern, and a face. Darkened and harrowed by the toils and thoughts And changes of exceeding years, looked forth. The melancholy shadow of a smile And the sad echo of a broken voice Gave welcome to the wanderers ; and amid The solemn stillness of their refuge fell. From the pale lips of persecuted faith, Full many a history of the martyrdoms. CANTO 11. 115 The games of life go on ! Madness and mirth, Triumph and tears, the holydays of youth, The winter of hoar, stricken age, the pride Of mind and meekness of a heart sore tried, Rapture and anguish, poverty and pomp. And glory and the tomb — like rivals, crowd Along the isthmus of our being, doomed To vanish momently in billowy gloom ! The dev^'light of the morn in storm departs; The moonbeams strewing rifted clouds, like smiles Breathed from the bosom of Divinity, Sink, ere the daydawn, in the tempest's rack ; Yet on o'er buried centuries — the dead dust Of ages — once like the starr'd heavens inspired By myriad passions, dreaming miracles. And winged conceptions infinite as air — Time, the triumphant, in his trophied car. Moves sternly, trampling ardent hearts to earth. Oh, diademed Hypocrisies ! budding Bliss, The mildew sears — sky-soaring Hope, that dies In its birth moment — Love, which on its shrine Of incense perishes — and Fame, that drinks The bane of human breath and falls alone ! The same arena, judges, wrestlers, crown — The same brief transport and unsolaced doom — First, madness, and then vanity — the world Must be, till time is quenched, what it hath been, The bounded circle of chained thought, trod down By nations hastening into nothingness, Echoing the groans of Pain's ten thousand years, And drenched by tears that find no comforter ! With livid clouds of ashes, lava hail. And Volcan cinders all the air was filled ; - And through the bosom of Vesuvius passed Groans as of earth-gods in their endless death. And giant writhings, crushing the earth's heart ; As through the tossing vapours, mingling flame And gloom, toward the Evening Isles so loved By ancient sage, philosopher and bard. From the dark zenith rolled the gory sun. 1 IG THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. Like the ailanthus tree of old Cathay, Whose boughs, old legends say, bloom in the stars. The deep smoke of o'erhanging ruin whirled From the volcano's pinnacle, and flung Its branches over nations, scattering death. The Apennines, looking the wild wrath and awe That clothed wood, waste and precipice, upraised Their brows of terror and magnificence, On their eternal thrones watching the throes Of the convulsed abysses ; from the crags The seared and shivering forests bent and moaned. As o'er them flew the torrid blast of fate ; And, as the molten rocks and mines began To pour their broad deep masses from the height, Vast trunks of sycamore and cypress stood Charred, stark and trembling, and the castled clifls Burst like a myriad thunders, while the flood Of desolation, o'er their crashing wrecks, Tow'rd Herculaneum,* gleaming horror, rolled. Yet men repented not of foregone crime, Denied them not their wonted festivals, Their pomp of garniture and banquet mirth. Tornado, pestilence, earthquake and war Awe not the criminal inured to guilt; So the barbed poison arrow flies his heart, His pageants and night orgies brighter glow — Though death sighs float along the winecups, brimmed With nectar, mocking all calamities. From the Basilicsef the Preetor passed, (Thither when foiled in lust, to wreak his wrath On guiltlessness and guilt alike, he went,) Leaving his t3'rant judgments, in a voice Of jeering merriment pronounced, to fall On less offending breakers of the law. Prostrate upun his path, a mother cried, • As Herculaneum was buried beneath vast masses of solid lava, but Pompeii beneath scoiise, ashes and cinders, I have, with probable reason, supposed that the formerwas de- stroyed before ruin fell upon the latter. •j-Spacious and beautiful edifices appropriated to the Centumviri, the judges of the Roman Empire, over whom, by right of station, the Prfetor always presided. CANTO n. 117 " Spare, Oh Propraetor ! spare my guiltless child ! He walked not with conspirators — spake not To leaders of sedition — spare him, judge ! He hath no father — and is all to me !" Diomede paused not in his stern reply : " The hordes of Hasmus may learn wdsdom, then. And virtue and refinement from his speech — For he is banished — I reverse no doom !" The lictors' fasces o'er the supplicant In haughty scorn went on. — Another voice Assailed the Praetor : " To a cruel lord The quaestor sold my husband for the tax Ye laid upon our hut — and now he groans In bondage, while his famished children die !" " Why am I thus benetted on my way 1 I serve the senate and inflict their laws. What is \ to me who thralls or suffers thrall? Let him atone ! why should he scorn to toil ?" " Justice, Lord Governor !" a third implored. ^' Thy favourite Vibius hath cast deep shame Upon my household, and my daughter's wrongs Exact redress; not more than this from Rome Banished the Tarquins and decemviri !" " Ha ! dost thou threat, Plebeian ? Vibius hears Thy fierce arraignments with a smile — no doubt, Some twilight kisses in the summer glade — Pressed palms — clasped bosoms — dewy lips — no more ! And thou wouldst mock the majesty of law. And wed thy base condition with the blood Of my Patrician friend ! away with thee ! Methinks, Vesuvian fume hath filled the brains Of all the city — and the boiling earth Bubbled its yeast into your grovelling hearts. On, Lictors ! on — we tarry from the feast !" In robes of white, festooned by mingled flowers, And ivy wreaths or crowns of amethyst, . The Praetor's guests, on crimson couches, lay 118 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. Around the ivory tables, on which stood, 'Mid choicest viands and the costliest wines, A silver shrine and images of gods. Pictures — the prodigies of perfect skill — Hung round the hall of banquet, and to men, The imitators of divinities, Made venial every vice. In plenitude Of power and treachery, their holiest Jove, Masked to dishonour and betray, achieved Shame's triumph, and the wanton canvas lived With Mycon's impure thought ;* there Bacchus stood, Gloating o'er lozelries and revel routs. As Zeuxis drew the king of catamites; Venus, the earthborn, 'mid voluptuous nymphs, Reclined on myrtle beds with swimming eyes, And sunbeam lips dewmoist, and wanton swell Of bosom far too beautiful, and limbs Half hid in amorous flowers! and ancient fame For matchless charm of genius here had shrined Parrhasius' name ! while Passion's maddening heart Burned o'er the walls, and rival statues stood Beneath ; and there the last wild feast was held Pompeii's toil and tears e'er gave to Guilt. The knelling slaves in goblets wrought from gems Served acrid wine — on gold plate, bitter herbs To zest the appetite ; and, glancing up His haughty eyes, burning with hate and scorn, Chafed Diomede upon his vassals flung The venom of his darkly brooding mind. " Be thy locks shorn as fits thine office, slave ! Or I may brand the theta on thy browf Less undefined, and make the dust thy food ! Companian servitude, methinks, outgrows All wantonness. Ho, Midas ! thou art skilled, •All the ancient sculptors and painters, inimitable as they wp. re in the execution of their conceptions, faithfully followed, perhaps led the blush-disowning taste of the times; and every banquet-hall and chamber exhibited indubitable testimonials of their uses. — Mycon, Xeuxis and Parrhasius, it is hardly necessary to say, were gifted and celebratad artists. (■The Greek letter 6 (theta) was burned upon the foreheads of slaves as an indelible sign of proprietorship ; hence they were called ///era/j — a term strictly applicable to some lets ancient and better conditioned persons than the captive barbarians of buried times. CANTO 11. 119 I hear, in tintinnaculating verse, And lispest snatches of philosophy ! Be master of thy safety ! I may lose A pampered slave erelong — or, at the best, The tintinnacLilus may shame thy clink !* — — Be merry, friends ! — -what tidings from the throne 1 Ye have beheld the Temple of the Peace Filled with the spoils of rebel Jews, where all Treasure their gold and gems — a trophied fame ! The gorgeous fabric is a coffer ! Rome Wears all earth's glories in her mighty Crown. What think ye, then ? a sackcloth skeleton Wanders and mutters on the Palatine That what he calls Jehovah's wrath will burst, And in thick blackness bury all this pomp, — Making Earth's Mistress a stark mendicant !" Loud laughed the parasites, and wanton gibes Were cast on Jew and Gentile ; then the feast Of rarest luxuries before them glowed, And, (bright libations poured to Vesta first) The beaded wine was quaffed from goblets brimm'd. " Oh, I forget !" said Diomede, the light Of the delirious revel in his eyes. As in the opal radiance of the cup They glowed, and glanced, with an exulting pride, 'Mid costliest viands from the mead and main — " The fairest sport awaits us ere the games ! In the Campanian legion, at the siege Of that black Golgotha the traitors called Jerusalem, a soldier served with skill Whom Titus made Decurion : him the plague Of the new Heresey, and Love, at once. Infected ; and, abandoning the host, He sought elysium in the caverns here, Till Thraso found his philosophic haunt. Where with his Hebrew Paphian he was wont In hermit guise to play the liberal. *The Praetor may, perhaps, be allowed a pun. Tintinnaculus may mean a public whipper — an inflictor of the bastinado — and jingling rhymer ; lashes and verses both may be melodious. *f' 120 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. He dies today ; but for the present mirth His tongue may vibrate Ho ! — The Nazarene !" The slaves led Pansa from the portico Fettered yet fearless, for the time of dread Had passed from him, and in his hopeless cell The Paraclete illumed his darkened soul, And panoplied his heart to dare his doom. Thus, as he entered, loud the Praetor spake: "Hail, Gladiator! did thy felon god, Thy scourged and crucified divinity, Instruct thee in the sabre's use against The shaggy monarch of Numidian hills? Art thou argute and apt to lunge and fence Adroit and firm of nerve to meet or shun The salutations of the Desert King? Lucania and Calabria have poured out Their thousands to behold thy feats to day ; And, gay as bridal banqueters, they throng The arcades and the vomitories now To weep the Mauretanian's martyrdom — ^'^ For thou, no doubt, wilt triumph and receive The twice ten thousand acclamations sent To honour thy proud valour, as is meet. Oh, thou shalt be anointed like thy Christ, And not with vulgar nard by courtesans, But ceroma and myron ! owest thou not Thanks to the Roman Mercy for this care?" " A Roman's Mercy ! every spot of earth, Your banners have shed plagues on, can attest With shrieks what mercy Rome has given earth,'* Said Pansa, dauntless in the cause of Truth. " Yet ye shall never feel the love ye boast Until the slaves ye trample, torture, slay, After the unanswered vengeance of your will, Shall learn that they are human and awake To imitate the mercy of their lords ! Perchance — 'twas in my native land — I know Thee and thy fathers, Praetor ! though thou sitst In pride of judgment now — thine ancestors J CANTO II. 13:1 Were suttlers of the Carthagenian camp, When mine called freedom to the Sacred Mount ; — Thou mayst have heard the tale of Sicily, Or read that Spartacus withstood the hosts — " " Ay, traitor and apostate ! ere an hour To gnash thy perjured tongue !" said Diomede, Dreading his victim's speech, for he had liv^d In terror of the knowledge of his -birth, Yet howling curses. " Ay, a million died In fit atonement of their rebel crime." "Crime? that the name of Liberty should be The burning heart's perpetuated curse ! Oh, what can thrive in thraldom but revenge ! The thong, the goad, the brand of shame — the sense Of ignominy, dreading to uplift Its startled eye — what should they bring 1 and what Must be the fruits of such a poison tree 1 Condition is but chance, and none are born With manacles upon their limbs ! most crimes Corrupted power makes such, and men submit Because Despair hath forged the tyrant's chaiiL The unjust laws of violent men are crimes, Treasons to kingdoms, blasphemies to heaven; And they, who willingly obey such laws, Should share the punishment of them that made God's creatures slaves to Devils. This is crime 1" " Now by the sceptred Three who rule the shades ! Can his own heretics arraign his doom ? Such uttered doctrines would convulse the world, And even here shall not be spoken — cease ! Thou cursed Christian ! wouldst thou rouse my slaves!" " Thy slaves ! thou slaveborn tyrant !" Pansa cried. "No realm of earth is slavery's ; I would bid The dust be spirit, and the brute be man ! I came not hither by my will — I am Thy victim, not thy vassal — and if Truth Offends, command me hence, or argue here ! But in prsetorium, dungeon Mamertine, 16 f. 122 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. Chains, exile or the arena — thought and speech Are mine ; and from my country and my faith I have not failed to learn the rights of man ! From the far hour when vestal Ilia sinned And suffered, and Rome's walls were laid in blood, Have human hearts had peace, whether among Helvetian icehills or the Lybian wastes? Conquest was born of carnage and the spoil Of kingdoms to a hydra faction given, While sybilline revealments— Numa's thoughts — With old religion sanctified the deeds Ofdesolators of the shuddering earth. Scarce e'en for hours through all Rome's centuries Hath the caducous met the eye of day,* Or the ancilia idle in the fane Of Rome's Wargod, whose herald is despair. Hung : but far gleaming in the torrid sun, 'Mid standards floating to the winds of heaven, On all the earth have cast the plagues of hell. Boundless, perpetual and almighty Fear Hath ever been your God of gods — rocks, caves. Woods, grottoes, lakes and mountains are the realms Of Dis or Jupiter's elysian fields. And wisely named the sophist and the bard The floods of fabled Erebus — for Rome Baptized her sons in Phlegethons of blood. Cheering war vigils with Cocyti songs. Yon, bythe Tyrrhene waters, on whose shores The banished Scipio died in solitude : The tyrant raised his hundred banquet halls,f Tritoli's stews and Baise's palaces ; The cannibal patrician daily slew Captives to feed the lampreys of his lake. And Rome's all-daring Orator, proscribed By princely friendship in his peril, 'neath * The wand of Mercury was the sign of peace; the cad uceus was, therefore, seldom out of the hand of the lord of larceny. f The Cento Camarelk of Nero and Piscina Mirabile (wonderful fishpond) of Lu- cullus, even in ruins, are objects of amazement to less abominable despots of modern times. Baiae was the most voluptuous of all the voluptuous resorts of the Romans, and the baths of Tritoli were necessary to restore the patricians after Falernian excesses. Here Lucullus fed his fish on human flesh — here Cicero perished — by the permission of his friind Octavius. J CANTO 11. 123 Antony's vengeance fell, a martyr ; — there, j The astute creators of your creed have feigned j Your mortal hell and heaven — in Cumse's caves, ■ And Puteoli's naptha mines — amid ] The beautiful Pausylipo, whose waves ] And woods in sweet airs and fair suns rejoice. j And maniac yells of gorgon sybils are Elysium's oracles, and Zephyr's voice ; The music of the blest ; and loftiest minds \ Worship, in show, impostures they disdain, ; The phantoms of the fashion, that their spoil May be the richer booty. What reck they, The masters of men's minds, who guides the spheres'? A myriad gods or none to them are one. For all are nothing but fear's phantasies. j Sinris or Sciron less obeyed earth's laws ] Than they the edicts of almighty Jove. ] They blaspheme heaven to win the fame of earth. \ The all-believing, as their priests ordain, Adore the Demon through his daughter — Sin. ' Ye know not Truth in fealty or faith — And seas of lustral waters could not cleanse Your tearstained and bloodsprinkled robes of guilt !'* i i "By Hercules, the earth-cleaver ! thy bold speech, ; Decurion once, but now demoniac Jewi ] Forebodes disaster to my king of beasts !" j Said Diomede, beneath a mocking scorn j Veiling the wrath he could not quell nor speak. j " Am I the patron of thy sole renown 1 | And doth thine evil creed teach thanklessness? I do immortalize thy robber skill, Learned in meet skirmishes with vulture flocks And hordes of wolves to win the dead man's gold, ; And, with barbaric rivals, to the knights _ ; Of Latium and Apulia thee present. Thou art a lion-darer, and needst not The famed Lanista's discipline to lift The woodking's heart upon thy sabre point, I For thou hast learned the sleight offence, no fear, ■ From Galilean trainers, and hast wrought, l 124 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. In thy maraudings, miracles of skill ! Rejoice in thine ovation, Nazarene ! Thou art the Sylla of the games today; The Samnite mockfight and the chariot race, Myrmillo and the Gaul, the net and mail — All shall give place to thee and Nubia's beast. And while thy glory soars, sweet Venus wraps Her arms around thy love, and sunset melts On the pavilion of her soft delight. Where she doth wanton in Love's revelries. And kisses from her roselight lips reward My service in the honour of thy name — Be grateful, renegade ! thy bride is so !" " Mock on. Blood Drinker ! Mariamne mocks Thee and thy wanton minions, wheresoe'er Beneath the Orcus of your power she dwells. Seek not through her dominion o'er my heart ! She hears a voice sweeter than Memnon's. feigned To breathe daybreak farewells when o'er the blue Of lustrous morn Aurora's roselights gushed; She feels the viewless presence of her God — Earth has no power upon her stainless soul! Therefore, again, I tell thee, Rome shall wail For all her havocs, treasons, spoils and plagues. Oh, every empire of her vast domains Hath its aceldama, where voices howl Anathemas the future shall fulfil. All power is venal through her fated realms. The rebel's Rubicon o'ersweeps the land, And all its waves are blood ! proscription's code, Taught by the triumvir, is the only law Left by unanswering Csesar unannulled- How many ages with their agonies Have perished since the people had a choice Of their oppressors ? What's the ordeal, now,- Censors and consuls must endure ? and where The simple wreath that stories tested deeds ? All the sweet shadowings of old phantasie, "^ The enchantments of religion, false and vain, But glowing, in its earliest dreams, with love — J CANTO II. 125 Arion and the dolphin, Orpheus And hymning groves and awful Dis defied By passion in bereavement, daring death; The sungod's psans o'er the Cyclades, The charmed illusions of the Blessed Isles, The mystery and rapture of high thought. That from the sacred porticoes and banks Of beautiful Ilissus poured its light O'er Tyber and the haunts ofTusculum — All, now, have vanished — and the powers of atr. Your fathers deemed their seraphim, receive From atheist scoffers of the time defiled Derision ; and emasculated vice Gloats over memories e'en Pan might I'oathe.^ — Breathe not a hope that vengeance will forget .' A darker doom than his, whose savage eyes Glared from the marshes of Minturnse* — comes ; A destiny more terrible than his Who died blaspheming in corruption's arms,- Shameless in shame, at Puteoli — lours ! The voice of judgment hath pronounced on sin- Extinction — and the Avengers are abroad ! From the Ister and the Rha, the stormlashed shores< Of the Codanus and Verginian sea — From glacier steep and torrid crag — from vale And wilderness — city and waste — shall rush Devourers ; and a thousand years shall weep In darkness o'er her desolated pomp. And thousand times ten thousand vassal hearts- Live without love and die without regret. Boasting their bondage, and in titles won By pandering to an earth-fiend's lust, exult. And call their shame patrician privilege ! The Goth hath trod the citadel ; the Gaul, The Scythian, Vandal, Ostrogoth and Hun, Shall reap the harvest of her ruin ! Time Wafts on the terrible revenge — the doom Challenged by centuries of guilt !— I hear The tocsin and the gong — the clarion blast, • Marius. Sylla died at Puteoli, as Herod afterwards perished, of a most loathesome disease and in the midst of debaucheries. 126 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. The roar of savage millions in their wrath — Barbarian yells like billows hurled o*er rocks — And where the Labarum of glory floats Triumphant now — I see a hoar head crowned By the three diadems of earth, hell, heaven — And the bright land of plenty trod by hordes Of bandits, famished peasants, coward chiefs — ■ All of Rome buried save the tyranny !" " Well done, apostate ! if thy sword rains blows As doth thy tongue, words — woe — woe to my beast ! Oh, thou with the Cumsean prophetess Hast hiddenly consorted and pored on The almagest of Ptolemy till stars And meteors have become the ministers Of thy distempered fashioning of fate !" Sardonic smiles o'er revel's swollen lips Passed slowly, and the Prastor's jest had now E'en from the venal sycophants small praise ; For crime in common natures, once unveiled, Startles the practiser, and fear becomes His hell, o'ermastering his daunted heart. " And thou art thrilled by the sublime, and all The grandeur of thy destiny o'ercomes Thy sense with its vast radiance ! yet shrink not — Thou with the wretch that fired the Ephesian fane, Empedocles and Barcochab, shalt live* In the wild tale of endless infamy, Drawn in a prophet's robes and mural crown ! And my embraces shall solace the grief Of thy rare Hebrew Venus, though thou diest, And, if in dungeon thou art yet reserved, A conqueror now, to grace the future games, To her I will rehearse the tale and laud Thy victory — and 't is hard but beauty sheds A guerdon on my service ! — Dost thou smile ?" • Eratostratus, to immortalize himself, set fire to the temple of Ephesian Diana on the night Macedonian Alexander was born; Empedocles, to persuade men he was a god, threw himself into Mount JEln-d, but the volcano cast out his slipper and betrayed him; liarcochab, who called himself the Son of a Star, but whom his countrymen named the Son of a Lie, was one of the innumerable false prophets of that strange, rebellious and guilty people — the Jews. CANTO II. 127 '* Ay, that thou talk'st oi future games, doomed lord ! And ntterest thy revenge in mockeries ! Yon sun, 'mid brazen heavens and sulphur clouds, Now hastening to the horizon, ne'er shall rise On the Campanian cities ; palace and shrine, The battlemented fortress, festive dome, Palffistra, amphitheatre, and hall Of judgment wrested to the despot's ends — ■ The household hearth — the stores of merchandise — And many a lofty impious heart shall lie. Shrouded and sepulchred in seas of flame. Ere morrow breaks, beneath the burning deep. And ages shall depart — and meteors glare. And constellations vanish in the void Of the pale azure — and a thousand times Earth's generations perish — ere the beams Of morn shall light the cities of the Dead ! Quaff, feast, sing, laugh, exult and mock! ye eat The Lectisternian banquet* — to the dead Pour out libations — gorge the appetite — Madden the brain — let Phrygian flutes inspire Your latest joys — be merry with the storm That howls e'en now along the Fire-Mount's depths ! For me, the martyr trusts his martyred God ! And not for all your grandeur — nor for earth's. Would he partake your banquet and your doom !" " Away ! away ! slaves ! drag the traitor hence ! And, with the gladiators in the cells, Let him await the combat of the beast! My spirit wearies of his raven croak. — So, now for better mirth I and yet the shouts Of hurrying multitudes unto the games Invoke my presence and the dial marks The hour of carnage — do ye cry for blood? By Jove ! ye shall not lack, for never gazed Imperial Nero on the sea of flame, That surged along the shrieking capital, With such a rapture as my soul shall feel To watch the lingering agonies and breathe * The funeral festival, the last of all earthly indulgencies. 128 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. The last deep death-sighs and slow muttered groans Of that accursed despiser of my power ! Come, friends ! the people shall be pampered now. One cordial cup to vengeance — then away ! The chariot races wait my word — and shouts Rise like the roar of ocean o'er the hills, While in the ghastly hell light of the mount, Beneath whose deeps the Titans groan, the steeds Caparisoned upon the towers uprear Their heads, struggling to spring upon their course ; And yon vast cloud of faces through the gloom Looks with a ruthlessness that fits my mood. — Break up the banquet ! let the games begin !"* • It was the office of the ^dile to superintend the erection of the public buildings and to supervise all public entertainments; but it was the prerogative of the Praetor to pre- side, if he pleased, on all memorable and solemn occasions. Although it was customary for an inferior officer to direct the gladiatorial combats, yet, in this instance, the tumul- tuary passions of the Praetor led him to assume a station which would enable him, at least, to insure the death of Pansa whom he had so much reason to envy and hato. CANTO IIL ARGUMENT. The Pompeiian3 prepare to attend the games of the amphitheatre. Cruelty has be- come universal custom. Chariot races. The trumpet sounds, the athlete and agonistes enter, and the gladiatorial games begin. The first fatal combat. The second combat between a Briton and a Gaul. The summons for the Christians. Procession of the Heathen Priests around the arena. Adoration rendered to the Phidian Statue of Jove. A Christian, overwhelmed by mortal terror, apostatizes, and is reserved to endure the con- tempt of the Paynims, whom in his soul he abhorred. Pansa brought forth from the dungeon to contend with the African Lion. His appearance in the arena. His apos- trophe to the Statue of Jove. The ejaculations of the audience, who denounce the ven- geance of the gods on the blasphemer of their power. Pansa's reply. The volcano begins its ravages. The famished lion let loose upon Pansa. His speech over the crouching and fearful beast. Torrents of lava rush down the sides of Vesuvius and the amphitheatre is strewn with ashes, cinders, and fiery hail. The shrieks of multitudes rushing from Herculaneum destroyed by deluges of burning lava. Pansa's warning. The escape of the many thousand spectators of the games through the vomitories of the amphitheatre. Instinctive flight of the fearstruck lion. The action of the volcano de- scribed. Dialogue between the Prsetor and Pansa alone in the amphitheatre. The ty- rant and the intended victim fly forth along the desolated streets of Pompeii, the one to secure his treasures, the other to seek Mariamne. The Christians meet and fly towards the sea. The vision of the Flamen. Pansa, Mariamne, the Virgin of Pompeii, and the Aged Christian embark upon the agitated and discolored sea. The Death Cries of Pompeii. The ruin consummated. Farewell of the Christians. Description of their refuge among the mountains of Switzerland. The martyrs of Paganism become the Patriots of Christendom. Thou Giant Phantom of the Old Renown ! Oh, mightiest spirit of the merciless! How like a Demon from hell's lava throne, Thou risest on my eye, as I behold The spectres of the Past, and paint their deeds f Up from the abyss of ages — from the Night Of Earth's extinguished generations — rise The beings of an elder world to be The theme in song of one whom all the earth, And all it hath or ever can inherit, Ne'er can solace for all the woes of Time. 17 130 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. Now o'er the heaven of Thoiight the glimmering forms Of empires rent and centuries past career — Now giant Shadows of the Buried move Around me — beautiful and haughty forms — Waked from the dust of ages to endure, Again, the vanities of earth's best joys. The certainties of evil — (^mind restores The dead) — and havoc cries ascend the heavens While to Pompeii's waiting thousands, groans Of the convulsed volcano give reply. The feeble and the famishing and slaves, Whose toil a thousand years will not reveal, Alone are seen upon the public ways ; And every face is chronicled with care, Loathing the lingering lapse of wasted breath, The purposeless continuance of low toil And want and thankless servitude, amid The meshes of a wan and dim despair. All else find pastime in the savageness Of games where smiles and shouts are bought with blood. Quaestor, aedile, senator and knight. Censor and flamen, vestal and courtesan. Noble and commoner, commingling, meet Amid the horrors of that final day. Whose shuddering sunlight to Pompeii bids Farewell — through centuries of Night interred, — In torture to seek rapture, in the pangs Of gladiators gored and Christians gashed And mangled to proclaim their ecstacies ! The dicer in the midst suspends his skill. Tested by spoil wrung from the heart of want, To witness and applaud the guiltier tests Of science ; and the banqueter forsakes The wanton wassail of the flesh to seek The richer revel of the bandit mind ; And spotless vestals the electric fire Of Vesta's shrine desert and through their veils Gaze, from the podium* of patrician pride, * What is now the orchestra — then, the envied place of power and privilege. J CANTO III. 131 On sinless blood poured o'er the trampled sand From the hot veins of causeless strife ; the judge Bears from the Forum the remorseless thoughts, Which, petrified by usage, have become His Nature, never thrilled by mercy's voice. The matron, whom dishonour dares not name ; The virgin in her beauty angel pure ; The warrior, who, amid the Torrid Zone Or icehills of Helvetia, ne'er had learned The strategy of pale retreat, nor paused In the swift triumph of his bannered march ; The merchant, whose integrity no thought Assails ; the poet from his dreams of eld, Elfland and wizardry and fabled gods ; Sages, by their disciples canonized, Who from Saturnian visions, feigning power Without oppression and republics stained By no corruptions, bosomed 'mid the bowers Of the Evening Isles or Orcades — arise To look upon the agonistes' face Imaging hell, and with the circus' shouts Mingle the fiats of philosophy !* And augurs to perfect their oracles Come now to gaze upon the cloven heart And watch the spasms of Nature's utter throes. Pompeii's might and affluence await The Prastor's voice, and the vast fabric gleams With million glances and with million cries Echoes, as from the Podium now the word Of Power commands — " Lo ! let the games begin V Cheered by the charioteers, who proudly stand. Reining their fury, round the battlement Rush the barbed chargers, like the samiel cloud O'er Zara when the tropic burns with death ; * However the sages of antiquity condemned the cruel sports of their countrymen, they seldom hesitated lo witness and thereby sanction the atrocities which were perpe- trated in every amphitheatre. Like the bullfights of modern Spain^ the gladiatorial contests (the death struggle of the agonistes and athlete) always attracted the presence and enjoyment of the most learned, opulent and famed of the Romans. 132 THE LAST NIGHT OF FOMPElJf. And breathless watchers, who, upon the race^ , , Kisk many a talent, when they would deny The alms of one poor obolus to woe. Hang waiting sudden triumph or despair. One wins, the prelude closes, and the host,. j Like winds amid a wilderness of leaves, - Sink down and to the dread arena turn. j The trumpet summons — awful silence floats \ Over the multitudes who fix their gaze i Upon the portals of the cells beneath. They open, and the gladiators move Round the thronged circle to display their forms,. Athlete and strong, and with the voice of death Salute the ruthless Genius of the Games.* From many a kingdom thralled they come — from realm* Spoiled by the locust hordes of Rome ; the Gaul, The Briton and the Thracian and the Frank, The Wehrmanne and the Hebrew and the Celt, Every clime's vanquished — every age's wreck, All codes and creeds, strangers or friends, coatend Here in assassin strife to please their lords. One deep wild shout like breaking billows swells,. Hailing the victims of the carnage fiend. And on the sands two stalwart forms alone Remain ; and now Sigalion, voiceless god Of Memphian mysteries, of all the host Seems sovereign, such a quivering stillness hangs Over the thousands, who await the fray With eyes electric as the ether fires, Lips sealed by passion, hearts, like lava, still In their intensest rapture ! Bickering swords Clash quickly, yet, with matchless skill, each blow Or thrust falls on the flashing steet; and long. With fixed eyes dropping not their folded lids, And marble lips, and brows whereon the veins Burn like the stormbolt o'er ice pinnacles, And heaving bosoms, naked in their strength, • Morituri te salutant.' (the dead salute thee) were the mekmcholy words of pro- phecy uttered by all condemned to fight in the arena. CANTO III. 133 And limbs in every attitude of grace And power — they struggle, not in hope of fame, To win dominion, or achieve revenge ; But by their toil and agony and blood To amuse the languid masters of the world. From the free forest where he walked a king, From his hearth's altar where he stood a priest, Hither, in manacles, was guiltless man Dragged for a mockery and gory show ! An erring glance — and o'er a prostrate form Of beauty stands the unrejoicing foe. Sternly receiving from the merciless The still command to slay ! and now he lifts His serried sabre purpled to the hilt With that heart's blood he might have deeply loved ; One groan — a gasp — a shudder — and a soul Hath gone to join the myriad witnesses Who in the winds of northern wilds invoke The Desolators to avenge their doom. The Avengers hear, and cry aloud ' Revenge !' While o'er the sands they drag the dead, and strew The place of carnage with uncrimsoned dust. Mirth reigns and voices mingle everywhere. Lauding the skill of the barbarian's strife. The picturesque agony — the lingering gasp — And awful struggle of the dying slave. Some talk of Titus, deeming him too just. Gentle and generous, while conspiracy Mutters Domitian and Locasta's cup.* And some relate, looking upon the mount. Traditions of volcanoes direr far Than ought that menace men in latter days; The depths of mountains boiling — valleys filled With o'erthrown hills — and islands through the floods Of ocean, apparitions, to the stars Casting the torrid terrors of their birth. Some say, the Prsetor, when the lustrum ends, * Titus is supposed to have been poisoned by his brother Domitian — who was him- self finally assassinated. Locasta was the female fiend of Colchian drugs. 134 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. Will govern Syria, and the sage surmise That confiscation in Campania bought The Senate's will that he should rule the East. Wine, love, the dance, war, wealth, ambition, hate. Earthquake, plague, priesthood, revel, rival sects In faith or knowledge, yesterday's delights. Tomorrow's deeds — each, all, in various speech, Absorb the mind until the trumpet sounds. Again, scarce breathing stillness falls — again The gladiators enter, and the strife. Protracted but to close in death, goes on. A Briton, from the land of Caradoc, Whose daily breath had been Plinlimmon's breeze, Beneath the weapon of the Gaul pours out Blood glowing with the soul of liberty. And dies, to Druid altars in the realm Of Mona, breathing back his heart, whose voice Andi'aste* in her home of vengeance, hears. Triumphant shouts and quick expiring shrieks, Dread silence and hurrahs and agonies Succeed each mortal fray ; and oft the sands. Dabbled by gory fingers, trampled o'er By feet that fail beneath the crushing strength Of the grim victors — freshly again are strewn To bury blood which sunk not into earth, But from beholding heaven drew down the wrath That made almighty Rome, to every land, A curse, a mockery and a shuddering jest. " Three spirits wander by the spectre stream ! Are the great people glutted with the gore ?" Said Diomede, for Pansa's trial hour With an exulting patience waiting long. " Sound for the Christians and the desert king ! It darkens hurriedly and lava hail Hurtles amid the ashes ! we may rob The God of Triumph of the Apostates' blood, * Or Andate, the British goddess of victory and retribution ; to whom sacrifices were offered amid the Llwyn and on the cromleche of the Druids. CANTO III. 135 Or lose the rapture of their agonies. Throw wide the portals ! let the Christians come !" The mitred ministers of idol rites Come on in bannered pomp and conscious power, Circling the arena ; and the lictor guard Followed with Pansa, and another form That shrunk and faltered as ten thousand eyes Searched out the fear that harrowed his pale heart. Slow to the wail of Lydian flutes and blast Of clarions breathing death, with looks of awe Feigned and drooped eyes of mystery, around Moved the procession ; and the Pra^sul's* gaze Wandered, in haughty majesty, along The risen and revering host he blessed. Few think, for thought is born of pain, and night Hath not repose, nor day, free bliss to him Whose spirit 's rapt ; yet all can feel and fear, — For that is flesh — the earthborn shadows cast Around them by their destinies ; and they, Who dwell in earth's abundance and from domes, Stately and glistering, issue to receive Guerdons of gold for oracles of wrath. Illume not, save with fires of hell, the gloom That curtains the black portal of the grave. Virtue needs bo interpreter, and vice. Like palace tombs, mocks its own turpitude. When painted o'er with saintly imageries ; But Faith, that searches not, dreads every dream, Becoming to itself a hell, and seeks Heaven through the pontiff, who, in secret doubt Of joys elysian, craves earth's richest gifts. And at his votary's phantom banquet smiles. Before the image — (wrought by Phidias, when His faithless country unto rival realms Banished his genius) — of the supreme Jove, The Prsesul paused, and with adoring zeal *The chief priest of the Salii — ecclesiastical guardians of the Ancylia. 136 THE LAST MGHT OF POMPEII. Cast incense on the altar ; and soft wreaths Of perfumed vapour round the eagle's beak, The lifted sceptre and most godlike brow, (The artist's mind was the sole deity) Curled as in homage, and one blended voice Burst from the thousands — " Supreme Jove is God !" Then all the priests from every fane and all The acolytes and soldiers incense flung, And the proud statue proudly seemed to smile. Next, bent and trembling, blind and dumb with fear, A Christian came (from noisome catacombs Dragged forth to prove his feebleness of faith,) Like the great Pisan,* who from midnight heavens Could summon the eternal stars and fill His angel spirit with their glories, yet Abjured, in fear, before his bigot foes, All the magnificence of thought, and knelt, A hoar apostate, in the dust, to win The lingering torture of a few sad hours. And live — a monument of mind dethroned ! Onward he came with tottering childhood's step. And with a face to all but terror dead. He loved the light, adored the truth, yet dared Meet not the perils it revealed ; and now He clung unto the altar and gasped out His panic breath, and gazed beseeching round In utter horror's wilderment, and groped Amid the shrine lights for the frankincense. With quivering fingers hurriedly ; but Fear Had quenched soul, feeling, sense — and, as his hand Moved o'er the marble with a mindless aim, And the wild pantings of his bosom spread Hues ghastlier than death's along his cheek, A stern centurion, with a frown of scorn And sickened pity, from the censer took The idol's odour and upon the palm Of the apostate threw it with a curse ; And ere the lapse of thought, his worship flashed • Galileo. See Brewster's life of that great and weak man, for an account of his si,d recantation of his magnificent doctrines and discoveries. CANTO nu 137 On the stern aspect of the demon god ! And, onward borne triumphantly, he passed To meet, through every hour of haunted lime. Derision for denial of his Lord ! Hate on his brow and in his heart revenge, Diomede glared upon the lofty form That now before the awful statue stood. No pride, lightening defiance, in his eye. Dared the despair of fortune ; no wild faith Waited for miracles ; but there he stood. Beautiful in the magnificence of Truth, Before the haughty scorners of chained kings. The mightiest and most merciless of earth, His thought above the proudest of them all. And on the countless eyes, that watched him, looked With the sublime serenity unknown To natures weak or terrible as hours And their events decree. No joy, no pain Changed the fixed features of a calm resolve ; No glance betrayed a triumph in his fate, Or doubt that might avert his martyrdom. Upon the still crowd rose his gentle eyes Blue and translucent as the heaven, as erst The Bungod, gliding up the glacier steeps Of Heemus, o'er the tossed iEgean cast His deathless smile among the Cyclades. Pure in his faith and passionless in truth. He never sought to seal with agony The creed of the Anointed, but, instead, Shunned Paynimrie's resort and dwelt in wilds, Distrusting the infirmities that oft O'ersway the spirit ; but the fated hour Had not passed by — the one deep love, that chained His heart to earth, was parted, it might be To welcome him to paradise, if not. To meet his welcome there ; and now, beyond The tyrant passions of the world, he stood Dauntless 'mid heathendom, and thus, in tones Strong as the ocean's, in whose utter deeps 18 138 THE LAST WIGHT OF POMPEIi : The Alps may sii>k, yet leave vast deeps above. He to the image of the Thonderer spake, " Thou breathless Mocker of the humble mind ! Thou Idol Image of remorseless power ! Shall being, quickened by the glowing blood, In worship bow to thee, a sculptured block ? Shall intellect, illumed and magnified, Whose home is ether, whose immortal hope Is deathless glory, render unto thee The adoration of the Deity ? Oh, how should men be just when they have throned Amid the universe, o'erswaying all, A supreme vengeance — demon deified ? Whose common and commended deeds would crowB A mortal with the curses of the world, And round him spread a solitude^ of hate Haunted alone by grovelling infamies! Well wast thou fabled — son of Earth and Time I For all impurities and ills are thine, Transformed despoiler ! e'en thy votaries mock Yet min)ic thee, as well they may, the work Of their own lusts ! Canst thou call forth one star Of all that blossom in the boundlessness Of that undying heaven unknown to thee I Will Mazzaroth or Mythra soar or sink ? Or terrible behemoth leave his depths? Or the proud desert bird feel nature's love? Because thou bidst ? doth thine own eagle fear The power men quail at ? or the tempest float Along Olympus, hurling arrowy fires. In reverence to thy best? yet why is this ? Methinks, I wander back to Pagan faith. Thus questioning the hewn marble, which portrays The apotheosis of man's worst revenge! Beneath the unimaged, unimagined God, Who hath no temple but infinity. Where the great multitude of stars adore. Flying along their glorious spheres — I stand Here in thy home, (it fits thy nature well,) CANTO III. 139 j \ And, without awe or exultation, dare ' Deny tiiee incense, prayer, love, fear and faith !" ] Not louder in its burning temple roared 1 The dread volcano when the firestorm came, ; And earth's abysses quivered in their wrath, i Than now the voices of the phrenzied host. i " Tear the blasphemer ! let the wild beasts forth ] To rend his limbs and gnash his living heart! Impale the accursed! chain him within the fire! Saw him asunder ! cast his viper tongue I Into the serpents' den to poison them !" ; Thus thousands shrieked — yet now the shoutings changed. " Hark ! Jove the Avenger answers ! lo 1 the heavens ; With shuddering clouds are filled, and lightnings leap Through their gored bosoms, and the thunder shaft i Bickers along the air ! great Jove beholds ', And hears — now wither, thou blaspheming slave !" Awed yet untrembling, Pansa calm replied. " Ye hear no thunder — but Destruction's howl ! Ye see no lightning — but the lava glare , Of desolation sweeping o'er your pride ! Death is beneath, around, above, within i All who exult to inflict it on my heart, [ And ye must meet it, fly when, where ye will, ^ For in the madness of your cruelties 'i Ye have delayed till every hope is dead. i Let the doom come ! our faiths will soon be tried. Gigantic spectres from their shadowy thrones, With ghastly smiles to welcome ye, arise. ! The Pharaohs and Ptolemies uplift ; Their glimmering sceptres o'er thee — bidding all ; Bare their dark bosoms to the Omniscient God: And every strange and horrid mythos waits ; To fold ye in the terrors of its dreams. — For thee, proud Preetor ! throned on human hearts < And warded by thy cohorts from the arm Of violated virtue and spurned Right, And suflTering's madness — though thy regal tomb 140 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII : Cepolline proudly stand, thy scattered dust Shall never sleep within it; years shall fade And nations perish and ten thousand kings, With all their thrice ten thousand victories, Rest in oblivion, and the very earth Change with the changes of her children, yet The empty mansion of thy vain renown Shall stand that generations unconceived May ask the deeds of him who was cast out By vengeance from his father's sepulchres I" Diomede's voice, like a wild blast, went forth. " Let loose the wild beasts on him ! why are we Thus left to bear the traitor's arrogance ? The convict's scorn 1 the gladiator's speech 1 Let loose the only foe that fits his faith ; The Mauretanian's arguments are meet And suit his mystic cabala. Throw wide The cells and let the lion make reply." " The outer corridors," the Lanista said, " Are filled with ashes, and within the vaults^ Arches have fallen and no power can ope The portal of the Atlas beast, my lord !" "Bring a ballista, then, and shatter it! For by the eternal Fates and all the Gods ! This darer and blasphemer shall not scape. Let none depart ! why, would the people shun The luxury of this despiser's pangs. Or doth his airy talk infect your souls And sway your thoughts by oracles of woe ? Spare Nazarenes ! who would o'erturn the creed And code of Rome, and on the throne of earth Exalt the image of a felon God ! Be wise, stern, ruthless, men ! — so, dash to earth The portal and goad on the savage king !*' Still by Jove's altar standing, Pansa looked Upon the fluctuating host around, CANTO III. 141 Some with fear trembling, some witii baffled hate, Some silent in excess of passion, some Most earnest to behold the game of death, And thus, like a cathedral knell, he spake. " I show ye mercy none will show to me ! Fly ! ere the banners of the galleys wave Beyond the cape I fly, ere the earth and air Become the hell that fiction fables ! fly Ere carnage shrieks amid the torrent fire ! For me 't is nought — for you, 't is all — away !" Yet, mocking truth and justice, all from flight Turned back, and in the joy of shedded blood Leaned o'er the arena. From the shattered cell The famished lion sprung, with coiling mane And fiendish eyes and jaws that clashed for gore. "Take thy sword. Christian! at thy foot it lies — And let the heathen, as thou callest them, mark And laud thy skill in combat ! take thy sword ! " A demon smile convulsed the Praetor's lip, Yet Pansa, in the deep unshaken voice Of Truth's immortal sanctity replied. " The Martyr needs no weapon : his defence. Shield, sabre, helm, spear, banner, all are one. A breath from the Eternal — a quick ray From the immortality of God — he lives But in His mercy, dies but when He wills. — Thou mightiest monarch of the forest beasts ! Who, from the heights of Atlas, on the brow Of perpendicular precipice, alone. Planting thine armed foot, hast looked o'er sea And waste, fearing no equal ; or among The haunted wrecks of Carthage, in the pangs Of hunger ravining, hast found no food Where a great nation died that Rome might reign. Thou fiercest terror of the wilderness ! Who, without contest, dost consume thy foe, And walkst the earth a conqueror and a king ! Upon thee — though the extreme of famine gnaws Thy vitals now — and thy flesh burns with stripes 142 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII'. Given to madden thee, and round and round With Titan limbs thou leapst in bitter joy Of human banquet, watching with fierce eyes, Terrible as is the simoom of thy clime. The moment of thy certain victory — Upon thee now I fix the eye, whose light Was born of God's Eternity, and while Destruction from the face of Deity Lours o'er creation, I do bid thee kneel There in the gory dust ! ay, by the Power Of Him who made thee, monster! 1 command." A roar, as if a myriad thunders burst, Now hurtled o'er the heavens, and the deep earth Shuddered, and a thick storm of lava hail Rushed into air to fall upon the world. And low the lion cowered,* with fearful moans And upturned eyes, and quivering limbs, and clutched The gory sand instinctively in fear. The very soul of silence died, and breath Through the ten thousand pallid lips unfelt Stole from the stricken bosoms ; and there stood With face uplifted and eyes fixed on air, (Which unto him was thronged with angel forms) The Christian — waiting the high will of heaven. A wandering sound of wailing agony, A cry of coming horror o'er the street Of Tombs arose, and all the lurid air Echoed the shrieks of hopelessness and death. • A scene somewhat like this is depicted in " The Vestal," a little work published, a few years since, and written by Dr Gray, then of Boston. But, while I am happy to acknowledge the pleasure I have derived from that elegant story, I must be allowed to say that the causes of the lion's submission are unlike. He cowers at the feet of the j aged Christian in that work, because he sees an old master ; here, he is made to submit on the well known principle familiar to naturalists, that, during any great convulsion of nature, the most savage animals forget their common animosities, and that the lion will not attack a man who steadily fixes his eyes upon him. Having formed the plan of the whole poem and finished a considerable portion of it previous to my first perusal of the " Tale of Pompeii," I was unwilling to forego the scene I had conceived previous to even the knowledge of the publication of Dr Gray. CANTO III. 143 Then through the gates and o'er the city rushed A ghastly multitude, naked and black With sulphur fumes and spotted o'er with marl That clung unto the agonizing flesh Like a wronged orphan's curse. In terror blind, They rushed, in dreadful companies, along The quaking earth, ^neath darkened heavens, and e'er Their awful voices howled the horrors forth. " Destroyed ! wrecked in its beauty — all destroyed ! Billows of lava boil above the towers Of Herculaneum ! we alone are left ! The lovely city ! all our happy homes 1 Buried in blackness 'neath a sea of fire ! The deluge came along the shattering rocks — ■ We fled and met another — yet again We turned dismayed and a third fiery flood Came down in ruin's grandeur on our path! Between the mountain and the sea we scaped. Oh, many a corse beneath the depths hath sunk In seas of fire, that o'er our city roll, Boiling in deeps of blackness ! oh ! — away ! What fated madness holds the death-games now ? Pompeii ! fly, the Fates delay not here !" Down to the dark convulsive sea they rushed, O'er them the volcano, and beneath. The earthquake, and around, ruin and death. " Hear ye not now?" said Pansa. " Death is here ! Ye saw the avalanche of fire descend Vesuvian steeps, and in its giant strength Sweep on to Herculaneum ; and ye cried, * It threats not us, why should we lose the sport ? Though thousands perish, why should we refrain V Your sister city — the most beautiful — Gasps in the burning ocean — ^from her domes Fly the survivors of her people, driven Before the torrent floods of molten earth With desolation red — and o'er her grave Unearthly voices raise the heart's last cries — ' Fly, fly ! O horror ! O my son ! my sire !' 144 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII C The hoarse shouts multiply ; without the mount i Are agony and death — within, such rage ' J Of fossil fire as man may not behold ! | Hark ! the Destroyer slumbers not — and now, ' Be your theologies but true, your Jove, ' 'Mid all his thunders, would shrink back aghast, Listening the horrors of the Titans' strife. The lion trembles ; will ye have my blood 1 ! Or flee, ere Herculaneum's fate is yours?' I i I Vesuvius answered : from its pinnacles Clouds of far-flashing cinders, lava showers. And seas, drank up by the abyss of fire j To be hurled forth in boiHng cataracts, I Like midnight mountains, wrapt in lightnings, fell. j Oh, then, the love of life ! the struggling rush, The crushing conflict of escape ! few, brief, , And dire the words delirious fear spake now — ' One thought, one action swayed the tossing crowd. I All through the vomitories madly sprung, i And mass on mass of trembhng beings pressed, Gasping and goading, with the savageness : That is the child of danger, like the waves Charybdis from his jagged rocks throws down, I Mingled in madness — warring in their wrath. ; Some swooned and were trod down by legion feet ; Some cried for mercy to the unanswering gods ; • Some shrieked for parted friends forever lost ; ' And some, in passion's chaos, with the yells \ Of desperation did blaspheme the heavens ; i And some were still in utterness of woe. i Yet all toiled on in trembling waves of life I Along the subterranean corridors. 