';: ' i;p|i y^~^ * * t . # LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I # _ ..■,. -^e/ST ......54 t UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. J . y / t / trt eO^L^ 6./L4, /*#. . \ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/greekgirltaleintOOsimm ' THE GREEK GIRL. THE GREEK GIRL; A TALE, IN TWO CANTOS BY JAMES WRIGHT SIMMONS, " I have one part in my heart That's sorry yet for thee." Lear : Act in. Sc. n. BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE : JAMES MTJNROE AND COMPANY MDCCCLTI. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by James Munroe and Company, la the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. J BOSTON: THURSTON, TORRY, AND EMERSON, PRINTERS. TO THE PRESIDENT AND FACULTY OF HARVARD UNIVERSITY, THESE PAGES ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY AND WITH GREAT DIFFIDENCE £nscrffce$, TOOK NO " HONO SECOND, AT THE VENERABLE INSTITUTION OVER WHICH THEY PRESIDE, AND OF WHICH HE WAS AN UNWORTHY PUPIL AND WHO NOW COMES, UNDER THE AUSPICES OF APOLLO, TO ASK, AT THE HANDS OF THAT BENIGN MOTHER^ FORGIVENESS FOR HIS EARLY DELINQUENCIES. THE AUTHOR. A Greek maiden, of gentle birth, but parentless,, whom the casualties of Eastern warfare had reduced to the condition of a Mohammedan slave, and who, by a similar casualty, is restored to her original and far more appropriate character, that of a heroine — is introduced to the reader in the following pages. The objection (in itself objectionable) to Powers's fine Statue — -namely, the absence of all drapery — will not apply in the present instance, as I have sought to array Inez in a garb which, if not strictly classical, is at least in keeping with Oriental taste. Should she prove in other respects as unexceptionable as in this, she will have reason to felicitate herself as a poetical debutante. With regard to the young gentleman, her lover, I have little to say — except that he is not likely to conciliate the personal feelings of the reader. The ( viii ) fault, if such it be, is not mine ; and we should not quarrel with nature because she does not fashion all her clay alike. And yet in this age of Utilitarianism, and even in this New World, we appear to recognise, with a ready subserviency, the distinctions which Wealth would create for itself; and, though we stop there, it is for reasons not less characteristic. Intel- lectually, we are the practical advocates of a level- ism even lower than that which, more than his misdeeds, consigned Charles II. to the block, and entailed contempt upon a revolutionary Egalite. Nature, however, does not adapt her works to suit our systems. The consequence not unfrequently is, that we seek to discredit her human porcelain — not because it is more costly than delf, but because we do not partake of it. " A fixed star," says the author of the " Night Thoughts," " is as much in the bounds of nature as a flower of the field, though less obvious" - — and, he might have added, less likely to please. But is it any justification, that we should lay this " star," because we cannot bask in its beams ? Poetry ■ — which, Bacon tells us, " seeks to accommodate the shows of things to the desires of the mind " — is not likely to dwell with those the scope of whose mental vision is forever narrowed down to the vulgar surface (ix ) of the earth on which they walk. " Nothing comes of nothing." If mere utility, however respectable, is alone to claim our consideration, the workshop of the artisan will be our only Parthenon ; and for him and his kindred co-laborers alone our mausoleums will be reared. The Author. THE GREEK GIRL CANTO I THE GREEK GIRL. CANTO I. I. Long years ! long years ! the Pyramids still stand, But where are those who rear'd them ? — will the Nile Send up his mighty voice from out that land, And tell us who built each stupendous pile ? Cheops, or Cephus ? — it is writ in sand ! The " Seven Wonders" ! — mortal, weep, or smile — Still heaves the desert round each haughty base, The men are gone — scarce known their name, or race ! II. And this is all ! and this is much — it teaches Mankind humility — but will they learn ? 1 14 THE GREEK GIRL. The moral 's almost daily, yet it reaches No further than the eye, until we earn The sober truth by trials that make breaches Within the breast — its nature then grows stern ; And self-neglect sometimes succeeds self-knowledge, — A truth transcending those of school or college. III. O Time — O Saturn ! ye are much the same, — Ye prey alike on your own progeny ! Their boasted wisdom often but a name, That lives, perhaps, through half a century, When, lo ! the oracle grows trite and tame, Or proves, in fact, a mere mendacity ! Napoleons of Wit, that charm'd our youth, Like Chivalry, but fictions,* — taken for truth ! # When that " delightful Vision " (as he described the Queen of France) that had made such a deep impression upon the noble sensibilities of Burke ; vanished before the frightful glare of the Guillotine, in a burst of impassioned eloquence, he ex- claimed, " The age of Chivalry is gone ! " It never existed, it seems. Hear Sismondi : " Get heroism universel, nous avons nomme la Chevalerie, n'exista jamais comme fictions brilliantes." — Histoire Frangaise : Introduction, p. 20. CANTO I. 15 IV. The " Little Corporal " ! what is he now? Thunders his cannon 'neath the Pyramid, Or neighs his war-steed 'mid the Alpine snow ? Where flouts his banner ? Moscow, or Madrid ? Along the Pyrenean, or the Po ? Approach the Isle, and lift the mould'ring lid Of the Imperial coffin, and behold A lesson twice two thousand ages old ! V. What are its fruits ? Heaven knows how other men May think, or feel — but, for my own poor part, There are some truths I would not learn again, Nor can — alas, the teacher was the heart ! Which, undeceiv'd too late ! recoils in pain ; And we must have recourse, at last, to art ! Instruction 's o'er ! or if, to those who feel, One lesson still remains, 'tis — to conceal, VI. 