1 Moments were centuries of doubt and dread ; I Each breathing obstacle a hated thing : Each trampled wretch, a footstool to o'erlook i The foremost multitudes ; and terror, now, Begat in all a maniac ruthlessness. For in the madness of their agonies .J CANTO III. 145 Strong men cast down the feeble, who delayed Their flight, and maidens on the stones were crushed, And mothers maddened when the warrior's heel Passed o'er the faces of their sons ! — The throng Pressed on, and in the ampler arcades now Beheld, as floods of human life rolled by, The uttermost terrors of the destined hour. In gory vapours the great sun went down; The broad dark sea heaved like the dying heart, 'Tween earth and heaven hovering o'er the grave, And moaned through all its waters; every dome And temple, charred and choked with ceaseless showers Of suffocating cinders, seemed the home Of the triumphant desolator, Death. One dreadful glance sufficed — and to the sea, Like Lybian winds, breathing despair, they fled. Nature's quick instinct, in most savage beasts, Prophesies danger ere man's thought awakes, And shrinks in fear from common savageness, Made gentle by its terror ; thus, o'erawed E'en in his famine's fury by a Power Brute beings more than human oft adore, The Lion lay, his quivering paws outspread, His white teeth gnashing, till the crushing throngs Had passed the corridors ; then, glaring up His eyes imbued with samiel light, he saw The crags and forests of the Apennines Gleaming far oflf, and with the exulting sense Of home and lone dominion, at a bound. He leapt the lofty palisades and sprung Along the spiral passages, with howls Of horror through the flying multitudes Flying to seek his lonely mountain lair. From every cell shrieks burst ; hyaenas cried Like lost child, wandering o'er the wilderness, That, in deep loneliness, mingles its voice With wailing winds and stunning waterfalls ; The giant elephant with matchless strength 19 146 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. Struggled against the portal of his tomb, And groaned and panted; and the leopard's yell And tiger's growl with all surrounding cries Of human horror mingled ; and in air, Spotting the'^lurid heavens and waiting prey, The evil birds of carnage hung and watched, As ravening heirs watch o'er the miser's oouch. All awful sounds of heaven and earth met now ; Darkness behind the sungod's chariot rolled, Shrouding destruction, save when volcan fires Lifted the folds to glare on agony ; And when a moment's terrible repose Fell on the deep convulsions, all could hear The toppling cliffs explode and crash below, While multitudinous waters from the sea In whirlpools through the channelled mountain rocks Rushed, and, with hisses like the damned's speech, Fell in the mighty furnace of the mount. Tyrant not dastard, daring in his guilt And fearless of its issues, Diomede Frowned on the panic flight, and, in his wrath, Man, earth and heaven, demons and gods defied. " The craven people— e'en my very slaves Have fled as dustborn vassals ever flee. And I am left alone with marble gods And howling savageness, 'mid showers of flame. Gods ! I trust not elysium feigned by them Who make the earth a very mock of hell. Ay, roar, yell, struggle till your fierce hearts burst ! And with thy thousand thunders shake the throne Of Jove, Vesuvius ! and the world confound ! I have not loved nor sought the love of man. And higher than his nature I know not, iSlor lower ; and alone I sit to laugh At mortal fear and dare immortal hate, For, if ought die not, 't is revenge and pain." " Hath memory wed with madness that thou sayst • Alone,' proud Prsetor 1 one yet looks on Jove CANTO III. 147 And sees no deity ; one yet awaits The pleasure of Campania's haughty lord. The hour and scene fit well the deadly fight, Yet I behold no foe ; what wouldst thou more ?" Pansa stood motionless and spake in scorn. " Thou damned Nazarene ! the imperial law Shall forge new tortures for thy treacheries, Thy necromancies and apostate deeds. Meantime, exult, thank, praise and bless thy God, Convict redeemer, buried deity, That my condition fits not contest now With thine, or wolves should gash and gnaw thy limbs. And eagles' talons bear to mountain cliffs Thy heart yet quivering with the pulse of fear. Some fiendish potence foils me now ; again Thou shalt not win fire-fiends unto thy aid : Pompeii yet shall celebrate thy death — Again, thou shalt not scape though hell arise !" Like the last echo of a trumpet's blast. Thus, in his last reply, rose Pansa's voice. "Again we shall not meet in all the realms Of universal being — all the hours That linger o'er eternity ! we part Forever, now, each to his deathless doom. But had not other creed than vengeance filled A Roman's mind with mercy, words like thine, (Now thy praetorians leave us twain, the one With all to lose, the other, all to gain,) Would bring a direr parting hour, howe'er Thy Punic blood and Volscian pride revolt. Oh, thou may'st scoff! thou wouldst outdare the fiends And mock in Orcus sin's undying moans ; But here we part, proud victim ! so, farewell ! Jehovah's wrath is o'er thee — o'er us all — The shocked earth cries unto the blackened heavens, The mighty heart of earthly being bursts. And thou shalt quickly know what Hebrew awe Trembled to hear— El Shaddai ! 't is a name 148 THE LAST WIGHT OF POMPEIt, The phantoms ye adore and curse have borne Vainly — yon mount is its interpreter — The Almighty looiis in lightning from His throne, Jove's shrine is covered with the lava shower, The ashes gather round me ! oh, farewell !" Through deepening cinders, tossing sulphur clouds. And victims shrieking in their agonies, The Prsetor sought his way. His harnessed steeds, Maddened by fear, had with his chariot flown,— The charioteer had perished 'neath the wheels : And haughtily through all the Street of Tombs, Among the whirlpool waves of human life, And lighted by destruction's breath of flame. He struggled tow'rd his palace, to the wrath Of heaven fronting defiance, e'en while Death Dwelt in the bosom of all elements And the world trembled ! Hastening to his home. Of power mid Syrian splendors and a fame Immortal as the flatterer's pander verse, He dreamed ; and bearing to the vaulted crypt, Whose labyrinths wandered far beneath the hills. His gold and gems, he on his household closed The marble door, deeming their safety won, Whose strangled death cries rose unheard — whose bones The daily sunlight of a thousand years Ne'er visited beneath the deeps of death. Pansa, meantime, in gladiator guise, By other paths had hurried from the scene ; And though the shuddering earth, and lurid heavens Writhed as in immortal agonies, and shrieks And death groans rose through all Pompeii's bounds, Yet on he rushed — fearless though fraught with fear. Vesuvius poured its deluge forth, the sea Shuddered and sent unearthly voices up, The isles of beauty, by the fire and surge Shaken and withered, on the troubled waves Looked down like spirits blasted ; and the land Of Italy's one paradise became A .J CANTO HI. 149 The home of ruin-— vineyard, grove and bower, Tree, shrub, fruit, blossom — love, life, light, and hope, All vanishing beneath the fossil flood And storm of ashes from the cloven brow Of the dread mountain hurled in horror down. The echoes of ten thousand agonies Arose from mount and shore, and some looked back Cursing, and more bewailing as they fled, With glowing marl or ashes on their heads. " Thou one great Spirit of all being! here, Where power is helplessness, and hope, a dream, Here 'mid the horror of the havoc, breathe Thy smile upon my soul ; and time and death, With all their anguish, shall o'erawe me not !" Imploring thus, the Christian held his way Through the wild scene, with undefined impulse, Nor shunning death, nor daring it, but filled With emanations of undying faith. A voice, whose tones, like music heard when youth Lives in the visions of the blue blest heaven, Thrilled the quick heart of Pansa, from the gloom Of a lone street came forth, and bended forms Stole from the hutted refuge of despair, And tow'rd the Appian by the Forum fled. And through the night the voice of age went up.* " Tarry not, daughter, for these aged limbs ! Dust they soon must be — though the world revered-— And, if my hour be come, the woe is past. But hasten, daughter ! moments have become Ages — the air, the earth, the ocean blend Their agonizing energies — away ! Beneath the o'erhung rocks — where fishers wont To moor their boats, now stranded on the beach, The pinnace lies I spake of — and the word Is Marcion ! Thither, without let or fear, * That is, of the aged Christian with whom Mariamne had taken refuge on her es- cape from the temple of Venus, i^ 160 THE LAST DflGHT OF POMPEII. Hasten : a Christian from Tergeste* holds Command, and, eie an hour, its oars and sails Shall waft you far from ruin round us now." " Nay, father ! to the shadow of your roof I hurried when the violator's wrath Hung o'er me — and thine own familiar fears Denied me not a refuge! we shall sleep Mid fire together or together flee. Yet more — no barque shall bear me from the beach Till the last hope expires that from his bonds Pansa may burst to bear us company. Perchance, among the fugitives, e'en now, He flies, and wanders by the ocean marge" — On through the death-storm the Decurion sprung. " No, Mariamne ! my beloved restored ! Here, in the home of desolation, here, I fold thee spotless to my happy heart! And find my paradise in ruin's arms ! But here we pause not to pour out our souls. A pinnace lies beneath the cliffs, sayst thou 7 Thy hoary wisdom hath redeemed us, sage ! Stay thy weak limbs upon my strength ! on ! on ! I snatched the slaughtered gladiator's helm — Cast o'er your heads your mantles — so, away !" Down the steep path unto the moaning sea They passed with quickened steps, and upward glanced The maiden of the vaults of Isis, once, Eyes floating in the farewell tears of love, As by the black and desolated home Of all her childhood's innocence and bliss. They fled like shades and to the ramparts came. Upon them, by the volcan glare revealed, Wandered the hoary idol priest of Jove In maniac horror ; and amidst the roar, The riot and the wreck of earth and heaven, Thus rose his awful voice in prophecies. ♦ Trieste, J CANTO III. 151 THE VISION OF THE FLAMAN. Call in thy cohorts, Rome ! from every land Thy power hath deluged with unsinning blood ! Call in thy legions from Iberia's strand, From Albion's rocks, and Rhsetia's mountain wood ! The foe, like glaciers hurled Through darkness on the trembling world. Springs from his forest in the wildest north. Scenting his prey afar : And, like the samiel, from the waste comes forth To steep your glories in the gore of war. Hark ! the whole earth rejoices ! Sea shouts to isle and mountain unto main. And ocean to the heaven, with myriad voices — Rome's sepulchre shall be amid her slain, And as she spared not, none shall spare her now. But Hun, Goth, Vandal, Alemanne and Frank Shall lift the poison cup all earth hath drank, And steep her shuddering lips, and on her brow Pour blood for ointment, and upon her head, Till thousand ages have in darkness fled, Mocking, press down The accursed crown Which shall not cease to bleed as conquered men have bled ! Thy monarchs, slaves to every lust and crime. Shall fall, as they have fallen, by the sword. Or Colchian chalice, and unweeping time O'erthrow the deities by dust adored. And leave but ruin to lament ' O'er pillar, shrine and battlement, And solitude o'er desert realms to moan. Where warriors mocked chained kings and called the world their own ! The coalblack petrel and the grey curlew Shall wing thy waters and see not thy sail ; From trembling towers the stork shall watch the blue Of the lone heavens and hear no human hail : For in the vales that bask in bloom, The Pontine's flowers, the bright Maremma's green, 152 THK LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII : Shall dwell the shadow of the tomb, In Love's voluptuous arms, the'tyrant death unseen ! And Nero's golden house shall be The pallid serf's abode. And tombs imperial, soaring from the sea, Shall guide the corsair through his night of blood. Despair with folded wings, Where the Eagle's pinions hung. Shall cower beneath the throne of kings, Who o'er the Alps the curse of hell have flung. Woe to the beautiful ! the barbarian comes ! Woe to the proud ! the peasant lays thee low ! Woe to the mighty ! o'er your kingly domes The savage banner soars — the watchfires glow; Triumph and terror through the Forum rush. Art's trophies vanish — learning's holy lore, — Alaric banquets while red torrents gush, Attila slumbers on his couch of gore ! And there the eye of ruin roams O'er guilt and grief and desolation ; And there above a thousand homes The voice of Ruin mourns a buried nation. Buried, O Rome ! not like Campania's cities. To wake in beauty when the centuries flee, But in the guilt and grief and shame none pities, The living grave of guilt and agony ! Alas ! for Glory that must close in gloom ! Alas ! for Pride that loves the tyrant's scorn ! Alas ! for Fame that from the Scipio's tomb Rises to look on infamy and mourn ! But Vengeance, wandering long. With many a battle hymn and funeral song, Shakes Fear's pale slumber from earth's awestruck eyes, And bids Sarmatia's hordes redeem her agonies ! Yet not alone the civic wreath. The conqueror's laurel, the triumpher's pride. Shall wither 'neath the samiel eye of Death ; On Rome's old mount of glory shall abide, CANTO III. 153 Tiar'd and robed like the Orient's vainest kings, The hoar devoter of earth's diadems ;* His glance shall haunt the heart's imaginings — His footfall shall be felt where misers hoard their gems ! . And from the palace of the Sacred Hill The thrice crown'd pontiff" shall to earth dispense The awful edict of his mighty will, And reign o'er mind in Fear's magnificence. Prince, peasant, bandit, slave shall bow Beneath his throne in voiceless adoration, And years of crime redeem by one wrung vow; And age on age shall die — and many a nation Sink in the shadow of the tyrant's frown And disappear. Without a song or tear, While clarion'd conquerors tread In hymned triumph o'er the dead ; And wild barbarian hordes, Whose faith and fealty hang upon their swords. Shall feel the mellowing breath of human love, And dwell entranced amid romance and lore ; Yet from the awful Vatican no dove Shall bear freewill to any earthly shore ! But he, the Rock amid the ruins old Of mythologic temples, shall o'ersway The very earth, till thrones and kingdoms sold — And empires blasted in the blaze of day — Awake the world — and from the human heart The crushing mountain of Oppression cast ; Then man shall bid all tyrannies depart, And from the blue blest heavens elysium dawn at last !" " How like the gusty moans of tempest nights O'er the broad winter wilderness, that voice Ascends ; and what a horrid gleam is flung * The allusion throughout is to what was, for a long time, an almost omnipotent sovereignty — the Popedom ; and even the very strictest disciple of papal supremacy must lament the desecration of almost unlimited power in the hands of many who bet- ter understood the law of might, the pageantries of the tournament, the forms of the duello, the intrigues of diplomacy, and the dominion of the castle, than the edicts and ceremonies and devotions of the pontificate. The " Rock amid the ruins " alludes to Peter, — in the Greek, IlfT'gos. 20 154 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. Along that face of madness, as it turns From sea to mountain, and the wild eyes burn With revelations of the unborn time ! We may not linger — shelter earth denies — The very heavens like a gehenna lour — And ocean is our refuge — on — on — on ! Yet hark ! the wildest shriek of death ! and lo ! The priest falls gasping from the ramparts now — The breath of oracles upon his lips, The Future's knowledge in his dying heart. He reels — pants — gazes on the sulphur light — (How like the glare of hell it wraps his form !) Expiring, mutters woe — and falls to sleep Shroudless in the red burial of the doomed ! — On to the ocean ! and, far o'er its waves, To Rhsetia's home of glaciers — if God wills! Look not behind ! a moment gains the shore !" So Pansa cried, and windlike was their flight. The pinnace cleaves the waters ; heaving, black And desolate, the dismal billows groan And swell the dirges of the earth and sky. Upon the bosom of the sea, the barque Sweeps on in darkness, save when furnace light Flares o'er the upturned floods; and now they pass The promontory's cliffs, and o'er the deeps Fly like a midnight vision. — From the shores Voices in terror cry, and countless shapes Now in the lava blaze appear — and now Vanish in the fell night, and far away, Pliny's lone galleys, dimly from their prows Casting their watchlights through the fitful gloom, Hear not the implorings of the fugitives. THE DEATH-CRIES OF POMPEH. FIRST VOICE. Hear us ! oh, hear us ! will no God reply 1 No ear of mercy open to our prayer ? Hath utter vengeance throned the accursed sky ? And must we perish in this wild despair ? CANTO HI. 155 Hear us ! oh, hear us ! will no mortal hand Succour in horror — pity in our dread? Woe ! Desolation sweeps o'er all the land ! Woe ! woe ! earth trembles 'neath the Death-King's tread ! SECOND VOICE. Oh, Fear and Gloom and Madness are around, And hope from earth is vain ; The sky is blackness — waves of fire, the ground — • And every bosom's breath — the pulse of pain. Yet let us not deny, In shuddej-ing nature's agony, The universal and immortal King ! But rather, while we gasp, Our dying children closer clasp, And pass, with them, the deep where blossoms deathless spring ! THIRD VOICE. Who bids us sink resigned ? Who bids us bless the Slayer ? And mid the storm of ruin, blind, Scorched — blasted — dying — breathe again the spurned-back prayer 1 Let the Creator in his vengeance take The life he heaped on men ! No sigh — no voice — no tear shall slake The almighty hatred that could thus condemn ! He made us but to die- To die yet see our city's burial first — And he shall feast upon no wailing cry ~ From me : — take what thy wrath has cursed ! I yet have power to hate and scorn the might That strews the earth with dead in Desolation's night ! FOURTH VOICE. Blaspheme not in thine anguish ! We may not hope to linger — Yet, quickly quenched, we shall not moan and languish In wan disease— emaciating pain— 156 THE I>A!iT NIUHT OF POMPEII. And living death — when e'en an infant finger Would be a burden !— Oh, the fiery rain Comes down and withers and consumes The mighty and the weak, And not a voice from out yon horrid glooms. That shroud the Sarnus and the sea, Replies to hearts that break In the last agony. Yet shut not out the hope elysian. And fold not darkness to thy breast ! — < — My babe ! oh, sweet, most blest and briefest vision ! As at thy birthhour, here 's thy home of rest — My bosom was thy pillow — 't is thy tomb — It gave thee life — and, in thine early death, Thy latest throbs to mine — — Oh, like harp thrillings in thy bliss and bloom, While o'er my face stole soft thy odorous breath, They touched my spirit with a joy divine ! — Thy latest throbs shall be The warning that shall waft My soul up through the starr'd infinity, E'en where the nectar cup is by the I mortals quaff'd. FIFTH VOICE. And must we die? In being's brightness and the bloom of thought! Sepulchred beneath a sunless sky ! And all the spirit's godlike powers be — nought ! Wail o'er thy doom, fair boy ! Shriek thy last sorrow, maiden ! for the doom. That o'er earth's tearless joy Rolls gory mid the shadows of the tomb ! The tomb ! there shall be none Save dark-red shroudings of the lava sea — The fire shall quench the agonizing groan- Moments become — eternity ! And must we perish so? Sink, shuddering, thus and gasp our breath in flame? And o'er our unremembered burial flow The pomps and pageants of a worthless name? CAXTO III. 157 At wonted feasts, no voices shall salute — ; In temple hymns, no soul-breathed strain awake I Our memories from the realms forever mute — ] But o'er our graves barbarian kings shall slake \ Their demon thirst of gore- — And redcross slayers march in bandit ranks. From Alp and sea and shore, : To heap the Asian sands with hordes of slaughtered Franks ! i Wail for the joy that never more shall breathe ! ] Wail for the lore and love, the bloom and bliss That to the ocean world of fire bequeathe Their paradise of hope ! and this Must be our only trust — to quickly die — And leave the pleasant things of earth behind ; ] Through thousand ages unremembered lie Unknown to sunbeam smile or breath of summer wind ! — i DioMEDE, (rushing in.) Away! bewailers of decrees that bring Rest to the grief and restlessness of earth ! Away! pale tremblers mid the dawn of spring That o'er the winter of your fate comes forth ! What are your woes to his, ; Who from the throne of power beheld the glory— j Ambition's grandeur, pleasure's bliss, — 1 Gleam on the Syrian towers like gods in minstrel story I Gone ! gone ! why, see ye not the eyes i Of hell's own Furies glaring through the flame ? i And hear ye not the wild, deep, dreadful cries i That call in curses on the Avenger's name ? ' No barque to bear us o'er the sea I No refuge on the mountain's breast ! i Earth, time, and hope like unblest shadows flee, j And death and darkness pall our everlasting rest ! • ; What spectre sail sweeps yon 1 i Now in the black night buried — now upon j The billow in the horrid light careering, | Like a spirit that hath passed j The glacier and the Lybian blast, i It feels not human fearing ! ! 158 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. It flies toward the promontory now — The torrent fire of ruin hangs above — And earthly forms are standing by the prow, Clasped in the arms of love ! O Hell of Thought ! and must I — in the fame Of sumless wealth and power — sink down and die, And, helpless, hopeless, leave the Praetor's name To moulder with the herd's beneath The mountain monument of death, And be a doubt, or mock and scorn To fierce barbarians, yet unborn. When in the spoiler's lust, they seek the Italian sky ? Ay, curse the gods who in their hate created The serpent death that gnaws your core of life ! E'en in your childhood's beauty, ye were fated To writhe, howl, shudder, perish in the strife Of elemental agonies. As were your sires by ghastly wan disease ; And wrath, shame, guilt, despair, remorse and pain. Their heritage and testament, have swept Your hearts as vultures sweep the battle plain ! Then by the tears unpitied grief hath wept, By lone bereavement's wail. And Evil's dark ovations, Bid universal ruin hail ! And swell Death's monarch march o'er buried nations For me — as fits the Roman lord, When hopeless peril darkens on his way, I crave no lingering tortures with the horde Who gasp and grovel in the slave's dismay, And to the sick and sulphurous air, Where Gloom and Fire and Horror dwell, Pour out to fiction's gods the unheard prayer, And seek in clouds a heaven, to find on earth a hell ! Thou one omnipotent Despair ! Whose shadow awes the prostrate world, Thou kingly Queller of lamenting care ! Oblivion's voiceless home prepare, And let Extinction's lightning bolt be hurled ! .J CANTO III. 159 Banished, yet dauntless, doomed but undismayed, Least willing, yet without a groan or sigh, I go — dark Nemesis ! thou art obeyed ! Thou awful cliff! the billow's funeral cry Thrills through my quickened sense, That feels with life intense. Yet, ere a moment's lapse, this soul shall sleep — This form, a sweltering corse, beneath the unsounded deep !" Thus to the proud heart's last throb breathing out Defiance and blaspheming wrath — though wrecked And ruined, hurling his terrific thoughts Of baffled vengeance to the shuddering heavens — A monumental Memnon, sending up Death's music to the burning hills of death — Upon the extremest edge of awful cliffs. That beetled o'er the blackened billows now Howhng their dirges o'er the expected dead, The haughty Prsetor stood alone, and flung His agonizing spirit's deadliest glance, The farewell execrating look of pride, Unquenched by horror, unsubdued by death, O'er hill, shore, forest, ocean — earth and heaven ; Then, towering like a rebel demigod, And to the fierce volcano turning quick His brow of fearful beauty, while his lips Curved with convulsive curses, o'er the rocks- Down — down the void, black depths, like a bann'd star, Or demon from a meteor mountain's brow. He plunged and o'er him curled the shivering floods ! Meantime, charred corses in one sepulchre Of withering ashes lay, and voices rose, Fewer and fainter, and, each moment, groans Were hushed, and dead babes on dead bosoms lay, And lips were blasted into breathlessness . Ere the death kiss was given, and spirits passed The ebbless, dark, mysterious waves, where dreams Hover and pulses throb and many a brain Swims wild with terrible desires to know 160 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. The destinies of worlds that lie beyond. The thick air panted as in nature's death, And every breath was anguish ; every face Was terror's image, where the soul looked forth. As looked, sometimes, far on the edge of heaven, A momentary star the tempest palled. From ghastlier lips now rose a wilder voice. As from a ruined sanctuary's gloom, Like savage winds from the Chorasmian waste Rushing, with sobs and suffocating screams : And thus the last despair found utterance. SIXTH VOICE. " It bursts ! it bursts ! and thousand thunders blent, From the deep heart of agonizing earth, Knell, shatter, crash along the firmament, And new hells peopled startle into birth. Vesuvius sunders ! pyramids of fire From fathomless abysses blast the sky ; E'en desolating Ruin doth expire. And mortal Death in woe immortal die. Torrents, like lurid gore, Hurled from the gulf of horror, pour, liike legion fiends embattled to the spoil, And o'er the temple domes. And joy's ten thousand homes. Beneath the whirlwind hail and storm of ashes boil. The surges, like coil'd serpents, rise From midnight caverns of the deep, And writhe around the rocks, That shiver in the earthquake shocks" And through the blackness of fear's mysteries. Chained Titans from their beds of torture leap, And o'er the heavens, Eumenides Seek parting souls for prey. Oh, God ! that on those dark and groaning seas Would soar one other day ! Vain is the mad desire. Darkness, convulsion, fire, CANTO III. 161 Infernal floods, dissolving mountains, fold ^ The helpless children of woe, sin and Time — '. O'er fiery wrecks has Desolation rolled, The Infinite Curse attends the finite crime ! ^ No melancholy moon to gaze ; With dim, cold Hght remote ! ; No star, through stormy sphere, with holy rays, \ O'er dying eyes, like hope of heaven, to float ! | No spot — the oasis of the waste above — : Whose still, sweet beauty glistens ' . • Through clouds that heave and riot in wild masses, Breaks on the breaking heart ! no seraph listens , In blue pavilions, while the spirit passes, \ And o'er the dreariest waters bears, \ Beyond the unburied's desert shore, ' To skies ambrosial and elysian airs, ' j Where e'en the awful Destinies adore ! \ No tenderness from lips, ] Blackened and swoln and gasping, steals : Amid the soul's eclipse : ^ Each, in the solitude of misery, feels, ' Ineffable, his own despair, ; And sinks unsolaced, unsolacing, down, ! O'ercanopied by sulphurous air. Palled, tombed by seas that terror's last cry drown ! [ Oh, still the piteous cry ; Mounts up the heavens — " fly ! fly !" \ "Whither?'^ the billows roar Among the wrecks and rent crags of the shore. i " Whither f the Volcano's voice : Repeats, biddihg pale death rejoice. ; Oh, Hope with madness dwells. And love of life creates the worst of deaths ; i Hark ! world to world ten thousand voices swells — j ' Resign your breaths !' 1 We die ; the sinner with the sinless dies, i The bud, the flower, the fruit, corruption wastes, ; Childhood and hoar age blend their agonies, \ Destruction o'er the earth—the missioned slayer hastes^ j 21 ^ _^_ 162 THE I^AST NIGHT OF POMPEU, Swiftly along the Psestan gulf before The Alpine gale, scudded the Christians' barque ; Night veiled Lucania's rugged shore, but oft The dreadful radiance of the firemount hung Upon the mightiest Apennines, and there The giant cliffs, hoar forest trees, and glens Haunted by endless midnight, and the foam Of cataracts — glared upon the fear-charmed eye. Distinct though distant ; and Salernum's crags Spurned the chafed sea that rushed before the prow. " Lo ! Pliny's galleys speed to aid at last !" Said Pansa, gazing through the meteor light, Towards the Sarnus and the victim host. •* All shall not perish ; oars and sails bear on The Roman armament — and now, in hope Renewed exulting, from the dust upspring A thousand prostrate shapes, and from the rocks Lift their scorched hands, and shout (though we hear not) The late rescuers on ! yet many a heart Will throb and thrill no more, but buried lie, j Like its own birthplace, till oblivion rests l On the Campanian cities and their guilt. i Salernum's rocks forever from our gaze j Hide the dark scene of trial, and we leave. With swelling canvas, Rome's imperial realm; Where Christian faith shall, like the sandal tree. Impart its odour to the feller's axe. To seek a heritage in wilds afar. ! — Now, as we hasten, let our spirits soar ! To Him who shelters when the Avenger slays !" ! THE FAREWELL OF THE CHRISTIANS. PANSA. i Alone, in darkness, on the deep,. . Spirit of Love ! redeemed by thee. While fear its watch o'er ruin keeps, : Thy grace our sign and shield, we flee. I The billows burst around our barque, ; The death streams roll and burn behind — ^ j Thy mercy guides our little ark, Thy breath can swell or hush the wind. ! CANTO III. 163 Thy footsteps ruffled not the wave When drowning voices shrieked for aid — The cavern'd billow yawn'd — a grave — " Be still 1" it heard Thee and obeyed ! From idol rites and tyrant power, Now o'er the midnight sea we fly — Be with us through our peril's hour ! Saviour ! with Thee we cannot die ! MARIAMNE. To men a mocked and homeless stranger, Thy truth, love, grace and goodness blest The world, whose first gift was a manger. Whose last, the Cross ! no down of rest Pillowed, O Christ ! thy holy head, No crown, but thorns. Thy temples wreathed, Yet Thou the Death King captive led, And through the tomb a glory breathed ! The scorner all thy love reviled,; Thy path was pain, thy kingdom shame, Yet sorrow on thine aspect smiled. E'en Death revered Thy deathless name ! The bittern moans where Zion stood. The serpent crawls where nations trod — Be with us on the mountain flood ! Fill our dim hearts with light from God ! THE MAIDEN OF POMPEII.' The flame, that wrapt my childhood's bowers, Revealed Thee to my darkened mind ; Thee whom e'en sybils, seers and powers Of Night in Delphi's grove divined ; With the dim glimpse of shadowed thought, They saw the Atoner's form of light. Yet pale doubt sighed o'er visions wrought. The idol world still walked in night. Now paynim dreams of dread no more. The feigned response, the magi's charms, O'erawe and on my spirit pour The torturer's spells, the tomb's alarms. 164 THE LAST NIGHT OF POMPEII. On starless wings, through blooming air, Hope unto heaven bears human love ; Doubt, grief, lone tears, remorse, despair Haunt not the soul's own home above. My chill heart cheered by thoughts like these. Far from my ruined bowers I roam ; Thy love lights up the midnight seas, Thy smile is earth's most heavenly home ! THE OLD CHRISTIAN. Dimmer, like hoary years that bring Life's winter, wanes the volcan's glare; Destruction furls his meteor wing, Watching the desert of despair ! Now far before, the ^Eolian Isles Send up their vassal fires, but still, Where fair Trinacria's Hybla smiles, Darkness sits throned on ^Etna's hill. Soon, by Sicilia's whirlpool streight. Our barque shall seek the Ionian sea. And o'er the Adria, pagan hate To Rhsetian hills hunt not the free ! The sun, with beams that bloom, shall soar, And vineyard, vale, hillside and grove. Sea, mountain, meadow, isle and shore Bask in voluptuous light of love. Yet darker Ruin still must come O'er midnight minds and hearts defiled — A direr storm, a deadlier doom — Where Glory stood, and Beauty smiled. Away ! the grave's wild shadows swim O'er my pale eve of autumn days ; Away ! the wild to harp and hymn. Like sphere-voiced choirs, shall breathe, O Christ ! Thy love and praise ! 'T is summer's tenderest twilight, and the woods Glow like an inner glory of the mind. And rills, veining the verdure, and among CANTO III. 165 \ Vines, rose-lipp'd flowers and odorous shrubs in mirth \ And music dancing, purl from fountains linown j But to the gnomes and kobalds of the Alps — ' j Mysterious springs, o'er which eternal Night i Watches and weeps in solitude, her tears : Mingling, at last, with the green ocean deeps. i Brightness and beauty, love and blessedness Breathe on each other's bosoms, while afar, * From jagged cliffs the torrent cataract Hymns the Omnipotent; and from the brows ■ Of desolate peaks ice-diademed, which thought ! Alone may climb, the mountain avalanche, '\ Vast Ruin, falls and with it ruin bears. ] All else is loneliness, beauty and love, i Peace and a hallowed stillness, and the souls 1 Of the lone mountain dwellers, in the hush Of solitude and nature's majesty, Partake the sanctity and power around. The sunbow o'er precipitated floods — | The ice-lakes, and ravines where chaos dwells, i And desolation; flowers beneath snow-hills, 1 Where the great sun looks wan — the mightiest pines, . Rooted in chasms, that o'er the unfathomed gorge ] Hang, wave and murmur — vales of paradise, j That smile upon suspended horror— -all i With memories and oracles and dreams, ^ Time's hopes, eternity's imaginings, ■ Infinity's vast grandeur, the meek love ; Of birthplace home, — the boundlessness of power, 1 The holiness of earth's reliance — fill 1 The awed and yet exultant intellect ! ■, Flowered fields and harvests bloom around the door '[ Of a lone forest cottage, and amidst The Eden of the wild a hoary head j Is lifted and the wan lips move in prayer. ! Around, three beings kneel in thought o'erawed, ^ Vesper responses breathing from high hearts, And Echo whispers in the clefted rocks. ; \ 166 THE LAST WIGHT OF POMPElI. From meek adorings and communing love, Then rose they, not as worshippers arise In latter days of evil, w^ith proud eyes And minds revenge corrodes, but violet-like. And gentle as the dawn breath of sweet May, Patient, serene and robed in holy thoughts. Dayspring and evelight, thus, year after year, Dawned and departed, and the seasons had Their own peculiar joys in Pansa's home. And there — the Roman Convert's testament — The storm-nursed heritors of Faith, blasphemed, Throned Liberty on Alpine pinnacles, And bade her temple be the Switzer hills. There in love worshipped, there with hoar hairs died The Christians, but their deathless spirits lived In the high thoughts of many a patriot heart, Which, thrilled with Freedom and God's holy Law, With tyrant Wrong warred through Guilt's thousand years. WESTMINSTER ABBEY. i What awful images of ancient days, What high and hallowed thoughts rush o'er my brain, i While I behold and tremble and adore :; Thy melancholy pomp of sculptured Mind, ! Thou Temple of the deathless ! Pantheon Of Genius deified! — Amid thy vaults, Thy lone religious passages and aisles, : Thy pillar'd arches gray and antique shrines, | The spirit pants for breath and the heart holds i Its lifepulse silent for the undying Dead i Pour forth their glories here and all the air Breathes of their immortality ! We gaze i And gaze, and turn away, o'erpowered by thoughts \ Vast as the blended intellects that float Through the far cloisters of monastic gloom, And high and holy as the eternal thrones, j Their seats of Power amid Earth's majesty ! ' How soars and shudders the astonished soul j Among the great assembly of the pride '. And glory of the earth ! the canonized ! Of countless generations ! — Here they dwell Together— all the Majesty of Mind ! Bards of high mysteries ! and warriors crowned ^ With gory glories ! and wise statesmen skilled I To guide the golden argosy through storms i And tempests o'er a darkly swirling sea ; i And orators, whose words of wisdom fell, j (Like the Athenian's eloquence among i The gurgling shores of rocky Salamis,) \ Unheeded till too late ! and here they sleep,, I The mitred prelates of the land, whose ban \ Was blight and blasting in the olden days. 168 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. When bondmen spirits, smitten to the dust, Bowed down before the Dagon of their Faith, Grasped the red cross, embraced a life of woe, Adored a dream, and, like a vision, passed To meet the doom of deeds before the just, Whom priestcraft never knew, or scorned, if known. Beside the bold crusader sleeps the monk Whose voice was like a trumpet, w^hen he raised The nations, and to the desert led them forth To perish, like a herd on naked sands. Here monarchs slumber — but unlawful hands Have ceased to reverence the anointed head, And crowns are'crushed and sceptres broken now, And not a voice cries Traitor ! All is lost, The pomp, the pageant and the banner'd pride. The warrior's glory and the sovereign's power, The churchman's bigot pride, the lady's charms ! St. Edward's crown hath mouldered into dust ; The ancient chair for the anointing hour Rests on the crumbled clay of those who, erst. Sate proudest there — the Dagons of their day ! • — Oh ! nought is left but tombs and trophies now, Dark mausolea, where no empress weeps. Shrines overthrown, where not a shadow steals To worship — cenotaphs without a corse, And monuments without memorial ! Oh ! as I wander mid the holy light Thrown from the pictured windows high aloft, While every footfall, o'er the sculptured stones Beneath, wakes ghostlike echoes, that along The ancient walls steal with a low faint sound, Like dim revealings of another world. Each effigy dilates and glows with life Around me, and the dusky light reveals Their features like the faces we behold In troubled visions, or the shadows seen Gliding amid the gloamin, when the sound Of flowing waters riseth on the soul Like blessed music. — Ere they fade away. Thus let me catch their wavering lineaments: — WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 169 Full in the sunset light far distant thrown From yon stained window — lo ! the Hero stands, Whose voice shook empires I girt in iron mail, With shivered shield and dinted sword, he stands, And through the bars of his closed visor glare His searching eyes like stars amid the storm. His Anak form moves on — his armed tread Tends to the battle or the tournament. The foray or the joust — and hark ! the shout, The bugleblast of onset ! — All is still. Behold again ! where wars the giant chief? — There — cold and motionless, the Statue stands. Yon poet's marble brow breathes thought ; his eyes, To all the wonted wildness of their light. Wake from the sleep of ages, and the love. The passion of his spirit wakes again. Lo ! now he grasps his long neglected lyre. And inspiration in his cold heart burns ; Memory, the seraph, from her pictured wings Scatters gay visions o'er his wasted heart, And Fancy, beautiful spirit ! o'er him bends With looks of light, and Forms, in robes of pearl And green and gold, hover around his harp, Redolent of joy and perfect blessedness. — Alas ! the golden chords melt 'neath his touch. And the dust eddies in the troubled air — Dust ! nought but dust all that we love in life, Like our own hearts, a dewdrop and a dream ! From his cold couch in yonder cloister's cell The monk starts up, as he were loitering late From vesper hymn an(| hurries to his shrine In the dark ruin of the chapelry. Amazed, he stands ; and, with a dreamy eye, Like a delirious sleeper, gazes round ; The illumined missal and tall crucifix, The waxlights and the censers, all have gone ! The altar-fire hath ceased ! the worshippers No more approach for earthly sacrifice ; 22 170 WESTMINSTER ABBEV. The glorious beauty and high sanctitude Of that fair church he served, e'en while he slept, Hath passed away, like a bright evening cloud ! The Orator's pale lips, in quivering play, Reveal the awful eloquence, that once Shook thrones and sundered monarchies, but none Heed now the voice, whose living magic held The breathless heart submissive to its charm. The strong delirious passions slumber on ; Hope dwells not here ; Ambition hath forgot His earth-o'ershadowing purposes ; the spell Of Praise, the fever of eternal Fame Thrills not the silent soul — and hoary guilt Hath passed the ordeal of its earthly doom. How deadly still the Sepulchre of Pride ! The distant verger's faintest step o'ercomes The spirit like the whisper of the Dead ! 'T is a sage homily — that slow light falP Of living foot in this cold world of Death. Why burns thine eye with such triumphant light, O proud Elizabeth ? Lo ! there the shrine Where worship now the people of the earth, Scotia's lost Mary — beauty's loveliest queen — A sacrifice, if innocent, and thrice A sacrifice if guilt confirmed her doom. Leman of Essex ! Tyrant Henry's child, Meet daughter of thy sire ! bend that proud head And look beneath thy foot, O haughty Bess ! Thy broken sceptre lies by Mary's tomb ! Grandeur ! thou hadst thy crown. Misfortune now Hath her reward — the tears of half the world. The features fade to duskier lineaments, The spell hath passed — and all becomes again A monumental mockery — but oh ! 'T is a dread thing for living man to hold Communion with this empire of the dead ; To think, to feel, to breathe a vivid life, •WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 171 And know that every atom of the dust, That mingles with the air, had thought and power, And pillowed the same hopes on the same fears, And toiled and struggled in the waves of woe. Like the worn heart, that, old in early youth, Poureth this dirge above the unanswering dead ! I hear the rush of countless wings ; and now, In solemn train and proud array, they pass. The Great, the Wise, the Mighty and the Good, Through the lone cloisters, and around the vaults Spread the elysian vision of their pomp. O'er hearts that quail and quiver, here they reign ; Throned on the majesty of ages here. Triumphant Genius, from the thick pale dust Invoking deities, eternal reigns, While the bright suns, that lightened lower worlds, Forever burn amid the heaven of heavens. The old Cathedral clock tolls out the hour. How solemnly each lone deep echo rolls Through the cold World of Tombs ! yet none awakes. Ye effigies of glory and renown ! ye shades Of Mind ! ye pictured palaces of Thought ! Hear ye that lingering knell 1 — 'T is not for you ! Listen, all ye who wander here ! each note Of that old prophet is the voice of death Sounding — Ye are the dust ye tread upon! For him, who, far from country, friends and home, With a quick heart and a wrought spirit, roams, O Ancient Abbey! through thy pillar'd vaults. When the mad fever of this life is o'er, Far happier were the dying thought (as sweet As breath of moonlight roses bathed in dew) That he should lay his weary head to rest On earth's green bosom, 'neath the smile of heaven. Where sunlight and the beams of summer stars, And the soft glory of the autumnal moon And vernal showers and diamond dews would come, And youths and maidens meet in joy and love, Beneath the trailing willow and beside 172 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. The shorn turf of his nameless sepulchre, Low in the violet vale, where mountains spread The shadows of the eve — than that his corse Should moulder in thy melancholy vaults, Thou Sepulchre of Grandeur ! where the sounds Of multitudes commercing through the ways Of Earth's one City-World re-echo harsh Along thy mouldering shrines and cloisters dim. .j*-^ PERE LA CHAISE.^ Beautiful city of the dead ! thou stand'st Ever amid the bloom of sunny skies And blush of odours, and the stars of heaven Look, with a mild and holy eloquence, Upon thee, realm of silence ! Diamond dew And vernal rain and sunlight and sweet airs Forever visit thee ; and morn and eve Dawn first and linger longest on thy tombs Crown'd with their wreaths of love and rendering back From their wrought columns all the glorious beams, That herald morn or bathe in trembling light The calm and holy brow of shadowy eve. Empire of pallid shades ! though thou art near The noisy traffic and thronged intercourse Of man, yet stillness sleeps, with drooping eyes And meditative brow, forever round Thy bright and sunny borders ; and the trees, That shadow thy fair monuments, are green Like hope that watches o'er the dead, or love That crowns their memories ; and lonely birds Lift up their simple songs amid the boughs, And with a gentle voice, wail o'er the lost, The gifted and the beautiful, as they Were parted spirits hovering o'er dead forms Till judgment summons earth to its account. Here 't is a bliss to wander when the clouds Paint the pale azure, scattering o'er the scene Sunlight and shadow, mingled yet distinct, And the broad olive leaves, like human sighs, Answer the whispering zephyr, and soft buds The Cemetery of Paris. 174 PERE LA CHAISE. Unfold their hearts to the sweet west wind's kiss, And Nature dwells in solitude, like all Who sleep in silence here, their names and deeds Living in sorrow's verdant memory. Let me forsake the cold and crushing world And hold communion with the dead! then thought. The silent angel language heaven doth hear. Pervades the universe of things and gives To earth the deathless hues of happier climes. All, who repose undreaming here, were laid Jn their last rest with many prayers and tears. The humblest as the proudest was bewailed. Though few were near to give the burial pomp. Lone watchings have been here, and sighs have risen Oft o'er the grave of lov^e, and many hearts Gone forth to meet the world's smile desolate. The saint, with scrip and staff, and scallop shell And crucifix, hath closed his wanderings here ; The subtle schoolman, weighing thistle down In the great balance of the universe. Sleeps in the oblivion which his folios earned ; The sage, to whom the earth, the sea and sky Revealed their sacred secrets, in the dust, Unknown unto himself, lies cold and still ; The dark eyes and the rosy lips of love, That basked in passion's blaze till madness came, Have mouldered in the darkness of the ground ; The lover, and the soldier, and the bard — The brightness, and the beauty, and the pride Have vanished — and the grave's great heart is still ! Alas, that sculptured pyramid outlives The name it should perpetuate ! alas ! That obelisk and temple should but mock With effigies the form that breathes no more. The cypress, the acacia, and the yew Mourn with a deep low sigh o'er buried power And mouldered loveliness and soaring mind, Yet whisper " Faith surmounts the storm of death." PERE LA CHAISE. 175 Beautiful city of the dead ! to sleep Amid thy shadowed solitudes, thy flowers. Thy greenness and thy beauty, where the voice, Alone heard, whispers love — and greenwood choirs Sing 'mid the stirring leaves — were very bliss Unto the weary heart and wasted mind. Broken in the world's warfare, yet still doomed To bear a brow undaunted ! Oh, it were A tranquil and a holy dwelling-place To those who deeply love but love in vain, To disappointed hopes and baffled aims And persecuted youth. How sweet the sleep Of such as dream not— wake not — feel not here. Beneath the starlight skies and flowery earth, 'Mid the green solitudes of Pere La Chaise ! AN evp:ning song of piedmont. Ave Maria ! 't is life's holiest hour, The starlight wedding of the earth and heaven, When music breathes its perfume from the flower, And high revealings to the heart are given ; Soft o'er the meadows steals the dewy air. Like dreams of bliss, the deep blue ether glows, And the stream murmurs round its islets fair The tender nightsong of a charmed repose. Ave Maria I 't is the hour of love, The kiss of rapture and the linked embrace, The hallowed converse in the dim still grove, The elysium of a heart-revealing face, When all is beautiful — for we are blest, When all is lovely — for we are beloved, When all is silent — for our passions rest, When all is faithful — for our hopes are proved. Ave Maria ! 't is the hour of prayer, Of hushed communion with ourselves and heaven, When our waked hearts their inmost thoughts declare. High, pure, far searching, like the light of even ; When hope becomes fruition and we feel The holy earnest of eternal peace. That bids our pride before the Omniscient kneel, That bids our wild and warring passions cease. Ave Maria 1 soft the vesper hymn Floats through the cloisters of yon holy pile. And 'mid the stillness of the nightwatch dim Attendant spirits seem to hear and smile ! Hark ! hath it ceased ? The vestal seeks her cell, J AN EViENirrQ SONG OF PIEDMONT. 177 And reads her heart — a melancholy tale ! A song of happier years, whose echoes swell O'er her lost love mid pale bereavement's wail. Ave Maria ! let our prayers ascend For them whose holy offices afford No joy in heaven — on earth without a friend — That true though faded image of the Lord ! For them in vain the face of nature glows, For them in vain the sun in glory burns, The harrow'd heart consumes in fiery woes, And meets despair and death where'er it turns. Ave Maria ! in the deep pine wood, On the clear stream and o'er the azure sky Bland twilight smiles, and starry solitude Breathes hope in every breeze that wanders by. Ave Maria ! may our last hour come As bright, as pure, as gentle, heaven ! as this ! Let faith attend us smiling to the tomb. And life and death are both the heirs of bliss ! 23 ._..:J THE COURTEZAN. The brand of shame is on thy brow, The fire of death is in thy heart, And infamy hath made thee now From human things a thing apart : An outcast from all social ties, Proud conscious virtue's mock and scorn, Victim of guilt that never dies — Oh, better thou hadst ne'er been born. The cold smile, that distorts thy cheek, Only reveals thy darker ruin. The guilt-seared heart that will not break, The damned despair of thy undoing : Like meteor lights in midnight gloom, Deepening the darkness vainly hid Within a foul but painted tomb — A proud but mouldering pyramid. The purple robes that round thee wave, Mocking the form they veil, reveal The riot of a living grave. The heart that loathes what it must feel ; Remorse that feeds on deep disgrace. Despair that spurns atonement's power. Hell pictured in a laughing face, — All — all the work of one dread hour ! Thou wanderest in the world's highway With a bold brow, and lip profane. Yet dim views of a brighter day Light up thy bosom's realm of pain ; THE COURTEZART. 179 The painted pallor of thy cheek, The wasting of thy wanton form, Tell agony no words can speak, The gnawing of the poison worm. Barred from the hope that points our way To happier realms and purer skies, Thou ever lingerest o'er the day That sealed thy hopeless agonies, And as the thought of what thou art Comes o'er the memory of thy fame, It leaves a hell within thy heart, And infamy upon thy name. Thy wanton eye — poor child of woe ! Seems lighted at the daemon's shrine; It lures to doom — to madness — oh ! To doom and madness such as thine ! Thou art a woman — banned and lost To all the hopes of woman's fame ! Alas ! not hell itself can boast A fiend like woman doomed to shame. They mock and scorn — I pity thee, Poor victim of confiding faith ! Affection's martyr — yet not free To meet the martyr's blessed death ! When in deep anguish thou dost think Of her that bore, that blessed, that nursed thee, Oh, can we marvel thou shouldst drink Oblivion of the hour that cursed thee ? When driven forth from heart and home By thine unfeeling father's curse, What but despair could seal thy doom? Could want atone or make thee worse? — Frail woman ! in thy best estate Too prone to err — to doubt too true, On whom shall rest thy penal fate When in the awful judgement due ? 180 THE COURTEZAN. Oh ! 't is a fearful thing to view The dark blight of Love's virgin bloom — The pale brow wet with death's cold dew— The warm heart shrouded in the tomb ! Not thy guilt only cast thee forth A houseless stranger in the world — But the Fiend's minions — men of Earth Thee from thy throne of honour hurl'd! They cast thee out — a Magdalen, Without a hope, without a home, A scorn and blot till death, and then A daemon in the world to come ! — Veiled hypocrites ! beware the hour When ye shall bear the doom ye brand, The heart, a lyre of godlike power. Is judged but by a godlike hand. Thy face is gay — thy form is fair. Thy voice sounds light and cheerful noww But I read shuddering horror there, And loathing branded on thy brow. — Go, go thy ways ! nought can redeem With men the heart that errs like thine ; Lost to earth's heaven — thine own esteem, — Poor victim to the daemon's shrine ! Yet, e'en for thee, in all thy shame, There's cheering hope still left in heaven, And in the Atonement's holy name Thy years of sin may be forgiven ! E'en when thy heart is breaking — when Thy hunger loathes the bread of lust. Though scoffed, and scorned, and cursed by men. Kneel to thy God! repent and trust! THE LOZEL. With a cold brow unblanched by shame^ A silent triumph of the eye, A heart that spurns all honest fame. And glories in its infamy, Thou hurriest to the work of death. The deeds that damn the soul the deepest, And, coiling torture's serpent wreath, Unstarting from thy visions, sleepest. Thy demon arts — thy smile that wears The mask of love but to betray. Thy crocodile, thy tyrant tears. That gem thy victim's burning way. Thy guarded glance, thy watchful care,, Thy passion shrinking at a word,^ — All verge to one dark close — despair^ And ruin — destined though deferred. And thou canst sit by beauty's side, And gaze on heaven's best image there. And glut the rancour of thy pride In thoughts that have no hope in prayer ; While she — her fair face lightened up By Love that blooms like Eden's isle. Drinks madness from thy poison cup. And greets thee with a seraph smile. Yes, thou canst blanch the virgin brow, And dim the eye whose glance is bliss. And steal what worlds cannot bestow— Ay— steal with an Iscariot kiss ! 182 THE LOZEL. And o'er thy blasted spirit breathe No thoughts that would the wretch revive — No pulse thrills through thy heart of death, Whose throb would bid the ruined live ! But, like the samiel o'er the waste, Thou leav'st a desert heart behind, While scorn smiles darkly o'er the Past — The haunted ruins of the Mind ! And men will hear thee tell of deeds. Whose lightest meed is years of pain — A blighted heart that breaks and bleeds, That ne'er can hope on earth again. Amid the maddened revel's mirth, When ribald tongues and maudlin eyes Teach apes to scorn the sons of earth Lost to their birthright in the skies, Thy guilt becomes a deed of pride, Thy victim's woe, a theme of jest, And thou canst woman's love deride, Who art in woman's ruin blest. Dishonoured and forsaken now By all she loved in years gone by, Gloom in her heart, guilt on her brow, And darkness in her leaden eye, She can but tread the appointed way That all must tread on whom the world Lays its forbidding curse foraye — From love, hope, heaven and glory hurled. Deserted by the righteous throng, Whose hearts are not so wholly changed That they would shun the winning wrong. If, unknown, from the fold they range, Oh ! what is left the victim maid. Mocked by the vile, shunned by the good. But sin continued — death delayed — Blurr'd shame and awful solitude ? THE LOZEL. 183 Ere life became a bliss to her, Ere fragrance followed on the flower, The spoiler came — the branded slur — The deathless doom of frailty's dower ! And thus, Dark Lozel ! thou canst blight The beautiful — and stain the fair — And on her bosom pour the night Of desolation and despair. By all the sorrows of thy lot, By all thy wrongs in ruin borne, By all heaven hath and earth has not, By all thy utter woe and scorn, The Traitor yet shall feel the force Of all that long hath tortured thee, The conscious horror of remorse, The ^tna of Hfe's agony ! Yes, he shall feel and thou shalt know, In realms where guilt shall find no gloom, The peril of inflicted woe. The anguish of the Liar's doom ! — Thou hearst a voice none else may hear. It bids thy burning spirit pause ; It bids thee. Infidel ! appear Where angels plead the Victim's cause ! LINES COMPOSED WHILE ASCENDING THE MISSISSIPPL Oh, give me back my native hills, The rockgirt woods that wave in heaven, The music of a myriad rills, That purl beneath the light of even ! Oh, give me back the winter wind. That o'er the northern mountain howls ! The burning clime I leave behind, — The sensual feast, the mantling bowls. Let all who, born for better things, Would chain the heart to Mammon's car. Fly on the north wind's fleetest wings. And hail the tropic's loveliest star ! To me more lovely is the home, Where kindred hearts at evening meet, While shrieking blasts, like demons, roam. And minds, long tried, each other greet. I would not mount the vassal's throne To find a felon's damned grave ; I would not do to be undone. Nor, born Mind's monarch, be a slave ! Corruption lurks in all the bowers Of that soft, sunny, sensual clime. Where Sin's dark pinions gloom the hours, And, giantlike, stalks forth dark Crime. Let not the Spirit, God decreed Should range at will through earth and heaven, Descend to be, in thought or deed. The creature of Time's festering leaven ! LINES COMPOSED WHILE ASCENDING THE MISSISSIPPI. 183 Let not the light that God breathed in, From his own soul, the unborn child, Be dimmed by doubt or gloomed by sin, Or perish on earth's dreariest wild. Oft we become the things we hate, Led on by those who ne'er relent. And thus we raise a tomb to Fate, And build o'er hope a monument. Evil becomes the guest of all Whom conscience guards not through the ills, That darken round us from the Fall, Like cataracts formed by mountain rills. Plague breathes through all the gleaming air, That floats o'er Heaven as if it thought ; In gilded cups lurks man's despair, And all that woe hath ever wrought. If, in this world, we would be wise, Shun we the guilt that is unblest. For in the far, far unknown skies. There is for sin no realm of rest. Then give me back my native hills. Though rude the men and rough the soil. And scant the harvest that ne'er fills The granary, — won by hardest toil ; If no high, proud, and generous spirit Flashes like light from northern hearts, They from their sires a God inherit, And God's own voice that ne'er departs. 24 THE HOUR OF DEATH. When, wrapt in dreams that throng the twilight hour, I roam alone o'er Nature's fair domain, Mid the iiushed shadows of the wildwood bower, Or o'er the shellstrewn margin of the main. Or upland green, or lovely lawn. Where dewdrops kiss the breathing flowers. And summer smiles, at rosy dawn. Like Memory o'er unsinning hours, I think that soon — how soon ! the Night will come When I shall leave this bright world for the tomb. I think — and frailty dims the drooping eye — That Spring will perfume all the inspiring air, And Summer's smile illume earth, sea, and sky, And Autumn, heaven's own robe of glory wear; That silvery voices, low and sweet. Will breathe the heart's own music forth. And plighted youth 'trothed maidens meet, Where now I roam o'er darkening earth ; But when all seasons with their treasures teem, Where shall I wander ? victim of a dream ! Through thousand years the glorious sun shall rise, And myriad songbirds thrilling anthems sing : Soft shall the moonbeams fall from midnight skies, And groves breathe music o'er the gushing spring ; But where will be the lonely one Who swept his lyre in wayward mood, And dreamed, sung, wept o'er charms unwon, In holy Nature's solitude ? In what far realm of shoreless space shall roam The soul that e'en on earth made Heaven its home ? The paths I wear, the stranger's foot will tread, The trees I plant, will yield no fruit to me ; THE HOUR OF DEATH. 187 The flowers I cherish, bloom not for the dead ; The name I nourish — what is that to thee, Fame ! phantom of the wildered brain ? Love's tears should hallow life's last hour. For pomp, and praise, and crowns, are vain — Death is the spirit's only dower ! Alone, the hermit of a broken heart. My Mind hath dwelt — even so let it depart ! To think — alas ! to feel and know that we, Sons of the sun, the heirs of thought and light, Must perish sooner than the windtossed tree Our hands have planted, and unending night Close o'er our buried memories ! Our sphere of starry thought — our sun Of glory quenched in morning skies. Our sceptre broken — empire gone — The voice, that bade creation spring to birth, Too weak to awe the worm from human earth ! I know not where this heart will sigh its last, I cannot tell what shaft will lay me low, Nor, when the mortal agony hath passed, Whither my spirit through the heavens will go. It will not sleep, it cannot die. It is too proud to grovel here, For even now it mounts the sky, And leaves behind earth's hope and fear ! may it dwell, when cleansed from sin and blight, Shrined in God's temple of eternal light ! Where'er the spirit roams, howe'er it lives, 1 cannot doubt it sometimes looks below. And from the scenes of mortal love derives Much to enhance its rapture or its woe ; And when I muse on death and gloom. And all that saints or sages tell, I pause not at the midnight tomb. Nor listen to the funeral knell, But think how dear the scenes I loved will be When I gaze on them from eternity ! TO MY SON IN HEAVEN Ere the oloud was on thy spirit, ' Or the blight upon thy bosom, > Thou wert summoned to inherit The realms of bliss and blossom. With a bounding soul and limb. Thou didst tread Earth undefiled — Now thy song is with the cherubim, i My bless'd and gifted child ! ! I In bereavement's lonely hours, i In the morn and evening prayer. In the summer's twilight bowers. And the autumn's sweetest air ; ; By the bed, the board, the hearth. And in every scene I sigh — 1 Yet could I bring thee back to earth? j My angel son on high ! in my heart and brain are bitter throes, \ And my eyes are dim with tears, [ While 1 think that, mid my thousand woes, i I joyed in thy infant years : ; And the hopes, the pride, the love, J That I shrined in thee, my son ! ■ But thy spirit is above With the High and Holy One ! j Thou canst never feel, like me, i The stint's of man and time, i Nor turn from woe and sin to flee ; But to meet despair and crime ! ■ TO MY SON IN HEAVEN. 189 From the fount of Thought Divine, Thou didst rise, a seraph, here — And I bless my God that ought of mine Can know no grief or fear. Thou hast gone to wing the glorious spheres Mid the train of cherub choirs, And thy voice shall swell, through deathless years, To the hymns of archangel lyres: But I, as my weary steps wend on, And my lonely heart deplores, Shall never — never hear, my son ! Its tones from the distant shores. The Ungering seasons will pass away. And the years of my mourning fly. Yet never will break again the day That wakes the light of thy glistening eye ! With a heart convulsed and a brain distraught. And a quivering hand, I pressed The death-weights on those orbs of thought. And bore thee to thy rest. Oh, the last words on thy dying lips. Ere thy voice in spasms died. And thy thoughts ran wild in thy brain's eclipse, As I left thy death-bed's side ! " Oh, my dear father ! where I am I would you were !" — but, alas ! my child ! Thou standest in glory before The Lamb — I here by the dust defiled ! While the struggling soul yet stayed Within thy darkened brain ; While the faintest hope in shadows played. As thou lingeredst in thy pain ; In the midnight gloom and the midday light, I watched thee, oh, my son ! And slept not till the world was night Round thee, my blessed one! 190 TO MY SON IN HEAVEN. Then by thy breathless — cold, cold breast I laid my head to sleep, And I found with the dead the only rest That o'er my heart could creep ! Oh, countless times, that head had hung In slumber on my bosom — now My arms around my lost one clung. And death was on his brow ! Mid sorrows and foes, and chilling throngs, Though 't was my doom to roam, My spirit was glad to hear thy songs Hail thy wronged father home ; My pride, my joy, and the loveliest flower That here shed the odour of heaven — The pall of death is on the hour When thy love to my grief was given. Thou wilt come no more, with thy soul-lit eye, Bright brow and pleasant voice — With thy smile like the starlight of autumn's sky, And thy step that said ' rejoice ;' Dayspring and sunset — the springtime bloom. And the winter's household hearth — Hues, odours and smiles are in thy tomb, And why should I roam the earth ? Oh, one is left, on whose natal hour Thy spirit smiled in bliss. And there's another in the nuptial bower That never felt thy kiss; The first in her soul thine image bears. And Gertrude's face is thine. And both, through the lapse of earthly years. Shall make Ihy tomb their shrine. And she, who bore thee, her firstborn pride. In the bloom of her spring of love. And she who clasped thee to her side, And called thee her wreck'd ark's dove. SONNET. IQl By twilight and daybeam will kneel in prayer By the grave of my only son, And the breeze that fans his dust, shall bear Our love to his heavenly throne ! SONNET. Ye eyes of Heaven ! what forms behind you wear Such radiant glories as ye shed on earth 1 Where is the Eden of their heavenly birth. Oh, where the dwellings of those shapes of air ? Perchance, loved ones who felt like us despair, And all the sickening ills of this world's dearth, Franchised from clay, may now come hurrying forth, To waft above each heart-revealing prayer. To listen to each sorrow of our lot. And tell earth's children, with a voice of light, They dwell forever in their holy sight. And never can in glory be forgot ! Love, the pure fountain of all mind, imparts Its bliss and beauty to the heaven of hearts. TO MY DAUGHTER GENEVIEVE. Star of my being's early night ! Tender but most triumphant flower ! Frail form of dust and heavenly light ! Rainbow of storms that round me lour ! Of tested love the pledge renewed, The milder luminary given To guide me through earth's solitude, To Love's own home of bliss in heaven. Heiress of Fate! thy soft blue eye Throws o'er the earth its brightness now, As sunlight gushes from the sky In glory o'er the far hill's brow; And light from thine ethereal home On every sinless moment lingers, As hope, o'er happier days to come, Thrills the heart's harp with viewless fingers. For, from the fount of Godhead, thou, A ray midst myriads wandering down. Still wear'st upon that stainless brow The seraph's pure and glorious crown ; Still — from thy Maker's bosom taken To bear thy trial time below. Like sunlight flowers, by winds unshaken, The dews of heaven around thee glow. Hours o'er thy placid spirit pass Like forest streams that glide and sing, As through the fresh and fragrant gjass Breathes the immortal soul of spring: TO MY DAUGHTER GENEVIEVE. 193 And through the realms of thy blest dreams, Thy high mysterious thoughts of Time, Heaven's watchers roam by Eden streams, And hail thee, Love ! in hymns sublime. But these bright days will vanish, Love ! And thou wilt learn to weep o'er truth. And with a saddened spirit prove That bliss abides alone with youth. Cares may corrode that lovely cheek, And fears convulse that gentle heart. And agonies, thou dar'st not speak. Deepen as childhood's hours depart. And thou, fair child ! as years descend In darkness on thy desert track, May'st tread thy path without a friend, Gaze on through tears, through shadows back, And sigh unheard by all who stood ' Around thee on a happier day, And struggle with the torrent flood, That sweeps thy last pale hope away. O'er the soft light of that blue eye Clouds of wild gloom may quickly gather, As, ere the sunburst of his sky, The tempest fell around thy father ; And mid the cold world's wealth and pride. The chill of crowds, life's restless stir, Thou mayst unknown with grief abide, Lone as the sea of Anadir. And thou wilt grow in beauty, love ! While I am mouldering in the gloom, And like the summer rill and grove. Sigh a brief sorrow o'er my tomb ; And thou wilt tread the same wild path Of mirth and madness all have trod Since time gave birth to sin and wrath — Till from the dust thou soar to God ! 25 194 TO MY DAUGHTER GENEVIEVE. Doubt may assail thy soul, and woes Gather into a burning chain, And round thy darkened spirit close Mid loneliness, disease and pain, When I no more can watch and guard Thy daily steps, thy nightly rest, Nor, with the strength of sorrow, ward Earth's evil from thy spotless breast. Fed by the dust that gave thee breath. Wild flowers may bloom above my grave. And sigh in every night breeze. Death, When thou shalt shriek for me to save ! The bosom, from whose fount thy lips The nectar drew of bliss below. May moulder in the soul's eclipse, And leave thee to thy friendless woe. E'en in the dawn of Time, thy heart Hath felt bereavement's chill and blight ; For thou hast seen the soul depart That would have clothed thy path with light ; And now, my beautiful — my blest ! Where on earth's desert wilt thou find A guide — a friend — a home of rest For the bruised heart and troubled mind ! Dark wiles and snares and sorceries Will spread beneath thy feet, and stain Thy spirit with their glittering lies, Till phantom bliss doth end in pain ; And thou must feel, and fear, and hide The doubts that gloom, the pangs that gnaw, And o'er a wreck'd heart wear the pride. That by its gloom doth guilt o'erawe. Yet dread not thou, my Genevieve ! The ills, allowed, allotted here — Nor waste thy soul in thoughts that grieve — The trembling sigh, the burning tear ! .J TO MY DAUGHETR GENEVIEVE. 195 Mind builds its empire on the waste, And virtue triumphs in despair — The guiltless woe of being past Is future glory's deathless heir. Beware the soil of thoughts profane, The fluent speech of skill'd design, Passion that ends in nameless pain. And fiction drawn from fashion's mine ! He, who so wildly shadows out The darkest passions of our sin, Draws the dark bane, he strews about. From the deep fount of guilt within. The Anointed keep thee, sinless child ! Be on thy path the Paraclete ! Through dreary wold and desert wild The Giver guide thy little feet ! Like buds that bloom as blown flowers fall. New hopes wave o'er thee angel pinions. Till thou with them who loved thee — all — Blend round the smile of God in glory's high dominions. SONGS TO CLARA. PART I. The robe, that, Uke the shroud, when once put on, Leaves the wild heart no more to hope or fear. Croly. When from the southern land I came. Pale as the lips I kissed in death, A stranger to the voice of fame, The spell of praise, the laurel wreath, With my heart's sorrows on my brow, And desolation in my soul, While backward lay a waste of woe, And fear before, to read the scroll The spirit of my doom unfolded With calm despair, that recks not how The features of our fate are moulded. So he fulfil his awful vow ; — I dreamed not then, thou gentle one ! That ever earthly shape again Could charm a heart so long undone, And picture on the brow of pain The bright, though shadowy form of bliss. That changeful as the rainbow's hues, Or April green, hath come to this Outbreathing of the heart's cold dews ; The overflow of feelings wrought Up to the madness of delight — The torrent of long gathered thought, The meteor of fate's darkest night. But when we met, thy nameless grace. Thine eye, that floated in its light. The heart's high heaven in thy sweet face, Thy voice, that came like sounds by night, SONGS TO CLARA. 197 O'er the blue waters faintly gleaming, When earth is green, and soft, and still, And heaven above serenely dreaming, Each angel on his ovrn star-hill — All that clung round thee at that hour, (Alas ! they cling around thee yet !) When all the thoughts of years have power. And we can ne'er in life forget — Far backward as I trace the scene, They rise before my heart and eye, To tell how blest I might have been — JVow, 't were a blessed boon to die. Why was I born to be the bane Of all I love as genius loves 1 Ah I 't is enough, my own heart's pain, That seeks the lonesome hilly groves, And finds a solace and a joy, Revealments of a happier lot, While musing, 'neath the deep blue sky, On all that have been, but are not. But, 't is my evil fate to link Spirits with mine, for woe alone, And bid the holy-hearted drink The bann'd cup of enjoyment gone ; As the dark nightshade from the sun Drinks light to feed its poison leaves. So my heart looks on all that 's done, With that strange passion which bereaves The hearts of others of their mirth — To them, however vain, a wreath Of joy — their sole reward on earth — Though unto me the masque of death. And thus it hath been from the time My foot hath trod this desert land. Though not a tinge of all earth's crimes Hath soiled my heart, or stained my hand. I know not why it thus should be ; My heart loves peace and gentle things. And oft, in days when life was free, I prayed some spirit would give me wings, 198 SONGS TO CLARA. j That I might look on every land, j And love each thing I looked upon. i My soul was pure, my feelings bland — ' Alas for me ! that time hath gone. Y et — even yet — I bear not hate ] To ought that breathes the breath of heaven ; i But there 's with me an evil fate, , To which my spirit hath been given, j And 't is unmeet that I should love, 1 Since all I love death garners up ; No ! be it mine alone to prove . The dregs of fate's unhallowed cup. j My father died ere I could tell | The love my young heart felt for him : I My sister like a blossom fell ; \ Her cheek grew cold, her blue eyes dim, ■ Just as the hallowed hours came by, When she was dearest unto me ; And vale and stream and hill and sky Were beautiful as Araby. , And, one by one, the friends of youth Departed to the land of dreams ; And soon I felt that friends, in sooth, '^ Were few as flowers by mountain streams ; And solitude came o'er me then, 1 And early I was taught to treasure ] Lone thoughts in glimmering wood and glen, — i Now they are mine in utmost measure. I But boyhood's sorrows, though they leave Their shadows on the spirit's dial, .1 Cannot by their deep spell bereave — j They herald but a darker trial : And such 't is mine e'en now to bear In the sweet radiance of thine eye, And 't is the wildness of despair * To paint vain love, that cannot die. j Yet thus it must be — like the flower, i That sheds amid the dusky night • The rays it drank at midday hour, My spirit pours abroad its light, J SONGS TO CLARA. 199 When all the beauty and the bloonij, The blessedness of love have gone, And left the darkness of the tomb Upon the glory of its throne. The hour hath come — it cannot part — Deterring pride — one hurried deed Hath fixed its seal upon my heart, And ever it must throb and bleed, Till life, and love, and anguish o'er, The spirit soars to its first birth, And meets on heaven's own peaceful shore The heart it loved too well on earth. Clara ! I never named to thee The thoughts that thronged my bosom erst, Though, with a wild idolatry, I loved thee, lost one ! from the first ; And now it were a deadly wrong To thee, and to thy honest fame, . ' Save in a sad and dirgelike song. To speak in love thy cherished name ; But here — as from my bosom flow Tears of despair o'er what is gone. Thou canst but listen to such woe, As be not thine, beloved one ! For thou canst feel the burning power Of passion baffled in its range, And know that hearts, in one brief hour. Meet — blend beyond all hope of change. Adieu ! be thine the seraph's task. To hush the murmurings of despair, But Clara! never, never ask. What are the sorrows that I bear. It were unholy now to tell — It were a blight — a blasting curse — To thee a mockery — me a hell — Content thee — earth, could bring nought worse: Lips sealed, when the full heart is breaking — Eyes never closed on heaven denied — The lingering pause — the last forsaking — ■ These are thy triumphs — sceptred Pride ! 200 SONGS TO CLARA. " ^ PART II. Woe to the heart where passion pours its tide ! Soon sinks the flood to leave the desert there. Croly. The sobbings of the midnight sea, The moan of winds through vaults of death, The wail that warns events to be, The awful voice that has no breath — Such sounds come o'er the quailing bosom When other years recur, and bring The incense of each faded blossom That wreathed the glowing brow of spring ; Such sounds come o'er us when we turn To sunnier spots and happier hours, And brightly buried feelings burn Amid young Love's deserted bowers. Between the hearts, whose feelings rise. Like incense from an angel's shrine, Before the throne of paradise, Meet offering to the Power Divine, There lies a gulf of boundless gloom, Which none may pass till Fate decrees. Till death unlocks the hollow tomb, Revealing awful mysteries ! Doomed at their birth, in other spheres, To sigh o'er pictures of the mind. Through all the woes of lingering years, That leave a burning waste behind, Our tortured hearts too quickly feel. Too deeply for this mortal lot, Too lastingly for human weal — All unforgetting — unforgot ! % Time speedeth on with hurried pace. And love and joy are left behind — But where will close the doubtful race Ne'er cometh into human mind. . i SONGS TO CLARA* 201 We all must die — 't is all we know; We all must go — we know not where ; Perchance, to skies that ever glow, Perchance, to realms of quick despair ! It may be so — it may be not — Doubt circles all and all must die, Loved, hated, scorned, avenged, forgot — Oh ! what art thou. Eternity 1 Our lot is low — our pride is high — We are not what our minds create ; The elements of earth and sky Are mingled in our web of fate. Like sunbows thrown o'er torrents, come Wild thoughts o'er hearts that bleed to death — Thoughts whose wild light illumes the tomb, When the blue sky resumes our breath. Oh ! while our burning spirits soar, Woe binds us to our weary clay. Till all things fade, and pain is o'er. And forth we pass — away — away ! How thou hast felt through seasons gone, My own despairing heart would tell. In the low, deep, unearthly moan, That oft hath bade thee. Love, farewell ! But I, perchance, may throw the hues Of my own feelings over thee, Like shadows cast o'er moonlight dews, Or dark clouds o'er the gleaming sea ; And yet for all my heart hath known Of anguish in the days gone by, Thou mayst be blest as flowers just blown Beneath the spring's transparent sky ; And few the thoughts and faint the prayers That yet have followed me along A path beset with many cares — The heritage of sons of song I 26 202 SONGS TO CLARA. I will not wrong thee, gentle one ! Thy heart hath heard the voice of woe, And I should rue unkindness done To part aggrieved, and leave thee so ; For thou hast rendered unto me Such solace in my wildest mood, That thou art now my destiny — The charm of my lone solitude ! Thine eye is bright as flowers that blow Upon the holy Hydrasil, And beauty beams upon thy brow Like Odin's throne on Asgard Hill ; And life and love around thee bloom Like Heimdaller's gorgeous bow, That guides the wanderer, through the tomb, To realms beyond all earthly woe. But worse than vain my love for thee. Beautiful Spirit, fancy-free ! And I must quench the light that threw Its radiance o'er my morning skies, And dwell no longer in the view Of my forbidden paradise ; For what thou wert thou art not now. And I am changed in heart and mind, — And — thus I break my plighted vow — And pass away like autumn's wind. PART III. Woes of weak hearts that never should bo won, Wrongs of deluders by themselves undone. i Croly. 'Would the green curtain of the grave ', Were drawn around my last cold rest, ■' As softly as yon shadows wave * Around the far blue mountain's breast; A i SONGS TO CLARA. 203 For length of life is length of woej And human love at best deceit ; All we have known^ — we still shall know, All we have met — we still must meet : And weary grows our desert way- While every light, save Hope's, hath fled, And that is dim as winter's day With vainly watching o'er the dead ! Here we must mingle with the low, And half forget our spirits' power. And feel our burning bosoms grow Cold as their own with every hour ; And we must watch and weep and pray To shun the death that would be kind, And for the need of one poor day Wreck all the glories of the mind ! None think as we have ever thought, Chained vassals to their daily bread ; None know the feelings that have wrought Such triumph o'er the heart and head ! They hear a voice — they see a form, 'Tis all they think — and all they care-— They cannot catch the feelings warm, The pride, the glory, the despair, That pass, like evening lights, o'er all The moments of a spirit's life. Wrapping the heart within a pall Whose dark folds tremble in the strife ! Dark — dark hath been, through many a scene, My wayward lot of varied woe, And settled gloom doth lour between Hope and ought better here below ; For friends forsake and foes wax strong, And e'en the rabble bow to me — Hatred, disgrace, oppression, wrong, Have sealed my utter destiny. I feel not now as once I felt — The thrilling throb, the unbending brow, The unfaltering knee that never bent, The heart, the soul, have left me now ; ii04 SO\GS TO CLARA. And I am doomed to wear away The gifts once honoured by thy praise, And far — how far ! — from bliss astray, To end unknown my cheerless days. Well, be it so ! — I would not be One of the herd I loathe and scorn, For all the wealth of land and sea, Though 't were as glorious as the morn. I would not deign to dwell in guile, To damn my neighbour with a lie, To sack and plunder with a smile. And follow pious infamy, Though Eos were a world of gems. And I were monarch of the whole — Though forest leaves were diadems, And I God's image with a soul ! — I have an eye, a spirit still For Nature in her sweetest moods ; The silvery stream, the sunny hill, The majesty of solitudes ; The music of the waterfall. The vesper hymn at daylight's close. The ragged rocks that tower o'er all, While the grass springs, the blue sky glows. Mid these fair scenes I half forget The wrongs, the woes, that I have borne, And, though my brightest star hath set, Stretched on the clifT, I cease to mourn. There 's sweetness in the flowering grove, There 's beauty in the waveless river, And, while I gaze abroad, I love, Adore, and bless the mighty Giver, And feel my spirit borne away Beyond the things of common note, Forgetful of my dust and clay, On which the herd of mortals dote. In the old days of wisdom, when A child was born, the father wept : He knew his soul would turn again Back to the fount where it had slept. SOJfGS TO CLARA. 805 When years had ta'en away his strength, And cares had clouded his bright brow, And he had found that all, at length. Verged into woe — an endless JVow ! So they wailed o'er the birth of one Whose death-hour would bring joy to all Who loved him ere his race begun. But loved him more beneath the pall ! Clara ! my strain is closing now ! 'T is the last sweep of breaking chords — 'T is the last pulse — the last dark flow Of the wild heart's mysterious words ! I 've seen thee when thy heart was gay, When sadness flitted o'er thy face, In merry crowds by night and day, And kneeling in the holy place ; And I have loved as few can love. Without a hope, without a fear. As the heart gushes forth above, With the quick pulse and starting tear ; And now — (my spirit quails to think I ne'er shall speak thy name again !) I stand upon the utmost brink That bounds the path of human pain. The chain is forged — the doom is sealed — The knell hath tolled — the hour is come ! A guiding light hath been revealed Through the dark mazes of earth's gloom ; And I will follow on my way. Like one whose task is finished here — The unknown being of a day, Whose highest rapture was a tear. Clara ! farewell ! the time hath been When I could sigh that lovely name. But that hath passed — and every scene That led me on to love and fame. The woes I bear 't were vain to tell — Hear all in — Love ! farewell ! farewell ! 206 SONGS TO CLARA. PART IV. Oh ! wilt thou come at evening hour to shed The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed 1 Campbell, These were the last — last words from thee When midnight on life's sunshine fell, And love's immortal deity- Wailed on the breeze a wild farewell ; And, as I trace them, still I hear The elysian music of thy voice, And see the scene where hope and fear Bade mingled hearts despair — rejoice — Exult — despond — on sunbeams fly, Or sink in sorrow's darken'd sea — Prone on the earth — throned in the sky — Victims and slaves of destiny ! Where art thou now? — where art thou now? Not where the broken heart should rest, Not where it scorns despair's vvild vow, Bosomed on heaven's unchanging breast, Beyond the woes and wants and fears, The meteor passions of lost earth, The wreck and ruin of long years Dark from their first and fatal birth ; But tried by time, beset by woe. Yet doomed to crush its least revealing. Lest he, thy tyrant lord, should throw Torture o'er quick and wounded feeling ; Guarded, without a ray to guide Thy mind beyond its hopeless hell. The spectacle of mammon pride. That glares within thy lone heart's cell, 'Till, oh ! thy pale and awful brow Reveals to all thy mournful story — Such is thy fate, sweet Clara ! now ! Such the last midnight of thy glory ! SONGS TO CLARA. 207 It was not thus when first we met — Free as the air, fair as the sky, j And soft as flowers by spring dews wet, | All heaven seemed floating in thine eye, All earth grew lovelier 'neath thy tread, And poetry — the soul of heaven — | Crowned with the charm of ages fled, ] Went forth with thee at starry even. , And thou wouldst summon round thee, then, | The shades of prophets once adored, And people every mount and glen ' With life — from mind's vast ocean poured ; ' And thou the priestess, by my side, i Didst walk, meantime, unconscious on, ! As God's own stars through stormclouds glide, And murmur love,— and art thou gone? .^ ] i From many and dark adversities, J By felon foes and fools oppress'd, , Memory to thee on love's wings flies, ] And on thine image sinks to rest ; i Like the lone dove, that found no home I In the vast world of waters wild, •] I cease in weariness to roam, < \ And find earth's heaven where thou hast smiled. Hast smiled ! oh, thou wilt smile no more. No more thy voice harp on the breeze, i For love and love's last hope are o'er — All- -all thy full heart's psalteries ! Brief be my course, if *t is but bright! i I said, even when we were most blest, And now, the phantom of a night, ' I would lie down and be at rest With all Time's blighted hopes and hearts — \ The martyrs of a giant doom, \ Where mind from mind no longer parts, | And heart weds heart — their shrine, the tomb ! \ 'T was written ! and we could not change | The evil fortune of our love, And through misfortunes dire and strange | It hath been our's apart to rove, J 208 SONGS TO CLARA. Fulfilling fate and proud despair, Ay, desolation's matchless pride — And living mid the things that were — Are we not blest, my bosom's bride ? Are we not blest, that fiends have done The deadliest deed that fiends can do ; And that for us, no future sun Hope's vain to-morrow can renew? The troubled trance of fear hath gone, The fever of the sleepless spirit — Are we not blest — most blest — lost one ! No mightier grief we can inherit ! 'T was early June — (how memory clings To the one charm of glowing youth, And o'er all time a glory flings From one quick hour of love and truth !) When first, by Housatonic's stream, And 'mid the woods of Ripton's hills, We met — was 't not a heavenly dream ? We loved ! oh, first affection fills Earth, skies and stars — and soareth up To Him, whose holiest name is love, And drinketh at the kindling cup By seraphs given in bowers above ! We met — we loved — and we forgot That hate and danger and despair Watched o'er our young unguarded lot. Like Python in his festering lair ; That tortur'd vows pale lips had pass'd, That persecution had pursued The heart, that loves thee to the last, E'en to remotest solitude — And that we never could be one, Till lust of gold had ceased to reign, Till, by the waste of years undone, We clasped — and died in age and pain ! This we forgot while far away From hordes of slaves, who delve and grovel, SONGS TO CLARA. 209 And deem'd us far more blest than they, Though doomed to share a forest hovel ; And with a playful earnestness, A melancholy mirth, that hid The thoughts it could not all suppress, And raised, as 't were, the coffin-lid From hope's pale face to gaze farewell, Thou badst me sing a cottage song, Mid the dark ledges of the dell, And thou wouldst sound the notes along The wildwood glades when I had gone, And cheer the gloom by thoughts of me ! Thus dream'd we once, beloved one ! No more such hours in days to be ! No more in gentle phantasies, Imagination's robe of light. We wrap our souls and breathe the breeze Whose music spirits love at night ! Reason and custom, duties cold. Harsh interests and fashions claim Two burning hearts in sorrow old- Two minds, that loved the flight of fame; And we must sleep to dream of love. And wake to mask our hearts from men, And smile in bitter grief to prove Earth is elysium — when, oh, when In this cold world shall love be crown'd? When shall the soul, that basks in bliss, To holier worlds, from earth's dark mound. Rise to love's throne, denied in this ? O Clara ! Clara ! wert thou blest. No song of grief from me should swell, For in this young but troubled breast An image fair as thine doth dwell. But thou art lost — and I must feel The fearful fate that shadows thee, And oft in secret places kneel And pray for thy deep misery. 37 210 SONGS TO CLARA. Assassin husband ! felon son ! A mother's bribe, thy victim bride ! Lo, sacrilege and ruin done ! Go ! triumph in thy demon pride ! PART V. When grief, that well might humble, swells our pride. And pride, increasing, aggravates our grief, The tempest must prevail till we are lost- The Fatal Curiosity. Ages of thought — long lingering years Shadow the bloom of pleasures fled. Unnumbered hours of secret tears In Death's cold valley vainly shed ; Yet, not the less, in voiceless grief, I turn from cold and selfish men, And in the song of every leaf Hear the same tones of love, as when, In happier hours, o'er earth and sky Together flew our spirits blended. Each, while it knew the other nigh. Not recking where or how it wended. Wishing the clasp'd flight never ended. I wander silent and alone, While tears lie frozen in their fountain, Down the wild glen, where gloom is thrown From the cold bosom of the mountain ; And every rock, and shrub, and tree Meet me like friends whose faces speak, In sadness and solemnity. Dark deeds o'er which young hearts must break ; For here we met when both were young, Though thought had shadowed thy pale brow, And evil o'ermy soul had flung Gloom that is lost in darkness now; SONGS TO CLARA. 211 And here — devoting and devoted, When twilight came on dusky wings, And stars in seas of azure floated. And the pure mind's imaginings Rested, like spirits in the air, O'er the blest bowers of days to be, And hope prepared her banquet there Amid her fairy imagery — Often we roamed in silent bliss Lovers — young lovers only know, And pictured other worlds as this Seemed in its soft and sunny glow ; For never yet did bigot creed Or vaunted faith by priest belied, Or outward forms for hearts that bleed. Unmask deceit and vanquish pride, And fill the conscious soul with heaven, Like early, pure, all-trusting Love, Whose whisper'd prayers at morn and even, Mingle with glorious strains above. I wander now unseen, unknown, Save by The Eye, whose glorious light Descends from heaven's immortal throne, O'er early troubled being's night. The charm of other years yet lingers Around the solitary scene. But Memory, with a spectre's fingers, Scatters torn flowers o'er what hath been ; And Echo, from the rock-barr'd dell, Whene'er my voice in anguish calls, Sighs in the breeze — * farew^ell ! farewell !' — Then silence on the desert falls ! Though I have roamed o'er land and sea. And lonely wastes of troubled years, I cannot part, lost one ! from thee. Pale statue by a fount of tears ! Upward I cast my soul, and breathe The light and bliss thy name inspires. And from the realm of doubt and death. Like music from a thousand lyres, ._J 212 SONGS TO CLARA. Thine image comes, and o'er me throw? A sadness happier far than mirth, A holiness, that round me flows, Like Heaven's own worship heard on earth- Heard, too, when scorpion foes assail, And tempests gather vast and wild, And Hope, and Truth, and Mercy fail To cheer Earth's lone and friendless child. E'en in the glory of my youth, Earth entered dreadiess my pure heaven, And the world mocked my spirit's truth. And left me by the lightning riven; And I was doomed, when midnight fell. To wander by the lonesome river. And gaze my bosom's last farewell — And hear alone the spread sails quiver! Then came the burning wish to die, For I had loved — and time could bring No happier hour beneath the sky — No purer draught from rapture's spring ; The world, with all its passions, seem'd A shoreless waste where phantoms roam. Yet well I knew e'en while I dreamed. The stranger hath no hope or home. Stranger ! oh, what a dreary knell In one's own glorious land of birth. Where Briton hangmen come to sell Blood they betrayed on tyrant Earth ! These thoughts and memories can but haunt The heart that knows few lovely isles In the vast sea where storm and want Pursue with dark satanic smiles. But now a melancholy gush Of limpid light comes o'er my bosom, And its soft beams of beauty flush The withered leaves of Love's pale blossom. I stand upon the same wild spot Where, on the parting eve, we stood. And, Clara ! I have not forgot The aspect of yon moonlight wood. SONGS TO CLARA. 213 And wooded stream, and mountain hoary, Nor how we trod the midnight waste, Like them who live in deathless story, And clasped and kissed — where is the past? Come back, pale shadow ! can it be The enchantment lives — ^the enchantress fled ? — But what have I to do with thee ? The shrine 's profaned — the prophet dead ! I did not think to unseal again The viewless fountain of my sorrow. For while we writhe in bitter pain, Wisdom forbids a sigh to borrow; But one my heart holds dear hath said "Where is she now ?" and yet once more, Lost Clara ! oh, far worse than dead ! I unto thee my spirit pour. Sever'd below by hands malign. Our mutual woes, our mutual tears Can mingle at Religion's shrine. Undaunted by Earth's deepest fears ; And while, beside our hearths, arise Our saddened prayers for one another. Thou wilt invoke, from purest skies. Blessings to crown thy more than brother. And I, blest Clara ! while the cloud Of envy, hate and trial gathers. Will utter thy sweet name aloud, As did my bold chivalric fathers. And that shall be my watching word. The spell, once touched, that will disclose Treasures unknown to haughty lord. Or unto all my fiendish foes. Though I no more shall see thy face — How could I look on ruin, Love 1 — Thine image hath its idol place, And wafts my stricken heart above. Where Mind shall wander as it wills, Unawed by guile or mammon's wrath. And hold discourse by silvery rills. Or on its bright and glorious path, 214 SONGS TO CLARA. While spirits blest shall gaze upon us, And murmur — " have we loved like this ?" And we shall think on evil done us, But to perfect our endless bliss. PART VI. Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold what shall befall Him or his children. — Milton. " Wreathe thou the laurel with the bay. And let the Poet's triumph be The prelude of a lovelier day, The seal of immortality ! Crown thou the brow of thought divine With glory born of mind below. And fill with gifts the holy shrine Where hopeless spirits kneel and glow. Not with the light of joy to come, But in the lurid splendour cast O'er the wild story of their doom From the soul's morning beauty past ! So to lorn love thou wilt fulfil The fate denied in mortal days, And bear affection's harplike thrill Through all hearts in thy living lays'-" Thus, as beside the tomb of love, The monument of Heloise, When seraphs from air thrones above Leaned and sighed music on the breeze, I stood in that lone hour of thought. Which wafts time's shrouded memories on, And pours upon the waste of nought The loveliness of rapture flown, I drank from spring's all spirit air The accents of a voice unheard. And clasped one bliss in life's despair. One thought of joy that in me stirred. SONGS TO CLARA. 215 ] " Thou of the bigot's darkened time !" (I murmured out a faint reply,) a "Wert doomed to bear the brand of crime , In the heart's home of ecstacy ; , _ \ Martyr and mission'd spirit, sent From throbbing depths of holiest skies, To bless earth's love in banishment, | And gladden loneliest destinies; • Come from the fountain home of heaven, ■] I Come from the mountain haunts of youth, ' And o'er me shed the rapture given j To first love in the years of truth ! ] Give to the glance of memory's eye ; The flight of hope o'er future good, And to thy temple in the sky Summon dark thoughts from wave and wood ! i I oft have bled in bitter strife, ^ I oft have dwelt in lady's bower, \ But for this fated gift, earth's life, | 'T is time's worst mock and hate's worst dower ; - ' Nought in its heart but care and sorrow, | In anguish born, in darkness ending, Haunting the footprints of to-morrow, j For hope towards joy in shadows tending ! The world can talk, but I must feel. And men can counsel while I sigh, \ Wealth crowns the spirit that can kneel, i But genius heralds destiny. ■ They murmur error past — but how? I was not born to bend and bow, ] God made me free and proud and just, ! Man, this dark thing of fire and dust Thought comes not from the mould of earth, :j Nor feeling from the merchant's mart, j And Glory, wed to Mind, has birth , Alone in grief's mausoleum heart. \ Would'st thou know more ? go ask the fiend ] Why he veiled not his seraph head, j Why unto man he scorned to bend The brow that heaven's own glory shed ! ■ 216 SONGS TO CLARA. From thy shrined tomb in Paraclete Breathe yet again thy spirit o'er me, And I may better learn to meet The storms and strife that gloom before me ! Thy cloistered wisdom, vesper prayers, And matin hymns of hallowed love, Shed o'er these soft translucent airs, And fill me with the bliss above ! Tell me once more thy pillow now Is Abelard's long widowed bosom, And smiles may light my clouded brow, And hope breathe life o'er youth's dead blossom !" Doomed 'mid a selfish herd to tread. To loathe yet leave not life's lone way. To breathe despair among the dead. And seek the warmth, yet curse the day, To stand on midnight hills, and grasp At glory's shapes, and find them madness — This, Clara, since our last wild clasp, Hath been my fate in silent sadness. And as the Meccan pilgrim wends Alone along the waste of death, And cheers him, when the sand storm ends. With the blest hope of Houri wreath. So I through living solitude Thine image bear with lonely joy. And, shadowed by the ancient wood. Paint thy bright features on the sky. Then should I not invoke the past To counsel and console my doom, And deem I meet thee on the waste Where towers sublime love's lonely tomb ? Shall not my spirit hover o'er Thy slumbering brow and bless thee there 1 And on thy children's bosoms pour The incense of a holy prayer? Sweet Clara ! let me breathe my heart Upon those amulets of bliss. And, through their lips, to thee impart The rapture of a farewell kiss ! SONGS TO CLARA. 217 I seek not wisdom from the crowd Who laugh in woe to worship pride ; With the world's men I can be proud, And king with king stand side by side. I gaze upon the stars of God, And deem my soul hath lost its sphere. For some strange crime doomed to this sod, Buried in doubt and darkness here ; I sink my soul within the soul That lights, with heaven's revealings, earth, And in the dust before The Whole Drop prostrate into deathless birth ! But, Clara ! in the dawn of mind. In the young glow, the gush of heart, Like music linked to autumn wind. Our spirits wed — and can we part 1 Can time's mildew or fading flight - Ruin the home of hope we built, And, as we roam through storm and night, Our meeting bear the curse of guilt ? Can we forget how oft we met. How deeply loved, how wildly mourned. When tearless grief and vain regret Before love's shrine their offering burned 1 Can we forget the sacred charm. The midnight hush of still commune. While the heart thrilled each folded arm. And hope soared up beside the moon? Can we forget the starlight sail On Housatonic's azure breast ? Can memory, mind, and love, all fail To tell us that we have been blest ? There 's not a grove in Ripton's vale. There 's not a flower beside the river, That breathes not out Love's mournful tale, When pale leaves in the cold winds quiver — And shall we blot from life the hour That sealed us for undying fate, 28 218 SONNET. And o'er the bloom of young Love's bower Cast the world's scorn and bitter hate ? I hear a voice fronn oceans past, The heart's knell o'er returnless years ; I stand upon life's shoreless waste, The haunt and home of buried fears ; And, as pale shades of hope flit by, And Love in tears slow follows on, Missioned to one eternity, That bosoms future, present, gone, I cast my spirit o'er thy name, And deem me blest by Love's lone tomb, For thou to me art hope and fame — The Pleiad of the world's cold gloom ! SONNET. Welcome, Angelo ! to a world of care ! Fair firstborn of my youth, thou 'rt welcome here I Thy smile can charm away the world's despair, And light a rainbow in the heart's wild tear. Thy quick intelligence, thy winning ways, Thy deep affection in life's first hours shown. Thy father's spirit, like a mantle, thrown About thee, studded by the pearly rays That float like music round the faery soul Of thy mild cheerful mother, with her smile* Beaming like starlight o'er the ocean's isles. That oft deep sorrow from my heart have stole— These blend, my boy ! in thy dark ardent eyes Like zodiacs in the depth of heaven's blue skies ! GRAVE WATCHING. Bring flowers and strew them here, \ The loveliest of the year, ■ Withered, yet fragrant as her virgin fame, '. Who slumbers in this sunny spot, Yet to Love's voice awaketh not. Nor hears in dreams her lover sigh her name. Where woods o'er waters wave She hath her early grave, ^ And summer breathes lone music o'er the scene ; '■-, It is a green and bloomy place, \ And smiling like her living face, Whom memory weeps o'er, sighing " She hath been !" , j How sacred silence lies i With dreamy heart-filled eyes, \ Shedding its spirit o'er the wanderer's heart, \ Beside the mound of dust, i Where, throned, sit hope and trust, Serenely watching awful death depart. ; In sooth, 't were bliss to rest On nature's rosy breast \ 'Mid all this sweetness, quiet, faith, and love, \ While heaven's soft airs flit round \ The still and hallowed ground, \ And the blue skies lift the pure soul above. Albeit, I can but grieve \ That thou, pale girl ! didst leave > Thy lover lone in such a world as this, ,; Yet tender is my heart's regret | As the last beam of suns that set J To rise again, like thee, my love ! in bliss. • 220 ^ GRAVE WATCHING. Then let me linger here, Where none of earth appear, ^ Save gentle spirits, kindred of the skies, And muse beside the gushing spring, 1 Where wild birds carol on the wing, ; And live as thou didst, love ! on harmonies. I O'er this green bank of flowers Hover the dew-eyed hours, i Blending the incense breath of earth and heaven, As thou didst hallow time i By thoughts and deeds sublime, ^ And seal eternal bliss by wrongs forgiven. ! 1 Inspire me with thy soul. And, while the seasons roll, i No evil passion shall corrode my spirit ! I can forgive my fiercest foes, ^ And think not o'er inflicted woes, >i While I thy gentle soul, lost love ! inherit. i What holy joy attends I Such commerce with lost friends, Lost to our eyes but living in our minds ! ! Their memories breathe elysian bliss i Around e'en such a world as this. Like Yemen's odours borne on genial winds. Bring flowers and strew them here, The loveliest of the year, I And I will watch their spirits as they part ; j For in a place so green and still, ] 'Mid wood and water, vale and hill, ; My lost love dwells forever in my heart ! . . J THE CONFESSIONAL. Mordear opprobriis falsis, mutemque coloresl I would not live at outrage with my kind, Nor mock with moans the flitting mirth of man, But offer on the altar of my mind The love that thrilled me when the world began ! I have not struggled with the wave and wind Vainly, nor sunk beneath the torturer's ban, And, though the wild storm hath not ceased to roll, Yet evil passion hath not soiled my soul. The warlock power of midnight watching thought. That dwells with spirits as it were their mate. Abides, bold prophet, by the shrine it wrought, O'erlooks pale envy and transfixes hate : And courage, daring wrong, that feareth nought, So guilt awake no fear of future fate. Yet waves its banner o'er the trampled field Where, 'mid a host, one stood and scorned to yield. Still and deep orisons in my loneliness, Thanks that God gave what men could not destroy, Have oft ascended up, nor could I less. To Him, Avho guards the widow's friendless boy ; And, in such fervencies, I e'en could bless The ministers of wrath who taught me joy In the unseen communion with my God, Who, than mine own, a darker pathway trod. And shall I then, in mock'd prostration, crave Mercy from merciless — from demons grace ? Time roams a desert, but it hath a wave Well'd from a fount unseen by human face. Earth hath not yet nor stained man made a slave Of one whose soul exults to own his race, And to my foes I shall not render now The last pale light that wavers round my brow. 222 THE CONFESSIONAL. The solitary mountain when young Light i Came forth to drink the diamond dew of spring ; i The voiceless vale, where in still grandeur, Night ,1 Furled, Uke a thron'd archangel, her vast wing : ! The fluctuating wood ; the sea in might ' And majesty matchless ; each, all could bring i O'er me, from earliest hours, the Almighty Form That grasps Eternities and stills the storm. I And when upon the cataract's quivering verge j Alone, remote, in silence I have stood, i Shook by the roar, bewildered by the surge, j Yet seeking wisdom from the maddened flood ; '' Oft have I deemed, thus whirlwind passions urge j Their victims o'er the precipice of blood — j Thus, like these waves, hath hate relentless passed j O'er me — ^yet I and these bold rocks stand fast. Stand fast in conscious virtue of design, I Though worn and darkened by the wave and cloud, In injury, thrice blest it is not mine, ! In much love, happier than the world's vain crowd ; I A hearth and home, though humble, and a shrine Of hearts exalted, not exulting loud, j I have not failed to find in spite of scorn — J And thus I 'm blest in all that I have borne. I j As, to the giant minds of ages old. All hopes, fears, holies thronged around the throne ! Of Jove, the Olympian Thunderer, so unfold \ The sanctities of nature when alone ■ I read the volume to my eye unrolled, And catch the music of her gentle tone, j As she instructs me to forgive — and learn < Wisdom from dial, horoscope, and urn. < -■J Never to court the gladiator's wreath, j Nor crave the inconstant worship of the throng, j Nor seek the fame which hangs on human breath, ■ Nor stain my spirit by a conscious wrong ; ] THE CONFESSIONAL. 223 Thus I commune with destiny and death, And pour their spirit o'er my secret song, Till earth's poor vanities and men's weak praise Guide not, nor govern my devoted days. Thus hallowed sympathies with every charm Of beauty, virtue, knowledge thrill within The fount of immortality, and arm The fortitude that faints 'mid human sin ; Thus hopes, that fill us with affections warm, From every ill delicious plccfsures win, And float like seraphs, o'er the world, to bring From paradise to earth eterna;! spring. From summer greenness bliss, from every flower. That gems the wood and wold, thought gushes forth^ And every breeze, that wafts the parting hour, Should breathe our blessings o'er the lovely earth : All are not evil, though the common dower Be vanity and darkness and cold dearth ; With the tried chosen, truth, love, honour dwell, That on them from ascending martyrs fell. Pure mid corruption and in weakness strong. True with the treacherous, with the changeling firm, They soothe the trembler, hush remembered wrong, And charm the gnawings of the poison-worm ; Blest in high duty that endureth long, E'en their deep sufferings bless through life's brief term. Exalt and purify the troubled heart. And then like rainbows in blue heaven depart. Then, though my fortune hath been cast mid thorns, And persecution hath assailed me sore. With rapture still and radiant as the morn's, I walk beside ye on this mortal shore, Pilgrims ! whose presence hallows while it warns. As on to heaven ye tend, like saints of yore. Ethereal gleams of Good yet flame abroad, And light our pathway to the throne of God, FANCY^S FAITH. So false, so frail, and yet so passing fair ! So very beautiful and yet so lost To every hope that Beauty must inspire ! So blessed in form to be more deeply loathed ! So high in Heaven's best gifts, and yet so low In their misuse ! Shut from the hallowed shrine Of a pure name, thou standest by the gate Most Uke a pillar exquisitely wrought For an immortal monument of Love, Tho' there is falsehood in thy smile, and blight Upon thy lips, and ruin in thy heart, And every evil passion unsubdued Rioting in thy dark spirit, and Despair The tyrant of thy unrepenting soul ! Alas ! that hell should wear the form of Heaven ! O that the heart had in itself a power. Subtle and piercing like the air, to mark Pernicious purposes, and baffle all Midnight conspiracies that wait their hour. Or shun the peril ere the breathless time When strength draws forth its armory for war ! Weep ! that the ancient days have gone when dreams Oracular, or hoary prophets warned. Or Urim showed, as in a burning sea, The winding paths of evil, and the foes That skulked in hidden refuges for spoil ! Weep ! that we wander in uncertain ways, By certain dangers compassed, unaware When, how, or where the dark assault may come ! Virtue ! in man or woman (most in her, The angel of his home)supremeIy fair In image and in action ! why art thou Austere in thy aspect and chilling oft. fancy's faith. 225 Scorning bland courtesies and manners mild, When high-bred Vice throws o'er her nameless deeds The mellow shadows of dissembling smiles And shrewd hypocrisies, that charm away The fear of sin — and dazzle ere they kill 1 Why on thy brow should sorrow hold her throne, And gloom o'ercome thy spirit, when thou art The empress of so large a heritage, A boundless, endless kingdom, fair beyond The poet's twilight imaging? Blest child Of the Immaculate ! why are thy paths So perilous and rugged, and thy lot So lonely, and thy heart so burden-bowed And broken ? — Guilt looks on thy fair domain,. With an inheritor's bold, gloating eye, And sits, as on the utmost starry top Of Orizaba, thron'd ; the passing world Look up and wonder — shudder and adore ! 'Would that the cynic Heathen's thought were done! So each would know the other — truly know — And, knowing, shun his deep intents, ere yet Born in irrevocable deeds of death ! For why should all be mockery 1 Why trust To be deceived forever ? Soon the heart, Purpled by plague-spots — shares the guilt it fears, , And Vice inherits what it first usurped. A wayworn pilgrim o'er a desert world, I met thee with an ecstacy of heart Too high and too intense for Earth — and then^. Even then — though outwardly surpassing fair, O'ercanopied by floating loveliness, And moving like a spirit in the light Of its inspired divinity and love — While I beheld thee with a saintlike eye, Like the Madonna's worshipper, and breathed The air that kissed thee as 't were rare perfume. Oh ! then thou wert sin's victim — frailty's child, Beyond the imagination of all guilt, Cast out. to scorn and ruin and despair — 29 226 FANCV S FAITH. A tomb o'erblazoned by men's mockery, An angel form inherited by fiends ! The blossom and the golden fruit were fair, But, ere the carl)- summer days were past. The Dead Lake's ashes festered all the core ! Glory was in the rainbow — it dissolved In darkness, lurid clouds and bitter tears ! Oh ! I did love thee with a burning heart, Triumphant in its deep devotedness And eloquent aspirings; and thou wert, For one all-iassionate hour, the very dream Of intellectual Beauty — faery light. And joy iiicffable, that oft had passed O'er me in earlier days of high romance. Alas! the doom of knowledge ! and alas! That all the earnest worship and pure love Of my o'erflowing spirit should be cast Like shattered wrecks upon a boundless sea. And all the tender gushings of my heart Driven back in Alpine torrents — cold as death ! Why didst thou crush the bud ere yet it bloomed? Or why come o'er my nature with the face Of a winged seraph, when the Demon's eye Glared through the soft curls of thy floating hair? When Beauty smiled in radiant Glory's arms, My earlier Fancy dreamed of such as thou Didst seem ; — and I have basked in such sweet dreams, Till the green earth and azure sky appeared Too lovely — too beloved for this brief hour Of lingering trial for a happier world. I once had catholic faith in everything The spirit pictured in its fairy moods ; But now I '11 dream no more, nor longer trust Extrinsic beauty, foreign ornament. The garniture of falsehood ; for without The magic of a consecrated mind. Guarded by cherubim, and inly filled With images of moral loveliness. Vain as the bright flamingo's shadow, cast Upon the running brook, are all the charms That mask the treachery of an evil heart. i THE SUNSET VOICE. Softly o'er yon far uplands blue The solemn shades of evening steal, Like dim still thoughts that would renew The hopes 't was bliss in youth to feel; And many a tall outbranching tree Seems to repose on that pale sky, Like hearts, from human trial free. Upon a blest eternity ! Serene as reckless childhood's sleep, Or souls accepted in their sorrow, The breeze floats o'er the upper deep Eastward to hail a fair to-morrow; And still the hues of sunset dwell High in the summer vault of heaven. O'er passionate thoughts to cast a spell. Thai seals all earthly wrongs forgiven. And, oh! how blest, mid every ill, The spirit that can gently think — ■ ' Ye did forsake and wrong me — still 'Drink not the cup ye bade me drink, * Feel not the woes ye wrought for me, * Bear not the fate that 1 have borne ! * But may the voice of Nature be, (' At glimmering eve, or glorious morn) ' The voice that calls ye back once more ' From the wild maze of evil past ; * Then gaze on landscape, sea and shore, 'And weep and be forgiven !' The last Of all my thoughts hath ever been Hate or revenge, for Nature threw O'er me in early youth serene A heaven of thought, and, like the dew, 228 THE SUNSET VOICE. I could have kissed each shrub and flower, And wept upon the fresh green earth, Till the eternal morning hour Bore me unto my heavenly birth. Misfortune called my mind away From sunny hills and wandering streams, But yet I drank the light of day, The morning blaze, the evening gleams, And saw and felt that Earth was made For happier hearts than dwell therein. And grieved that Guilt's funereal shade Should darken e'en the gloom of Sin. And I was happy, though my head Was pillowed in the poor man's shed, For none but hearts long tried can know What bliss may mingle with their woe. So I went forth — the world my home — My own unshielded destiny, On a wide, stormy sea to roam. And only one to care for me. The flood grew dark — the waters wailed — The sun went down — I stood alone, And through the living darkness hailed A light that bore me cheerly on. O'er reefs and shoals, by leeward shore, (Tempests above, and rocks beneath,) Where stood my foes, with many an oar, To drown my corse — and deaden death. On — on I rushed — all sails were spread, Though wilder grew the storm of wrath, For still unto myself I said ' If I must perish — Ocean hath ' Ten thousand coral tombs prepared, • And all shall see, and feel, and know 'That what I dared in death was dared, ' And where I triumphed — there was woe !' My barque flew fast through all that night, But helm and cord were in my hand, And still prevailed my guiding light Along that dark and ruthless strand. THE SUNSET VOICE. 229 And oft my quickened sense could catch The exulting cry of foes on shore, As nearer to their demon watch My bounding vessel madly bore. This I have borne — and I can bear More than the fiends of earth can do, Nor shrink, nor faint in mute despair, But keep the light of heaven in view ; Liars have shed their venom o'er me, And barr'd my path and snatched my bread. And poured their own vile blood before me, And sworn 't was blood that I had shed; But, till the moment they can feel Such gentle thoughts as o'er me flow. While I behold the shadows steal O'er hill, and stream, and vale below, I shall not^grieve that they have cast The world's cold nightshade o'er my heart, For — dark howe'er the long, lone past — My own is far the better part. THE SACHEM'S CHANT. The Mohican-hittuck* rolls grandly by, Mid the bloom of the earth and the beam of the sky, And its waters are blue and bright and blest As the realms of the Red Man's god of rest. And the gentle music, they leave along, Is an echoed strain of the spirit's song. The Mohican-hittuck glides softly on. Like holy thoughts o'er the glorious gone, And the sign of the stream through forests dim Blends with the winds in their twilight hymn ; While the shadows are folding round rock and height, And the dead are abroad on the wings of night. The Mohican-hittuck sweeps darkly past, Like the storm of death o'er the Red Man cast ; And the gathering tempest o'er earth and sky Reveals our doom to the prophet's eye — The exile's lot — the slave's despair — The darkened sunbeam and poisoned air ! The Mohican-hittuck's shore replied, When its sons roamed free in their warrior pride, To the harvest song, to the seedtime mirth. And the bridal bliss on the blooming earth ; We breathe not a beam of sun or star. For dark is the brow of Yohewah ! Where Mohican-hittuck mid isles careers, And meets with a smile the Salt Lake's tears. The White Man's barque, like a wind-god hung, And the powwahs to welcome it danced and sung ; — For the lands we gave to the stranger we reapt Plague, poison and madness — and warriors wept ! * The aboriginal name of the Hudson river. THE SACHEM S CHANT. 231 The Mohican-hittuck-^our own proud river — The glorious gift of the Spirit Giver, Bears on its bosom the booty won From the slaughtered chieftain's banished son, And the paleface Sage, ere he meets his God, Would mark with our blood the path he trod. The Mohican-hittuck's hills have heard The Indian's thoughts as his spirit stirred, And, even now, thy waves grow dim, River ! as awful memories swim. Like the Wielder's bolts on an autumn even, O'er the billowy clouds of a hurtling heaven. The Mohican-hittuck's secret dells Feel the Indian's breath as it pants and swells,'^ And every wood on its banks returns The shriek of the heart as it slowly burns ! The ghosts of my fathers like giants appear. And the shades of the weak ones in sorrow and fear. Oh, Mohican-hittuck—the wave of my birth ! The loveliest stream that laves the green earth ! Eloha calls me and Rowah replies ! I leave thee, blue stream ! for the wild mountain skies. Yet fast as thy waves to the ocean advance, Will thy bloom and thy gleam o'er my lone spirit glance. Oh, Mohican-hittuck ! no more by thy stream Shall the forms of the slain like icy lights gleam ; No longer the voice from the bosom of glory Gather grandeur and wisdom to learn their proud story. Twice vanish the Nations from realms of the west, But Vengeance shall start from our last home of rest ! THE TREASURE OF THE FOREST. His (the Pequod's) first step towards taking possession of his valuable inheritance was in direct violation of the injunctions of the Indian ; and so far did he disregard the fidelity of his ancestors as to consent that a white man should accompany him and share in his discoveries. Puritan Tradition. i Their path grows dark through the wildwood dell, 1 And the wolf's long howl and the panther's yell, I And the dusky owlet's crooning cry, i With the wild dove's wail of melody, j And the serpent's hiss in his peopled den, : Alone are heard in the rentrock glen : And on in silent fear The wanderers thread their way, : And their daring steps draw near ' Where the Forest Treasures lay. 1 'T is morn on the skycrown'd hills, but dun j And dusk the light of the orient sun ; j Night's shadows float o'er the mountain's brow, And the mist's gray folds still roll below, And bird and beast from their sleepless lair * In amaze look forth on the strange dim air, ] Then quick shrink back again In trembling awe and dread, ! And on the Travellers twain With hurried footfalls tread. j Their path grows dark through the forest shade, i And the hues of morn begin to fade, And the lurid light on the stormclouds lies Like hell in the dying murderer's eyes, i While the thunder's voice peals loud and high i O'er the darkening earth and the lightning sky. In the pauses of the roar i Long lonesome yells arise, And from mountain, wood and shore, ' Ascend unearthly cries. ' THE TREASURE OP THE FOREST. 233 Look well to thy path, false Oulamar ! Hearst thou those voices that wail afar? Pale son of white clay ! beware — beware ! The bow is bent and the arrow there, And a stern arm wield's in this dark hour The deathman's axe with a fearful power! Pause in thy daring quest Ere ruthless wrath awake ! Seest thou that dragon crest ? Hearest thou that bickering snake ? The rifted rocks, where the hazel grows. Whose mystic power will the mine disclose, They reach unscathed — but the white man there Is chained in his motionless, mute despair. — The Chief hath pass'd, and the mountain 's still As the lucid lapse of a landscape rill ; The white man's heart throbs sound Like the tramp of many men, And his brain whirls round and round As he gazes down the glen. There 's a rush of wings in the dusky air. And a lengthening shriek of last despair, And strange dark forms in a host pass by. Like midnight shades o'er the fairbrow'd sky. And a demon laugh from the gloom bursts out. And a wail of woe and a mournful shout. The stranger heard no more- Fear froze his curdling blood ; And the thunder ceased to roar Through the lone and moaning wood. Who passes there like the samiel wind. Or the arrowy flash of the electric mind ? His feathery crest and his quivered bow And his mantle lie in the dell below, 30 234 THE TREASURE OF THE FOREST. But where, oh, where hath the Pequod gone Through the pathless woods, like a birdbolt flown? Hark ! 't is the Indian's foot O'er the rock and chasm bounding ? Or is 't the far owl's hoot Through mountain passes sounding ? No ! 't was a voice like the trumpet's blast. And thus o'er the hills its wild notes pass'd : ♦* Woe to the traitor ! his days are done ! " His glory 's ended — his race is run ! " His bow 's unbent and his arrows lost, " And his name struck from the warrior host ! « Woe to the traitor, woe ! "The huntsman's pride is o'er !" A shout pealed from the mountain's brow — " Amen ! for evermore !" " On the secret cave where the Treasure lies " The Pequod looked with a white man's eyes, " And his soul was seared, by the mystic fire " That withers the heart of curs'd desire, " And in fear he fled from the holy place, ** The last, the worst of his warrior race. " Woe to the traitor, woe ! " The Indian's glory 's o'er!" A wail rolled o'er the mountain's brow, *' Alas ! for evermore !" " Where now is the traitor, Oulamar ?" " His deathsong rolls on the winds afar — " The Pequod dies, and his bones shall lie "'Neath the storm and blast of the northern sky, " And the white man's quest in vain shall be " For the Forest Gems and the Treasure Tree ! " Woe to the while man, woe !" Bursts forth the darkened sun — The mountain woods like magic glow — And the holy work is done ! THE SULIOTE POLEMARqUE. 'T IS sunset o'er Oraco's vale And old Dodona's holy woods, Where lingers many a glorious tale Shrined in those holy solitudes ; And through Klissura's dim defile, As pours Voioussa's mountain flood, Its dark waves catch a sunlight smile Along the lonely pass of blood ; And Pindus wears a robe of light Through all his rugged mountain range, Like spirits throned where chance and blight Come not, nor sin nor any change ; And on the Cassopean Height The Kunghi — fortress of the brave. Like dark clouds on a lurid night, Hangs threatening o'er the Ionian wave. 'T is midnight : and a Suliote band Of faint and famished ones pass on In silence — exiles from that Land Where deathless deeds were vainly done. And through a deep, wild, wooded dell The last hope of the Suliote name Tread trembling where their fathers fell, The eternal heirs of Grecian fame. And often back their dim eyes turn, In love yet lingering mid despair, Where beacon lights of glory burn Amid proud Freedom's mountain air. But few can now find free abode On those wild cliffs where temples erst Rose, crown'd with glory, to each god. Whose presence from the starr'd skies burst ! 236 THE SULIOTE POLEMARQUE. They leave their childhood's sunny home, The birth place of their love and pride, In utter outcast misery roam Where food and shelter are denied, And by the wayside die, or see Their hearts' fair blossoms torn away, (The rich buds of a withering tree,) Too near to death to weep or pray. Such the dark doom of Freedom's sons — Such Ali Asian's tyrant wrath — And forth the lone despairing ones Move feebly on their mountain path. " God of the Brave ! they little know, " Yon heart-sick band, what perils wait, " What terrors lower from Kunghi's brow, " Worst than the wildest work of hate. " Let Ali Asian tread these towers, " And dare the doom he taught the slave ! " Few are the turban'd despot's hours — " 'T is Freedom — Glory — or the Grave !" So spake the high-souled Caloyer, The Polemarque of Suli's band : The man whose trumpet voice could stir The faintest heart in all the land : As round upon a score of men Sworn on that gory rock to die. He glanced in lofty pride and then Raised unto heaven his warrior eye. " Lift the Red Banner ! by our wrath " This naked rock shall dearer cost " Than all Janina's pacha hath ; *' Or all we have for ages lost ! " Lift the Red Banner ! let him come, " And brothers ! 't will be heaven to die, •' Our birthplace for our trophied tomb, " Our death, our immortality ! — " Brave Palikars ! they come, they come !" Each in the full heart's silence stood. Thought of lost hope and ruined home. And deep revenge in Olhman blood. THE 3ULIOTE POLEMARQOE. 237 " They come ! they come ! now stand apart " With torches in your red right hands, " And by the wrongs of every heart, " Where this proud tower on Pindus stands, " The Suliote's grave shall be — and there " The victim victors with their foes " Shall sleep mid their own mountain air " Free till life's latest heart pulse close !" They come — the Pacha's Arnaut host. With gleaming spears and scimitars ; They come— Epirus' warrior boast To meet the Suliote palikars. But still as Tadmor's ruined halls Kiaffa lowers, and one alone With a deep voice on Ali calls ; " Come, spoiler, tyrant ! haste — come on ! " With myrmidon and minstrel come, " With dagger, sabre, lance and gong, ♦' With banner wrought in hell's black loom, " With dark heart drenched in human wrong ! " Come ! we will meet thee as the slave " Meets in despair his tyrant — come ! " Kiaffa is the Suliote's grave, " Or Ali Asian's final home !" Thousands the rocks on thousands climb. And rush through Suli's silent tower, And rapture thrills the soul sublime Of that lone man at life's last hour. " Yes, I will lead the Conquei'or's way, — " Why loiters now the Conqueror's tread 1 " Let Ali mark his brightest day, " And hear the council of the dead !" And, driven on by spear and brand, Through darkened vaults and winding aisles, He trod like one who held command O'er vast lands where one summer smiles ; And every solemn step was heard Mid all the din of wild pursuit, As if a Hero's Spectre stirred At every echo of his foot. 238 THE SULIOTE POLEMARQUE. Onward through mazy paths he trod And thousands followed hurriedly, When loudly — " In the name of God ! " Death on the shrine of Liberty !" The Caloyer's high voice went forth, " Death to the tyrant and the slave ! " Death on the spot that gave us birth ! " Revenge triumphant o'er the grave ! " Revenge for home, hope, country gone ! " Revenge for bondage borne in vain ! " Revenge for each loved, honoured one ! " Revenge for all !" He fired the train ! The fire ran, leapt and burst and flew Through all the vaulted magazine, And dark as fiends the Moslems grew — The Suliotes knelt and prayed serene. Each for one moment — seas of flame Burst through vast rocks that had withstood The skill of many a vaunted name, The earthquake and the boundless flood. The mountain sprang asunder then ; And, mid a storm of shattered rocks. The arms and limbs of thousand men Flew through the air in blackened flocks, And mid the glare and gloom — the roar, The wreck, the ruin, upward rose. Like the mind's glance, o'er tower and shore, A Form that triumphed o'er his foes : Blackened and rent, with hands outspread, And blood-shot eyes and lava lips, And sword and torch, as when he said — " His hands in blood proud AH dips — " Here let us grapple eye to eye !" O'er the haught Pacha's head he rode Like a quenched meteor through the sky — The awful ruin of a god !* Whenever the word God occurs in the author's compositions without a capital and double emphasis, the reader will consider the epithet merely as significant of extraordi- nary not almighty Power. SONG. 239 So Suli's cliffs and crags became A lurid mass of fire and blood, The home of havoc and of flame, Where Freedom in her death hour stood, Where tyrants ne'er shall dare to stand. While Suli's sons on earth draw breath, In that proud, holy, storied Land Where Glory lights the realms of Death. SONG. As blend the hues of earth and heaven, By fountains hymning Love, Thy voice and smile, at twilight even. Haunt every whispering grove; The clouds, thy throne — the stars, thine eyes, The diamond vault, thy brow — Why should I quench these ecstacies Without a prayer and vow 1 Why should the burning glance of mind On Memory's ruin gleam, When warcries thrill the morning wind — Love voices, evening's beam 1 Should doubt and gloom pervade the heart Where Love with Fame reposes ? And Hope, the rainbow seraph, part From Pleasure's realm of roses? When Peril round the banner rallies Of heroes wrapt in war. Should sighs and tears in woodland vallies Dim each triumphant star ? No ! — Glory is the lord of Love, His triumph-cries, its pinions ; The palm-crown, borne by Beauty's dove, Waves o'er the world's dominions ! REMEMBERED WRONGS. Why, what know ye of hearts that mirror Heaven 1 Outcast adorers of the daemon's will ! Have ye not long, hyasna harpies ! striven To awe me from the path I follow still? Your sacrifice is sacrilege — your oaths The gamester's oracles ; and shall I fear The hideous-bodied Sin my spirit loathes, Or gore my heart and lend a suppliant's ear To treason's counsel shared among the crowd Of villain-workers who beset my way ? No ! better fester in oblivion's shroud, And shrink, like lazars, from the sun away ! I deem not ill the toil and sorrow past. For I have found, earth fiends ! my strength at last. And ye shall feel and fear it who have dared To leprosy my name with your foul breath ; For not in vain have I my bosom bared, Passed fiery ordeals and confronted death. Worms of the dust ! in amber ye may live, Who are not worthy of a just man's scorn, And I will e'en put off my power and give Your characters unto the light of morn ; For have not altered eyes been on me cast, And tales of hell against me buffetted ? And friends familiar unsaluting passed With conscious spirit and averted head ? And shall I bear the scorn of apes, and not, While in me dwells the power, espouse my just Well-tested cause ? — Ye shall not be forgot, Artificers of lies ! be this your trust. Well have I read the ritual of your creed. And if I brand the iron on the brow With a soft maiden hand — why, let mc bleed. The martyred victim ye would have me now! J REMEMBERED WRONGS. 241 Meantime, be this the poet's palinode To all who trampled on his heart in youth, Barred his lone path, denied his head abode, Wrung his wrought spirit and blasphemed his truth ! To each and all, who, envy's vassals dared To mock, howl, yell their lies through woe's midnight, And 'mong their horde the pangs of suffering shared. Be this the orison of my wrested Right. Be thou forever what thou art, A breathing tomb, a human hell, A Moloch mind, a daemon heart, A thing 't would blast my soul to tell ! Be thou the loathed, the abhorred of Time, Till age, all hoar with guilt and woe, Shall quail, cower, drivel — steeped in crime — In its dark home of hate below ! Be round thee ever shapes of sin. The images of thine own thought. Luring thee on at last to win The myriad woes, thy wiles have wrought ! Scorn, curse, defy, denounce, despair — Spread miseries round thee, and implore The fiend-gods of earth, ocean, air, To aid thee ! — thou couldst do no more. But I have stood beside my hearth, And heard the torrent rage along. With nought to cheer me on the earth, But household love and midnight song. I shrunk not when the arrows fell — Fled not the plague thy fangs hissed out, — But roamed at eve through copse and dell, And dimm'd no hope of heaven with doubt. Thy wrath is spent — thy vengeance hurled — The woe ivas mine — the power is now. And thou shalt cower before the world, A felon with a branded brow. O, could I speak the withering spell, That bhghts the brain, and sears the heart, Thou tomb of hate, thou human hell, My spell should doom thee — what thou art ! 31 MKMENTO MORI. Time takes its colouring from the spirit's shrine, And season sad or gay, i And memory paints, in rainbow hues divine, • Scenes long since pass'd away. As hours are woven in the web of years, The mazy threads are dyed In the deep fountain of our hopes or fears, j Our passions, love and pride. i j And oft, while sunny smiles glance o'er the brow, I From the heart's depths will rise i Lone buried grief — as o'er a mount of snow Clouds fall from winter skies. Through worlds of shattered thoughts and hopeless loves, j In lonely grandeur on, i The broken spirit uncommuning roves, And weeps o'er beauty gone. To the dark land of silence they have passed. The young, the brave, the fair ; | Ten thousand voices swell on every blast. But voice alone is there ! ■ Where dwell their spirits '? In the summer breeze, i Soft sounds are round us swelling, "•, And a still gladness fills the heart — but these i Can have no earthly dwelling. j Aerial music floats along the sky, i But comes — we know not how ; Wild airs to warn us that we soon must die — And be what all we loved are now ! i MEMENTO MORI. 243 Dim broken gleams of momentary light Mysterious glimpses give Of that strange Realm of Souls, where ail is night, And shadows only live. Oh ! nothing can be known — man breathes and dies, And nations pass away ; And empires perish — but yon far blue skies Reveal no brighter day. Not thus, howe'er, passed human life with thee, Thou loved and lovely shade ! Thy spirit left dark Earth from sin as free As when in glory made. And thou wert taken from the ills to come, Like dew by morning sun ; And birdlike sung to thine ethei'eal home. Ere sorrow had begun. Oh, when, young orphans in our budding years. Our world was in each other, I little dreamed of vain unwitnessed tears — For tliou didst love thy brother! I could not think, I was so happy then. Thine eyes would close in death, And I be left among the sons of men — > A being but in breath. Yet, oh, I dare not grieve that thou hast gone From this lone world of wo — Hadst thou partaken of earth's sin, loved one ! I had not loved thee so ! I bear thine image in my heart, and there It lives, and breathes, and glows — And thou shalt be my refuge in despair. Till life's wild visions close. THE AUSPICES. I never thought, in my younger years, When the sky was my spirit's home, j And I drank at the cup of rapture's tears : And longed like a star to roam, That my brightest hope would fade like dew, And my proudest dream depart, And all prove false that seemed most true To a still and thoughtful heart. I thought not that blue hill and stream ! Could be seen by a reckless eye ; ! That J should shun the softest gleam ] Of the sunny sea and sky ; j That the cross of care and the spell of woe \ Would change my deepest feeling, ' And leave me alone in grief to know That my spirit is past all healing. The faces and forms of silent things Were my bliss in earlier hours, i The dryads that dwell by forest springs, • And the nymphs of wildwood bowers ; But the dreams of morn and sunset dim i Have gone from my spirit now, ' And I have chanted my latest hymn ' From the mountain's misty brow. But it recks not what I felt in days ! Unblest in their earliest breaking, 1 For the time hath passed when I sighed for praise, j And I mourn not friends forsaking ; \ THE AUSPICES. 245 They have left me at an early time, And I wander on untended, But my heart is free from the stain of crime, And I pass not on unfriended. My mind has searched to the depth of things, And it dwells and toils alone, Waiting to soar on its tireless wings To a high and holy throne. No fruit or flower its toil may crown, But it hath in itself a power, That will not sink in sadness down Till its last departing hour. For o'er the heart long sternly tried A sightless spirit throws The radiant might of a seraph's pride, And a bliss that ever glows. Though the mock and scorn and libel low Of the coward may assail, Yet the guarded mind can never bow, Nor the conscious triumph fail. I had friends once — I have dark foes now — They wronged me while confiding ! I marvel not at a broken vow — Their Truth knows not abiding. But they have not power to dim one ray Of the soul my God hath given. And I patiently wait a brighter day That will dawn in a holy Heaven. THE POET'S NIGHT SOLITUDE. 'Would that I were the spirit of yon star, That seems a diamond on the throne of heaven ! 'Would that my holiest thought could ever dwell Mid the unsearchable vastness of the sky ! For 't is deep midnight: and bland stillness sleeps On dewy grove and waveless stream, and airs, Floating about like heavenly visitants, Breathe o'er the slumbering flowers, and leafy woods. Such holy music as the tired heart loves — Low, murmuring, melancholy strains — so soft The ear scarce catches sound, though deeply feels The hushed communing heart the influence Of their lone oracles ! — Departed hours Of mingled bane and bliss — of hope and fear — Of faithless friendship — unrequited love — Unshared misfortune, undeserved reproach — And humbled pride — and dark despondency — Hours of high thought and silent intercourse With the old seers and sages, when the soul Walked solemnly beside departed bards And lion-hearted martyrs ; and o'erveiled Forest and hill, and vale, and rivulet. With the deep glorious majesty of mind ! Shadowing, with a most dainty phantasy. The cold and harsh realities of things. With the divine undying dawn of heaven, Whose beauty blossoms and whose glory burns ! At such a lime of thoughtful loneliness Ye come like seraph shades, and bear me back. On darkened wings, to earlier passages Scarce less unblest than present years of grief I grope through now ! — But woes, once borne, become Strange pleasures to our memory ; the Past ] i THE poet's night SOLITUDE. 247 Hath its romance — its mellow lights and shades, Soothing deep sadness like the brightest hope That bursts upon the future. While we gaze Down the dark vista, where in bitter pain And weariness and solitude of soul, We long have roamed forsaken — all the scene Assumes a calm repose, a verdure mild As midnight music, and our hearts o'ergush With tearful tenderness. O, there is bliss E'en in the darkest memory — a depth Of passion that now slumbers, and of thought, Though voiceless, eloquent and full of power, Which leaves all common hope, in life's routine, Dim and delusive as the fire-fly's light. P'ull orbed in pearly beauty walks the moon, Flinging on fleecy clouds soft gleams of light, That silver every fair and floating fold Mid the blue ether — while her beams below On slumbering vale and cliff", and haunted wood, And broad deep stream, an awful wilderness, Fall at the outskirts of vast shadowings. Like heaven's great light on wings of angels thrown. And now the breeze, in music's fitful gush, Harps mid the osiers and wide harvest lakes Of grass and grain — and then the voices rise Of fays and fairies in the fir-wood near. Now sleepless bard — who never is alone — May mingle with the harmony of Heaven, Triumphant o'er the evil of the world ; His heart may banquet on each gentle scene Of loveliness, and shrink not back aghast As from the mock and scoff' malign of men. To voices soft as sighs of sleeping flowers And tender as a fair young mother's kiss, His spirit listens in its joy. On him The beauty of the old astrology. The silent hymn of heaven in starlight falls; 248 THE poet's mOHT SOLITUDE. And alchemy bestows its choicest lore, And poetry, with all its holiness. Sinks gently o'er him like the early dew On the fair foliage of the Hesperides. The cricket sings, the aspen twinkles quick Beneath the moonbeam, and the waters purl O'er shining pebbles and by wildwood banks As if blest life in every drop prevailed. The deep enchanted forests seem to bend. And make no sound through their vast solitudes, As if they deeply listened to the Voice, Whose whisper fills the universe. O'er all, Waters and woods, mountains and valleys deep, A spirit reigns whose secret counsel heals The goaded mind and wasted heart, and guides Ill-fortuned dwellers of the earth to peace ; And he is wise, who, in his budding youth. Casting aside the paltry pride of praise, In the night season leaveth strife and care And vain ambition, to go forth and drink The music and the blessedness of earth. While man forgets the God he scorns by day. Reclining on the moonlight rocks, he sees The proud Orion, the soft Pleiades, And every glorious constellation move With light and hymn of worship, and his soul O'erleaps the feuds and falsehoods of the world, The trembling and the triumph of an hour. And mingles with the universal Deity. The warring passions of the human heart Sink, then, to rest ; bright angel forms repose By piny woods and shady waterfalls, And seraph voices sing of heaven and love In every leaf stirr'd by the vesper airs. And this communion of upsoaring thought, This conscious inspiration (holier far Than Delphic oracles or hermit's dream,) Becomes our earthly paradise, when gleams Of worlds inscrutable flash through the gloom SONNET. 349 Of this our sinning nature, body-bowed, And the accepted words of ancient men, Gifted beyond their age and station here, Become assured revealings of that life All hope to gain but few dare think upon, As wisdom thinks, who dwells not with the vain, The greedy and the proud, but hath her throne In the pure heart, whose ever-living Hope Glows like a lone star in the depth of Heaven. SONNET. How like Divinity this soft, still eve ! The sun of Autumn, like a god, is setting. And, oh, the beauty tempts me to forgetting Those giant ills that long have made me grieve. Bright angels seem reposing on yon verge Of billowy light, and from their airy wings. Fanning infinity, a perfume springs, Like cherub breathings. The low lulling surge. Breaking far o'er the shelly beach — the deep Soft music of the groves — the whirl and rush Of dropping sere leaves and the trickling gush Of rivulets that from the brown cliffs leap — ■ This dying loveliness melts all my woes. And hallows sorrows death alone can close! 32 ,_J THE AUTUMNAL EVE. Smiles on past Misfortune's brow Soft Reflection's hand can trace, And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw A melancholy grace. Gray. How bland and beautiful this stilly Eve ! The Autumnal sun sinks glorious to his rest, And hearts o'erworn may now in joyance leave Dark care, and dwell in Nature's blessing blest. Lo ! how the mottled clouds drink in the hues Of the far sun, while silent shadows wave O'er wooded vales, as erst the holier muse O'er Tempe shook her purpled wings and gave Mysterious glories to the holy few Who dared to dwell in solitude, and be Their own one world, creating from the dew And sun, things beautiful celestially. And look thou, with a meditative eye. Where with a slow and solemn motion, glides The full moon tow'rd her palace in the sky, Casting her power upon the rushing tides ! With what a softened and serene delight Up from the blue horizon, meek and pale, Dian ascends, and at the noon of night Bends o'er to hear the timid lover's tale ! The deep lone twilight of the soundless woods Floating below while all is bright above. Comes o'er the spirit in its dreamy moods. Like images of blest remembered love — — Blest in its young fair spring and full of buds, From whose soft bosoms fragrant flowers looked forth. Ere came the mildew blight, the waste of floods, The desolation of the virgin earth ! THE AUTUMNAL EVE. 251 And the deep glory of the pictured skies, Albeit vanishing as visions are, Throws o'er the hills the light of angel eyes, The smile of every seraph from his star. As memory bears above all earthly woes The radiant features of a well loved face, Lost in this life, but waiting, at its close. To smile above with all Love's matchless grace. Touched by the molten beams that burst along Yon glorious company of clouds, each tree Seems to lift up its sweet but voiceless song. And bend its crowned head to Deity. And rivulets, that revel on their way Through meadows green, and over hanging woods, Gurgle and gleam their blithe farewell to day, And onward leap through darkening solitudes* The leaves grow crisp and sere, and yet they greet Chill airs that kiss and kill them, as the maid Rejoices, e'en in death, the smile to meet Of him who slew her with glozed words, and bade The tortured and wrecked heart believe and bear, In silence and good cheer, the last rebuke Of eyes remorseless over her despair, — And conscious guilt, that slayeth with a look. The homilies we read on autumn eves, Beneath the vast blue vault of yon calm sky, The eloquent rustle of the blighted leaves, The universal readiness to die — The lore of cloisters or of councils far Transcend, in sight of Him, whose seasons come Like oracles to warn us what we are, And, in their lapse, to bear our spirits home. Who doles out doits to mendicants, and wears The rough rock in his prayers, contemning men But where his pride exacts their plaudits, bears. In convent gloom, or shagged lonely glen, A haughty heart, which He accepteth not Who doth rejoice in cheerfulness and mirth Chastened by love, that from one sacred spot Pours its soft glory over all the earth. 252 THE AUTUMNAL EVE. But he, whose spirit holds, through every change, With sun, moon, stars, hills, vales and shrubs and flowers. The commune of devotion, ne'er can range Beyond the guidance of those holy Powers, Which give to earth its beauty, and to man His conscious triumph over sin and death, And unto heaven the glories that began When from the first heart gushed the vital breath. The cricket's chirup — I remember well It was the music of my boyhood, when My heart o'erflowed with thoughts I could not tell To worldly wise and world devoted men ; And it comes o'er me like the tones once heard Breathing affection at a time estranged : *T is sweeter than the song of any bird — I heard it ere my wayward fortunes changed ! The whip-poor-will — its slow, unchanging chant. Its lone, unlistened, melancholy song Hath sadly cheered me in each woe and want, And sorrow, and bereavement, and deep wrong ; For I have lived unseen, like that poor thing, And sung unheard, unsolaced, and in vain As that doth ever — and I cannot fling My early thoughts aside, nor rend in twain The mantle that hath wrapt my silent breast, To join the revel of the world, and feel No more as I have felt, when, calmly blest, That lone bird's notes had power to lull and heal. No more in plashy brook web-footed fowl Plunge with their tender brood in moulting glee, — Wails the wild heron, hoots the cynic owl, From reedy marsh and thunderstricken tree. Like summer morning friends, the dryades No more glide through the shadows of the grove ; Their whispers steal not through the moaning trees : Their smiles salute not young and holy love. But by the reeking frith the torpid hind Weaves wattles mopingly the livelong day ; Throwing all thought upon the whiffling wind. He whistles time and rankling care away. THE AUTUMNAL EVE. 253 He knows not mind ; its agony and pride ; Its secret rapture and its public woe ; Dull as the dank lagoon, his seasons glide — He little gains, and nothing can bestow- No alms to soothe despair or wan disease, Nor heartfelt words of solace, hope and health; Like matted weeds on lone, unvoyaged seas, He breathes and dies — his wherry all his wealth. Dredging the slimy depth of waters dark, He marks not nature but to serve his toil ; Hushed Twilight lights and guides his trundling bark i He gropes and drudges 'neath the morning's smile. Not thus like hutted peasant, spectre led, Soulless in sunshine, quaking in the shade. At morn the living, and at eve the dead. The bard beholds before his eye arrayed ; In every leaf there 's music to his ear. In every rivulet and every breeze ; He knoweth not the shapes of earthly Fear, In the deep fear of Heaven, that quelleth these. To the divinity, that dwells within And sheds o'er earth and heaven its glorious light, Nature becomes beloved and akin, And, as celestials, pure and deeply bright. Mind wanders forth, and throws o'er every flower, And lake, and wood, or shaken or serene. The deathless memory of some hallowed hour, The deep affection of some trying scene ; And field and forest are companions bound To gifted hearts, by ties no power can rend ; The soul may mingle with a half heard sound, And float in raptures that can have no end. The timid throstle still a few low notes Pours forth, preluding her farewell to frost ; On sylvan scenes beloved the robin dotes, Loth to believe his springtime pleasures lost. Grasshoppers pitter on the mead no more, The nighthawk's swoop sounds faintly in the air, 254 SONNET. The twittering swallow mourns the season o'er, And 'mid her ruins, Nature kneels in prayer That He whose smile spread beauty o'er her brow, And clothed with loveliness the cheerful earth, Will guide wayfaring man through drifted snow, And pour his peace and love around the household hearth. SONNET. What are the Past and Future ? Shadows, lit By the mind's twilight bloom, and all too dim For clear perception; far and faint they swim Before the visionary's eye and flit Away in dusky folds, whose ourskirts wear A mellow glow awhile and then resume Oblivion's sable tinges. In the gloom Of the o'ershadowed Past, with pensive air, Pale Memory sits beside a sculptured urn. Chanting the requiem of joys long fled ; And flickering tapers, for the parted dead. Around her wasted form forever burn ; But Hope, on sunlight pinions, soars on high, And hath her throne and glory in the sky. THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. There is a tale in Scandinavian Legends that a miner, who was betrothed, perished ] mysteriously on the very eve of his appointed bridal ; and that many years afterwards, j when she, who should have been his bride, had grown old in holy celibacy, the petrified 1 body of her lover was discovered in the depth of a disused and dilapidated mine. The \ l)ody was instantly recognized by the bereaved and unblest lady, who died upon its j bosom. I Ye high Divinities ! who erst abode Amid the haunted woods of Ida's mount, Or 'neath Leucadia's brow, when Paris gave '. The golden fruit to Venus and the Maid ; Sappho, for love of faithless Phaon, sought The still companionship of seanymphs, crowned j With wreaths of pearl and coral ! Sad as words >. Of comfort to a sick and wasted heart | Have ever been your oracles ; the voice « Of shrined Apollo from his temple comes, ] Like winds from the wild heavens when surging seas Burst o'er the shattered bark. Alas for Love " And Beauty ! their torn blossoms strew the waste Of human life — and Genius is but woe. Another song of sorrow ! mortal bliss, Is voiceless, echoless, and Love, once crown'd, No more is left — but grief is eloquent. j Far in that northern land and mid those hills ] Where wandering Vasa, among faithful hearts, Found welcome refuge in his trying hour, | Two Lovers dwelt, of low degree with men, Of hard conditions and restrained desires, But gentle hearts and unsoiled consciences. \ The waxing and the waning moon on them Shed her pure pearly light and every star Listened upon its throne to their discourse : >^mjt. i. 256 THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. Nightly, with smiles that came like music down. By day, Leoni toiled in darksome mines With the cheered spirit of prophetic hope, And as he gazed upon the precious ore Delved from the depth, he felt how void and vain Were affluence without the heart's best wealth ; How welcome, with Luzelia a few coins, How vile, without her, all Golconda's gems ! Thus Love transfuses its own light o'er all The trials and privations of our lot, From evil winneth good, from poverty Wealth unimagined, and from toil repose Through starry hdurs beneath green canopies. Thus Love becomes unto itself a power Supreme o'er great obstructions, and all things Of beauty are its household teraphim, — Sweet images of hopes that rest amon^ The days of sunny loveliness to come. So they lived on in unremitted toil Each for the other, and the lights and shades Of thought, sequestered to one little spot, Passed o'er them like the shadows of white clouds, Breeze wafted, o'er the mirror'd summer stream. Passion, with all its fears and jealousies, And fevered aspirations and regrets. And dark repinings and intense desires. They knew not, felt not, feared not its power. Amid the solitude of simple life Love is a deep conviction of the heart, A dewy flower, that, circled by green leaves, Breathes the blest air of heaven, itself as blest ; A still and hidden brook, that glides along, Known only by the greenness of its banks ; A spirit, like its mountain home of birth, Mighty though meek, pavilioned in the skies. Yet all benignant to the smiling earth ; A quiet thought that dwells and works unseen But in the charm of its accomplishment, Ever attendant, watchful, true in faith, THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. 257 A guide and guard through peril, and in want A tender solace, as in joy a crown. The Lovers talked and counselled and communed Confidingly as wedded hearts should do, And both together coffer'd up a hoard, (Scant means are ample where the wants are few,) To signalize tomorrow's bridal feast. Tomorrow ! 't is the changing dream of hope, The vision of the weary hearted in the depth Of solitary suffering, and the crown Of many a proudly imaged enterprise That never was accomplished. O Tomorrow ! Crowds of strange deeds and unfulfilled events Lie unrevealed in thy dark mysteries, And many an eye desireth to behold The book of knowledge though 't is written there, (And prayers the ^read decree cannot reverse,) That death or dread disaster hasteneth on ! * Tp v^ tP TP — The bridal-banquet waits — hath waited long — Why cometh not the bridegroom ? Up and down Luzelia wanders, from the window place Looks forth with restless eyes, and doubtfully Questions his absence — but none give reply. Night wears away — the bidden guests depart, Eloquent in dim surmises and vague fears, Some scoffing at the lover's faithlessness, And some repining o'er their lack of cheer, And some, more thoughtful, (age and trial give A tone of prophecy to many a mind) Suggesting sudden danger, lone mishap, And suflTering unadministered — and death. Discoursing hurriedly, o'er moonlight hills The bridal guests have passed — and every glen Echoes with wonderment that one so true Should break his trotii and fail the festival Of Plighted Love so hardly earned by toil, And cheered by hopes that sanctify the heart. " Tomorrow will reveal '"-—Tomorrow comes ! 33 258 THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. \ 1 It comes in summer glory, like a bride ] In the rich bloom of beauty and of hope, I Or a high hearted king of orient Inde, 1 O'er the blue swelling seas, for few brief days \ Sunny and tranquil like the human heart, 1 And o'er the cedar forests and oak woods ' Of the proud mountains of Dalecarlia, veiled ! In floating mist or glistening with young dew. - From the harmonious waters of all streams \ The morning vapour curls and seems to rise In forms of fairhaired dryads, as of old, Along Permessus' banks, the daughters nine Of wise Mnemosyne, when they had drank The holy dew amid the fountain vale. Together clomb the hill of Helicon. The songbirds lift their voices all around, j The violets and hyacinths unveil i The pictured bosoms of their virgin buds, . The sweet and racy air becomes a bliss 1 To the free organs of the heart, and heaven I Bends in more beautiful arcades and seems J Swelling far up, beyond all taint of earth, ] In azure vastness, on whose shadowy edge Hyperion pours the glories of his brow. How felt Luzelia ? Moonlight unto her, Through the void watches of the night, had been j A sole companion, and her tossing thoughts, i Like stormy waters, nameless leagues from land, ] Rolled through the darkened boundlessness of mind, 1 Sounding a terrible music to her heart. ] Like one lone palm amid a sea of sands, < She stood in the pale beauty of the moon, j Whose mellow light around her softly stole j With a pervading blessedness, that fell j Upon her fainting spirit with a sense ; Of still and solemn faith. Thou blessed Light ! j Held holy in all times — in every clime — Among all people ; on the mourner's brow \ Thou pourest consolation and dost woo J THK TRIAL OF THE TROTH. 259 Grief from its darkened citadel and change The wormwood of the heart to soothing balm. And, all unconsciously, Luzelia blessed Thy ministrations, Dian ! while she gazed On the deep shadows of the woods, the glow And gloom of changing forest streams, and rocks Abrupt and massy, on whose jutting crags The transitory beams streamed like a shower Of molten pearls ; though, all the lingering night, The image of no human form appeared To gladden the fixed eye or charm away Perilous thoughts inurned ; but there she stood, Poor girl ! stunned, dumb, and breathless, like the work Of some most perfect sculptor, Phidias old, Myron, Praxiteles ; her ear was wrought To agony's intensity of sound. And oft her own deep pulses or the stir Of leaves came o'er her like the echo faint Of far off footsteps hurrying o'er the dale. Leoni came not — yet she questioned not The faith well known for years and deeply tried, And thus she shunn'd the strongest agony That Love can feel — the faithlessness of one Deeply beloved, who robs the heart of heaven. Her mother — -wasted, palsystricken, old, A leafless tree that moaned in every wind, Missed not Luzelia's well accustomed voice Upon the morn, nor lacked her common aid, Nor marked she, in the oblivion of her age, The pale brow and unrested eye, and tones Faltering and low, of her most priceless child. Who shrined her unimagined fearfulness And desolation in her fondest heart, And held alike her constancy of love And duty to the helpless. Crowds went forth O'er vale and hill, and mountain echoes bore Leoni's name through every darkened wood ! No answer came. They questioned man and child ; All knew, but none had seen him since the eve 260 THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. ■ ] Appointed for his bridal. Far and wide Luzelia wandered and her voice went up On every breeze ; no answering voice was heard. Brief summer, briefer autumn passed, all streams Vanished before the universal frost, That silently, with a resistless power, ^ Suspended life ; on every shaggy cliff The beaded hail hung like a robe of gems ; Beneath the gleaming glimpses of the sun j Or moon, when from her rolling rack she flung j A flood of phantom light ; on every thatch j Icicles, like Doric pillars, in the light • Of woodfires, streaming through the lattice, glowed, ^ And drifted cones of snow among the boughs • Of ihickleaved pines perennial everywhere Lay deeply — pallid white above rich green — ^ Hoar winter in the arms of virgin spring — i Death on the bosom of undying Life ! I But the long season of chill'd verdure passed, I And desolating winds to farthest North, | To Arctic seas, Spitzbergen and the Isles Of everlasting iciness, with moans. Departed at the hest of maymorn suns. Yet came no tidings of the lost, the loved, And poor Luzelia lingered o'er the looks. The smiles, the tender words, the oft sealed vow — The last of lost Leoni — and the dreams Of years that had a fearful waking now. And broken images of early love, Till her whole heart gushed out and she would fain Have flown to the lone wilderness and died Where last he might have pressed the moss or leaves. 'T is easy to resign the breaking heart On passion's altar ; 't is an angel's task To live when life hath ceased to be a joy, Buffet the billows of despairing thoughts, Baffle disguised temptation, and bear up Beneath a burden martvrs never bore, THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. 261 Sickness of soul, that o'er earth's joyance throws The lurid hue of a distempered mind, And sergeclad poverty, whose daily bread Unceasing labour only can procure. These,, in the voiceless anguish of a heart Full of intensest feeling, and a soul Haunted by wild imaginations, dim. Wavering and vasty as the countless forms On Shetland Skerries when the storm is up, With meekness and a patient tenderness, An earnest and heartgushing f ^ove, that fell Upon her mother's darkened sympathy, Like a skill'd leech's welltimed liniment Upon a warrior's wound — sublimely, these Luzelia bore through months of vague belief Of undetermined ill; and she could smile Sometimes, and feel the burden from her heart Lifted by an invisible power awhile, And then her voice, narrating legends old Of Doffrafield, put on a cheerfulness That sent its sunlight through her mother's heart. Then the pale palsied pilgrim would look up And bless her daughter with a trembling hand. And her dimmed eyes were lighted up with fires From the altar of her youth, and her weak voice Came o'er Luzelia hlce a benison From the far world on whose veiled shore she stood. So Time passed on, and the poor heartsick girl Alone remembered lost Leoni now. Friendship is but the outward foil of men, The fleecy foam emitted from life's sea. Seen only in the swirling wake, the barque In its fair voyage leaves behind |but Love, (Not the gross passion of the busTun'd stage. The glare of eyes, the bubble of blown cheeks, . The start, the feign'd devotion and wild speech) Love lingers by the shrine when cold and dark And offers up its orisons the same ; Love cUngs unto the wreck when wildest winds .-.-.J 262 THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. Sweep darkest clouds before them and the voice Of upturned ocean wails like dying men : And, more than all, Love, in the hourly cares And deep anxieties of humble life, To household hearth and board and pallet bed Bears the most hallowed memory of the lost, The bliss of agony, the chastened woe Of an all feeling and benignant heart, f 'T was winter midnight, and Luzelia sat Beside the deathbed of her mother, last Of all her kindred ; o'er the pallet fell The wavering rushlight and the moss roofed cot Within was silent, save when feeble moans, Like spirit whispers low, stole from a heart Too wasted now to bear much agony. Without, the winds were loud, and mount and vale Through all their vast and solemn solitudes Replied to the wild spirit of the storm ; And the cold moon through huddled clouds appeared Fitful and ghostlike; and the ravining wolf Yelled in the agony of famishing From perpendicular rocks, whence caverns yawned Below, and glaciers hung on all above. Luzelia watched and wept not in the depth Of visible desolation ; when she lost Leoni, the deep wellsprings of her heart Dried up, and left her like a branching palm Amid the Desert ; she had lent her shade To a poor wayworn pilgrim who had borne The burden and tlie heat of many a day. And now beneath the shadow of her leaves. And on the bosom of her solitude, That pilgrim sunk to sleep — earth's silent sleep — With her deep vein'd and bony hand upon Luzelia's bow'd head resting; and the words, Last heard from her pale lips, were words of peace And blessing; and her parting breath went forth In the cold kiss of death ! Luzelia knelt Beside the deathbed and her heart rose up THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. 263 In prayer, and in her loneliness and grief Strength was vouchsafed unto her to compose ' The dead for burial. And she slept that night ! ; The yearning pathos of the heart bereaved Time mellovi^s in its silent soothing lapse, j And deepest ills and worst privations lose j The lurid hue and leaden heaviness, \ The mazy and bewildering dream of woe. * ;j Not the sun's shadows on the dial's disk, But the mind's thoughts upon the busy brain Mete out o'erpassing periods ; hours of grief _ ■ No famed clepsydra ever measured well. Nor modern instrument ; deserted life Beneath thatch'd cottage on the drearest marge Of bosky dell, o'erpillar'd by wild rocks, And bordered round by furze and fern and gorse And matted briers and tangled underwood, - ^ ] Lingers and lingers like a new made bride Beside the deathbed of her love's best lord. ■ But years, and the deep thoughts they bring with them, ■ Tame down the spirit as they bow the frame, ] And leave behind affections purilfied Though undiminished in their heartfelt power — Fervent though calm — deep like the stillest stream, i A sealed up fountain brimming with the thoughts That made earth paradise in happier days. J Precept and sentiment are idle things, And so is love's romance in sickly tales i Of aromatic fabulists, whose sighs Are firequent as the free unchartered air. But just example, in all ways of life. Is as a visible divinity, I That o'er all minds hath power and in all hearts ] Resteth, as rivers, gliding through green meads, i Where cowslips blossom, rest in sunny seas. — Luzelia's mild, dim, melancholy smile, j And quiet step and soft though faded eye, I And mellow voice heard in her loneliness, j ; 264 THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. i And chariness of mind and ready hand > In the acquittance of kind offices, i Had touched, as with the ahar fire of love, All hearts that yearned for kindred sympathies \ And blest affiance in their rugged path. j And suiters, such as fathers could approve, ; Many and oft appeared — were mildly heard — i And went their way, not scorned though unreceived, Less in pride's anger than in mournfulness ; i For still she was the tomb lamp of the dead, ] Keeping lone watch o'er buried memories, ; And ne'er ungracious in a thought or speech Save when they named Leoni doubtfully. .< There were not wanting tongues in that wild land, As everywhere, to babble of the dead , | And wrong the living, and full oft their shafts Pierced lone Luzelia's bosom tc the core. The Maiden's lot was dark, yet all was peace Within her humble cot, and cheerfulness : Around it, for the spirit, that, of old, I Hallowed its hearth, had left a blessing there, j A delicate and music breathing Ariel, Whose plumage never ruffled, sun or storm. ' It was the Miners' Holiday ; and joy i Sent forth the voice of lustihood — the sound i Of Scandinavian harps o'er all the hill; ! And prouder merriment was never heard ! E'en in Valhalla's azure palaces When the Valkyriur, in rainbow paths, Usher young fallen heroes to their home. - Luzelia threw her cheeriness of heart O'er Toil's sole yearly festival, and sung i A song that had a touch of gladness in 't, j Though, as she sang, she could not choose but think ' How lost Leoni at such time stood up j Beautiful as Balder — sungod — in his pride. j Then filled her faded eyes, and with much thanks, i Up from the wooded dell the Miners passed. i THE TRIAL OF THE TROTH. 265 ' Evening drew on, and at her cottage door \ Luzelia rested, sadder far than wont, (Revel and mirth are ministers of woe \ To the sick heart, that enters not their haunt,) When down the shelvy rock a Miner leapt ; Wildly, and with dark words of strange import ? Led her along the precipice, and up i Steep forest paths, to a deserted lode, i Round whose black marge a huddled crowd had met. j " 'T is strange !" said one. " This mine hath not been wrought i " For years, but left to goblins and blind owls. j " I well remember (I was then a boy) i '* When the old Dane — a hoary locust left " Out of the slaughtered host — came one bright morn j " And bade us lift the ladders from the lode, ■] " And gash the pillars of the roof and leave J " The plundered hell to bats — their rightful home. | " Well, here this body of stone that once was flesh, I (" 'T is petrified 'mong minerals of the mine) i " In his blind hurry to the bridal feast — " 'T was dark as Hela — fell and died unknown !" " Give way, it is Luzelia !" every eye \ Fastened upon her face, as she drew near, I And every lip was mute ; one moment passed Of deep, soul piercing earnestness of gaze. Then her brow lightened, and her features glowed -' With all the beauty of her virgin youth, I And her breast heaved in panting sobs, — and then She fell upon the blackened corse and cried — " Leoni ! 't is Leoni ! said I not ■ " He kept his Troth till death ? Oh, 't is not Death ! ^ " It gives me life, Leoni I no, not Death !" VP* ^ 7p TP Vt* tF — In the green dell there is a ruined hut, i And on the margin of that cold dark mine ' A wide grave with a rudely graven stone, i That bears Luzelia's and Leoni's name. ; 34 ...J MUSIC AMALGAMATED. There 's music in the hurricane, And in the catgut's scrubbing; Where slayers thunder o'er the slain, Where democrats are drubbing ; There 's music in the boiler's hiss, When steamers race for glory, And in the nigger's glorious kiss, With tyrant blood all gory. There 's music in the midnight wreck, 'Tween tempests, rocks and billows. When death is master of the deck. And reefs are dead men's pillows ; There 's music in the windstirr'd grass. In the whispering leaves of spring, In martial drum, and braying ass, And pugilistic ring. There 's music in the glimmering stream 'Mid woods, flowers, verdure flowing, And in the poet's noontide dream. Where phantom fame comes glowing; There 's music to the fairy's ear In shadows, dews, and bubbles. And to old maidens, when they hear The voice of wedlock's troubles. There 's music in the deathbell, tolling The fair and good to heaven. On breezy hill and landscape rolling. In twilight, morn or even ; MUSIC AMALGAMATED. 267 There 's music in tiie streets where imps Of colours all assemble, And in the deep, where sprats and shrimps Before behemoth tremble. There 's music in the bullfrog's croak. When sunset gilds the pond, • And in the spoil'd child's treble note, Commanding mothers fond ; There 's music in the feline chorus On dark piazzas mewed — When arm'd moschetoes circle o'er us, — And roistering rakes are slued. There 's music in the Mohawk whoop, In the howl of pongoes praying, In plundered camp and conquered coop, And herds of jackals straying ; There 's music in the crashing skies, And in the virgin's sigh, In gallant hearts, and starlight eyes,— When all are born or die. There 's music in the whispered word Through hosts, war-waiting, sent ; Who, by old victories thrill'd and stirr'd. Watch the sunkindled firmament ! There 's music in the click of gun. Sword flash and bayonet gleam, When battle heralds havoc's sun, And purples every stream. There 's music in the bagpipe's drone, In sweet M'Henry's verses; In ballroom shuffle, dungeon groan, And Conrad's tragic curses ; There 's music on the mount, or moor, In ocean, sky or cave. With queen or hoyden, a king or boor, The autocrat or slave. 268 THANKSGIVING- Niagara thunders music down, The earthquake thunders up ; Volcanoes shout o'er buried town, The plague, o'er poison cup ; The tempest and the lightning sing — Stars, meteors, flowers — earth, heaven- Music to every human thing. Save modern bards, is given ! THANKSGIVING. When young Time sung in Eden's bower, j And angels echoed back his strain, j Ere sin mildewed each morning flower ] Of hope, and pleasure died in pain, ; Each love-winged thought that rose on high ] Was man's melodious prayer of praise, ; And happy hearts threw o'er the sky ] Blessings, as flowed the elder days. While Heaven benignly smiled and breathed the grateful lays. j No seasons, then, by power assigned, Restricted songs of holy praise, For man's pure heart and pious mind •* Threw glory o'er life's younger days ; But, his high spirit higher soaring. He knowledge bought, and was unblest ; And, when he should have been adoring, Lost Eden — love's abode of rest, And wandered forth o^er earth, an exile sore distrest. i THANKSGIVING. 269 There was a jubilee in Heaven, When man to being sprung, and raised His soul in praise for blessings given, The image of the God he praised ; And there are songs of glory swelling O'er Heaven, e'en in these sinning days, When man laments his long lost dwelling, Yet for earth's joys chants hymns of praise, And sings in Eden's speech, though lost to Eden's ways. For sunny skies and balmy showers, And mellow airs, and cheerful health, And bloomy meads and dales of flowers, And fields of beauty rife with wealth, And still green vales and wooded hills, And Plenty smiling o'er each home, Whose rose-lipped love with odour fills, And sweet Content, who scorns to roam ; For blessings such as these, let glad Thanksgiving come. No pestilence hath stalked abroad. And thrown o'er bliss the funeral pall ; No sword of crime-avenging God Hath marred man's toil-won festival ; His earthquake voice hath not been heard Amid the cheerful mirth of men ; The soul in peace hath drank His Word, And Life found joy in wold and glen, And Love crowned every bliss again — and yet again. ANCIENT WORSHIP. To me less hallowed, high and awful seem The rites and rituals of these our days, When hollow forms and ceremonies hide Hearts stained by guile, that murmur while they praise, And lip humility and swell with pride, Whose faith is false as youth's fantastic dream, Than that pure worship of the olden Time, When from the dim wild stream or lonely height The Chaldean Shepherd read the spheres sublime, The starry glories of untravelled space. Where the wing'd seraphim, in countless choirs, Hymn'd the Immortal and his love and grace, Blessing the spirit, that from earth aspires, To flowery realms of everlasting light. In the far orient climes of living bloom. Where rosy earth and starry heaven unite. How blest the luxuries of solemn thought, The dreams and oracles, that, born of night, O'er the rapt spirit breathed and in it wrought A deep and sacred triumph o'er the tomb — The tomb, that then knew not the searching light Of Shiloh's holy, all atoning smile ! While round him slept his flocks, from some far height The solitary watcher gazed afar On the vast mysteries, that rolled above. And saw in every bright revolving star Beauty of holiness and peace and love, That soothed and sanctified his mortal toil. Then came the morn and evening offerings Of the first fruits upon the forest shrine — A simple sacrifice of reverent praise And humble heart and gratitude divine. ANCIENT WORSHIP. 271 Oh, how unlike these proud corrupted days,' When dark hypocrisy in triumph brings Its gifts, and bids high heaven behold the deed ! In the young ages of the earthly Life, The husbandman accounted not his seed Fruitful until his sacrifice was done ; The warrior prayed before the ark, ere war; The king, ere judgement ; and beneath the sun. Love, prayer and praise were wafted from afar, A nd every heart with holy hope was rife. Not idle words from faithless tongues alone. But trying deeds, these proved the hearts of men : A Father offered up the world's Young Heir ! And incense rose from many a lonely glen, When daggered danger stood beside despair, And hope did fail, and succour there seem'd none. But trials lost their bitterness when Earth Seemed to the true the golden gate of Heaven, And angel shapes from the blue sky came forth And listened to man's all confiding prayer ; For VIRTUE had a refuge, and the heart, That trusted, never sank into despair, As it had found that higher, better part To gentle, generous, noble spirits given. Man with his Monarch and his Maker held Communion in the elder years of love, And throned seraphim unsinning kept Guard o'er the son of earth in every grove, Whether he toiled a field, or safely slept Lone in the branching melancholy weald. And Truth was then the sovereign of the mind, And Charity man's best and only creed. And kindly offices true hearts could bind And social men, more strongly than the stern And blasting laws of these our dungeon days. Ah ! man must live his threescore years to learn Earth is corrupt in all its countless ways, And evil Knowledge is his bitter meed. 272 SONNET. Those solemn, simple, hallowed days are gone, The Glory 's vanished from the Cherubim, And Shrines and Oracles have passed away ! But, oh, I love to gaze upon the dim And shadowy beauty of that elder day In saddened silence mid the wood alone, And image the old Partriarch by his shrine Kindling amidst the forest his pure fire On sacrificial fruits and clustering vine ; For unto me such lonely worship brings Higher and holier thoughts than our proud forms Of pomp mid throngs whose varied aspect flings The world's cold shade o'er every prayer, that warms And bids the heart in holy hope aspire. ,^ SONNET. give me music, for my soul is fainting ! Not the gay strains of laughter-loving mirth, But those deep notes of feeling at whose birth The heart o'erflows with rapture past all painting ! Blend, O Musician ! every tender thing In Heaven and earth with thy low murmuring strain, Till my sad thoughts in silence turn again To the fresh fragrance of life's flowering spring ! 1 'm tired and sick of folly and the mad Uproar of merriment, and ail the vain Laughter and babbling that around me reign — The mean delights of meaner things that had Never a noble thought. Oh, I would hear Such music as waits on the dying year> i THE LAY OF THE LOST. When through the dimness of the lonely night Silence leans listening from the pale blue sky, Amid the mysteries of the shadowy light Of cypress groves that in the low winds sigh, The shade of Death comes o'er my heart. Like a dim dream of summer even. And then I feel I could depart. Like a sunbright cloud from the brow of heaven I Without a sigh, without a fear, Without a last lamenting tear, A doubt to dim my spirit's bloom. Or one lone shadow from the night of doom I Then Memory lingers o'er departed hours. When Love, unstained by human passion, came, Like starlight stealing through Arabian bowers, The Spirit-Herald of a deathless fame ! But those are hours of sadness now, Of vain repining and regret, For Hope's fair sun hath left my brow — The darkened light of love hath set ! Sweet Mary ! like a tender dream, A shadow on the rippling stream. Thou liv'st alone in my clouded brain, The vision of blest days that cannot dawn again ! I roam to seek thee in the tufted grove, The dim green wood, where purls that lonely stream, Where erst, in commune high, we loved to rove, Wrapt in the glories of Love's morning dream ! 35 274 THE LAY OF THE LOST. Beneath thy bower, in starry gloom, 1 hear thy voice, whose music flows — — Oh ! only from the midnight tomb ! Like the fragrant breath of the morning rose ! Ciiilled to the heart, I wake to weep. And sigh, alone, once more to sleep, That Illusion may weave her mystic spell Round the lone heart that hears the eternal knell ! Friends of my orphan youth, too well beloved ! The true in heart, the tried in faith, the wise — Ye, wanting not, when long and deeply proved, In ought that breathes and blossoms in the skies ! — I look around, but where are they ? Like moonlight on the mountain, gone, Blest spirits ! from their strife of day Up to their home round heaven's high throne ! The pale cold stars smile on the scene Where life and hope and joy have been. While lowly they slumber, unsought, unknown ! Beneath the rank green turf and sculptured stone. Fain would my thought in grief return to thee, Lost lovely One ! thou twinborn of my soul ! Thy seraph smile, thy fawnlike step I see. Thy fair hair streams, thy blue eyes laughing roll ! Oh ! thou art here in all thy bloom, And blessedness of heavenly love — — Hark ! that low voice as from the tomb ! That moaning like the widowed dove ! Death's shadow slumbers in her eyes, Cold, pale and still the victim lies, Her spirit parts like an autumn even. Her brow reveals the eternal light of heaven ! The beauty and the bliss of days gone by Deepen the darkness of the early doom, That o'er the glory of my summer sky Rolls from the deep recesses of the tomb; ' THE LAY OF THE LOST. 275 I Imagination's fairy dreams, ; The bloom of beauty in the mind, ^ The blush of music breathing streams, ' "j Vanish — and leave reality behind ! I see no more the shapes of air, *^j Nymphs, dryads, oreads — angel things ! That threw abroad their golden hair, ] And fann'd the blue heaven with radiant wings! j They are gone from me now, I Like the stars from the brow Of the forest-crown'd hill, in the still of night — } And sullen sinks the blaze of all that magic light. i Cold on my shuddering soul the echoes fall Of voices heard when every breath was joy : : Sere fall the leaves of youth's green coronal j Wreathed when high hopes were lighted at the sky! '\ Yet, like Tiresias — prophet old, Or him — the Samian sage revered ! ; My o'erfraught bosom still may hold ] The power and pride of things unleared, ] And though my song may never be What it had been in days more free, ] Yet its voice may soar above the grave, Like low prophetic notes fr-om old Trophonius' cave. I I could lie down on earth's green breast and weep This weary, faint and hopeless life away, And sink, at last, in death's undreaming sleep, Like a fair child, tired of his noontide play ; I For I have born and still must bear The burden of a heart that feels To deeply for the things that are — ] A world that tortures or anneals ! j And I would pass beyond their power, I Beyond the triumph of an hour, i Where my heart might catch the inspiring strain : Of bliss in worlds beyond the power of human pain! NIGHTDREAMS. Oh, I do love thee, Night ! \ When twilight dews descend, ] And lights and shadows blend, And sweet-voiced birds their tender vespers sing, I Then furl in sleep the weary wing, j Amid the starlight grove, : And dream in song of love ; While silence sleeps around, Save when the whispering flowers ] Breathe forth a rosy sound, *'• Like memory sighing o'er lamented hours — , Oh ! I do love thee, Night ! ; But most I love thee, Night ! ; That thou dost ever bring, i Upon thy dewy wing, i The voice, the image of my lady-love, The charm of hall and grove, ' The joy of other years, ! The sunlight of my tears, My lost, yet worshipped heaven, j \ Possessed no more below — | For one brief hour of rapture given — j Then snatched away from vainly wailing woe, , For this I love thee, Night ! j With thee I can forget, The sunny youth has flown, J Love, hope and rapture gone, ?-/a 6'irt^ 9j i^\ That desolation watches round the bowers • Of wedded hearts in happier hours, - And all the cares and fears, ■ And woes too deep for tears, ,: NIGHT-DREAMS. 277 And anguish and despair, That will not cease, that cannot part, It hath been mine to bear. Since that wild rending of the broken heart — I can forget awhile. Amid thy shadows, Night ! 1 see the ancient seers. The prophets gray with years, The patriarchs reigning o'er the people blest ; Sages in antique stole and vest. And bards, whose lays of love Were heard in Ida's wood and Daphne's grove. And all the high and holy ones, Whose brows bend o'er us in our dreams. Like spirits o'er elysium's streams, Who leave awhile their starry thrones, And fill our souls with heaven's celestial gleams. Thy shades are living, Night ! Dreams come of thee, sweet Night ! Bright visions float around the brain Of days that cannot dawn again. And hope deluded smiles mid banished bhss ! Pale lips meet in a long, wild kiss. Dissevered hearts together beat. And tearful eyes in rapture meet. And time flies fast in joy, And earth resembles heaven ! — I start and wake ! o'er morn's dark sky. As o'er my heart, black clouds are wildly driven-^ Where are thy visions. Night ? Thou soothest sorrow, Night ! I love to watch thy skies. And stars like tearless eyes, And pale, cold moon, whose shivering light is sweet To lovers when they meet. By stream or shadowy wood, In speaking solitude ; 278 NIGHT-DREAMS. For thou dost seem to me, Beholding her, whose look Was such as those we see, Bright Oreads', in the vvildwood's wary nook — When twilight tints the woods. Thou bringest peace, sweet Night ! To many a wasted heart, That loves and sighs apart ; As when from Latmos' hill thy gentle queen Smiled o'er the lovely scene, And blessed her sleeping lover, So I do breathe my spirit now. Old ocean's stormy billows over. And kiss thy cheek and brow, And wreathe my arms around thee, Love ! as erst, And fondly think that thou canst see Thy lover bowed, as at the first. Before the shrine of his idolatry. Joy waits upon thee, Night ! Oh, I do love thee. Night ! Though harrowing thoughts arise. And unavailing sighs, Yet, Ellen, oft I muse on thee afar, 'Neath Gallia's evening star. Sweet love ! now doubly dear. For many a hngering parted year ! Time and distance and deep woe Make thee lovelier, dearer, love ! A heart like mine can never know Change, while the stars we worshipped, shine above. Oh, I do love thee, night !- r \ 1 A ABADDON THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. THE ARGUMENT. Abaddon or Apollyon, as the name imports, is supposed to be subordinate only to Satan, the adversary or tempter, who prepares by intrigue and seduction for the terri- ble triumphs of the Fiend of Ruin. The scenes subsequent to the flight of Abaddon have been necessarily selected for a general illustration of the desolation and agony which sin has entailed upon the world ; and the purpose of the author has been to exhibit, in the strongest light, the malevolence, the ingratitude, and the weakness of men; their ineptitude to choose the highest good; their bigoted perseverance in confirmed and habituated crime; their insusceptibility, in the midst of desperate vice, to permanent impressions of virtue; and their ill-fated adherence to all that demoral- izes the heart and degrades the mind. From the vast empire of History but few ex- amples could be delineated or even named in a poem so brief as this ; but it is trust- ed that enough have been presented to unfold the melancholy truth, that man has too often been the dupe of fallacy and the slave of passion, devoted to the accomplishment of ambition or opulence— the common vain glories of life — though exposed to the pen- alty of popular execration and personal unhappiness. Little relief has been thrown upon the picture ; for the purest religion has been for centuries made subservient, in too many instances, to the perfidious policy of designing men, who sullied the purity which opposed their ambition, or annihilated by ostracism, the scaffold, or the pyre, the enlightened few of a darkened era. True piety, averse from contention, and humble in its lofty devotion, exerts but lit- tle influence over the affluent and the worldly. The Spirit of Love breathes over the agitated waters, but seldom hushes their commotion ; the rainbow of beauty only adorns the storm-cloud which it cannot disperse. r^-- 4 THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. Where the wild darkness of the nether world Pell with its ghastliest grandeur, and vast clouds Trailed o'er the panting firmannent, and hung Like s worded ministers of vengeance, low Upon the dismal, thick, and deadly air, Abaddoiv stood companionless, and wrapt In wasting thought — a pyramid of mind On the dark desert of Despair ! Alone He stood, and his broad shadow quivered o'er The jagged and tumultuary clouds, Where living blackness struggled with the glare Thrown from the fierce volcano's lava breast, With even a deeper gloom ; for moral guilt Transcends the tempest's terror and the wreck Of warring elements, and brands its curse Upon the tortured spirit, f om its throne Hurled down, and doom'd to agonize and burn. Abraided of his glory — shrouded now In the dire garments of the accursed race Whom Pride, the child of Intellect, o'erthrew, Buried in blackness with the muttering slaves Of his tremendous treasons — worst of all. Too proud in desolation's loneliest hours To hold communion with inferior minds. Or, for a moment, bend the archangel's brow To baser natures, pale Abaddon leaned Against a towering pillar charged with flame, And spurned the fierce coiled serpents at his feet With calm derision, for he felt within Strong anguish past their power. His blasted brow Worked in a terrible torture as the throng 36 282 ABADDOiV, ' Of horrible remembrances went by, And all the majesty of mind unblest i Glared in the high and haughty scorn that burst -*''"' From his indrawn, remorseless, withering eyes. Hurled from the pinnacle of glory — hurled From seraph throne, from love, from heaven and hope. The matchless mind, that consummated bliss ] When o'er the crystal fountain of his soul Hovered ethereal Purity and smiled, > Now sealed the utter madness of his doom. I Memory — the star-eyed child of Paradise ! < Rushed o'er the burning realm of banished thought, Raining her scorpion arrows — Shame, Remorse, Vain Penitence and Hatred of himself Haunted the ruined altar of his soul, *i And offered up the sacrifice of death, ; That found no mercy and could never die. ' The glacier barriers of his banishment, i Perdition's shattered rocks, whose awful peaks ! Gleamed in the holiest light of glory lost, Closed round his prison-house — his living tomb Of still tremendous intellect; despair Followed his steps along his lava path. And pride restrained his anguish, though no more He watched with the wild agony of hate The dayspring or the twilight flight on high Of gleaming seraphim, or heard the hymns Of cherubs drinking knowledge from the fount Of Love and basking in the light of God. The thoughts, that cast him from his palmy state, . The limitless aspirings and desires J Of an immortal nature, once to him ; The ambrosia and the diadem of bliss, j Came o'er him like the spectres of the past, ' To shriek amid the ruins they had caused. And pierce like fire-bolts through his maddened brain. j He dared, and perished in his power and pride, ;^ Fell from the hallowed throne of cherished hope ' ' And sunk to shame — it was enough to know THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 283 And feel as great minds feel their perill'd might And ruined fame, and conscious guilt beyond The venal casuistry of proud self-love. He would not be Mezentius to himself, And wed his great ambition to the corse Of his dead being; nor, Procrustes-like, Measure departed happiness in heaven By present misery in Hades' vault. So back upon himself, with dire resolve, The voiceless desperation of his doom, He deeply shrunk, and reck'd not of the Power Forever paramount, nor punishment Doomed to the round of ages ; desolate. He cherished not a hope of happier hours, Loved not, confided not, but breathed above All sympathy and fellowship and fear. He poured not tears on thunder-riven rocks. Nor sighs upon the burning air, that fell Like lava on his brain and through his heart In livid lightnings wandered ; but he grasped His garments of eternal flame and wrapt Their blazing folds around his giant limbs, And stood with head upraised and meteor eye, And still lips, whose pale, cold and bitter scorn Smiled at eternity's deep agonies, The Spirit of Destruction undestroyed ! Remote from all who fought and fell like him, In the Ipne depths of vast Gehenna's waste, And by the lava mountains overhung. That darkened e'en the vaulted vapour's gloom, He stood in that sick loneliness of soul. That awful solitude of greatness lost. The Evil, highly gifted, only know. When every passion riots on the spoils Of knowledge, and the fountain springs of life Burst in a burning flood no time can quench. But that which agonized his hopeless heart And stung him oft to phrenzy — that, which hung 284 ABADDON, O'er his all-dreading yet all-daring soul Like thousand mountains of perpetual flame, Was earthly innocence. Ere then, had flown The fame of man's creation, in a sphere Fashioned in beauty for his joy and use, Through the black chambers of the central world: And misery, leagued with being's deadliest foes. Blighted Ambition and vain hope of Good, Restless Remorse and desolating Shame, Pictured the loveliness and love of earth — The sunlight hills, to whose immortal thrones Morn like a seraph in its glory came ; The shadowy valleys, where autumnal airs Mid pine and firwoods uttered those sweet hymns, That sink into the spirit and become Oracles of future joy when earth grows dark ; The leafy groves, still'd at the fervid noon That silence may attend on solemn thought. The incense rendered on the sun's vast shrine ; The broad and beautiful and glittering streams, Where Nature, in her soundless solitudes. Smiled grateful back the eternal smile of Hope. With the bright hues misfortune gives to joy, The outcast angel, in his dungeon gloom Girdled and counselled by the false and vain, The wicked without aim save love of change, The galley felons of unguerdoned guilt. Painted the matchless charms of new born earth ; And, as he imaged forth its blissful scenes. His burning, riven, desolated heart Groaned till the caverns of remotest hell Echoed, and all the envious demons laughed. For well he knew that while the laws of God Were as the breath of life to man, no power Could loose Destruction's adamantine chains, Or shield his haughty spirit from the scoflf And contumelies low of herding fiends. Who drivelled e'en in torment, and could find Meet mirth in wilder madness, and misdeemed THE SPIRIT OF DF.STRUCTIOX. 285 Their crime and agony of less amount. When mind alone was wanting both to rend And still renew the anguish ne'er to close. But soon from Eden, o er the wide void deep, Returned the adversary, the master fiend. Moulder of fiercest passions — queller, too, Of turbulence and vain ferocity, Whose serpent wisdom nourished matchless pride, Whose hope was ruin and whose counsel, death, In guile without a peer; on holy works And customary rites attendant e'er As come their seasons, with a zealot's speech Prolonged and trumpeted that pours and pours Like turbid waters by the tempest hurled. He holds devoted natures with the grasp Of death, and 'neath the pictured mask of grace Hides the atrocity and doom of hell. Opinion, fount of action, falsely held, Founds and confirms his empire ; fallacies, With master skill and magic, he distorts And beautifies with the fair robes of faith ; The martyr's sacrifice — the patriot's doom-^ The just man's dungeon hours — the last despair Of virtue, and proud honour's agony, To him are mirth and music; and he feasts, With hetacombs of victims offered up Upon the idol shrine of evil here, His own eternal anguish and remorse. The rushing of his dragon wings, like storms In mountain gorges, shook the conscious air, And rapture sounded in their vast quick sweep Along the dim confines and swirling gulf Of chaos ! Crowded round the cloudy throne Of Pandeemonium all the rebel horde, And rapidly, with haughty gesture, passed Abaddon to his place, the loftiest there Save one, and terribly his glowing eyes Watched and awaited the descending chief. 286 ABADDON, As in the prophet's vision by the brink Of Ulai's orient wave, the victor foe Touched not the earth in haughtiness of power, But, ere confronting, conquered in the spoil ; So rushed the giant prince of darkness now On condor pinions, with hyaena eye, And broad brow in the storm-cloud deeply wrapt. In his career exultant that despair And death from birth to burial should infect Man's heart pulse, paralyze his spirit's power Seal all his human hopes with vanity, Burden all pleasure with besetting fear. Wed honour to disgrace and pride to shame. Bring widowhood in youth, and friendless leave Unportioned orphanage in evil days, And change each quickened breath to sobs and sighs, And o'er all scenes of love and rapture cast ! The gloom of peril, hopelessness and want : That trails and languishes yet fears to end. Crowned with a volcan glory, came the fiend, i Trembling amid his triumph lest the wrath ■ Of fiercer retribution should pursue His victory, and o'er his deathless fate ' Hang with unutterable revenge that grasps j Eternities of misery, though he felt i Awful capacities, transcendant powers, ] Knowledge of good and evil past the scope Of all created minds, and strength of will Matched only by his restless agony. On — on he rushed, like that dread vision borne O'er Gilboa's midnight hills when shield and spear i Shiver'd and regal crown and sceptre rolled Down desolate ravines — resolved to bear All evil worst imagined with a soul i Of quenchless majesty, till o'er all space j Annihilation reigned by chaos' side. -! So, fanning the black gulf of flame amid - The horrible profound, his cloud-like wings .s Furled at the flaming footstool of his throne. THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 287 *' Triumph, Dominions !" loud the arch-daemon cried, His eyeballs flashing round ; " The Son of Heaven " Hath fallen as we fell ! Ye legions ? Lift " Your voices till the rifted concave shrieks, " For T have vanquished His peculiar work ! " We lost our birthright for Ambition's wreath " Of martyrdom, and for ourselves alone " We bleed and burn ; but these weak beings sought " Evil for evil's sake — knew not, forewarned, " That knowledge is the crown of destinies, " And thought not that one crime in them must breed " Myriads of myriads, and perpetuate " Misery and madness till unnumbered years " Have wafted hosts on hosts to one abyss " And earth no more can sepulchre the dead. " Who shall arraign the Tempter ? faith, untried, " May be but falsehood ; innocence becomes " Virtue but in victorious trial ; proved " In his proud conquest o'er deceit and guile, " Man had been worthy of his Maker's trust, " But, disobedient to well known commands, " He stands disrobed, unfolding what he is. " The Almighty held denial in his power " Of the permission to attest his work, " But used it not; he might have crowned the man " With perspicacity and strength beyond " The daring of the bravest ; but he left "His creature to the workings of his will, " The illusions of his uncontrolled desires, " Though oft premonished ; so, at once he fell " And^reaped the recompense, and where 's the guilt ? " Not mine, but his who saw yet boldly sinn'd ! " While Satan thus harangued his rebel band. Mounted in pyramids the lurid flames On the black mountains and the vales of hell, And loud the concentrated shouts went o'er The radiant battlements of heaven, where stood Seraph and cherub on their missioned charge. Scarce ceased the wild acclaim, ere swiftly rose Abaddon and down dropped his chains ; the blaze 28& ABADDON, i Of battle burst along his broad high brow, i Its thunder from his voice ; he stamped his foot, | And hell recoiled ; he turned his scorching eyes ' Upon the gathered fiends, and all fell back. Save Moloch, with a shudder felt through all ! The realm of darkness; but a withering smile i Quivered o'er Satan's dreadful countenance I To witness thus his victory ; his thoughts < Sprung on eternity's vast shadowy wings, And down the viewless future madly rushed, ■ With the uproar of ocean breaking through The crashing mountain barriers of the earth. ; Conquered and manacled, but unsubdued, | Despairing, yet devoted to his crime, ', He grasped at all fantastic shapes — all shades j Of stalwart phantoms, gaunt, and grim, and huge, ! And moulded them to giant foes of God. \ Though in his Titan heart the poison stirr'd, | Thrilled through each vein, and every iron nerve Convulsed, and mounted to his burning brain In boiling eddies, yet his scornful lip ; Still pressed the chalice of a vain revenge. He started from his vision as the fiend ■ Of Ruin, dark Abaddon, shook his plumes, Broad as the tempest's banner, on the air, ; And, roaring like the famished lion round ' The wastes of Tadmor or Ipsamboul, cried — \ " My time hath come ! no more in this black den \ " Of sloth, and desolation, and despair, ! " Slumbers the Spirit of Destruction ! Sin ! " Invokes her bridegroom Ruin ! Earth and Time j " Already shudder, conscious of my tread. ■ " We meet no more save on our embassies " Of woe and terror till our prince achieves , " His glutted vengeance; but in many a land '; " Ye shall be gods to nations, who shall fall '. " Before your shrines and sacrifice their blood \ " In rites the stars shall mark with pale affright, | "Mysteries and sorceries and magic charms, j " To win the endless torment of our hell ! l i I i THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTIOil. 289 " My spirit feels the knowledge — fallen man " Will dare beyond the damned — sink his soul " In vengeance and corruption — bare his arm " Against the heavens that bless him, and exceed, " Once taught, e'en my capacity of hate. " Therefore, exult ! exult ! and fare ye well !" He said ; and momently his pinions shook Their first quick curses o'er the quivering void ! The Spirit of Celestial Love, that stood Beside the throne of mercy, breathing bliss Through each ethereal bosom, inly felt By that mysterious mind, which guides all thought And unwilled feeling and directs all deeds, The flight of evil and the dgemon's power; And, silently commissioned by that mode Ineffable and yet well known in heaven, By which the electric will of Deity Pervades all spirits as light gleams through the eye, The Angel of Benevolence aTose And passed from peace and praise to wrath and hate, From perfect bliss to doubt and care and strife, From heaven's own glory to the gloom of earth. But great the guerdon and the final crown, A living and perpetual fount of joy. By human pride unsullied, by the lips Of guilt untouched, shrined in the unchanging skies. — Thou soul of music in a world of hate! Thou beautiful and holy spring of love And mildness by the bland and blessed voice Of martyrs and apostles gently called Charity, that hides unreckoned sins. O'er troubled earth thou breathest balmy peace. Hushing disquiet with a whisper heard Like greenwood hymns at eve ; and men, unawed By storm and earthquake, to thy soft low voice Listen like convicts to unhoped reprieve. Immortal love ! though generations glide In shadowy armies to the spirit-land, And kingdoms perish, and their glories fade 37 290 ABADDON, In fabled legends, and unlravelled seas Lament o'er buried cities, still thy youth, Thy brightness and thy beauty glow the same. In living hearts thine empire changes not, And from the vale of sepulchres thy smile Wafts spirits purified to glory's home ! — — Forth went the angel to his trial, meek In power, by soft allurements to o'ercome The savage wrath of men, and thwart the aim Of the remorseless fiend loosed on his prey. Time with the silent speed of light passed o'er Eden's poor wandering exiles, and the gush Of their first anguish and remorse and woe. Beneath the hallowed influence of love, Daily endearment and affections linked. And blended destinies and humbled thoughts, Faded to an endurance and a hope That breathed hke zephyr o'er them ; and they drew From nature and her eloquence of bloom, Hef moonlight music and her starry hymn. Her still green places of repose, her crowned And glorious mountains, where the bannered trees Against the sunset sky hke angels stood And waved the way to heaven — they daily dvew A blessing on their toil — a sacred charm For loneliness that fell not on the heart. Meek quiet filled with stilly dreams of days Unborn — and lifted up in thankfulness — And faith that linked them to immortal life With Him, the Christ, redeeming what he judged. So in each others' weal and in the love Of children smiling on a wondrous world, And, like the lonicera round the palm. Climbing about their bosoms while the flowers Of young mind perfumed all the enchanted air, They found their solace; and winged pleasure sung Around their rest, undreading future ill. Years brought their fruits and flocks, and Abel's voice Cheerily went up on morning airs, and swelled I 1 THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 291 In that sweet living melody of heart Pure thoughts inspire at hallowed eventide. His home was on the hills, his altar there ; His sceptre was his ciook, his soul his throne, Peace was his realm, his God was everywhere. Cain tilled ihe earth, a stern and wayward man, Cursing the curse of toil and barrenness, Though plenty clothed the hillside and the vale With golden beauty, and his generous herds Reposed, full banquetted, on broad green meads. He recked not of the gentleness of love, Calm virtue and submitted pride and thoughts Exalted o'er all evil, from the dross Of earth refined and fitted for their home. But great ambition panted for renown And monuments and temples and a fame Immortal as the skies that watched his soul. Tradition, uttered by the voice of grief, Had told the pomp of hierarchies throned And sceptred seraphim, and Cain's vain heart Burn'd for their princedoms and their potencies. So evil grew, and daily to his task He bore a darker spirit ; envy cast Midnight o'er happiness not left for him, And hatred tracked the shepherd to the hills. There are two altars on a lonely mount Since named the Throne of Elbours, mid the land Of Iran, clothing its dark brow in clouds, While thunder voices down each shattered gorge. Ravine of rocks and dreary shagged glen Mutter and moan, and in the fiery depth The dread volcano startles into wrath. Beside each shrine stand two majestic forms. Beautiful in early manhood, girt with strength As with a robe of steel, whose thousand chains Sleep 'neath the silken draperies and plumes And broidered cloth of gold of courtier pomp. Yet in their orisons and deeds unlike. 293 ABADDorr, Their thoughts and sacrifice, a spotless lamb Divided lay on Abel's shrine; the fruit Of earth, the haughty offering of a heart That bade the Deity accept the form Of worship, and give back the meed deserved, Fell from the hand of pride upon the w^ood Of Cain heaped on steep rocks in shapeless piles. The shepherd's prayer in stillness mounts to God, And fire descends and curls in lambent wreaths O'er faith's oblation and adoring love. But darkly broods the storm of heavenly wrath O'er the unholy sacrifice of guilt ; Naked before the eye of judgement stands, Benetted with hypocrisies and crimes. The fierce conspirator, whom evil thoughts Clothe as a garment ; and he turns aside From the heart-withering glance aghast with shame, Yet desecrated to revenge in blood. Lowered the flushed brow of Cain — his visage fell, And through the darkened avenues of sin The Fiend of Ruin to his bosom stole And stirred the livid flame: " Thy Maker scorns " Thee and thy service and he hath respect "Alone for slaves who prostrate do his will. " Thy vassal brother wins the praise of God " By austere life and a feigned awe of heaven, " While thou, the victim, though thou hast the power " Of victor, waitest on his sanctity, " And, with a forced repentance, standest by " To breathe the accepted incense of thy foe ! *' Earth, sea and hell cry vengeance — be avenged ! '' Cain listened and obeyed — his weapon fell — Death started from the gory ground and gazed With haggard horror on his father fiend. And fled, the trembling vanquisher ! All heaven In awful stillness heard the martyr's groan. The cherubim amid their worship paused, And even the viewless throne of God was veiled In sevenfold darkness ! — silence hushed her heart ! THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 298 Cursed with a deathless agony — the seal Of terror on his brow, the fire of death Coiling around his spirit, to man's scorn And desolation and despair marked out. Creating solitude where'er he comes, Shunned by the death he summoned from the sod, And left a breathing sepulchre amid The mirth of nuptials and the feast of birth, Departs the Fratricide ; and with him haste To the lone wilds of Elam, land of Nod, Belial and Moloch, grovelling chiefs of hell. Hast thou beheld the Persecutor gloat O'er banished virtue, outcast guiltlessness ? Hast thou beheld him following Want's slow tread To poison every little stream of life ? Oh, hast thou heard him whisper chill distrust And viper caution into friendship's ear. And seen the electric change — the altered eye, The hand withdrawn — the petrified repulse — While voiceless Innocence retired and wept? Hast thou seen hatred wear the guise of grace, And robe revenge in the fair garb of heaven 1 Before me rises the inquisitor. With meek hands folded on his breast — bowed head, And downcast eyes, and noiseless, gliding step, Proudly exulting in the awarded praise Of mild humility and zeal chastised By holy ruth that weeps the doom it speaks ; While rancour revels in his bigot heart. And chain and faggot — woe and lingering death Rejoice his spirit more than temple hymns. Thus to his spoil went forth the dreadful Fiend, (And he hath many a slave even now on earth) To gather in the harvest of his hate. Crime came to consummation when the sons Of heaven reviled the image of their King, Wedded idolatries and nameless rites, Debased their nature in the dust and sealed 294 ABADDOW, Lovebonds with the accursed race of Cain. Hence miscreations came — the"giant kings Of old, and mon'^ters, h'deons birth of sin, Piioenicia's Anakim — Titanic chiefs, Centaurs and Lapilhee, vampires and gnomes, Malign and elvish dwarfs whom dregs suffice, Save that they, serpent-like, will lick the dust — Briareus, Polyphemus and their peers. Nature's abhorrence and derision, sent To riot in all wrong and waste and woe. Bright, young and beautiful, the world o'erflowed With shame that hath no voice in better days, And mercy, wearied with perpetual guilt, Lifted her prayer no more, and justice cried "God's spirit shall not always strive with man!" The years of long forbearance slowly fled, The vision of the prophet from all eyes Vanished like sunrise vapors, and the words Of wisdom echoed like a dying voice In Sinai's wilderness ; no spirit bowed, No heart relented at the coming wrath. Revel that brought no joy, and shrill-voiced mirth Most melancholy poured their madness out, And lozels wantonn'd o'er the poisoned bowl, And blasphemy embraced the shape of death. Howling hoarse curses, and all forms of sin, All gross imaginations of desire. All vampyre appetites and goule-like lusts Trampled and triumphed o'er the laws of God. The pictured cloud conceals the wildest storm. The earthquake leaps from slumber into rage, And guilt, most safe, is nearest to despair. All bosoms had been gored by man's excess. And all thoughts coined and coffered up to pile The matchless monument of evil deeds. Poesy, the bride of Beauty^and the child Of Purity, immortal in the skies, Soiled by the atheist and the ribald, lost THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 295 The brightness of her birthright, the blest charm Of her ecstatic being that hung round Her sylphic form in rainbow robes of light, And fell before the altar of the Fiend. Struck by the pestilence that roamed each track Of daily life, the Good in forests dim Or Al-Gezira's loneliest caverns dwelt. Pale famished anchorets, and hoary hairs Waved in the winter-winds of Oman's Sea. These few ; the undreaded Future's destinies Rival not present policy — the scope Of proud example, and expediency, That sullies more than less occult offence. Hoar heads alone rever'd celestial laws ; Exuberant youth, in confidence of time, Held the late banquet, seeking pleasure's meed Among the bowers of pain ; and Jubal's lyre, Hung on the willow, harped in desert winds. To crown the cup of vengeance and to bar All hope forever, sons of Belial poured On Noah's heart the gall of base report And pointed at him with a scoff and jeer. And drove him from their dwellings with reproach. Then came the herald of the heavens and closed, "With awful words, the prophet's mission there ; And, hovering o'er his victims in the pride Of power, Abaddon listened to the roar Of coming Ruin as the war-steed drinks At mourn the music of the noon-tide strife. Lingering like hopeless love around the form Of its young worship, slowly on the verge Of the blue firmament a bannered cloud O'er Taurus rose and rested in the air. Upon its folds deep darkness hung and oft Quick shooting gleams of lurid fire withdrew. For momentary glances of mad fear, The vast dark curtain of God's mysteries. Then up 't was lifted o'er the lovely vault Broader and blacker, and the thunder's voice 296 ABADDOfT, O'er Caucasus and Shinar's evil realm RushocI, like the archangel's trumpet blast of doom, Crying " Repent while judgement waits your prayers !" But silence answered, and ascended higher The tempest in tremendous masses swept Like dust before the samiel. On the peak, The utmost pinnacle of those vast clouds. Grasping the arrowy bolts that round his brows Hung like a crown, and glaring down on earth With eyes of basilisk that drank the blood, The Appearance of a giant shape appeared; And, as the priest and prophet sadly paused To gaze and weep, he raised his swimming eyes To watch the moment when the door must close And hope expire ; and, like a swirling bark In Norway's Maelstrom, sank his awe-struck heart — For he beheld Abaddon, calling up All wandering vapours from the shoreless Deep, Guiding the hurricane and hurrying on The dread reluctant Ruin, and he heard The laugh of hell beneath the stars of heaven. Up to the zenith heaved the o'erfraught clouds And hung — then fell, dread billows of the sky — Upon the far horizon. Through the depths Of the tumultuous welkin flew the flames Like fiery scorpions ; east to west replied ; Pole shrieked to pole ; the brazen atmosphere Grew ghastly mid conflicting lights and shades, And quivered till the eyeballs blurred and reeled. And peril and dismay and fainting fear And terror and confusion and despair Entered, like siegers furious for the spoil, The abodes of the deserted, while the floods Fell, like Araxes from Armenian hills. Or thousand torrents from Cordillera's brow, Down — down upon the drenched and gasping earth. The apostates at their feast in songs obscene Mocked Noah and his storm-ship, shouting " Lo ! " The madness of the hypocrite ! his beams THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. - 297 " Of gopher to the cruel seas will tell " A tale of wreck, and all his crowded beasts " Will roar the lawless ocean into peace. " Fill round and drink for wisdom— the red wine " Mantles with pure philosophy— old Caiw " Commends its cheering in the chilly night !" So talked the infidels ; but morn replied ! They slept the sleep of wassail ; but, ere stars Faded behind the universe of clouds. All woke in the wild terror of the Bad. The solid battling skies poured deluge down, Tj^phon poured out earth's dirge from heavens of wrath, The forests shook and heaved and tossed and creaked, The waters through their dwellings dashed and moaned, The herds sent up a piteous cry — the ftocks Were hurried o'er the illimitable waste Of countless torents and the desert beasts Mingled their yells with the last wail of men. Day broke and in the grey and quivering gloom. The dull, cold twilight of the cheerless morn, All eyes beheld on waters bubbling up From every fountain of the yawning earth. And pouring from each livid mass above, The Cypress Ark, the home of truth and love, The just man's sanctuary; and with shrieks, And supplications and despairing tears, Ten thousand voices blended in one prayer — " Receive us ! save us from devouring deeps ! "Receive us! save us from the tempest's rage ! " Receive us ! save us from the wrath of God !" But on o'er surging seas and broken waves Floated the Ark— the eternal door was shut. The shuddering waters gathered, and the cries Of utter, hopeless, helpless agony Rose o'er the crash and howl of elements Convulsed and quivering in each other's wrath. Vain were uplifted arms and faces wiought 38 298 ABADDON, To anguish; vain, the hoarse and strangled voice "j Of sinking feebleness ; and vain the shrieks Of beauty, erst the wonder and delight j Of human passion, while the torents swelled, And quick through shattered billows glanced pale brows. Closed eyes and raven hair, amid the foam,, ; Like countless apparitions round the couch j Of fever, hovering for a moment's lapse, Then vanishing far down the unfathomed Deep. Down came the Deluge. Kumars lonely vate Beneath far stretching Caucasus no more Glowed in its beauty like a virgin bride \ Unclosing the barr'd vizor of her lord. i The bright and glorious hills above the flood Looked forth and vanished, while the victims clwng j To the drown'd cliffs and topmost trees and gasped j Their last quenched shriek for succour ; every pulse \ Ceased in the turbid waters — every head j Sank on its cold, dark pillow — all was still I ] One moment's struggle — and the silence fell ; ] One awful pang — and Death swept o'er the sea I And found no sacrifice ! Then hoary Cain, ■ Whom multitude of years, baptized in guilt. And branded with impieties, had brought To this dread expiation, 'mid his sons, ' ' His nation of idolaters, o'erwhelmed ; By the resistless billows, proudly fell i In sullen haughty silence and cold scorn ' And unrepentant pride ; and his last breath 1 Quivered with voiceless curses as he swirled i Along the surf and vanished in the gulf. ! i Then with a music like the battle dirge I From midnight mountains sent in waves of sound O'er forest and dark dell and starless vale, Abaddon whiiT'd along the dreadful waste. Loud cried he in his glory : " Triumph yet ! i " Sin loves her bridegroom Ruin ! loyal Death : "Obeys his monarch and the world is mine !" THE SPIRIT OF DKSTRUCTIOIf. 399 Creation groaned ; the universe throughout Infinity with sudden terror quaked, Then came a Voice : " Thou dost what God permits, " Apostate, reprobated slave of crime ! '* The author, punisher and victim too " Of recusant and unforgiven guilt ! "Vaunt not, with fond ovation, evil done *' By heaven's allowance, lest thy doom should be " To invent fresh torture for thy fellow fiends !" The Deemon quailed; yet soon above the Ark Hovered on giant pinions, looking down With vulture eyes unsated by despair. The mountains trembled in the vast abyss. The Hazaldera to their centre shook, Hyrcania's sea forgot its ancient bounds, Wandering o'er precipice and wood and wild. And ocean's viewless monsters o'er their tops And in their awful caverns rolled their vast Unwieldy forms and played their giant game. Meantime, the floating temple wandered on ; And in the bosom of the house of God Rested the child of heaven ; and praise and prayer, Chastened affection, gentle gratitude, Serene devotedness and fearless trust Worshipped in every pure though saddened heart. Peace as in Paradise reigned sole ; the asp And viper coiled beside the infant's couch, Lion and elephant and cougar fed With lamb, gazelle and antelope ; the breath Of wolverines and leopards stirr'd the fur Of slumbering creatures once their hate and spoil. For there the Angel of Celestial Love Abode as afterward above the seat Of mercy and between the cherubim. To commune with the spirit that had dared The scorner's blasphemy, the earth-fiend's assault, The hatred and contempt of men, and soared Beyond the scope of evil — and to teach His faith by prophecies of future good, i 300 ABADDON, And glory and dominion ; how that vice Should minister to virtue and guilt change Its nature and be fashioned into good, And all conspiracies of men and fiends But consummate the last great praise of heaven. So counsell'd and consoled, when hung the Ark On Ararat, and no more the dove came back, Forth went the Patriarch to his own wide world. When the clear rivers had resumed their banks. And vivid verdure gladdened o'er the plain, And every tenant of the storm-ship, robed Again in its peculiar nature, had gone forth To breathe the living air of mountain haunts And graze upon the vale of fountains bright With moon and sunlight and the stars' soft smiles. The rainbow revelation of the skies O'er wood and mountain glowed with hues of heaven, And on the altar of man's sacrifice Appeared the missioned Angel ; " Never more, " Saith God, shall Deluge drown the earth ; no more, " Till Time expires, shall dewy seedtime fail " Or cheerful harvest; cold and heat shall track "Each other's footsteps in the round of years, " And birth and death to nations shall succeed " As nature dictates." Upward soared the voice. Revered in reverend age, for all his deeds Were chronicled in Honour's living scroll And with remembrances most sacred charged — Beloved in his last hour — the deeper then — For countless hearts had garnered up his thoughts, His counsels, his examples, faith and love — The Patriarch (by the sage of thousand years Named Noah, consolation for the curse) Summoned around his deathbed from afar, Cathay, fair Al-Gczira and the isles Since titled of the Gentiles, and the shores Of Oman's sea and the broad realms that clasp Those waters trusted in all times with wealth .J THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 301 Of argosies and galleons and triremes, Laden by Egypt, Sidon, Tyre and Moors Of Afric and proud lords of Christendom— These called he — sons yet chiefs and kings — Before his presence ere the soul grew dim, Pour'd in their waiting minds dread prophecies, And histories of mutable though prospered life, And then gave up to his Preserver God His spirit, tried and purified by time. In latter ages he, who wanders down Euphrates' banks, may see pomades stand Beside an ivied moss-grown monument Mid ancient woods, and hear the watchers say " Behold Dair Abunah — the temple-tomb " Of him who saw the world expire and lived." Once more the earth was peopled, and the land Portioned among the children of the just. The branching olive in the valley grew. The vintage on the hillside blushed, and grain Waved its green glories o'er rejoicing fields. But men forgot their blessings and despised Their birthright, and the standard of their king Deserted in the faithlessness of sin, Deeming their own vain workmanship could build Castles impregnable, towers proudly crown'd By the blue heavens, secure from future wreck. Thus tempted he, Abaudon, for he knew That doubt brings terror — fear of boundless power Avoidance of communion and concern And final hate ; and to this scope he swayed The fickle mind of youth, with dread of ill Blending sublime and thrilling phantasies Of honour, greatness, affluence, and fame. Hence rose corrupt condemners — judges throned In bought authority and base insolence, Accusers, yet dispensers of men's doom. Hence tyrants rose, who trampled on quick hearts, And drank the shrieks and agonies of earth. Hence envy sprung, arir.ed at its birth with stings 302 AnADDoy, Of scorpions, and revenge from midnight gloom Leapt on its victim with uphfted hand. But craftsmen skill'd Uke Sinon in old time, Who offered ruin upon Ilium's shrine, Or Clazomenian A'rtemon, who wrought The fierce balista, or Daedalus fam'd, Rival not wisely Him, whose moment's thought Created myriad systems, stars and sung. Each artizan on Babel sudden heard Mysterious voices from familiar lips, Unknown behests from architects wellknown. And each misdeemed the other mad or seized With fiend possession. Anger, wrath, distrust Threw gloom on every stricken countenance. And sundered the assemblage and dispersed O'er undiscovered realms and regions wild. Forest and seashore, mountain, dale, and plain, Proud men and builders vain, who left behind The monument of folly to proclaim The nothingness of man's magnificence. In earlier years, unvisited as yet. Though fraught with many evils, by the rage Of worst assassins, in my solitude I sung the vengeance and the recompense Of guilt that wrecked the Cities of the Plain ; And, earlier still, the triumph on the waste Of Israel o'er the banded host and pride Of Egypt long renowned for arts and arms. And now, thou beautiful imperson'd Thought ! Queen of the blest Camoen?e ! Dweller lone On promentories high, by pebbly spring, Clear as thy soul and mirror'd like thy heart, Here stay thy flight ; thou canst not follow death Through all its triumphs in all time, nor paint The Daemon as he swiftly sweeps the world. Rushing from woe to woe, and bearing high His carnage front, crown'd with its wreath of flame. But thou canst picture such disastrous deeds As leave their deadliest wounds in life, and so THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTfOrr. 803 Offer upon thy country's shrine thy lay. Guide now my flying song through awful scenes That darken the soul's sunlight, and let not Thy deep moralities and lessons stern Be wanting to instruct the soul of man That wisdom dwells with cloistered gentleness, And greatness with a conquest o'er desire, And fame with justice and with duty, peace! Remorseless avarice and serpent guile ; The ravine and the rapine of men loos'd By legal sanction on each other's weal ; Accursed usury and trade that seared The generous spirit of benignant youth ; Feud, faction, rivalry in court and camp, In nuptial pomp and guady obsequies, And daily intercourse; pale jealousy, Blighting the mildewed heart and forging wrongs To consummate suspicion ; envy, hate. Howling defiance or disguised to kill ; All desolating slander, whispered out In night assemblies, and ere noontide hurled O'er the wide town to feast upon the slain ; These and unnumbered terrors more were born When cities rose and thronged societies Drave sleeping passion into ruthless war, Nor Sheikh nor Ephori nor Archon throned In Areopagus, nor Consul stern In curule chair, nor chief nor king nor czar, Could ever crush the giant crimes of men, Or hold, when maddened by indignities. Their bandit natures subject to his law. All codes and pandects and enactments framed By skill'd and titled senates cannot bind Man to his fellow's weal, nor countermine The quick evasions of a mind resolved To build on human heads its dome of gold. Custom creates desire, and want uplifts Its voice and yearns for common vanities ; 304 ABADDOxV, And folly, iDinisler to pride, hath had Its bribe in every age and clime and heart ; And interest coins new gold from sack and spoil To bear the gorgeous pageant bravely on. So luxury dissolves the strength of men, And poverty degrades the eagle thought ; And faith deserts all commerce and all speech. Then tyrants trample ; but the same dark fiend, That covered them with purple, yet hath slaves More terrible than this ; and rebels crouch Around the throne to cleave one despot's brain, And seat another on their vassal necks. Thus doubt, intrigue, cabal and mutual hate. The monstrous birth and bane of social life, Bear retribution to the lips of all. All history is but a scroll of blood, The record of destruction and despair ; The life of man hath parted from each sod Where spreads a kingdom, and the voice of woe Uttered its waitings round triumphal cars, And purple pomp and unrestricted power. Since first the astonished sun beheld the sin And shuddering horror of Earth's fallen sire, Ixion's wheel, the rock of Sisyphus, The Danaides' hopeless, endless toil, But image to our wiser sense of fate The misery and the madness that have crowned Lust and ambition since the cherub's sword Gleamed o'er the closed gate of lost paradise. Lo ! glorious Babylon — the gorgeous queen. The lady of earth's kingdom ! beauty, strength, Dominion, glory, and magnificence Gleamed in her diadem, and nations quailed Before the rushing squadrons of her kings. Towers, castles, palaces and guarded walls, That shadowed the sheen dayspring; — colonnades, Whose porphyry pillars glowed with crowns of gems, THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION, 305 And glittering marts of merchant princes meet To purchase monarchies ; — and temples wreathed With gold and diamonds, through rosy airs Soaring to heaven; — and from vast terraces Gardens, like Eden's in its hours of bliss, Gemm'd with the matchless flowers of all the east, And shaded by the cedar, laurel, palm And grovelike banyan, hanging from the walls — All these defended and adorned her pride, Her boasted immortality of power. And captive monarchs laid their sceptres down Beneath her footstool, while her king of kings, Nabocolasser deigned to bid them serve. Girded by battlements that mocked assault, And beautified by every art of man, Her bands invincible o'erspread the earth. And garnered up in her proud palaces The majesty and pomp of prostrate thrones. But strength, on odours pillowed, faints and dies, And glory brooks not love's voluptuous ease. Fame sculptures its own throne and monument, O'er perishable existencies and things Doomed to decay it pours its deathless soul, And in the realms of thought forever reigns. But from the hidden urns of gold and gems The spirit of magnificence enshrined In darkness, from temptation's weak research, The destined king, whom vice emasculates, Bears to his banquet poison and despair ! Nimrod and Ninus and Semiramis Gazed from the icy pinnacle sublime Of restless action and unslumbering toil On broken dynasties and conquered crowns With wine and courtezans and sycophants Belshazzar revell'd till the spectre hand Wrote ruin on the radiant tapestries, And ivory pillars of his banquet hall, And Mede and Persian up Euphrates' bed Rushed to the throne that held no more a king. 39 300 ABADDOJr, The solitary Syrian pilgrim roams Through Hellah's dismal hamlet and discerns, He deems, from hot and drifted sand exhumed, Relics of Babylon — yet doubts his quest, And searches more intently, while the wind Moans o'er the desert with a broken voice. And bats and bitterns hover, and the fox Springs from his burrow, and the jackal's scream Haunts the lone air throughout the livelong night. This is ambition's triumph ! this the crown And consummation of earth's monarchies! Myriads have toiled their threescore years, and bled, And swallowed loathingly their galley food, And died, the slaves of myrmidons, for this ! Childless Chaldea ! realms of sorceries. And worldly wisdom and enchantment! queen Of all that charms man's nature and inflames His fatal hopes — pale dust to dust gone down — Thy sole memorial but a word — a name ! The pale pure pearl in summer daylight smiles. But diamonds, gained by blood, alone shoot forth Their radiance when the chandeliers disperse Wavering darkness and the shapes it broods. Thus joy and fame, possessed by others' good. Shed their blest beauty o'er our brief sojourn, While fierce ambition's earthquake ravages Leave empires blackened by a nation's gore. And glooming 'neath the volcan blaze of war. Stand thou upon the holy hill of truth, And mark below the struggles and the wrath. The dreadful patience of death's artizans. Behold the monarch trembling with the fear Of viewless treason, troubled and unblest. While envy gazes from afar and sighs. See magi erring — and enchanters lost In their own labyrinths of fraud revered. The wanderings of the wisest and the fall Of bravest combatants behold! and send Thy spirit on the winds o'er every clime THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION. 307 To weep the ruin of earth's holiest hopes; To weep that folly ministers to woe, That weakness reigns with wisdom, and the blood Of centuries but buys a gilded tomb ! Then what avails the voice of old renown ? The masques and riotings and glories past ? liived Phalaris the merciless ? there are, Who doom deserving to the dungeon now, And chain high merit to the felon's wheel. Did Thais, frantic o'er the maddening bowl, Tempt him of Macedon to stain his name And in the torrent flame of Persia's throne Persepolis consume his memory ? Our Fathers — faith's poor exiles, fed By Red IVTen's charity, and warmed to life By their devotion to unfriended want. Went forth from unbought refuges and fired The dwellings of the monarchs of the land ; And from that midnight slaughter all, who dared The wreathing flames, fell by the sword or ball. Did the bold Granicus back to its fount In Ida bear the shrieks of dire defeat. And Issus and Arbela wail aloud O'er satraps, princes and Darius slain ? Europe through all her coasts with terror saw Destruction sweep o'er Austerlitz, and crush Hispania 'neath his iron foot, and hurl Embattled nations to the doom knell'd out By the vast Kremlin's Tocsin when his host Drank the deep cup of vengeance to the dregs. She saw the man of destiny dethrone, Demolish and confound the crowns of kings. While on his banner-bearers in the the van Of desolation hurried, leaving slaves To bury their dead conquerors — or die. Drave Shalmaneser from Samaria sacked And pastoral Naplousa's mountain land The countless hosts of conquered Israel To bondage, martyrdom — and buried all 308 ABADDON, Beneath the mysteries of viewless fate ? Careered Sesoslris in chariots drawn By kings made vassals o'er the famished realms Where erst they reigned in Plenty, Power and Peace ? Who hath not wept o'er Poland's utter spoil And Kosciusko like a star cast down ? His country mangled, riven, with bleeding limbs, Hurled into Hinnom, darkened and devoured By boyars, starosts, — ruffian hordes of chiefs — Banished and banned, her patriot spirits robbed Of home and hope — her throne in ruins laid — And tyrants trampling in her temples armed ! Through ranks of victims crucified and racked Stalked fierce Volesus and his spirit glowed With demon gladness and a murderer's pride ? See Marat on the Greve ! or hear (and quail) The dying prayers of Glencoe, and the shrieks Of Saint Bartholomew — the feast of God, The holy eve of heaven ! and yet again Sicilia's Vespers and the torch of Fawkes Mark and compare ! be still and weep thy heart ! What hath been is and will be. Seasons change Their advent and departure ; empires fade And fall like autumn leaves ; and manners take New effigies, and customs like the moon Wex, glow and wane; and e'en the steadfast earth Unfolds fresh aspects both of land and wave ; But man and man's strange nature never change. The mutability of brief frail life. The woes that weave their poison in the threads Of being, and the vanity that sinks In loathing sickness o'er accomplished fame — • All utter counsel vainly — madly on Borne by the whirlwind of o'erwening pride, He pauses not — he breathes not in repose Till the grave buries pomp and great renown, And desert winds o'er dreadful solitudes Utter their voices — chanters for the Dead ! What can avail magnificence and might, THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTIOIV. 309 Dominion bounded by the ocean's surge, And fame, whose herald was stupendous fear ? Search Memphian pyramids and mete by hne Gigantic obelisks ; tread o'er the ground Where stood Diana's temple, dashed to earth In blackened masses on the fated night That shuddered o'er the birth, in Macedon, Of the world's scourge and curse ; or print thy foot Among the ashes of Moriah's mount, And paint in burning hues its day of doom ; Dare the simoom and let thy voice be heard In Tadmor's awful solitudes, or turn And mourn dismayed in Balbeck's domes of death ; Toll yet again the thunder knell of Rome And proud Athena, and let Egypt hear And echo back thine eloquence of thought ! And what shall this avail thee, if thou drink No loftier inspiration from the scene Than wonder and amaze and vain romance ? But if thou wilt be wise and choose thy good, The large revealment is before thee here. Ruins of glory teach thee meek content, Beatitude that offers silent praise. And still content, the best religion, — love, Untrembling confidence in Him who holds The universe in scales, and faith prepared To mingle with its Fountain at all hours. Destruction hath not slept since fell his chains In deep Gehenna at the fall of man ; But better minds, on high pursuits intent, Create and fashion fortune to their will. The outward ill may torture, and the strife Of the heart's foes may bow the spirit down, But over all they reign at last, and bring From the world's wreck and their own sorrows food To nourish christian meekness for the skies. Receive the legacy of buried years ! The thoughts sublime of high philosophy. The thrilling music of great intellects. It argues but a helot soul to pore _-J 310 ABADDON, O'er mouldering instruments of havoc — lance, Bowstring and javelin and catapult ; Or paynim rituals by Menes framed, Solen or Numa — fittest offered up 'To sculptured deities and pictured Gods. Holier than sage sanhedrim soared the thoughts Of Plato on their glorious way, and earth Grew lovelier than love's bright imagings Beneath the starry splendour of his soul. The lion-hearted son of Arcady, Diagoras hath shined his memory too Deep in the stainless fountain of all truth ; For with the wanton creed and faith obscene And faithless deeds of Jove's mad worshippers He held no commune, but with martyr voice Bade Venus bind her zone and veil her brow, And Pallas cast away her segis and no more Gorge her beaked eagle with the blood of men. The maniac son of Semele he bade Forego his thyrsus, and no longer fill The madden'd brain with fierce licentious thoughts. Thus in the council of his country's gods He stood — like Austin by Andraste's shrine On Stonehenge, girdled by the Druid band, — And with a dauntless eloquence portrayed Their hideous idols, whom their bigots mocked. Banished, proscribed and with anathemas Burdened, alone into the desert passed The stern philosopher from bondage free. And Socrates hath left his legacy, The immortal science of a heart resolved To ratify its greatness in the hour Of doom, and o'er the shrinking dread of death Mount like Elijah to the heaven he saw. Lo ! what a hallowed beauty and a gush Of soft seraphic beings float around, When in the music of an cider day The Samian sage Pythagoras reveals The inner brightness of his spirit throned ! These in a gross and grovelling time gleamed out . A THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION, 311 i As miracles of omen ! and they stood \ Untrembling at the tyrant's judgement seat \ And heard, like Gahleo from the hps ] Of Bellarmine, the fiat undismayed. ] Like them, devoted scholar ! treasure up \ The oracles of nature and be wise. Look not on any faith with hate or scorn, \ For who hath throned thee in the place of God? j Papist or Huguenot — Conde or Guise — Christian or Osmanlee or Brahma's chief — Guelph or Gibbeline — theist or priest — Their creeds revered call not thee arbiter ! \ It can avail thee nought to sear the heart i Of blest humanity and brand the brow | Of intellect with evil thoughts of men, And hoard in the bright mansion of young mind 1 Harsh sentences and judgements to corrode The fair work of the Deity, whose love i Pervades alike all nature and all hearts. \ Rejoice that thou art free to feel and think ] And utter without fear ; that human judge ! No more hath power to chain thee in the flame, Or on the rack or sachentege. Beware \ That while, with ashes on thy head, thou sitst j In penitence, those ashes from the fires "l Of vanity and pride fall not to sear \ The soul that should be purified by love ! , I Turn, Spirit of my song ! and gaze with grief ; Once more on death that in the noontide comes ! Methinks, in crowded solitudes I stand, ; At nightfall, by the serai's darkening walls, i In beautiful Byzantium, laved by seas \ Of old renown, the Euxine, Hellespont, i And fair Propontis ; and the turban'd crowd, \ With ataghan and scymifar, pass on 1 With hastened steps that fear yet will not shun i The dreadful pestilence that sweeps along. The distant lights of Pera, one by one. ABADDON, 312 Shoot forth, and the sweet voice of love's guitar Comes on the fragrant yet deathladen air With a heartstirring influence and charm That melts into the mind like childhood's smiles. Below me lies a weltering trunk, and yon The headsman sheathes his kinskal to relight His quenched chibouque, and drops into the dust The hoar head of the Hospodar. Along The colonnades move slow the Soldan's guards Silent and waiting death they dare not fear. The wan moon o'er the Bosphorus ascends With sicklied lustre, and her mournful smiles Rest on the countless monuments that throng Byzantium's land of burial; and methinks The solemn cypress trees do moan the dirge Of all the morning sun shall see entombed. In stillness flies the pestilence ; aud prince And slave lie writhing for an awful hour. And perish ; and the merchant's crowded mart Of loveliness from fair Circassia's vale Will open on the morrow to convey Beauty unto her bridal in the tomb. Life's breath is here extinction : moments grasp A thousand destinies ; and funerals glide Like evening shadows by, as thick and fast; And up the ladder of the dead methinks I see the votaries of Islam pass, In silent shadowy multitudes, to lay The idols of the heart's worship where no more Bereavement and lone widowhood of hope Pour earth's deep night o'er visions of the blest. Woe sits in every threshold ; and the hour Of prayer, by struck muezzin call'd in vain. Passes without a voice ascending up. O night and pestilence ! and'doubt and death ! How terribly distinct the heart-pulse throbs. That soon may cease ! as through the quivering gloom, The quickened vision glances on the shade Of fierce ABADD0^'s form that hurries by! THE SPIRIT OF DESTRUCTION^ 313 — Anark and Rioter in myriad woes ! The fierce orgasms of maddened agony Have been to thee electric ecstacy, Demoniac rapture — since the smile of God Was clouded by despair that weds with crime. Before thee sink the Beautiful — the Bard, Wasted in youth and in his flower age seared By the world's samiel and his own quick thoughts ! The hero on the bosom of renown ! The suneyed child whose being is a bliss ! The virgin in her loveliness — the son Of many hopes and dreams sublime of love, When the first dawnings of his fame gleam'd out ! The mightiest armies of the dead rise not From gory battlefield or lava seas, Drowning still cities in deep floods of fire, Or earthquakes yawning to profoundest depths. Or tempest, or crusade, or ghastly plague. Deeper than the rent banners of the slain Was steeped the soul of Caesar in men's blood i And Attila from Chalons' streaming plain, Heaped with its hecatombs of victims, fled Before Theodric with a heart afloat In gore of Hun and Goth. Judea's soil Grew rank in richness o'er the sacrifice Chivalric monarchs, led by bigot wrath. Offered to Saladin and the Sepulchre. Lo ! awful Victory o'er seas of blood Waving her standard, while the world contends On Zama, Cannae, Waterloo, made rich By human hearts forever pierced in vain ! But Persecution hath a wider range. An ampler spoil than these ; lo ! from the roll Of Record starts the pallid student up And cries—" Thou prince of justice and of peace ! •' Wolves ravin in thy fold, and mercy shrieks " In vain for succour while the guiltless die ! '* Familiar and inquisitor and doom ! " Apostle, prophet, martyr — child and eld ! " Freedom and shackles and the. axe uPraised 40 314 ABADDOiN. " Red with the hfe of Hampden, Sydney, More ! " Tyrants and parricides and length of years, " Ismael, Aurung-Zebe and Tamerlane ! •' Oh, the soul sickens o'er the scroll of fame, " The just man's wrongs, the widow's unseen tears, " The orphan's helpless woes, the tyrant's power, " The pride of Mammon, and the painted brow " Of hypocrites exulting o'er their prey. " God of the guiltless ! in Peru's dark mines " Her kings dig gold for murderers ! and see " Assassins goading to the Oregon " The ancient sovereigns of our plundered realm 1" Thus deems the nobler mind, intent to delve For knowledge and yet shuddering o'er its toil. Thus vanish generations down the gulf That opens to Eternity, and thus The Fiend of Ruin wastes a dreaming world. But there shall come an hour when truth shall stand Upon the mountain and declare to earth Her seraph oracles ; when Love shall thrill Each bosom wedded to the world's wide joy, And image in the fountain of the soul The universal bliss ; when Faith shall roam On lovelier meads and hills with glory clothed, O'er whose bright summits rainboWs rest in heaven, And over the charmed universe of thought Pour its pure radiance from the shrine of God. Then, cries the Vision of the banished saint. In deep Gehenna's darkest depth again Shall writhe in adamantine manacles The Spirit of Destruction, and no more ' Vainly appeal pale Famine's hollow eye. Or broken voice of burning Pestilence, Or unheard groans of battle raging on. But dove-eyed Peace shall float on snowy wings O'er nations banded in each other's love. And the free souls of Heaven's blest children flovr In light and love o'er earth and rest in God ! J TO ISOLINA. To be wroth with those we love 1 Doth work like madness in the brain. Coleridge. i Oh ! must it be so 1 Must thine image be, Through the long lapse of all my future years, j A madness and a mockery to me, I That glows amid my heart's corroding tears? \ Must we in anger part — forever part, { Without one solace for the bleeding heart ? i I loved thee, maiden ! — 't is no shame to own — | Deeply as loves the heart-sear'd hermit saint, | The highest, purest star that gleams alone j In the blue depths of heaven, which none may paint; I loved thee as the bulbul loves the flower, \ That blooms and breathes and withers in an hour. \ E'en now I turn, and o'er the waste of years, I A broken spirit and a bruised heart, trace ] The charm, the magic of thy smiles and tears, \ The heaven that met me in thy soft, sweet face ; ] And still to thee my crushed affections rise \ Like holiest incense o'er the evening skies. . When first we met and looked, and loved, the past : With all its perils vanished from my brain ; I Thy form was like the Peri of the waste | Whose smile is heaven in a world of pain — ■ \ Alas ! 't was but the radiance of a dream That left me woe in its departing gleam. JIU TO ISOLINA. Thy blessing was the Wight of Hfe's best hours; Thy soft embrace the serpent's deadly wreath ; Tliy kiss, a poison hid in heavenly flowers, Thy look breathed madness and thy voice spake death. How couldst thou rend the heart thou wouldst not kill ? Why bid me part — yet kiss and linger still? Why fold thy snowy arms around a heart Thy quick unkindness fiU'd with utter woe? Why to my soul elysian bliss impart, Life's lingering anguish only to bestow ? Why bid me hope — to feel the last despair ? Point me to heaven — when hell alone was there ? O Isolina ! thou wert made as fair As Azrael, ere the withering bolt was hurled, That pierc'd the seraph with a fiend's despair. And drave him — dark destroyer, o'er the world Thou wert as lovely as that eastern flower, Who touches, droops, and dies within an hour. I deemed thee all the poet loves to paint — Full of young lovehness and virgin love. In soul an angel and in heart a saint, Earth's fair inhabitant, but born above ; I may not think — I dare not tell thee now What my heart murmurs o'er thy broken vow. Hadst thou been all my trusting heart believ'd thee, I had not loved as I do hate thee now ; Oh ! hadst thou never in thy pride deceived me, I had not blessed as I do curse the vow My willing homage to the syren paid. Who heard and smiled — who listened and betrayed. Farewell ! the voice of all confiding Truth No more salutes me on my wandering way; Farewell ! the morning glory of my youth Already darkens in Earth's troubled day ; Farewell ! I loved thee as a dream of heaven — Dissolved in darkness at the moment given. TO ISOLINA. 317 We part — not as we met in other hours, Radiant with love and rapture's magic glow, But blighted — broken — and our passion's powers Linked in a living web of fear and woe ! Alas ! the erring of my own heart throws Its thoughts o'er thee ! — blest be thy calm repose I Sleep, Isolina ! and bright dreams be thine Of triumph o'er a heart that throbbed and bled Alone for thee, with passion too divine To doubt — till love and every hope had fled ; On the dark wreck enjoy thy placid sleep, And mayst thou never — never wake to weep ! Once more, farewell ! my barque is on the main, My native land is o'er the stormy sea ; I cannot tear from out my heart and brain One thought to leave behind — save agony ! Farewell ! may Memory in thy soul expire. And Hope attend thee with her golden lyre. O Thou ! the present and the Past, The Future, the Eternal Lord ! Whose every breath can bless or blast, Teach me the council of Thy Word ! While friends forsake, and foes oppress, And Time is veil'd in storms of gloom, Teach me that one great happiness That lives beyond the mouldering tomb ! My errors, faults and sins forgive ! Lighten my path and cheer my heart ! In Thee, to Thee I only live — Thou the Supreme and Righteous art ! THE LAY OF THE COLONIST. On the rude threshold of his woodland cot, When the sun turned the western sky to gold, Wrapt in dark musings on his wayward lot. And joys long past that o'er his spirit rolled. Stern in his faith, though sorrow marked his mein, The exile stood — the genius of the scene ! Unbounded, solitary, dark and deep. The mountain forests lowered around and threw Their solemn shadows o'er the craggy steep, Where human foot had never brushed the dew ; And through the tangled maze of wildwoods run Streams, whose swift waves ne'er glittered in the sun. O'er the vast sea of this green solitude No wreathing smoke from distant cottage rose ; No wellknown voice came singing through the wood- No form beloved tracked o'er the winter snows, Or sunny summer hillside, glad to seek And find a friend to cheer him once a- week. Unbroken there was life's lone sleep, save when The moose or panther yelled along his way, Or the wolf prowled and ravined through the glen, Or, high in air, the eagle screamed for prey ; The Indian's arrow had a noiseless flight. More dark and deadly than a monarch's might. Oft lonely barrows on the woody plain Alone revealed that mortal things had been ; That here red warriors, in their slaughter slain, Reposed in glory on the conquering scene Of their high valour ; and their fated fame Hath left them not on earth a record — or a name. THE LAV OF THE COLONIST. 319 But soon the whirring arrow, stained with blood, Gave fearful warning vengeance slept not here — That he, who threaded thus the mazy wood. And slew faroffthe wild and timorous deer. Had darts within his quiver stored to bear Death to the white man through the silent air. Mid the dense gloom of nature's forest-woof The exile stood, who erst in pomp abode ; Rude was the cottage, with its leaf-thatched roof, Where dwelt the Puritan — alone with God ; — There terror oft through nights of cold unrest Counted the pulse of many a trembling breast. In the vast wilderness, afar removed From scenes more blest than happy hearts can tell, Torn from the bosoms of the friends he loved Too fervently to bid a last farewell ; Here, at the hour when hearts breathe far away Their music — thus the Exile poured his lay : — " Mysterious are thy ways. Almighty One J And dark the shades that veil thy throne of light. But still to thee we bow — thy will be done — For human pride leaves erring man in night ; To thee we make our still and solemn prayer — Be thou our Sun and every scene is fair ! " When from oppression, crowned and mitred. Lord ! We fled — a faint band — o'er the Atlantic main. Thou wert our refuge — thou, our shield and sword — Our light in gloom — our comforter in pain ; Thy smile beamed brighter on our woodland shed Than all earth's glory on a regal head. " And oft, amid the darkness and the fears Of them thy goodness gave to share my lot, Thou hast in mercy listened to the tears Of love and innocence in this rude cot, And filled pale lips with bread, and the raised arm Of murder palsied ere its wrath could harm. 320 THE LAY OF THE COLONIST. " When through the unbarred window on our bed The famishing bear hath looked — or to our hearth The tiger sprung to tear the babe — or red The hatchet gleamed along the glade; on earth, Ev'n as in Eden, thou hast walked in power. And saved us in the dark and trying hour. "When, gathered round the winter fire, whose flames The cold gale, howling through the cottage, fanned, We talked o'er distant loved and honoured names, And sighed to think upon our native land. Thy still, small voice was heard — ' The same God here Beholds thee as thy friends beloved and dear.' " Thus hast Thou been our comfort — Thou, for whom We left the land — loved land ! that gave us birth. And sought these shores of savageness and gloom, Cold, faint and sick — the exiles of the earth ! We heard thy summons, Lord ! and here we are, Beneath New England's coldest northern star. " Softly beneath thine all-protecting smile Hath been our sleep in perils dire — and on The stormy waters and the rugged soil Thy blessing hath descended, and thy sun Hath unto us such gladdening harvests given As erst came down on Zin from pitying heaven. " Narrow and dark through this entangled shade Our winding paths o'er cliffs and moors must be ; But bright with verdure is our lovely glade, And from its temple soar our prayers to Thee ; And here, though danger point the poisoned dart, We wear a charm, true faith, within the heart. "The radiant sun, thy glorious work, O Lord ! Fades from the West and lights the moon on high ; As they, who trust in thy most holy word, Catch light and glory from the blessed sky ; And even here amid the forest's gloom We breathe the blessing of the life to come !" THE DIRGE. 321 The exile turned and entered to his home, ' Blest with the view his pious soul had caught { Of heaven's mysterious v^ays — and o'er him come, I As through his mind roll living streams of thought, I Such gleams of joy as ever must arise ] From his pure heart who worships at the skies. . | t Irreverent sons of Plymouth's pilgrim band ! ] Approach not them ye will not to revere ! ' The wandering fathers of this mighty land ; Contemplate thou with reverence and fear; \ Heir of the Faithful ! let thy bosom take ; The faith that dared the exile and the stake ! j i THE DIRGE. Weep not thou for the dead ! Sweet are their dreamless slumbers in the tomb — Their eyelids move not in the morning's light, No sun breaks on the solitary gloom, No sound disturbs the silence of their night — Soft seems their lowly bed ! Grieve not for them, whose days Of earthly durance have so quickly passed, — Who feel no more affliction's iron chain ! Sigh not for them who long since sighed their last. Never to taste of sin and woe again In realms of joy and praise! 41 322 THE DIRGE. What they were once to thee It nought avails to think — save thou canst draw Pure thoughts of piety, and peace, and love, And reverent faith in heaven's eternal law, From their soft teachings, ere they soared above, Lost in Eternity ! When o'er the pallid brow Death flings his shadow — and the pale, cold cheek Quivers, and light forsakes the upturned eye, And the voice fails ere faltering lips can speak The last farewell — be not dismayed — to die Is man's last lot below ! Death o'er the world hath passed Oft, and the charnel closed in silence o'er Unnumbered generations — past and gone ! And he will reign till Earth can hold no more — Till Time shall sink beneath the Eternal Throne, And Heaven receive its last. Death enters at our birth The moulded form we idolize so much, And hour by hour some subtle thread dissolves, That links the web of life — at his cold touch Power after power decays as time revolves, Till earth is blent with earth. The soul cannot abide In the dark dreariness of flesh and sin; — Its powers are chained and trampled on by clay, And paralyzed and crushed ; 't would enter in Its own pure heaven, where passion's disarray Comes not, nor hate nor pride. Come, widowed one ! with me, And we will wander through the shades of death ! Look now upon those sheeted forms that soar Amid the still and rosy air ! their breath Wafts the rich fragrance of heaven's flowery shore- Amid the light of Deity ! THE UlRGE. 323 WoLild'st thou wail o'er their flight? Or curb their pinions with the chains of Time? Art thou or canst thou be so happy here, Thy spirit pants not for a fairer cHme ? O, sorrowing child of sin, and doubt, and fear ! Thy heart knows no delight. Would'st thou roll back the waves Of the unfathomed ocean of the Past, And from soft slumbers wake the undreaming Dead, Again to shiver in the bleak, cold blast, Again the desert of despair to tread, And mourn their peaceful graves? Ah, no ! — forget them not ! Thoughts of the dead incite to worthy deeds. Or from the paths of lawless ill deter; When the lone heart in silent sorrow bleeds, Or sin entices — to the past recur — Trust heaven ! thou wiU not be forgot ! Weep not for them who leave In childhood's sinless hours the haunts of vice ! Mourn not the Lovely in their bloom restored To the bright bowers of their own paradise ! Mourn not the Good who meet their honoured Lord Where they no more can grieve ! But rather weep and mourn That thou art yet a sinning child of dust, Changeful as April skies or fortune's brow ; And, while thy grief prevails, be wise, and just. And kind — so thou shalt die like flowers that biow, And into rose-air turn. A MONODY. When first I drank thy starlight smile, and revelled in thy love, How could I know that thou wert here, but as a pilgrim dove? How could I think that thou wouldst part and vanish like a star, ] And leave me here alone to weep, when thou hadst fled afar? i Thou wert to me so dear, I felt as if shut out of heaven, ; When death came o'er thy beauty, like a cloud o'er summer even; And many a time in solitude, in malady and sorrow, My heart hath turned to yesterday, and quail'd to meet tomorrow. , •I 1 When in the silent sanctity of Love's own holy sky. We fondly talked of days to come, I thought not thou couldst die; 1 Ev'n while I gaz'd upon thy fixed, yet lovely look in death, I kissed thy lips and started — for I met no answering breath. I Though day by day I saw thee fade — I dare not ponder now ! — j Though the fire of death was on thy cheek — its blight upon thy brow ; Though words, that turtied my heart to tears, oft from thy pale lips • fell, I thought not thou wert doomed to die — I could not say farewell ! I knew thou wert too pure to dwell amid the sins of earth — \ Too high, too holy, to enjoy its follies and its mirth. , But, oh! I trusted thou wouldst live that I might daily see ] And love the holiness of heaven, so imaged out in thee. \ So long in sorrow I had flown to seek thee in thy bower, I could not bear the solitude of desolation's hour. The utter gloom, the emptiness, the silence never broken; ; Where all was music, life, and love — though oft no word was spo- •; ken. A MONODY. 325 The light of stars — the melody of bosky brooks were thine, A heart that breathed the bloom of bliss — a spirit all divine : In sacred song, or antique lore, or wisdom daily shown, Thy mind was like the glorious sun descending from his throne. Our meeting was in hope and bliss — our parting in despair; And when I saw the shade of death glide o'er thy features fair, And raised thy cold face from my breast to lay thee with the dead, I wept not — sighed not—but I felt that all earth's charm had fled. I never thought that I should see thine eyelids shut in death ; Thy bright brow cold — thy spirit quenched, that glowed and bloom- ed beneath ; I never thought to lay thee down, in thine unwedded grave. With the chill hand of that despair, which could not— could not save! But disappointment long hath cast desertion o'er my days. And many a dreary ruin lies in all my wandering ways; In moody moments I have thought a spell was on my name — My love hath ever been unblest — I seek not phantom fame. But peerless Beauty's syren song and Grandeur's pride of power Could not together win me from the memory of one hour ; For well I know, where'er thy home, thou wilt come down to soothe The solitude and grief that cloud the morning of my youth. Farewell, Luzelia ! oh, farewell ! I may not linger long To greet thy kindred spirit with a slow and solemn song, But, like the star beside the moon, on a still summer even, I '11 mingle with thy brightness, Love ! and follow thee to heaven ! ._. , .J GLENDALOCH.* Here where Time's pillar'd tower, sublime and vast, Lifts to the skies its hoar and awful brow, And seems to moan and mutter o'er the waste Passion's wild horror and Despair's last vow, While Night o'er heathy hills, and moors below, Sinks like Death's shadow on the slumbering brain, And Avonmore's deep torrent voice of woe Roars like the howl of ghosts on battle plain, — I stand alone and gaze o'er centuries of pain. Here rose the incense of unhallowed rites When startling Horror was the wild man's god ; The dusky glen laughed wild 'neath ghastly lights. The cavern altar shook its blaze abroad. And idol worshippers in quick blood trod ! Pity beheld, — her only voice was tears, — ' Truth whispered vainly from the gory sod, — i While reigned the Daemon in unutter'd fears, •: {Shrieking redeemless woe from all the darkened spheres. Here Shiloh's glory gleamed on midnight minds. And Fable feigned when Oracles were still ; ; Music and prophecy were in the winds, Saints in the vale and sages on the hill, , And angels passive to the voiceless will; " ! Leaves had their missions, — waters held a power Of bale or bliss, and fearful hearts did thrill I Beneath the unseen influence of the hour i When darkness clomb the mount and storms began to lower. i ■1 * For a inLimle and le.uiied account of this romantic ruin in Wickiow, Ireland, se«' Dr. Lrdwick, ami (Parr's "Stranger in Ireland." \ J GLENDALOGH. 327 When Evil entered man's o'ern)astered heart The savage wrath of beasts revealed his fall, And Hate and Envy, each his bitter part. Pursued in him, who on the azure wall Of Eden saw his doom, — yet knew not all ! Knew not that Truth should perish for Deceit, And Love for Mammon, — and that Peace should call God's own adorers at His shrine to meet In vain while zealots warr'd and spurn'd her to their feet! This, old Glendaloch ! thou too oft hast seen ! Pagan or catholic, Power wields the doom, And Passion tramples over what hath been, And Pride vaunts empire o'er the martyr's tomb. E'en now strange beings mingle with thy gloom, And wild Glendasan, as it plunges, shrieks Amid thy holy ruin's dreadful womb, And every vast tree from its foliage speaks, And from the starless heaven the crashing thunder breaks. Faith without knowledge every arch and nook Hath robed with sanctity ; the sculptured nave, The vaulted cloister, where the sable rook And owlet moan and croak; the mouldered grave, And every idle stone ! What deeper slave Clanks his cold fetters in unguerdoned toil Than bigot Pride, that cannot cease to crave Poison, and consecrates each dusky aisle Where every creed was preached — save Heaven's unchanging smile. Banished to deserts and the caves of earth, With austere eye and form by penance scarr'd, How should thy charms win man to Heaven's high birth, Religion ! when thy golden gates are barr'd 1 Greater than all is thy supreme reward Both in thyself and nature and the Love, That gives and gains new beauty ! with the bard To Avonmore, to fair Avoca's grove Go, worship in the sun and God's own blessing prove ! 328 SO\NET. Go, mantle all things with a holy hope. The spirit of a prophecy benign, A blessedness and beauty ; on the slope Of newmown hillside, 'neath the bowery vine, Or by the clear brook's nnargent, — all are thine ! And it were wise to give thy free soul up To quick in:iaginings and thoughts divine, With living flowers in grassy meads to sup, And hear mind's beings laugh in every bluebell's cup. But sink, thou monkish monument ! and ye, Gray, ghastly ruins of a faith blasphemed ! It is not thus thy sons should worship Thee, Whose name is Lovr; nor have I idly dreamed, But drank the glory that on me hath gleamed, And sought in God's own works his pleasure best. Not in vain temples, have I ever deemed, Dwells the Great Spirit, but His holiest rest Must be upon the throne of youth's still thoughtful breast. SONNET. Why thus, with mournful thought and tears and sighs. Hail'st thou, my spirit! the sweet autumn hours? Why fall the anthem strains of shadowy bowers Unfelt, that had communion with the skies ? Why fade the glories of the sunset now, Why drop the rainbow leaves upon my track j Unmarked 1 Pale phantom thought looks back Through tears, on what hath been, and from my brow j The glorious dayspring of my life hath fled ! i Trial and grief, bereavement and the throes > Of an o'erburdened, injured spirit's woes, j Companionless, have left me with the dead ; ! Father, son, sister, life, hope, light have gone — ' Why o'er Earth's desert should /struggle on? J PHANTASIE. 'T WAS the deep noon of night ; I slept and dreamed ; — On the fair bosom of a lawn, methought, Flowery and green, and girdled by fresh rills, Silvery and musical, that purled along In mellow cadence like the cloudless days Of early youth and inexperienced love, I lay in the soft sunlight, that did blootn And wanton in the aromatic air So tenderly transparent and so mild, It floated o'er me as on angel wings. The loveliest creatures were around me, flocks Of birds, whose plumage in the pale blue sky Glittered like stars through clouds, and whose gay songs Like spirit voices fell upon the soul Beautifully sweet and full of love and praise. All the fair forms of nature were in joy. And Earth was revelling in the smiles of Heaven. My heart was rife with blessedness — I caught The freshest bloom of opening buds and breathed The odour of the poetry that flowed. Like clearest waters, through unbounded realms, And thought that yet my heart might trust in hope Of days less evil than my birth star doomed. That vision passed ; a wildering dream ensued ; Methought I had no being, and that all The beautiful diversities and charms. The panorama of this wondrous world, Were but imagination's tricksy work, The illusions of a Spirit malcontent, 42 330 PHANTASIE. To palpable appearances and shapes Wroui^lit by t!ie magic of the mind to suit The pilgrim wanderings and wayward freaks Of my distempered mood. The mighty Sun, Voyaging upon his bright and glorious way, The fair, round melancholy Moon, the Stars, The eyes of Heaven o'er all God's Universe, The green and bloomy Earth — blest far beyond The meed of its indwellers — ail did seem But phantoms of my thought, unreal things To be dissolved like vain and feverish dreams. Long, lingering hours of dim incertitude! Now I was wedged amid the icy cliffs And glaciers of Monadnock ; now I heard The sealike waters of Missouri roll And rush and roar above me as I gasped For breath and eddied with the torrent flood ; By Chimborazo's crater I was chain'd, Doomed to the death of ages, while the fires Wreathed round me in the terror of their pride. Yet I was conscious of a sovereign power. But could not grasp it, such a mountain lay Upon my heart and bore me down to earth, Like the all-potent one of olden time Who wreaked on darkness his immortal might. With unimagined pain I raised my eye. That roll'd in agony's delirium, On the strange unreality — the deep And cloud V nothingness, and lo! around A dark and rugged battlement that pierced The midnight skies ! gigantic Forms and shapes Titanic, sons of Anakim, came forth On every jutting prominence, in mail Of countless shekels, and their demon eyes Flashed on my shuddering soul a hellish light. Drinking the morning rose-dew of my heart. And thus I lay, it seemed unnumbered years, And not a sound of earth broke forth ; my voice Sunk in my bosom like a burning rock PHA\TASIE. 331 Thrown high o'er iEtna, that falls blazing down The tomb of the wise Roman; and my breath Burst forth in sobs — as every throb were last — While my heart swelled in stifled agonies, And my brain wandered — smitten by the fear Of unknown, boundless, and eternal woe. The spirit's sunlight left my eyes, and deep Within their sockets burned remorseless fires, But still I heard the fiends, in whispers low, Mutter some terrible event to come, And then a laugh smote on my quailing sense Like the vast Kremlin's knell, when Moska flamed. Then o'er me came a living death — a dream Of life that had been, but was not — a faint And twilight glimmering of dusky light Amid the shapeless ruins of the soul. I rose and I beheld ! The mind hath power. When the sense slumbers in the deep of night, Beyond its common majesty ; it dares, Endures, and acts with prouder strength than all The martyrs and the giants of old time. Still frowned the black and Alpine battlement. That darkened o'er the heavens — still the forms Moved in their fiery darkness round and round, Silent as dark- robed, stern inquisitors. The pale curl of their livid lips, the throes Of voiceless pain that shook their shuddering limbs. The upturned eyes that prayed not, and the brows Scarr'd in a terrible strife, gave awful note Of pride that triumphed o'er unuttered pain. There was a pause ; and short and thick my breath Hollowly quivered, and my heart stood still, I lifted up my spirit, then, in prayer For mercy ; when a cloud of purple fire. Like worlds on worlds consuming, glared above The prison battlements, that gloomed on high. And down it sank and turned the air to flame — 333 PHANTASIE. And all the world quaked loud ! the azure skies, The broidered curtains of the Universe, Quivered as if they trembled to reveal Mysteries most terrible and dread, and then Tornadoes howled along the burning Vast — And, at protracted intervals, a trump Sounded along immensity so loud — It seemed as if all nations of the dead Had mingled all their voices in one blast! My prayer was now for death — I found it not ! None meet the Spectre when their hearts desire. He comes in silence when the world looks fair ! Now came a shock as though unnumbered worlds Were driven to a centre, and the Earth Rolled like a shallop on the Deep — the fiends Shrieked, changed and vanished — and through bickering flames Wide as the fathomless Atlantic, down, Down, amid clouds of awful gloom I fell, While blazing wings, outspread, shot o'er the gulf Like wildest meteors, and ten thousand cries Went up from depths no eye could ever scan. Then through thick clouds of tempest glanced an arm, Mighty and dark, and in its hand appeared A burning scroll of fearful characters! Then all was hushed ; worlds upon worlds lay piled, Pillowed in darkness ! And my dream was o'er. THE REIGN OF GENIUS. The spirit cannot die ; it must dilate Eternally, and be a vital part Of everlasting ages — as 't was born Amid unwinged infinity and linked With the immensity of fate ; 't is just It should be deathless, for its glorious powers No limit know, nor border, shining through Creation like Hyperion; but the heart Will prey upon its energies and hang A mountain on its wings, for subtle thought Is but the slave of feeling, and the soul Will languish when the bosom aches, and be The vassal of men's usages, depressed By poor contingencies and habitudes. Life's feeble purposes demand the use Of powers almost angelic, for the soul Is like the sun, though stationed in the skies, It must look down on earth, and light alike Things beautiful and loathsome. Be it so ! Spirits of greatness have human form And feature, like the veriest thing that gropes And grovels in the mind's midnight; and they pas Before the world as other mortal shapes, And, though the eye may beam unusually, The brow wear deeper lines of thought intense Than others, and the glow and gloom of hope, 334 THE REIGN OF GENIUS. The sunlight and the darkness of the soul, Vary the changeful feature, and the tread Be more unequal and the outward bearing More plainly intellectual than the step And look of the great mass, yet deeply dwells. Unseen, impalpable, the living beam Of glorious light that issued from the sun Of the Divinity; and, unbeheld By creatures of most ordinary note, Beings pass by in silence or they stand Apart, by flickering fashion unbeheld. Or by the world's worst slaves, whose spirits are More fitting glory and would wear the robes Of angels more to nature than the shapes Mortality has burdened them withal. Such Spirits fill the universe — they live In the blue ether and their dwelling place Is the immensity above ; they sit Upon the thrones of seraphs in the stars And hold converse with them when night with stars Canopies earth and holy nature folds Her moonlight drapery round her and lies down By bright Hyperion's side to bridal sleep. This world of peril they in thought forget And all its crimes and woes, and they become Associates with the blest in pure desires And feelings holy ; and they love to tread The vferge of paradise, though mortal yet, Seeking to know the loves that blossom there. The joys that never fade in those bright fields, The thoughts of bliss expanding ever through The pauseless ages of undying love. Such spirits find no thoughts reciprocal In earthly beings ; none can estimate Their greatness rightly ; none can feel the same Dissolving and absorption of all powers In soft elysian visionry ; they live Alone, starbeams round the sun-throne of God ! The sovereign eagle ever dwells alone _l THE REIGN OF GENIUS. 335 In solitary majesty, and waves His mighty wings in air unbreathed by things Of lowher nature; and the Hon walks His monarch path untended and alone; So the proud spirit lives in loneliness All uncommuning, and its solitude Becomes its empire where it reigns fore'er Tit might and majesty. — But when 't is chained In the bad world's cold prisonhouse, and mocked By gazing folly and unholy guile, And taunted by the reptile hordes around, Madness springs up within the brain and glares In deadly fury from the eye and whelms The spirit prostrate which could be subdued Only by its own despair ! the throned mind Is to itself a god and its high powers, Like golden chains, are linked unto the skies. The boundless universe with all its worlds Of stars and suns is but a narrow path For the immortal spirit; one bright glance Of the soul's eye pervades all space and flies Beyond the farthest reckoning of the sage Who reads the heavens ; the winged thought sublime Wanders unresting through creation's worlds And searches all their glo'rious beauties, till, Yet unsatisfied, it would rove through realms E'en angels know not, when some sudden pang. Dark passion, want or weakness crushes thought, And brings the mighty spirit down to earth, And all its chilling woe and bitterness. THE LAY OF THE FATHERLESS. Thou! that in pangs didst give me mortal birth, Nourish my helplessness at thy life's spring, And boar me gently o'er the desert earth Upon thy bosom till my thoughts took wing ! Thou ! that in days of loneliest grief didst fling Tlie mornlight of thy smile, thy voice of joy O'er my quick spirit, till each human thing Glowed with the outbreaking glory of the skv', And o'er the bosom gushed of thy devoted boy ! In pain and peril, when thy years were few, And Deatli's vast shadow on thy pathway fell, Thou to the greatness of thy trial grew, Bade fortune, mirth and cherished hope farewell. Resigned, for me, with sorrow long to dwell ! Thy sleepless eye my daring steps pursued, Thy lone heart o'er my guarded couch did swell, And o'er thy child's untrodden solitude Thv thoughts like seraphs flew, the messengers of Good. That harrowed brow, once smooth as Parian stone, That hollow eye, erst filled with Love's own light, Dimmed by the bloom through memory's temple thrown- That pale cheek, writ in characters of night. That wasted form, which, ere the hour of blight. Stood proudly up in worshipped loveliness — All to my soul reveal the charm and might Of deathless Love, that dares unsoothed distress, And to the shrine of Truth can guide, and shield and bless. THE LAY OF THE FATHERLESS. 3S7 Should I forget the heart that never quailed, Nor shrunk from fast and vigil for my sake : Could I forget the faith that never failed, The solitary star on youth's wild wake : Justly my Maker from my soul would take The hope that wings me to a heaven of light, And leave me in the waste alone to slake The deaththirst, burning through the mornless night, Of the seared heart that loved not Love in its delight. Bereaved of all that gave thy being bliss, Save one unfortuned and unfriended child. Without thy crown of gladness, and the kiss Of wed ati'ection clieering through the wild, Thy spirit on my saddened seasons smiled ; Thou in my being didst condense thine own, While poverty assailed and power beguiled, And sickness made in solitude its moan — And can I e'er forget what thou hast dared and done? Can matin orison and vesper hymn, Soaring when slept earth's dagon soul of guile, E'er cease to thrill, while shades of sorrow swim, Memory, whose thoughts with thine own look now smile? Can twilight meadow and hushed temple aisle Cease to enchant and hallow with their songs? Or commune with wood, mount, vale, stream, the while, Pass from my spirit 'mid the world's deep wrongs? Thy wisdom triumphs o'er life's vain vindictive throngs. Beauty in loneliness her image wrought Within my wrapt unsolac'd bosom — thou Ledst grandeur to the still throne of my thought. And badst me drink heaven's waters from the brow Of the hoar giant precipice ! and now, Albeit, men skill not to scan me right, Thy lessons lead me, as by palmer vow. Through trial, toil, hate, grief, the watching night, Like them, whose desert guide was Sinai's holiest light. 43 338 THE LAY OF THK FATHERLESS. Yet this is but a portion of my debt, My Mother ! thou amidst my foes hast stood, As in his eyrie, when the air is jet With wings of obscene birds and beaks of blood. The eagle stands — lord of the solitude! Their shafts have broken on thy bosom — thou Hast grasped the arrows — struggled with the flood — Borne more than all my sufferings, and liv'st now To bear day's toil for me and those that round me grow. And can this be forgotten 1 can I shrink To brand the mortal demon who shall dare To doubt thy matchless love ? and from the brink. Dragged from the vile crypt of his serpent lair, Hurl him blaspheming in his writh'd despair? No ! thou hast dared the torrent — trod the waste Through life for me — and, witness earth and air ! The heart, that but for thee to dust had passed. Shall bleed, ere venom more upon thy truth is cast? Let thy foes wither in the worthlessness, The scorn of coward vengeance ! that the name Of thine assailer in thy long distress Fitted the lips of e'en a moment's fame ! Oh, on his brow the infamies of shame. Branded by agonies, should fall and rot Into his heart and brain till earth should claim No portion of his vileness, but his lot Be with corruption which in death decaye'th not! Let the fiend hear ! he hath not checked my thought — My heritage was sorrow and hath been. Yet poverty and grief not vain have wrought, And I can scorn and pass the base unseen. And deem their malice, jest, howe'er they ween! But there shall come a time — 't is but delayed — When ye, forgers of falsehood ! cannot screen Your bosoms from the lightning ! ye have made The storm your couch — and ye shall lie there mocked and flayed. J SUNSET AT SEA, 339 For they, the loving and beloved, whom hate Hath hunted from the birth of being, bear My burthen, and the trials of my fate. Because your calumnies defile the air ! And shall ye be forgotten? when the fair And matchless forms of earth, sea, heaven and mind Have worn the wan looks of a soul's despair, And I have wandered like the homeless wind. Foreboding doubt before and many woes behind ! Hope not oblivion ! e'en your bread is bought With lies ; a libel press pours out the bane That in your rank heart festers ; ye have sought The spoils of long revenge, and by the pain Ye round my household hearth have shed, your gain Shall be — Derision : and in future time. When earth casts up your names and deeds profane, Rotting in curses, o'er your dastard crime. The shouts of hell shall roll and hail ve to its clime! SUNSET AT SEA. Armies of clouds, that with the dayspring rose, In sable masses float and fade away ; The summer sun — Jehovah's shadow — glows Along the shoreless verge of parting day ; And Ocean lifts his king brow to survey The radiance heaving like his proudest swell. And gorgeous companies in heaven delay To drink new glory ere they haste to tell, In Fancy's phantom realms, how Ocean's sunset fell. 340 SUXSET AT SEA. In storm and gloom morn came, and midday hung Like a dark dream upon the o'erburdened brain, And the worn mind o'er its creations flung , The dreamy languor of the listless main : But now to landsick voyagers again Fair heaven reveals the beauty of her brow, And, where the wing'd clouds sudden part in twain, Like Antisana's flame o'er mounts of snow, The evening sunbeams gush, and skies and waters glow. Lo ! where the rainbow — radiant light of love, Arch of the Deluge — Hope's celestial bride ! Metes the wild tempest in its wrath above. And seems o'er doubt, disaster, death, to guide The earthsick heart beyond the scorn of pride ! On its fair height, methinks, a gleaming throng Of cherubim repose, and seraphs glide Amid their choirs, with hymn and matchless song. To waft His praise who sees and shelters human wrong. Far o'er the billowy deep the summer sun Bursts like high heaven upon the spirit's eye, Or newmade angel's gaze, when thought doth run Down the bright lapses of Eternity ; Remotest ocean and unfathomed sky, Through all their depths of voiceless mysteries. Gleam at the glance of Being thron'd on high, And mind is lost in what that will decrees. Which holds its power alone in two eternities. Bosomed on grandeur 'mid the purple host. Soft, blue, and beautiful, the crystal heaven Looks down like Pity on the fierce Self Lost, And hushes hearts that long have bled and striven; And, with a smile like that of sin forgiven, Seems to allure the unhappy to its breast. Where God's high messengers, at morn and even, Come from the diamond mansions of the blest To whisper oracles and soothe the soul to rest. SUNSET AT SEA. 341 So through the glory and the pomp of earth, The vain habiliments we weave in woe, The gentle hours, that blessed our gladsome birth. Come o'er us with a bland and budding glow. In youth we feel, in manhood search and know; One for enjoyment, and the other. Fame ! Oh, happier far to treasure and bestow The diamonds of the heart, than crown a name. And shrine a memory here, where first oblivion came. Before the faint breeze, o'er the slumbering Deep, The clouded ship without a sound moves on : And now the clear horizon seems to sleep In that soft sea of light, as on a throne, Where all the clouds adore the triumph won, And throng around the sun's immortal shrine : They rise, sink, burn — and ere the crimson's gone. The purple robes them in a garb divine, Till dusky death hastes on, and utters " All are mine !" Where sea and sky, like love and beauty meet. The illumined vapour revels in the breeze; So deep its brilliance, and its smile so sweet. So awful in their silence, trackless seas. With all their wild and maddening mysteries, Methinks, I sail on that charm'd visioned wave. The saint in Patmos saw — where deathless trees By mirror'd waters bloom, and princedoms lave Their wings of thousand eyes — beyond earth's dungeon grave. And yon the shore of Paradise, the home Of wrecked affections and unblest desires, And hopes that fed on poison ! thither come The forms that shadowed sorrow's wasting fires, The hearts that glowed along the thrilling wires; And voices, wafted on the holy air, Echo the music of archangel lyres, And many a child of sin, in Love's high prayer, Adores the Power benign that rescued from despair. 34i SnNSF.T AT SEA. Wedded to images of lonely thouglit, Linked to the dim world of past revelries, The mind, that long unto itself hath wrought Fairy enchantment from whate'er it sees. Creates a shrine in every cloud that flees ; Temples and chateaux, groves and meadows bright With violet smiles, that perfume every breeze, And towers and palaces, in that deep light. With the old look of pride salute the radiant sight. And in those wing'd and wandering mansions dwell Affections, thoughts, hopes, fears, and transports past, The blighted love, that like Phaeton fell, The great ambition, like a shadow cast O'er the dead solitude of Barca's waste! And through the blue and glorious boundlessness, To each sweet star that visited our last And wild farewell, our visions haste to bless Hours happier for their doubt, and victors of distress. Thou sacred Tempe of the wearied mind ! Hope in stern trial — home in wildest storm ! Imagination ! — wing'd upon the wind. Child of the rainbow, gifted with a charm, That sanctifies the heart, and keeps it warm With beautiful humanities — delay. While years depart, and, in all trouble, form Thine airy armies round me, though my way Should lead o'er Hecla's fires, or orient Himmaleh! Thou to our mood dost fashion outward things, And all the chainless elements combine To shed the bloom without the bitter stings. That panoply, O Earth ! each flower of thine ! Thus in blest solitude we grow divine With a far higher nature than our own. And follow Hope along her golden line. While mingle smile and sigh and mirth and moan, To that bright realm of dreams where Mercy holds her throne. THE LAST SONC;. 843 Thus in the solitude of Ocean, come Thrilling revealments of a holier state, Great thoughts that struggle for their native home, Deep feelings tortured in the cell of fate, Fame crushed by falsehood, love by causeless hate; And, floating on the wave that cannot rest. E'en Death becomes companion, courteous mate, And friend and counsellor — and he is blest Who o'er Life's tempest flings the rainbow of the breast. THE LAST SONG. 'T is the last song — the last song of a wronged and injured spirit, That, through woe and misery, only death can inherit; The last song of a northern bard beneath a southern clime, The last heart-breathing, burning words in all the lapse of time. If to the spirit God has given we ever would be true, If the evil world would render e'er the tribute that is due. We never, while the earth abides, might lose the heart of hearts. That thrills the soul with many a dream, whose magic ne'er departs. Woe to the proud and daring soul that spurns the chains of earth ! Woe to the child of genius from his fatal hour of birth ! His struggles are with the low — ^his triumphs are his doom. And the only fires that light him on are the watchlights of the tomb ! Farewellto all that ever gave my earlier being bliss! Let me pass away to other worlds who am so sad in this ! If the soul that is my torture now, in the far, far heaven can live, Then adieu fore'er to all below, for I would not here survive ! We breathe in bondage but to bear the ills we never wrought, And to cast among a mocking world the holiest gems of thought: The madness and the misery, that await us from our birth, Are but heralds sent from God to winfj us from the earth ! THE IDEALIST. Whe\ the last hues of sunset fade away, And blend in magic wreaths of light and shade, And stillness sleeps beside the closing day, Drinking the music of the breezy giade, 'T is joy to wander forth alone Through shadowy groves and solemn woods, And muse of pleasures past and gone, 'Mid nature's holy solitudes: For then my spirit to its God aspires, And worships in the light of Love's ascending fires. Where rocks hang tottering from the mountain's side. And ancient trees in hoary grandeur wave, I love to sit, forgetting pomp and pride, And all the passions that the soul enslave. And yield my heart to the sweet charm Of nature in her loneliness, While soft voiced zephyrs, breathing balm, The perfumed flowers and shrubs caress. And the last songbird pours her parting lay Of love and praise to bless the brightly closing day. There is a loveliness in nature's smile, Which fills the heart with heaven's own holy gladness, Though he, whose heaven is in her charms, the while. Feels thoughts steal o'er him of surpassing sadness. When 'mid the perfect works of God, He muses on the sin and folly That make man's heart their dark abode, Oh, who would not be melancholy? How sad the thought that this fair world should be The dwellingplace of guilt and helpless misery! THE IDEALIST. 345 Yet if his woe be unallied to crime, And suffering not from evil conscience spring, To nature's bosom let him come, what time Flowers ope the bud and birds are on the wing, And there the fretful world forget And search the world of his own breast, Where thoughts, like suns, arise and set, And whirlwind passions rage unblest; There let the son of song and sorrow lie And inspiration catch from nature's speaking eye ! From earliest youth I loved alone to climb The moss-wreath'd rock, and from the mountain's brow O'er sea and land, an amplitude sublime, To gaze when sunk the sun in radiant glow, xA.nd poured o'er quiet vales and hills, And groves and meads and gushing streams. Such glory as creation fills, His last full swell of golden beams. ye, who would adore the Eternal Power, Go forth alone and pray at twilight's hallowed hour! The spirit then throws off the garb of clay. Which in the warring world 't is doomed to wear. And robes itself in beautiful array. And soars and sings amid the blooming air, Where in aerial halls of light Meet kindred spirits pure and good. And parted souls again unite Where grief and pain cannot intrude. And in the radiance of soul-mingling eyes. Reveal the mystic power of heaven's high harmonies. 1 ever was a melancholy child, Unrairthful and unminglina: with the crowd; The loneliest solitude on me hath smiled When lightning darted from the rifted cloud ; And I have felt a strange delight 'Mid forests and the cavern's gloom, ' 44 "W"''-- 346 THE IDEALIST. And wandered forth at dead midnight To muse beside the lonely tomb. I always loved the light of that dread Eye, Which flashed upon me from eternity ! I knew not whence such unshared feelings came — I only knew my heart was full of deep Emotions vivid — but without a name ; Within my breast they would not — could not sleep. But swayed me in their giant power To passion's uncommuning mood, And drave me from the festive bower To ruined tower and lonely wood, Where on my soul ideal glories came, Fairies and oreads bright, and coursers wrapt in flame. Oh, how I loved that solitary trance, That deep upheaving of the bosom's sea, O'erstrewn with gems that dazzled on my glance. Like eyes that gleam from out eternity ! Creatures of every form and hue, Lords of the earth and angels past In garbj of gold before my view. Like lightnings on the hurrying blast, And voices on my inward spirit broke. And mysteries breathed, and words prophetic spoke. The child of reverie and the son of song, A word could wound me or a look depress ; I saw the world was full of ill and wrong And sin and treachery and sad distress; And so, e'en in my boyhood's morn, I fled the haunts that others love, That I might think why I was born, And what below and what above Was due from one thus sent upon the earth To sow and reap in tears and mourn his mortal birth. My birthplace was the airy mountain height. And childhood passed 'mid nature's grandeur wild, J THE IDEALIST. 347 And stiil I see by memory's magic light, How on my soul each Alpine mountain smiled ! Though years have passed since I was there, And many a change hath o'er me come, There 's not a scene, or wild or fair, Around my long forsaken home, But I could point in darkness out, and tell The shape and form of things I loved so well. Trees, birds and flowers were my familiar friends in boyhood's days — and every leaf that grew Whispered soft oracles of love; — there blends With budding thought a spirit from the dew, That gems each quivering leaf and flower ; And precious to the mind mature Are memories of that guiltless hour. When with a worship fond and pure The soul beheld in every thing below A God sublime, whom we in works alone can know. Deep in the soul rest early thoughts, and now My spirit roams 'mid lonely hills, when night Her starry veil throws o'er her spotless brow, And wraps her elfin form in fair moonlight; Then o'er me come those thoughts again, Which were my heaven in other years, And I forget my bosom's pain. And cease to feel my trickling tears. Wierd sybils ! cease of destiny to prate ! The boy creates for life and ratifies his fate. Here let me rest — a wanderer tired and faint, Dear Nature ! on thy soft maternal breast, And learn for others those fair scenes to paint, Which taught me wisdom and which made me blest ! Fashion and folly still may rove And seek for pleasure in the throng, But I will live in thy sweet love, And blend thy praises with my song, O holiest daughter of the Holy One, Whose smile wafts spirits to the heavenly throne! THE DllEAM OF THE SEPULCHRE.* In solemn commune of the lone still night, When, throned in heaven, the stars beam brightly clear, Shedding on earth dim shauowings of that light. Whose radiance gleams o'er glory's brightest sphere, I oft have dwelt on that recoiling fear. That shuddering awe which bows the human mind, When beckoning shadows in the gloom appear, Or sheeted phantoms wail in midnight wind, Dread visitants, uncalled, unto their shuddering kind. And it hath seemed an awful thing and strange That unblest spirits o'er the earth should roam. Unbanned, tho' feared — for ever bringing change, Sorrow and death — prophetic shades of doom ! Mystery of mysteries ! not e'en the tomb Vouchsafeth slumber unto souls unblest, But from sepulchral darkness they will come, From their dark prison and their chill unrest. And with mute horror freeze the fountains of the breast. In every age, in every clime, vain man Hath sought what, found, could give him only woe ; Since the long eras of despair began He hath desired that knowledge which doth grow • In this Poem it is the purpose of the author to suggest and illustrate those un- ceasing though unprofitable wanderings of the mind, which, discontented with the c«mmon allotment, searches after an Arcadian Utopia among the shadows of futu- rity. Tho subject has been deemed one of high poetical capability ; how far the writer has doao justice to his theme is a question that awaits tiierejily of the cour- teous reader. i THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE. 349 In the dark vale of death alone — and so His spirit hath no rest — he pants to drink The waters that will poison ages ! — Go ! Turn not ! away from horror's dizzy brink, For vain are all the thoughts thy burning brain can think ! Dreams, omens, apparitions — tales of eld — Vague oracles and auspices and charms, And spells of hoary magi — holy held — All that electrifies, enchants, alarms, And lays, as 't were, within our living arms The secrets of Eternity ; all these. While life's quick spirit every bosom warms, Will be, as they have been, the sounding seas. O'er which man's soul goes forth, a barque before the breeze. And these will warp the spirit in their power. And crush the green buds of the heart, and throw The gloom of destined grief o'er every hour; Thus tribulations and hard trials grow To utter agony — despairing woe — Low wailing discontent and blasphemy ; Thus hope forsakes us in the rosy glow Of young desire — and o'er our morning sky The tempest gathers dark on youth's rejoicing eye. Yet gray-hair'd sages, skilled in secret lore, Against the fearful creed have vainly striven ; Shadows uncouth have gloomed on dusky shore And dark bleak heath amid the gathering even ; Strange forms have glimmered o'er the twilight heaven, E'en to the eyes of wisdom, unlike earth's. And howling shrieks, upon the tempest driven, Blanched rosy cheeks round merry crackling hearths, And frantic mothers mourned o'er diabolic births. The lamp's red light hath suddenly turned dim ; Wild hollow gusts moaned o'er the midnight sky ; From halls of banquet wailed the funeral hymn, While terror clouded the inquiring eye, 350 THE DREAM OF THPi SEPULCHRE. And shook the shuddering heart in mastery, When faltering voices awful knowledge sought, And pale lips quivered, breathless for reply To daring question of mysterious Nought, Whose gibbering accents fell — annihilating thought. Mail'd knights, their helms and gorgets streaming blood, And their torn banners spotted with dark gore, Have blown their warhorns in the mountain wood Till every cavern echoed to the roar ; And coal-black steeds, mid arrowy lightnings, o'er The precipice have leapt and clattered on Through rock-barr'd glens, by ocean's sounding shore, While their dead riders, from their eyes of stone. Flashed forth a demon light and raised an awful moan. Mid the deep pas^s of the Odenwold Or Hartz — meet haunt for fiends that tempt and kill, The traveller's heart in terror hath grown cold. As, like a whirlwind, up the haunted hill, Where all was vast and dark and ghostly still, He hurried on — nor dared to turn his head — While yet the night obeyed the demon's will. And round him flocked an army of the dead, With juggling giant fiends, who mocked him as he fled. Where old St Gothard, from his alpine height, O'erlooks the avalanche and glacier steep, The monk hath wakened, in a wild affright. From troubled trances that do murder sleep. And leave the wearied eye in vain to weep, While the Wild Huntsman and his train went by, — Hounds baying, bugles wailing — one wide sweep Of woodland warfare, that portended nigh The viewless woes of all called forth to do or die. The assassin host hath started from his feast. When the loud summons shook his castle-gate, And on his tongue died merry tale and jest At the dread warning of triumphant Fate ! THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRF,. 351 Through mossgrown towers and vast halls desolate Till morn reechoes the slow armed tread, And, where the ancient chieftain whilome sale, Fixed eyes unearthly gleam, as if the dead Were throned in judgment o'er dark deeds of years long fled. Barons have trembled like their vassals when Death shook his cerements off, and came among The living, like a victor ; — priests have then Clung to their shrines e'en as the voiceless tongue Grew to the quivering palate ; — vaults have rung With vigil prayers and groans of agony, And moans of penance and low dirges sung. Till the scared worshippers made haste to flee, And hurried, baffled in their power, in dark crow^ds franticlyo Mid the deep silence of her sacred cell, The vestal hath forgot to tell her beads, And listened to the agonizing yell, That fearfully revealed most fearful deeds ! Vain, then, were crucifix and prayers and creeds, Vain the dim vigil and the patient fast — Still, like the moaning of sepulchral weeds. Sighs, as of suffering spirits, by her passed, And shrieks thro' cloisters rung — the wildest and the last. Why come these bodements of approaching ill O'er Thought, the silent language heaven doth hear? Why quails the heart, with a pervading thrill, At the dim shades of .what it should not fear 1 — All we should know is known and felt ; — draw near ! Read the fair volume of the earth and skies I Rest thou on Hope, without a sigh or tear ! And joy on earth shall be thy glorious prize. While He, thy Helper, reads the fearful mysteries. And when thy pathway is beset, and grief Waits on thee like a shadow, and thou art An alien from thy kind — a pilgrim-chief On life's wild desert, yet thy yearning heart 352 THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE. Will cling to its youth's heaven and innpart The tender beauty of its blest repose To all that lives; so thou dost ne'er depart From truth revealed, nor crown thy many woes By dark distrust and doubt that round thy spirit close. Strange things have been, if there be truth in oath, And mighty men have been o'ercome with dread, And holy priests of bell and book — though loth To quail before the inessential dead ; The wisest, purest, bravest, best have fled From midnight wailings and mysterious forms, Nor dared to watch the slow unsounding tread. Nor hear the shrieks, mid wildly bickering storms, Of souls unblest that howled o'er their cold bed of Vi^orms. And mind hath quailed to phantasies, and signs Upon the heart have fallen like a hell ; Life hath been measured by the palmer's lines, Whose hours allotted God alone can tell ; And seasons have been sanctities, whose spell Was bane to beauty and a blight to love ; And men have drunken at the merlin's well Till demons peopled every idol grove, And shut from human eyes the glory from above. "We meet at Philippi !" the Phantom said, And Rome was lost when her last hero fell — Fell where the ghost of vanquished Cjesar led, While Freedom vanished and the fyneral knell ToH'd for her country ! — To the wizzard's cell Crowds throng to perish 'neath inflicted fears Deeper and deadlier than their dreaded hell. While ghastly spectres of predestined years Gasp hideous smiles and mock at unavailing tears. There is a voice in every leaf that stirs Amid the greenwood, when the twilight air Sighs through the oaken boughs or close thick firs, Revealing future glory or despair ; THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE. S53 And melancholy Thought from things that are Catches dim glimpses of the days to come, And thus sky, earth and sounding ocean wear The ghastly glimmer of a quivering gloom, > The hue of voiceless Fear — the terror of the Tomb. | >\ The mind of Man ! a strange and awful Power! ', Seraphic brightness shadowed o'er by dust! A god that left its paradise an hour, ] And clothed itself in clay — its hope and trust \ Still yearning for the mansions of the just. - | Dimmed, not polluted, by the body's ills, \ (Like virgin gold most precious 'neath its rust) ' \ The spirit here its pilgrimage fulfils. And heaven receives its thoughts, as ocean, countless rills. \ j To die is doom and Life enacts our Death — 1 ■i That should not daunt us nor the manner how; So we escape the villenage of breath, I And all the sorrows that beset us now; '\ But in the deep guilt of a broken vow, ■ And sin unpardoned, to behold the ban * And fear yet shun it not — oh! this is woe i Which quenches m.ind, that cannot choose but scan , The endless errors and the destiny of man. i Mid the vast pomp of Judah's sacred fane , The holy man in glistening ephod passed, ! And marked the Chosen ; while, like April rain, j Guilt's blood poured forth; and thus, until the last, ] Crime unredeemed will stain the boundless waste Of life, — and he that sinneth can but die; ; Yet for the few who shun the desert blast . Of Evil, joy still dwells beneath the sky, 'i And Hope that mounteth up — whose Eden is on high. To thoughtful wisdom every spot of earth Is full of beauty, every sound, of joy, And the soul revels in its deathless birth, And feels in age the genius of the boy. ,i 4.5 . J 354 THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE. So He ordains who dwelleth in the sky, Though billowy clouds float round about His throne. And darkness His pavilion is on high, For justly He beholdeth all that 's done, And chooseth from the earth the souls that are His owru The world is full of terror — terror born Of what we know not ; like the sacred gold That Brennus stole from Delphi, left forlorn, Life is a fatal treasure! we grow old In early youth and human joy is sold For fear that bringeth woe ; bound down, girt round With woes we never can on earth unfold, We still must bear, while every sight and sound Chills the wild breaking heart in sorcery's fetters bound. We are not of the things we seem ; there lies A boundlessness we search not— cannot know — Around, and, like the starry fields and skies. Thoughts distant mingle in a maze of woe And break the spirit down and o'er us throw The robe of Nessus ; knowledge skills not here ; In the dark commune of a dream, we grow Unto the things we fashion and the tear. Unshed, doth turn to ice and this the heart must bear. The spirit cannot grasp what it defines; All must believe what none can comprehend; Our Fate must trace the long, the fatal lines That bind our hearts and with their being end! We are but shadows here ; strange things that blend Oft with the earth — sometimes, with heaven; like snow, Pure in the dayspring of our birth, we wend After in the world's wide pathway and soon grow Familiar with Earth's guilt and all the sinner's woe. Dark visions of the Sceptic ! where ye lead Thousands will follow; what ye teach, believe! Tremble! dim reason is the failing reed Ye lean upon in mystery I Oh, deceive THE DREAM OP THE SEPULCHRE. 355 The widowed heart no more, or it must grieve O'er the cold ruin of its darkened shrine, And, as it wanders, still behind it leave Its godlike powers, high thoughts and hopes benign- — And the immortal Light that proved its birth divine! False as responses from Dodona's cave. Or rude Telmessus, are the unearthly fears That haunt the heart thro' being to the grave, And change to agony outgushing tears; Yet every changeful leaf and shadow bears Some dim similitude of woes to come, And lone reflection, like dark waters, wears Life's life away — in peril of its doom — Till the grieved spirit parts and wanders to its home. The midnight churchyard and the lonely heath, The o'erarched forest and the ruined tower, Where stilly roam the images of death, Where goblins gibber at the voiceless hour, And strange appearances, like giants, lour Thro' the dead darkness of the creaking wood — Oh! these are seasons when the fiend hath power, And places where he tempteth men to blood. While madness springs from fear and stunning solitude. And these things, awful in their mystery, fill The o'ercharged heart with horror past all speech, And shoot thro' every vein a quivering thrill, An awe that petrifies, beyond the reach Of human healing; wisdom cannot teach Knowledge, nor tame the terrors that will bear The spirit into frenzy! Preach, oh, preach. In zealot dooming to the empty air. Ye ministers of men! then tremble in despair! Reveal your mission ! rend away the veil! Tell us what 't is we dread and what we are ! Cloud not the heart whose thickening pulses fail ! Doubt o'er us hangs, like a cold distant star, 356 THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRG. That shows but darkness — truth abides afar, None knoweth where ; but are ye of the skies, Yet cannot tear away the obstructing bar, That shuts out knowledge? Light our groping eyes, Or never more o'ercloud the eternal mysteries? Where are we? Earth doth seem a hell afar From the bright dwellings of the pure and high ; The darkened mockery of a cold dim star, That, ages since, dropped from the glorious sky! — What are we ? Angels vouchsafe no reply. And our own thoughts are but a maze of dreams. That wrap us in delusion ; the soul's eye Is dimmed by doubt and dazzled by the gleams. That flash from heaven o'er earth, like lightning o'er dark streams Why should we live to be the thrall of fears. That sear the bleeding bosom ? Why abide Where Hope's frail flowers are watered by our tears, Where passion riots on the wreck of pride. And every joy is hurried down the tide Of Time to dim oblivion ? — All is pain, J Our birth, life, death — and, onward as we glide, i We leave behind the things we love, full fain ^ To linger near past joys we shall not see again. ' i Why such things are, earth never can reveal! I The canon of our doom hath found its close ! j The dread Dispensers of our woe or weal j O'er earth and heaven — its angels or its foes — ' Wander where'er the tide of being flows; ; We know not, none know, where our path began I Nor where 't will end ! but while the blue sky glows, j And seasons bless our bosoms, still the ban I Of Evil doth not blight the moral heart of man. j Though branded by the taint of sin, and blurr'd ; By the dire passions of our earthly lot ; J Though upas envy in the soul hath stirr'd, j And dark revenge that cannot be forgot; i J THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE. 357 Though murder leaves its hecatombs to rot, And bandit kings are Earth's Liege Lords of woe ; I Yet there 's redeeming beauty for the blot, j And blessedness, that, with a mellow glow, j Lights up the deepest stains that steep our hearts below. E'en as I write, old ocean's billows swell And rush and roar around me, and the sun ■• Gleams o'er the Atlantic waters as they well \ From the deep fountains of the depths ; near done. The summer eve sinks on the sea, and on The gallant ship careers like hope to Heaven! But all is mystery around ; we run j A race with fate in darkness, and 't is given I Our 'weary, fainting hearts to be asunder riven ; Or worn, like rocky channels, till our life I Becomes an agony — a burning thirst, \ A gasping fever — a Prometheus strife \ With Destiny almighty from the first ! "^ Vain is the song that from the heart hath burst, ' Vain is the incense of the poet's soul. Vain, deeds of glory blessed or accursed, * And vain the fruits of seasons as they roll, ■■ If human hearts bow not to Him who guides the whole. j i j Dark the palazzo of the sunny south | To him whose spirit broods o'er wrong and ill ; 1 Dark the fresh bloom of innocence and youth ] To the chained victim of his own wild will! i Love's first warm gush and Joy's electric thrill Stern passion changeth into bitter grief. But meek contentedness abideth still, * And humble trust that is its own relief, — ] The blossomed seed in spring — the golden autumn sheaf s Like twilight shed from treetops on blue streams, The future shadoweth o'er the yearning mind, That is a dim and dusky heaven of dreams, Where high events are uttered by the wind ; ! 358 THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE. Yet to a bosom humbled and resigned Still there is Hope — high, holy hope, that soars To realms the dervise never yet divined, Where seraphs wander by elysian shores, And thronging World on World the Eternal One adores. The lone heart looks and lingers and still yearns To drink the bann'd cup of that awful lore. Which dwells among the ashes of death's urns, And is poured forth on that untravelled shore. Whence parted spirits can return no more ! But, oh, the quest is vain ; the burning thirst Of knowledge never can be quenched before The chains that bind the struggling spirit burst, And the free soul departs to realize the worst. But well our searching thought these shapes may deem. These sheeted shadows and mysterious forms, No strange creations of a feverish dream, That come and vanish on the wings of storms. But Spirits whom the fire of glory warms. Who from the sepulchre of darkness come, From the cold mansion of corroding worms. To soothe the sadness of despairing doom, And with a gentle love lead Earth's beloved home ! Sweet messages of mercy may invite Blest ones to wander mid their own loved kin, That they may minister to their delight. And shield their hearts from error and from sin ; So, by this hallowed commune, they may win Offenders from the path that leads to woe. And guide them where the holy enter in The heaven of heavens — the home that cannot know That sorrow, sin and death which visit all below. O Thou ! the beautiful, the loved, the lost, For whom unwonted tears are shed alone ! Hear, thou of all on earth beloved the most, O hear my song beneath the eternal throne! THE DREAM OP THE SEPULCHRE. 359 To what far realm, fair sister, art thou gone T Where is thy dwelling with the purified ? Hear'st thou thy brother's deep and bitter moan ? Cleanse thou his heart and check his human pride — The seraph be thou wert! that with thee I had died! In the fresh bud of being thou wert swept From the glad earth and the rejoicing sky, And stranger hearts, o'ergushing, deeply wept. That one so blest and beautiful could die! Oh ! many a bosom heaved its first low sigh O'er beauty's blight and genius' early doom, And, well do I remember, every eye Looked from the shadow of its mournful gloom, While Mary's lovely brow was darkened by the tomb. I would not thou wert here ; earth is a cold, A cuel sojourn to the pure and mild, And none can long the sweet affections hold Of such as thou, blest sister, undefiled ! But when in memory thine eye hath smiled. And thy voice came like songs from glory's sphere, While I roamed sadly o'er earth's desert wild, I oft have sighed to meet thee, sister dear ! Where thou art still the same as when our blessing here- • Thou, too, my father ! ere thy son could catch And paint thine image on his glowing breast, Wert taken from thy skill'd and patient watch O'er men by ills afflicted and distrest, To the lone chamber of thy silent rest! I cannot well remember thee; there floats A proud veiled image by me — half expressed ; An eye that bears the spirit it devotes, A brow, a face, a form, but faint as sunbeam motes. It is not oft thy name is uttered now, For men are false to fame, and thou wert proud, But some have told me that I bear thy brow, And like thee move among the huddled crowd ; 360 THE DREAiM OF THE SEPULCHRE. If thus it be, my father ! though the shroud Is dust upon thy heart, thy spirit still Lives in thy firstborn boy, who hath avowed, And will uphold the grandeur of thy will. And, till the death decreed, thy great designs fulfil. It is a pleasant thought that thou mayst know From all that live the person of thy son; Yet I would not thou shouldst behold his woe, But mark his ordeals passed — his trophies won — Teach him to bear his trials, yet begun. And follow Virtue — though a banished queen. And Honour, where high deeds in youth are done. Reckless of all that may be or hath been, If it exalt us not above this grovelling scene. Among the ancient hills of Warwick sleeps A lake that mirrors the blue bending skies, And round its waters lone the Mountain sweeps. Whose pinnacles are thrones of destinies : And by that sunny lake's green margin lies A garden-plot choked up with poison weeds, And in the midst a Ruin; there these eyes First drank the beauty of a world that bleeds, Amid its thousand charms, o'er Passion's evil deeds. And o'er a beetling crag a palmer bent At that young hour — a wild and brainsick man — And through the clouds of future being sent His spirit: coalblack was his hair, but wan His lips that seemed to mutter o'er a ban. He spake of sorrow and an orphan boy, And widowhood in summer years began, And guardian guilt and toil without a joy. And yet a gifted Mind no trial could destroy. That palmer's footstep prints no more the earth, But his dim oracles were words of truth : My sire — my sister — many a friend of worth No more watch o'er my melancholy youth. THE DREAM OF THE SEPULCHRE. 361 And kindred friends are few, and foes, in sooth, Amid the mazes of earth's withering gloom, Like scorpions crawl and pierce, witli barbed tooth, M}' heart, that dares the worst of evil doom, And will not cower nor quail till shrouded in the tomb. But happier thoughts and holier feelings wake, And man may learn to seek his trust above, Unawed by all the world can give or take, Confiding in the fountain of all love ! Resigned and holy faith will ever prove The highest hope, the purest bliss — the best And only gift that nothing can remove! Lean thy sick heart on heaven and be at rest ! Who early seek such strength will be forever blest. Hold sweet communion with loved ones who sleep. Yet not unconscious of thy love and woe, In Death's cold arms, yet in their bosoms keep Such high affection thou for them dost show ! For thee their spirits still with young love glow. For thee they whisper in the evening wind Soft soothing words, that like blue waters flow ; — " Though dead, our love yet lingers all behind — " For thee in heaven we dwell — be thou to heaven resigned !" Reason is blind in mysteries revealed. And thought is folly o'er our destiny ; The tree of knowledge unto all is sealed, Alike to worshipper and Sadducee, AUke to Muterin and Osmanlee; And faint and finite is the brightest gleam Of our chained spirits o'er Eternity; Wisdom must wait on fevered passion's dream, And solemn awe direct the thoughts we dare to deem. We die with every friend that parts from earth. But live again with every soul whose home Is the blue ether. From our hour of birth Lost loved ones are around us, and they come 46 363 OLrupiADs. Into our thoughts, like moonlight, when we roam In silvery silence *neath the starlight sky; They charm in grief, irradiate in gloom, Impart meek gladness to the brow and eye, And teach our weary hearts that spirits never die. OLYMPIADS. MARRIED LOVE AND MARRED LOVE I WEDDED the Beloved — the Beautiful ! She had an eye like Spring's first flowers, or stars At summer twilight, and a high pale brow Of tender beauty, where the wandering veins, Like hidden rivulets, revealed the gift Of Mind ; while Thought upon her Grecian face Sat like a Seraph on his throne when all The angelic princedoms bow before their God. Pure as the maymorn breeze, or beaded dews. That diadem the rose — in every thought The creature of a blest humanity And purified affection — she became. E'en to my earliest glance, the evening star, (The holy light that hushes all to peace) Of a lone heart, that lingered o'er past hours And basked in vain though glorious imagery. I looked and loved, and o'er my spirit came The rush of solemn feeUngs (golden clouds, Though dim and fading, on the wings of years) And all the idol memories of life OLYMPIADS. 363 Went by like music on a summer eve. Love ! 't is the dream of every young pure heart, A fairy vision of a better sphere, A rainbow, resting on a vs^orld of woe. But leading unto heaven; a charm in hope To all, though unto few the holiest bliss Of earth — the earnest of eternal heaven. Passion's young pilgrim, I had roamed afar O'er foreign lands, where unfamiliar tongues And aspects strange saluted me ; my ear Had ceased to hear the tender voice of love, And never trusted words that knew no heart. I long had roamed the world in utter scorn Of all man toils to gain and cast away ; And lingering time hung o'er me like a sky Of deep, dull, chilling clouds, without or light Or darkness, and all human things to me Brought neither love nor hate, but one dead waste Of life and all its passions, hopes and fears. I trod my Native Land again, unchanged In the deep love my spirit bears to thee, Divinest Liberty ! but hopeless else Of all the common happiness of man. Forecast not fate, nor to thyself appoint Thy destiny ! for, over all supreme, A power directs our days and their events Unseen, all prescient and inscrutable ; And, in the world, full oft a single word. Uttered unwarily, will more avail Thy welfare, than long years of vain pursuit, Passion and tempest and unslackened toil. I long had deemed that earth held many hearts Deep, proud and high like mine, but what I sought With martyrlike devotion — vainly sought — Came in an hour when hope had passed away, And chance assumed her empire o'er my fate. Deep streams will mingle, though their fountains rise A thousand leagues asunder : so will hearts. 364 OLyMPiADS. Whose feelings ever blend, though far apart Born, and in fancy for another fate. We met — we loved, and she became to me A solace and the hope of better days. I had looked forward to this sacred hour As look the weary mariners for land, As captives for the day that sets them free, As desert pilgrims for Zahara's wells, As saints for paradise. Love was to me My sainted father's only dying gift Not clutched away from a young orphan's grasp, And the o'ergushing heart will spread o'er earth A paradise of bloom, or on the waste Of an unthankful world pour out its life. Affections unbestowed, in the deep spring Of o'erfraught bosoms dwelling, like pent streams. Stagnate in their large affluence ; but unlocked, Bear wealth and beauty in their silent flow. To throw one's self upon a kindred heart, To love as angels do — to know one's hopes And fears are shared by a devoted bride ; To cling through good and evil to the shrine Whence bridal vows ascended to the skies ; This to my bosom had been paradise; But ever had I felt 'twas to search For what my spirit, in its lonely moods, Had imaged out — for, oh, too well I knew Such high revealings had no earthly type. In other days, when earth and air and sea Glowed with the glory of ambition's dreams. Passion awoke, and worshipped at the shrine Of a pure heart with all the earnest love. The wild adoring of a soul that cast The world away to win a heaven below. But evil came — a blight was on my love, The storm rushed o'er the sunbeam, and, amid The darkness of a deep unnatural night, OLYMPIADS. 365 Rude hands bore off the idol of my youth ! — Ten years have died ! to linger on the days And mark their thoughts and deeds, long ages pass Like endless shadows o'er me ; but to fly To Housatonic's stream and Derby's hills And that old mansion, whose great balcony Hung o'er the waters — brief as hope appears The Olympiad of my first unhappy love. Through the dark night I saw the glimmering sail Resting upon the wave : I saw the barque, And heard the dash of oars that bore away My heart's best hope — Despair hath dreadful strength ! I saw the vessel glide away, and heard Voices upon the deep until they came O'er me like the far sounds of dreams ! And then — — Then I went forth, a man, mid other men, Not to lament — the proselyte of fools — Nor rail, like girls hysteric, nor arraign The doom of evil ; but to feel and bear, To think and keep deep silence, and to love Too sacredly for earth to know my love. I sought not dim forgetfulness, but nursed Memory and loved the blissful pangs she brought. Years past, but I remembered her, and then My heart grew milder than in other times, And when I thought of the loved one, 'twas not With bitterness, but tender melancholy. Shadowed and softened by the lapse of years And many changes. Like the gushing forth Of twilight waters or the whispering stir Of dewy leaves, or breath of fading flowers. The memory of our young and blighted love Came o'er me, and 't was blessedness to think How I had loved her — though my bosom bled O'er my lone grief and her dark sacrifice. O'er the wild surges of the ocean oft My spirit wandered back when far away, But with a settled grief serene ; none knew From outward mildness and smooth courtesy 366 OLYMPIADS. And mannerly respect of customs old, That passion's flood had left my heart a waste. Lost to my arms but not my love — I knew Her days could not be blest in this wrong world. And never would I by remotest word Waken a scorpion in her wedded heart. She was a thing of holiness — high throned As among cherubim, beheld far off, And worshipped unapproached ; and oft I wept And prayed that she Tnight calmly bear the task, The bitter task, that was her portion here, Without repining o'er the fatal hours That fled like morning stars ; and 'twas my trust That he — her unknown wedded lord — might prove Gentle and faithful to the blighted flower ! And never — never would I see her more. Though, sometimes, tidings of her lot would come, Like desert blasts or storms at equinox. To darken the bright stream of wandering thought. So all my deep affections mellowed down Into a sorrow gentle as the sigh Of the low evening wind through autumn woods. As I have said, I wedded the Beloved ! 'T was when the sweet autumnal days came on, And earth was full of beauty, and the heavens Of glory, and the heart of man of praise. I gave her all the deep love of a heart Long tried and faithful unto worse than death. And she did love me more that I had loved With a fidelity and strength alike Unconquered by repulse and woe and time. Her smiles went o'er my bosom like the air O'er flowering shrubs and honeysuckle bowers, And she, at times, was mirthful as the birds In the sweet month of May ; and then again Quietly sad as any nightingale. Playful, yet full of feeling, innocent Without suspecting guile, in smiles and tears THE DESERT HORSEMAN. 367 Pleasant as stars when fancy images The thrones of angels there, she gently taught Forgetfulness of many an irking ill, Lost in the beauty of her winsome smile. And did become, first in herself, and then In the blest offerings of love, a world, Where peril, calumny and pain are lost In this revealment of restoring Heaven. THE DESERT HORSEMAN.* The lightning glared, and the wild wind blew, And the hurtling thunder broke, And awfully black the storm-clouds grew Beneath each wrathful stroke ; When the Warrior Chief of the wild woods sprung On the Desert's coal-black steed — Oh ! fearfully then the dark skies rung As they trump'd the awful deed ! The plumes of the eagle waved o'er his brow, And his tomahawk glistened bright, And his bended bow and his arrows now Were ready for the fight ; The scalping-knife hung at his wampum belt And his mantle loosely flowed — Oh ! who may tell what the Warrior felt As thus with the winds he rode ? On, on to ihe desert ! — Hegon's eye 'Mid the gloom like a meteor burned, When the furnace fire of the midnight sky To cavern darkness turned, * Founded on a tradition of the Oneida Indians. 368 THE DESERT HORSEMAN. And his warwhoop pealed through the pathless wood As he hurried madly on ; And the wild horse dashed through marsh and flood — Oh ! where hath the Chieftain gone ? Hark ! — 'tis the shout of the Indian band That rises loud behind ; And the Warrior lifts his blood-red hand, And hurries with the wind Through the haunted glen and the trampled dell» And the woodland plain of gore, Where his Huron foes in the battle fell A thousand years before. And he vanisheth by the hallowed vale Where his fathers' sepulchres lay, And a thousand ghosts with whoop and wail Do hurry him on his way. While the lightnings flare and the thunders break. And the dark gale howls along — Yet the Chieftain's heart it doth not quake, But he bears him high and strong. On, on to the desert ! — wildly bend The moaning woods around, And the thick ravines of the mountains send A hollow deathlike sound ; And the beasts of the forest howl and cry For the heart of the Indian Chief, But the Sagamore hurries quickly by As the hurricane bears the leaf. On the wild steed's back he stands upright, And his warwhoop shrieks afar, And he draws his bow with a monarch's might At a light like a distant star; And a wail arose in the morning there, For an innocent child was dead, And the arrow hung in its bosom fair — But where had the murderer fled ? THE DESERT HORSEMAW. 369 On the horse of the desert Hegon stood, And the trees shrunk back as he passed, While the black steed's hoofs through the lonely wood Crashed louder than the blast ; And the serpent, coiled in his venom fold, Sprang vainly from his den, For far away over wood and wold, The horse rushed through the glen. And a thousand men had vainly striven To stay that wild career — With the arrowy bolts of the midnight heaven Rode Hegon, void of fear ; * And his tomahawk struck on the forest trees, As he passed with terror by. And the wildwood fell — and the morning breeze Shook the sear leaves o'er the sky. Thus the Prophet Chief in his terrors passed To the hunting ground of souls, ^Mid the lightning's glare and the tempest's blast, Where, from their secret holes. The moose and the deer start up and scud Before-the hunter's bow, While his arrow drinks their red, red blood — This Kichtan* doth bestow. Thus Hegon passed in his war array. On the coalblack steed of Death, To the Land of Souls, where the warm clear day Is Areouski'sf breath, — And far in the northern wood, at night. The Oneida poets tell How Hegon rode in his warrior might, Where only warriors dwell. * The god of hunting. -j-The god of war, 48 VISIONS OF ROMANCE. When dark-brow'd midnight o'er the slumbering world Mysterious shadows and bewildering throws, And the tired wings of human thought are furled, And sleep descends like dew upon the rose, How full of bliss the poet's vigil hour When o'er him elder Time hath magic power ! Before his eye past ages stand revealed When feudal chiefs held lordly banquettings. In the spoil revelling of flood and field, Among their vassals proud unquestioned kings : While honoured minstrels round the ample board The lays of love or songs of battle poured. Mid loud wassail and legend quaint and jest, The horn-rimm'd goblet, pledge of heart and hand, To knightly lips in solemn faith is pressed. And rose-lipped mirth waits on the warrior-band. To whom the brand and cup alike are dear. The storm of battle and the banquet's cheer. Throned on his dais the proud old chief looked o'er The lengthening lines of haughty barons there. And listened to the minstrel's rhythmic lore; Or boon accorded to the suppliant's prayer ; Or planned the chase through wood and mountain dell, Or roused his guests by feuds remembered well. i VISIONS OF ROMANCE. 371 The dinted helmet, with its broken crest, The serried sabre and the shattered shield Hung round the wainscot dark and v^ell expressed That wild, fierce pride which scorned unscathed to yield ; And pictures there with dusky glory rife From age to age bore down stern characters of strife. Amid long lines of glorious ancestry, Whose eyes flashed o'er them from the old gray walls. What craven quails at danger's lightning eye? What warrior blenches when his brother falls? Bear witness, Crescy and red Agincourt! Bosworth and Bannockburn and Marston Moor ! The long lone corridors — the antlered hall — The massive walls — the all commanding towers — Where revel reigned and masquerading ball, And beauty won stern warriors to her bowers — In ancient grandeur o'er the spirit move With all their forms of chivalry and love. The voice of centuries bursts upon the soul — Long-buried ages wake and live again — Past feats of fame and deeds of glory roll, Achieved for ladye-love in knighthood's reign ; And all the simple state of olden Time Assumes a garb majestic and sublime. The steel-clad champion on his vaulting steed, The mitred primate, and the Norman lord. The peerless maid awarding valour's meed. And the meek vestal who her God adored — The pride, the pomp, the power and charm of earth From Fancy's dome of living thought come forth. The sacred orri jiamme in war's red tide Waves mid the shivering shock of lance and brand, And trump-like voices burst in shouts of pride O'er foes whose blood hath stained the wasted land ; Hark ! through the convent-shades triumphal songs ! Lo the rich shrine ! — thus saints avenge our wrongs ! 372 VISIONS OF ROMANCE. O'er kneeling penitents at the abbey's shrine Absolving voices speak God's benison, And lonely cloisters echo prayers divine From many a holy, world-forsaking nun, Before the image of the Crucified Bowed in prostration of all worldly pride. The pale-brow'd vestal and the dark stoled friar, The beaded monk whose heart is in his grave, Raise their low voices in the holy choir. While in response the solemn yew trees wave ; And through the cloisters and lone aisles they sigh That hope smiles not for them beneath the sky. Beyond the holy walls stern warriors sleep Who gloried in their highborn ancientry ; ' Whose war-steeds erst in many a desperate leap O'er lance and spear went on right gloriously — Carved on the tombstone, rests the brave knight's form — • Where is the knight ? Ask not the battening worm ! The feast is o'er, the huntsman's course is done, The trump of war — the shrill horn sounds no more — The heroic revellers from the hall have gone — The lone blast moans the ruined castle o'er! The spell of beauty and the pride of power Have passed forever from the feudal tower. No more the drawbridge echoes to the tread Of visored knights o'ercanopied with gold. O'er mouldering gates and crumbling archways spread. Dark ivy waves in many a mazy fold, Where chiefs flashed vengeance from their lightning glance, And grasped the brand and couched the conquering lance. But all hath not in silence perished here — The deep, still voice of lost power will be heard ; Mysterious spectres in the gloom appear As still in death they would be shunned and feared; All is not lost — the bright electric air Glows with the spirits of the great that were ! VISIONS OF ROMANCE. 373 One generation from another draws ' Greatness and glory added to its own ; ; It breathes the spirit of the primal laws, j And makes the heart a freeborn nation's throne; ': Time treads in dust earth's highest pride and fame, But thoughts of power forever are the same. ■ Oh, who so weak as ponder on the tomb 1 \ The dead are nothing ! — drink the mountain breeze ] Or roam o'er ruins wrapt in ages' gloom, ' And hoard thou well Earth's silent mysteries ! The Past is written in the lightning's glare \ To bid the Future for its doom prepare. The gorgeous pageantry of times gone by, ; The tilt, the tournament, the vaulted hall, t Fades in its glory on the spirit's eye, i And fancy's bright and gay creations — all I Sink into dust when reason's searching glance | Unmasks the age of knighthood and romance. ■ For fatal feuds from unknown sources sprung, Raged unrepressed and unappeased, by tears; And (shame to tell!) the royal minstrels sung Oppression's poean in those darkened years; ] Then empire hung upon the arm of power. And fate frowned o'er the dark embattled tower. i j Like lightning hurtled o'er the lurid skies. Their glories flash along the gloom of years ; 1 The beaconlights of Time, to wisdom's eyes, I O'er the deep rolling stream of human tears. ^ ;i Fade! fade! ye visions of antique Romance! \ Tower, casque and mace, and helm and bannered lance! 4^ A. ■ Q^ HOPE. Like the foam on the billow As it heaves o'er the deep, Like a tear on the pillow When we sigh in our sleep, Like the syren that sings, We cannot tell where, \ Is the Hope that hath wings, - The phantom of air! Like the starlight of gladness When it gleams in death's eye, / Or the meteor of madness / In the spirit's dark sky ; ', Like the zephyrs that perish With the breath of their birth, Are the hopes that we cherish — Poor bondmen of earth! The pleasures and pains. That pass o'er us below, Fade like colours and stains On the cold winter's snow ; All the loves of the bosom That burns with delight, Are mildew'd in blossom • And wilher'd with blight. The sunbeam of feeling Lights the ruins of love. And sorrow is stealing O'er the visions above; Like a spirit unblest, Hope wanders alone. With a heart ne'er at rest, In the future or gone. THE father's legacy. 375 She drinks from Time's cup The bright nectar of heaven, And her spirit mounts up 'Mid the glories of even ; But the world drugs with death The chalice of bliss, As the nightingale's breath Wafts the rattlesnake's hiss. From the bowers of repose Like a spectre she starts, And she breathes the spring's rose O'er the depths of all hearts ; But fancy and feeling Must vanish in sorrow, Struck hearts have no healing — ■ Hope sighs o'er tomorrow. THE FATHER'S LEGACY. By Hudson's glorious stream, in death's cold rest, Thy head lies low, my great and gallant sire 1 Pillowed in peace on earth's eternal breast, No more thy bosom pants with hope's desire. Now, more than ever, doth thy name inspire, For lingering years have wept above thy grave, And shed their cold dews o'er my lonely lyre, But to enhance the grief that could not save. The settled woe that sighs o'er Hudson's midnight wave. _..j 376 THE father's LEGACr. In the first gush and glory of my years, Ere reason glowed, or memory held her power, Thy pale proud brow was wet with infant tears, And wild cries rose in thy deserted bower ! Oh, how the dim remembrance of that hour Crowds on my brain like night's most shadowy dream, When winds wail loud and o'erfraught tempests lower! A glimpse of glory in a meteor's gleam, Sunlight in storms — a flower upon the rushing stream. The budding boughs, the limpid light of spring, The mirrored beauty of the brimming rills, The greenness and the gentle airs, that bring Life's golden hours again, when heavenly hills And vales bore witness to the soul that thrills The heart of youth ere passion riots there — Shed o'er me now the loveliness which fills, At parted seasons, such as wed despair When being's dayspring breaks and all but life is fair. Yet from this scene of most surpassing love, Not unrefreshed, I turn to happier years. Quick in their flight, when through the highland grove I ran to meet thee with ecstatic tears. And in thine arms forgot my deepest fears ! Oh, then thou wert to me what I am now* To one blest boy — my sorrow's bliss — who wears The very majesty of thy high brow, The pride, the thought, the power, that in thine eye did glow. No proud sarcophagus thy corse enshrines, No mausoleum mocks thy mouldering dust, But there the rose, amid its mazy vines, Blooms like thy spirit with the pure and just ; And — image of earth's high and holy trust — Deep verdure smiles and wafts its breath to heaven, And, holier far than antique print or bust, Lives in my heart the portrait thou hast given, The worship of pure love— the faith of autumn's even. •What, alas ! I was. THE father's legacy. 377 Thy Legacy was not the gold of men, The slave of pomp, the vassal of the mine, But an o'ermastering intellect, that, when The world reviled and trampled, soared divine, And stood o'erpanoplied on God's own shrine! This did'st thou leave me. Father! and my mind Hath been my realm of glory — as 't was thine — Though much it irks me to have cast behind Thy godlike skill to quell the ills of human kind. 'Twas thine to grapple with the fiend of gain, 'Twas thine to toil and triumph in the field — It cannot be that /should faint in pain, And like a craven, to the dastard yield; On the starr'd mead, and in the o'erarching weald It hath been mine to tliink and to be blest, And oft on mountain pinnacles I 've kneeled To pray I might be gathered to my rest With glory on my brow and virtue in my breast. Though anguish throbs through all my bosom now, And wild tears gush whene'er I think of thee, Yet like blue heaven upon Cordillera's brow. Thy memory clothes me with divinity. And lifts my soul beyond the things that be, The strife of traffic, falsehood's common fear, Friendship betrayed, unguerdoned vassalry. And every ill, that reigns and riots here. In this dark world so far from thine immortal sphere. My earliest smiles were thine — my earliest thought, Like rosy light in morn's translucent sky, First from thine eye, my spirit's sun, were caught; And as it gleams on days that vanish by. It turns to thee, my fountain shrined on high ! — My Sister ! is she with thee ? where thou art Thy children fain would be! — on starbeams fly, ^ Spirits of Love! and in my raptured heart Make Heaven's own music till my soul in transport part. 48 378 nuLiaioN unrevkaled. And teach me with an awed delight to tread The darksome vale that all must tread alone, And gift me with the wisdom of the dead, Justly to do, yet all unjustly done, Freely to pardon ! — Till the crown is won. Be with me in the errings of my lot. The many frailties of thine only son. And when brief records say that he is not, Hail his wronged spirit /jomc where sorrow is forgot! RELIGION UNREVEALED. Ancient romance of visionary minds. Shadow and symbol of a holier creed! To thee wild voices, wing'd on mountain winds, And countless hecatombs, predoomed to bleed, And earth and heaven, submissive to thy reed, Bore awful witness to surpassing thought; And many a vast emprise and godlike deed Rendered its glory to thy fane unsought. And o'er the soul of man its thrillmg magic wrought. Thy handmaid, Fa-ble, shadowed love and truth, As sunset waters image summer skies ; And genius blossomed in perpetual youth, Wielding at will prophetic destinies; Each gem and pearl, that in dark silence lies, O'er thee its beauty like a sunbow shed, And for the heaven of thought, that never dies. Men toiled and suffered, smiling while they bled. Till heroes, sages, bards, rose gods among the dead. RELIGION UNREVEALED. 379 O'er unlearned hearts, whence gushed translucent rills Of mind, the floating darkness of their day Lived with the presence of a Power, which fills Each dewbell, leaf and raindrop with a ray Of that divinity, all worlds obey. Clothed in his terrors, on his mountain throne The Olympian Thunderer sat, upon the play Of arrowy lightnings — weapons all his own — Gazing with that dread eye which ever smiles alone. Below, that wondrous beauty of the heart, Dian of Delos, with a seraph brow. Threw the deep sanctity pure thoughts impart O'er the green vale of fountains, and the snow Of high Olympus. With his ^haft and bow, Apollo wandered in his matchless might. The god of eloquence and song, ev'n now Invoked to crown the work of minds, whom night, In time's abyss, then brooded o'er with still delight. Limpid and laughing waters leapt and sung Before the nymphs, and summer breezes came^ Hymns of the watching heavens to chaunt among The old and solemn woods — wild haunts of fame ! The birthbed of full many a deathless name Was hallowed first by thoughts, whence forms arose Of virtue, beauty, glor}' — all that claim Resolve and wisdom— and each wild wood ro§e And oak wreath gave the power which great renown bestowa. Imagination's Eden — Arcady! Thy spirit triumphs yet o'er waste and death ; Thy hallowed hills, thy pure and glorious sky, And thy great thoughts, that burned in deeds beneath, And veiled with awe and beauty rock and heath, To vast renown thy chosen name have given ; And not less lovely in thy victor wreath Beam the bland smiles, like tender eyes of even. Of Oread, Dryad, Muse, robed in the hues of heaven, 380 REMGION UNREVEALEU. The unsearched depth of the soul's mysteries Was to the men of elder time a home, A heaven, where dwelt their mightiest deities, Regents of good or ill — o'er years to come Scattering their blight or brightness ! — Ocean's foam Gave birth to nature's crown of loveliness, Hope was their Iris through the sky to roam, And all their simple faith could not but bless Hearts quick to share all bliss, and soothe unshunn'd distress. Watchers and warders o'er the changing fate Of life's brief season — thrones of spirits blest, Where envy entered not, nor rival hate. The stars were hope's eternal home of rest. The o'ervvrought brain, the worn and wasted breast Drank in the nightsong of the Pleiades, Whose music of the mind, like leaves caressed By dayspring zephyrs, winged on melodies. Wafted Elysium's soul on every holy breeze. The headlong torrent with its noise of war, The brook that gurgled o'er the velvet vale, The hoar and giant mountain, seen afar, Whose dusky summit seamen wont to hail, Ere Tiber or Pirieus saw their sail — The awful forest, and romantic wood, Each had its god, its shrine, its song and tale, Twilight revealments of a restless mood, Gentle creations of the heart's dim solitude. Gymnosophist or gnostic ne'er beheld Wilder or fairer visions ; every spot Was peopled by divinities; hills swelled And valleys glowed with grandeur; unforgot, Man felt his Maker everywhere, and nought Dimmed his deep faith that they, whose features won His household prayer, would guide him to a lot Blest as the fiower that blossoms in the sun, When toil had gained its meed, and virtue's race was run. THE CHIEF OF HAZOR. The poem is founded on the events narrated in the fourth chapter of the book of Judffes. O'er Tabor's height and Ezdraelon's plain The morn is breaking with a silvery swell Of light, so beautiful that it doth float In the blest air, like breathing poetry. The mountain breeze comes o'er the dewy flowers With all the freshness and elysian bloom Of the young heart expanding — (Oh ! how soon To catch the fatal leprosy of guilt !) When its first thoughts run wild in glorious dreams Of Fairyland or Paradise; and birds THE CHIEF OF HAZOR. 381 , Fear had its triumphs then — when had it not? Cocytus, Phlegethon, the gulph of gloom, -: Forms shadowless in sunlight — shades of thought! 1 But sacred sympathies o'er all did bloom ; I And the fair urn, unlike the mouldering tomb, Freshened the memory of the cherished dead; i And, bending o'er it, love could still illume * The father's ashes, and around them shed : The sunbeams of the soul, that followed when he fled. , Ancient Romance ! thy spirit o'er me came '] In early years, and many a weary hour Hath glided by, like music, while the fame Of genius held me in its welcome power. ^ And now — though shadows rest upon thy bower, : And sorrow weeps o'er my vain vanished dreams, — ' I feel, thou hadst a great and glorious dower, From whose vast treasure, Time's unnumbered streams Have washed to us the gold that in our vision gleams. 38'2 THE CHIKF OF HAZOR. or rainbow plumage lift on high their songs, Whose mellow music breathes deep joy and love. Along the mossy banks, o'er rugged shelves And sunny pebbles, leaps the living brook, Rejoicing in the dayspring, while it drinks The earliest glory of the sunlight's gush ; And the sweet face of nature wears a smile Of beauty like the image of its God. Thy glorious Temple, Heaven ! thy matchless works Why should the evil enter ? why the voice Of wailing rise — the hollow groan of death — The savage shriek of carnage? Why should blood Stain the rich soil that giveth life to flowers, And mingle with the sunny lowland rill, Whose music tells of quietness and love? — Alas ! that man, whose hours are very brief, Should seek to check the race that soon must end ! The roar of battle sunk to hollow moans Far o'er the reeking field and fast he fled, The haughty Chief of Hazor, Sisera, From his benetted chariot, and alone, l^ike a shunn'd leper, held his rapid way Through the dark woods of Tabor. Ne'er before Had Jabin's captain quail'd, though fearless foes And mighty had come down upon his host. Like an unbroken cataract ; but now The hero fled in panic haste, and oft He shudder'd as he heard the victor shout Behind; and then his proud o'ermaster'd heart Fell in his bosom like the purple haze Upon the desert pilgrim, while he thought That spear and oxgoad had availed against His archers, clad in armour, and the strength Of iron chariots, drawn by barbed steeds. It is a bitter thing to see the pride Of a high spirit thus cast down and crush'd Beneath the darkness of its destiny ; THE CHIEF OF RAZOR, 383 The toil of years repaid, in one dark hour^ By scorn and infamy ; the patient thought, The watching and the weariness — the brunt Of battle and the countless woes of war All borne in vain ; the lofty consciousness Of high deserving mantled o'er with shame ^ And he, who long hath been the battlement Of his adoring country — in whose eye The King hath read the oracles of war — Whose serried falchion, like a glorious star, Hath lighted oft the path of victory, In one brief hour dethron'd from men's esteem. And driven forth from his own place of pride — An outcast — with a price upon his head ! Dark was the soul of Sisera ! His king Had gazed upon him with an eye, whose light Had shed its glory o'ei* his path ! his brow Had gleamed with victor radiance o'er the Chief,- And higher honours mark'd his last farewell. The hoary seer of Ashtaroth had blessed The warrior when he parted for the fight ; Maidens had scatter'd roses in his path, And beardless boys before his war-horse run, Shouting the name of Sisera! and now — Nor slain nor victor ! thus before the foe, The sons of herdmen, hurrying like a bann'd And outlaw'd thief! The Chief had recked of death And feared it not ; . he had not thought of this ! Alas! he knew not, till this hour, how much The human heart may bear — how darkly w^ork The mysteries of destiny — how low The loftiest may be humbled, and the best Stained, spurned and branded — sealed and garnered up To meet the doom their pride seeks not to shun ! The mists of morn still linger'd in the vale, That skirted the deep base of Tabor's height ; And hurriedly, through the dark mazes of the wood, He fled and threw aside his casque and spear 384 THE CHIEF OF HAZOR. And mail of many shekels, for his strength Had sunk in the wild battle, where he wrought The last deeds of his high renown — and now What more could proven arms avail the Chief? His glorious name was lost — his honour soiled — His proud king's curse hung o'er him — and he heard Low lurking catamites, around the throne, Whisper disgrace and craven treachery! Stung by the thought, he broke his gory sword, And threw the blade dishonoured in the brook. But kept the jewelled hilt, for there were words And names of glorious import graven there! He paused not e'en to quaff the lucid stream, Or bathe his burning forehead — but kept on — The mighty, though the fallen Sisera ! The warrior came to Jael's tent. His limbs Were weary, and his mighty frame grew weak In the despairing sickness of his heart. With a fair faithlessness, the subtle wife Of Heber wooed the warrior from his path, Who nothit]g craved but safety and a cup Of water from the fountain that gush'd forth Amid the palm-grove, in whose centre stood The Kenite's tent — upon the border land. And he lay down within ; the beaded dew Of his soul's agony hung on his brow, The arrow's bloody path was o'er his breast, That heaved as it would burst in the wild war Of master passions — blasted pride, and shame That gasped for vengeance— and revenge that quailed Before disgrace — and mocked the heart it seared. The ^tna of the bosom never sleeps ! The fever of wild enterprize — the rush, The roar of strife — the speed of hot pursuit Or breathless flight, fill the proud heart with power Even when the glory 's lost — but when the pause Follows, and the discerning mind beholds The universal ruin — the wild waste Of all its honours — the disgrace, despair. THE CHIEF OF HAZOH. 385 And desolation— it doth sink to sleep, The oblivion of all hope, all human fear, The only blessedness not reft away. Like a sweet child that knoweth not a care. Though allied to the invaders of their rich And pleasant heritage — their ancient lot- Yet Heber long had flourished 'neath the smile Of Razor's king — nor wrong had he sustained, Nor injury in word or deed. His days Had glided on in peace since he had dwelt In Harosheth of the nations, and his tent Had found due honour in the wildest strife, Nor had the deepest want unjustly snatched An ewe lamb from his flock. — But, thro' all times The open heart, the ready hand hath wrought Woe to the giver, and confiding truth Received a dark reward ! Like a lair tree. The evil flourish to a reverend age — The good wear out their strength in early youth And perish — and their memories are forgot! — It is a sickening task to look abroad This dark and evil world ! high hearts must bleed Beneath the torture — generous feelings turn To anguish 'neath the infliction of the vile, And the proud power of thought becomes a curse Amid the meshes of men's villanies ! Thus it hath ever been — and Heaven's great name Must bear the dark reflection of man's deeds, For with its hohness he covereth them. The warrior slumbered deeply — and the folds Of his dark mantle quiver'd as the breath Rushed forth, like a wild torrent, from a heart Weary and worn and tried and broken now When its proud pulse throbbed deepest. The orient morn Was beautiful as dreams of other realms ; The palm was full of music, and the pine Sent up mysterious melodies ; the hues Of the rich lotus and bright aloe glowed, 49 386 THK CHIEF OF HAZOR. While from the soft green vale the mellow air Stole through the tent and breathed upon the brow Of Sisera as he slept ! Jael drew near With feathery footsteps, like a guilty thing, And listened as she bent o'er the dark Chief. Her starting eye did wander in wild fear, A demon light was on her brow — her lips Had that compression, which implies resolve Of something terrible; upon her cheek, 'Mid corselike paleness, sat the hectic spot Of the assassin — from the accusing heart A fearful witness! and her coal-black hair Fell in unequal clusters down her neck, That had a swanlike curve, and, as she bent, Dropped o'er her panting bosom. — She came near And drew aside the covering from the face Of the lost warrior chief, and on him gazed. Dark were the dreams of Sisera ! His brow. Scarred by the casque of war, and harrowed up With many burning thoughts and sleepless cares, Quivered convulsively ; his sallow cheek Was flushed by the last fever of his heart; His mighty bosom rose and fell, like seas When the great spirit of the tempest reigns; His hand, still gauntletted, had grasped the hilt Of his dishonour'd sabre, and his lips Mutter'd strange words that sounded mournfully ; (His spirit fought the battle o'er again, And he was struggling for the victory.) Dark Sisera arose and drave his sword Through the thick tent — and smiled ; and then sunk down As if it nought availed — and sighed like one Whose hopes have vanished — whose despair is fixed, And slumber'd yet more deeply — though the shades Of thought passed o'er his warworn countenaoce Like mountain shadows o'er a mirror'd lake. THE CHIEF OF HAZOR. 387 Jael knelt down beside the chief, and drew Aside his clustering locks, which toil and grief Had changed from the dark beauty of his youth, And, like a fiend, gazed on the chieftain. — Pause ! Woman! hast thou a son ? There 's one afar To whom that warrior's filial smile is dear! E'en now she looketh for her child — her heart Is trembling for her firstborn and her best! Hast thou a boy, bann'd Jael 1 — Lo ! her lips Murmur — " My son shall judge the land for this, " A glory to the nation of the Lord I" (Thou Merciful! why dost thou spare the guilt, That clothes itself in thine all spotless name?) Lifting the fatal weapon, while her eye Glowed with a wild ferocity, she drave. At one quick blow, the iron through his brain. Up, like a goaded lion, sprang the Chief! The burning blood poured down his long dark beard, And fell, like lava, on his bosom — still His strength was equal to the deadly strife Of man with man. But when the hero saw A woman's triumph o'er him — when he felt* His uttermost disgrace — thus — thus to die Alone, unhonoured, by a woman's hand. Without a word, a signal, or a look, He fell ; his giant limbs relaxed — his head Rolled on the earth — and his last quivering gasp Went forth like an undying curse of doom. So perished Hazor's pride ! Oh, happier thus To die, the mighty by the weak — ^^the great By the low dastard, than to live a scorn, A blot, a loathing, an assassin host, A dark-soul'd traitor ! Jael ! be thy name A damned sound — a word that blasts the lips Till the -wild Arab doth a deed like thine ! THE SPELL OF THE GLOAMIN. 'T IS a sweet eve in autumn ! The blue sky Of that blest season of the soul soars up In its pure beauty, while the winnowing breeze, Free from the charter of man's privilege. Wanders where'er it listeth, o'er the earth, Breathing the life of life o'er all that feels. From the vast swell of sunset glory comes A broad, deep, all-pervading gush of light, A blaze of immortality, that bears The spirit upward as on seraph wings. That wave in the dim vision of our dreams. O'er yon fair Isle of Sycamores — o'er all The rugged Laurel mountains, whose dark cliffs Pierce the deep azure and throw back their forms, Uncouth and vast, against the sleeping sky, Like the heroic warriors of old time Reposing on soft bosoms ; — o'er the woods, That crown the toppling peak and down the vale Sweep like a long array of visions past ; O'er the broad waters of Potomac, now Slumbering in shadowy cavities, and now Hurrying o'er arrowy shelves, like a proud steed Appointed to the battle; — o'er the earth, With all its beauties, and the bending heaven, With all its glories, pours the godlike sun His sea of light, and the ethereal heart mounts up To catch the inspiration of his smile. As a sweet child climbs to its father's bosom To meet his kiss, whose blood through every vein THE SPELL OF THE GLOAMINo 389 Rejoices, and whose eye reveals his soul. The sunlight fades ; the purple clouds assume The changeful violet — the dusky rose, The gray of mountain rocks; and now the breeze, Enters their twilight tents and they are gone — Where our thoughts vanish — where our hopes become Phantoms of fear — where evening winds are born, And sever'd souls depart ! — Sage ! canst thou tell ? In the deep hush of her solemnities The crescent moon comes forth mid chequering clouds, That o'er the aspect of her beauty throw A picturesque romance — an ideal charm — A visible music and an eloquence, Like the deep pulses of the bosom heard In forest-depths, when by the river bank, And wooded hill and thymy valley sleep The echo fairies and the water nymphs. — Ye ties inscrutable, that link our hearts To the deep solitudes of rock-barr'd dells, And hoary hills and ever-flowing streams And valleys breathing quiet ! Let me catch The spirit of your silent sanctity. And learn to bear the burden of men's talk With an invisible though haughty scorn. That, like a mirror, shows them what they are.™ Through sombre hanging woods, on either bank, O'er tiny waterfalls, on right and left, Down roars a mighty river, whose deep voice Ascends in one eternal hymn of praise. — Mysterious Life ! whose evidence is Power, Or in the voice that uttereth oracles. Or in the solemn sound that hath no words. Thou dost pervade all Nature, the deep sea, The craggy mountain and the heart of man ; And art a glory — whether, from thy touch, The insect's little wings of pictured hues Float on the air, or whether, at thy voice, The fearless eagle's sun-affronting eye Marks out his prey ;— alike thy power is felt 390 THE SPELL or THE GLOAMIKT. When the soft flame sheds blessings round the hearth, And when the Volcan pillars midnight skies Through skirting woods and sundered rocks sublime The waters hold their turbulent career Mid broken crags and promontories high O'erarching, since that hour of miracle, When the vast Sea of their imprisoned waves, Repellant at their bondage, in their strength Rose up, and swept the mountain from its throne, And to the ocean in their might went down, Like Death to Armageddon's war of Doom. How beautiful the moonlight (while we stand On MoNTicELLo's Rock) upon thy stream Bubbling in eddies, or in azure sleep. Lifting its solemn music, or beside The lofty bank reposing, while the trees Scatter their sear leaves on its calm expanse ! How sweet to catch the hum of voices down The peopled street — the mirth of happy hearts — The blessed music of our daily life. While the proud anthem of the waters swells L^pon the evening breeze, and forests join The glorious hymn with melodies of leaves ! 'T is such a night as gentle hearts desire ; 'T is like the mellow courtesies of life, A silent soother ; and the low faint breeze Steals through the firwood and the piny copse With those deep, tender, solemn whisperings. That stir the heart like music. From the sky The stars look down with cheerly modest eyes, That beam the truest oracles of joys To gladden after years, so lovely now That the worn heart no longer feels its woes, Or discontent or dark-browed melancholy. Those miscreations and repugnancies. Those cold repellings of unuttered scorn. Those ingenuities of suffering. That oft, in the thronged world, become a part THE SPELL OF THE GLOAMIN. 391 And portion of our being, enter not The mansions of the spirit, when it seeks The fountain-springs of life and drinketh there The waters of its purity, amid The still and hallowed sabbath of the heart. Here let me linger, like a pilgrim far. From all he loves, and hold the feast of thought, While jarring passions, like the desert winds, Pass in the distance ! Let my heart resume The earlier kindness of its generous pulse, And, stern to its own errings, render up The prayer of charity for all that breathe ! Here let me think how far from Wisdom's path And Truth's most pleasant places I have roamed, And, with a heart of sorrow, look abroad The world that sins when sin brings misery, And peril, and a bitter bondage here. And unacquainted woe in other worlds. There is a time when sorrow on the soul Hangs like the mortcloth on the shrouded Dead, Deepening the darkness of death's mysteries; When the barb rankles in the quickest depths Of the dark bosom, and strange Shapes come forth From Memory's pictured chamber to distort And magnify our misery ! But here The pale serenities of floating stars, The slumber of the solitary woods, And the low gurgling gush of waters blue Lift the glad heart into the realms of peace. TO THE OWL. Dark Bird of the Night, That shunneth the light, Whither away on thy wandering flight ? " From the blood of the slain, " And the gaze of the Dead, " From the long lone plain "Where the horseman bled, " I hurry, I hurry and I come not again!" Lone lover of gloom. Whose lair is the tomb. Why glarest thou o'er yon marsh of broom? " The darkness is deep as death, " But I see a dead man there, " And I heard his throttled breath, " And the gasp of his despair, "When he perished alone on the dismal heath." Bird of the Night ! how did he die? "With a cloven brow and a bloodshot eye, " A clench of the hand and a gurgling cry; " Then a form appeared and took " The murdered in his embrace, " And amid the forest brook " I heard a plunge — I saw a face — * " Oh! never had living man such look !" Miserere, Domine ! TO THE OWL. 393 In his home of peace dear eyes ifearned for their earthly paradise, While the shedder of guiltless blood had power i But the bandit — where is he? "The outcast wandereth on, " And he skulks behind each tree, "For the fear of the slaughter done — " While the Gold— lo! it lies by the side of Thee!" Miserere., Domine! Watcher of solemn woods, That lov'st the roar of floods When they plunge through the midnight sohtudes, Flap not thy wings, but stay ! "To snufFthe warm blood of men? " To gaze on the dead 1 away ! " In the depth of the hem.lock glen "Man Cometh not, nor the sunlight of day." Miserere, Domine ! From the lightning scathed tree, While his wings winnowed free. The Bird hooted thrice and again at me ; Then through the rolling gloom He took his darkened flight, Untainted by the doom Of that most fearful night. When the horseman slept without bed or tomb ! Miserere, Domine ! 50 THE WANE OF THE YEAR. Td povcrari si come sa ai sale Lo pane altrui, el quanto e duro colle Lo secendere a salir pur le altrui scale. Dante. Paradis, Cant. 16. There 's beauty in the autumnal sky, And mellow sweetness in the air, But it hath sadness in my eye, And breathes of sorrow and despair ; Its softness suits not settled woe, Its richness mocks my poverty, And sunny day's ethereal glow Laughs o'er my dark soul's misery. The requiem song of sighing gale With the dead forest foliage playing; The chilling night wind's saddening wail O'er rock-browed hill and wild heath straying ; The njournful sound of lapsing flood Lamenting desert mead and shore, Rather beseem his solitude Who weeps for all he did adore. I long have been a wanderer, fated Lifes ills and wrongs and woes to bear, With all the world can offer sated, And borne to earth by deep despair ! And I have been betrayed, oppressed, Belied and mocked in guise so foul, That there dwells not within my breast A hope, or purpose in my soul. i THE WANE OF THE YEAR. 395 1 Though kindred bosoms beat with mine, ; Yet I am one the world loves not ; No hopes around my being twine, ' No glorious majesty of lot ; j Oh ! had I perished when a child, i Ere high aspirings burned to heaven, ! Devotions blasted, pleasures foiled, j And passions ne'er my heart had riven ! I I have no friend on this cold earth, i No cheerful prospect charms my eye. Despair watched o'er my unwished birth, And woe wept o'er the agony; My childhood groaned 'neath wrong and ill, j And I grew sad when others smiled, I And ever on joy's vital thrill : Came sorrows deep and miseries wild. ) My youth has been a scene of woe. And wandering and reproach, and all \ That loved me in death's overthrow 1 Have passed away beyond recall ; And I am left alone to bear \ The burden of my burning woes, ] And, blended with my heart's despair, | The tauntings of unfeeling foes. I Pale daughter of the dying year ! | I ever loved thy scenes of death, 1 Thy foliage dropping red and sere, Thy pensive look and nipping breath; i For thou wert like thy votary son, i Fading and dying day by day. And smiling that thy task was done So soon, and life had passed away. When, oh, I trace the path of years, j And count the pangs my heart hath borne, ^ And number o'er my bosom's tears, I And sighs and groans of grief forlorn, , 30G THE WANE OF THE YEAR. And think of all the dead behind, And what they were in life to me, I feci a glory of the mind In holding converse thus with thee. Oh, I would change my being high Gladly a withered leaf to be, And float on zephyr's pinions by, A thing unknowing misery! And when the snows of winter fell, I should not feel their icy blight. But slumber in the mountain dell Sweetly the livelong northern night. I ne'er could cringe and crouch to guile. Nor thoughts repress that would arise, Nor visor with a villain smile Avenging hatred's demon lies; I ne'er could herd with fashion's throng, And whirl away the unmeaning hours, Nor link with base nefarious wrong My spirit's unpolluted powers. And so my mortal life hath passed In loneliness and grief and woe, And I have trod a burning waste With measured step, lone, solemn, slow. And seen the viper brood of hate And baseness crawl around my way. And felt my being desolate, A heritage of grief foraye ! Oh, dying Autumn! would with thee I could lie down and sleep fore'er; Thou wouldst not waken misery, In the soft springtime of the year. By breaking his undreaming sleep Who never loved its brilliant flowers, But often sighed — he could not weep — O'er sorrow's lone and lingering hours. THE WANE OF THE YEAR. 897 Cold is the hand that once was pressed In passioned rapture to my heart, And colder yet the guiltless breast That felt in all my woes a part: Wild wails the wind o'er many a tomb Which holds full many a dear one bound, And in creation's starless gloom I hear a lone, deep, dirgelike sound. 'T is nothing, Autumn ! but thy breeze Amid the leafless forest flying, But yet it comes through bending trees Like the last groan of nature dying ; And seems, as low the sun sinks down. Like a sweet voice I loved to hear. Though altered now its thrilling tone To suit the melancholy year. In childhood's hours left fatherless, Reflective, feeling, sad and wild, Unblessing, with but one to bless A friendless, visionary child, I roved abroad 'mid hills and woods. And clomb the cliff" and pluck'd the flower That flourished there, and skimm'd the floods And dared worst danger's utmost power. I little thought, at that sweet time. My heart would ache 'mid scenes like these. When the soul soars, on wings sublime, Among the blue sky's deities; But, ah, long time has passed away Since I knew not the world's deep woes. And pleasures past around me play. Like spectres round the dead's repose. Since thou, pale widow of the year ! Wert here before, strange deeds have been; Full many a heart hath quaked vvilh fear. And many a lovely, joyous scene 398 FAILEAS MORE. Hath changed to desolation wild ; Eyes, that once shone with pleasure's light, . .; Have wept hke those of little child, A O'er rosy being's last cold blight. ^ And many a proud and lordly one Hath knelt beside the robbing tomb, j And highborn things to dust have gone 1 With creatures nursed in lowly gloom. ] All — all, O nature ! die with thee. The high, the low, the sad, the gay, < And it were joy, in sooth, to me. If I could die like yon sweet day. FAILEAS MORE.* " A dark gigantic Shade is seen stalking across the loch in the evening, which : vanishes at a certain headland, and from that place the next morning, between day- break and sunrise, a whole troop of shadows arise and with Mac Torcil Dhu at '. their head, walk in procession to the Standing Stones and hide themselves again in j their graves." Hogg's Basil Lee. , Shades of the Dead ! what necromantic power j Breaks thus the silent slumbers of the tomb? | Dwells there mysterious magic in the hour i Of birth or death to summon from the gloom i Of man's last resting-place the parted soul? Can earthly joy or sorrowing abide "' Beneath the veil of death — or thought unroll The record of past passion, love and pride ? * 'T is vain to question — ye may not reply ; i Death seals the lips of his dim shadowy forms — Thought cannot pierce his awful mystery, \ And the soul shrinks from converse with the worms ; Shrouded and coffined — buried in the dust — Wrapt in undreaming sleep forever there — { 'T is nothing to the penitent who trust ■ Their God — but where 's the spirit? Oh, that where ! \ *I. E.—Thc Groat Shadow. 1 PAILEAS MORE» 399 Come ye, dread Shadows ! to forewarn the advance Of pestilence or famine, war and death? Weak hearts catch terror from your amenancej And f^r hangs quivering on their stifled breath. What mystic lore would ye to man impart ? What secrets to his doubting soul convey? Life's vital flood is curdling round his heart — Oh, quick reveal your message and away ! Why should the living seek to know what, known. Would leave them nought of being save their breath? How can the dead for past misdeeds atone By fearful shadowings of approaching death ? Through life we hear the echo of that tread, Each hour distincter growing, which at last, We know not v;hen, will crush and leave us dead, And still sound onward like the sweeping blast. What are ye. Spectral Shades ? the hue of guilt No mortal eye on your wan brows may trace, And yet, perchance, blood dyed your sabre's hilt, Drained from the veins of some fraternal race ; Or persecution waited on your beck To seethe the human heart in boiUng gore ; To bow the martyr's and the patriot's neck, And rend away what earth could not restore. The sepulchre is no abode of rest For them who lave their souls in seas of blood, Or stamp despair on virtue's virgin breast ; They roam forever by oblivion's flood Living to agony, yet dead to hope, And wander o'er the ruins they have made, To wail where erst they shouted in their scope Of power amid the mighty cavalcade. And ye, perchance, are of the accursed crew, Whom penitence, vouchsafed to all beside, Can ne'er avail ; affliction's healing dew. Tears flowing from the wellspring of lost pride, 400 FAILEAS MORE. Will never on your vvilhering hearts descentl ; Enough of life lo see and feel your death, Mocking the agony that cannot end, Is all that's left — pale forms without a breath. The scenes of your wild deeds and buried crimes Alone are open to your shadowy tread ; Your course is bounded by forbidden times To where the victims of your vengeance bled ; At the dim twilight hour of morn or eve Alone can ye appear, and much the scene Mysterious lends its aidance to deceive The eye, that hangs upon your fearful mien. Not oft doth he, the great Omniscient give Warning to mortals when their course shall cease ; Save on his doubts and fears man could not live, Nor rest his sad and weary soul in peace ; — If mighty terror doth chain down weak minds When the dead walk again the conscious earth, Let all the omen be the fear that binds The heart to heaven, and calls high virtue forth I The deep, the fervent longing of the mind — The eternal aspiration of the soul Seeks things unreal as the summer wind, Which all can hear, but none on earth control ; Oft doth the vivid fancy paint the form That glides around us with prophetic eye. Whose awful voice is heard amid the storm When spirits throng the chambers of the sky. Yet shapes appear and shadows float along Which have no mortal moulding, hue or birth. And wild romance and legendary song Tell of dread spectres doomed to roam the earth, Eternal heirs of uncommuning woe! And well may man in such wild tales discern IIow far extends the chain of guilt below! — How long remorse within the heart doth burn I I i cv^- ^^ S ' • If ■y-. '■^.-^ ^' \ ^-i'' ,c, •% '^ '■ 0\V '^' Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. i\/ *<;<■. ^ "V' Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide ,-> " . " , -6~" A Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 1 Neutralizing agent: Ma_ Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 PreservationTechnologies >■ A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION > 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 > (724)779-2111 '^ S^% C' 0' 'y- v> "^^^V^^, '% ?s^^,<. ,0^^ x-^^ |:i . s - ■ ..C ^^' .^■^^ ?^ * ,v ,C'' # -,o; ■-:>' \\^^'' * '^ /^ ^^^ ^^^iC^^^.^ ^i 1^ "oo^ ;; *