'Tis a hard task ! and we reject, at first, The frigid caution of the selfish breast ; 16 THE GREEK GIRL. Children of the mind, the more they're nurst, Thoughts grow the nearer to their place of rest, If it be rest ! and, though the heart should burst, That agony must still be self-confest ; Nor prayer hath exorcis'd, nor priest hath shriv'd A mind resolv'd to perish as it liv'd. VII. Though pompous Folly may adorn the bier, And hollow mourners gather in the train Of him whom still they hate, but cease to fear ! Th' accustom'd crowd, who still play o'er again The self-same farce in each succeeding year, Or month, or week — the pleasure " physics pain ; " What though with crab-like gait they track the hearse, The dead bequeaths them his contempt, or curse ! VIII. The secret foe, or he who, basely brave, Speeds the loud calumny from door to door ; Kind, gentle friends, who, if they do not save Or spare your feelings, show their love the more ! CANTO I. 1 Behold the host who gather round the grave, Zealous to serve when all your wants are o'er ! What though a prison or a poison kill ? To grace one's obsequies is something still! IX. The sun was rising, as a pale, proud boy- Mounted his steed, and sought the distant wood ; Did love await him there, or the fierce joy Of those who cool the lip of hate in blood ? Ambition's musings did his thoughts employ, Or early sorrow at his bosom brood ? He stretch'd him in the quiet of that shade, Nor dream'd of war, nor yet of blooming Maid ! X. To him th' insufferable city rose Like the dread words that shook th' Assyrian's soul ! 1 Its petty triumphs, and its pompous woes, Its selfish virtues, tending to the goal Of ultimate advantage ; — its breath that blows 18 THE GREEK GIRL. The plague-spot to the heart ! — its low control,* Stampt it but as the slave-mart of his race, Fit haunt of crime, the base-born and the base.f XL In years a boy, in tendencies averse From boyish sports, he grew in loneliness ; Prone in each mood with Nature to commerce, Unveil'd on mountain, or in green recess, — Society was solitude ; the curse, That hangs upon its hours, for him grew less, As, day by day — its rising powers unfurl'd — Of his own mind he fashionM his own world. XII. Not the dim cell of the dull Anchorite, He did survey the Universe ! — its page, * The sullen Cares, And frantic Passions hear thy soft control. Gray : Prog, of Poesy, 1, 2. f It is, I hope, unnecessary to say, that no exceptionable al- lusion is intended in these lines, which are simply expressive of the fact, that all large cities are but markets where the pas- sions are bought and sold. CANTO I. 19 Ample as time, in letters form'd of light, He conn'd with deeper feeling than the Sage ; On Rapture's wing he soar'd no middle flight ; Eagle, escap'd its bars, that spurnM its cage ! And, as his spirit kincll'd, the rapt boy- Wept from excess of undefinM, strange joy S XIII. Shunning the crowd, but not as hating it, He reap'd the fruits of the world's selfishness, (Whose annals are not fables, falsely writ!*) And, one by one, the ties grew daily less That in fine spirits are so closely knit ; With little left his early lot to bless, His rising bosom turn'd to other zone, ChilPd by late coldness, not to marble grown ! XIV. Feelings subside, while lives the fatal root From which they spring ; and if his heart had lost * Bolingbroke thought differently. 20 THE GREEK GIRL. Each sterner impulse, and his voice was mute, (Promethean sufferance, of all the most!) He had not ceas'd to feed on bitter fruit ; So sleeps the surface of some desert coast, Tho' o'er its sands no flowers of love can blow, Its living waters still lie quick below ! XV. Meridian still, the flaming fervor reign'd, Beneath whose warmth he knelt to Beauty's eyes ! Not those that linger till the lights have wan'd In dull assembly — the pale Paradise Of passion passionless! — the God, profan'd, From regions cold and dead indignant flies! O Love ! thy temple is the holier heart Of those who from the world still dwell apart ! XVI. Thou wert not made to bide amid the throng Of courts ; or in the peopled solitude Of cities, to contend with wrath and wrong ; And bear the brunt of the ignoble feud CANTO I. 21 Man wages with his fellow through the long Dull day, or year; — with heavenlier thought imbu'd, Thy spirit, given with power to curse or bless, Pines for the valley, or the wilderness ! XVII. The steed that bore him to the early wood, Tramps he the war-horse now 'neath Eastern skies ? Where the fierce Ottomite in battle stood, Where flashing steel from Grecian scabbard flies, And reeling cross and crescent, bath'd in blood, An instant falter, as a Hero dies ! Where thickest fell the cannon's sulph'rous night, Stood Oscar, shadowing a Form of light ! * XVIII. A Suliote mother stampt that faultless mould Of Beauty clad in armor, dreamlike there ! f * In the noblest part of Jewish types we find the Cherubim shadowing the mercy-seat. — Sir Thos. Browne. f The Suliotes were celebrated for their heroic resistance to the Turks. 22 THE GREEK GIRL. A touching history, and briefly told To one who treasur'd it with eager ear ! As, snatching her light form, where surging rolPd The purple torrent in its fierce career ! To well known fields he bore his radiant prize, Mute love and wonder struggling through her eyes ! XIX. Alas, where should she go ? * She had no home ! The world was but one wilderness to her, Where, like that bird that left the Ark, to roam Over the waste of waters, and incur The racking winds of that remorseless foam ! She scarce could hope for rest amid the stir And ever-tossing waves of life's dark sea — A bark so frail could only founder' d be ! XX. In other arms than those assum'd, of late, To cleave the Moslem's chain — a slave no more ! # Man but a rush against Othello's breast, And he retires. Where should Othello go ? Act. v. Scene ii. CANTO I. 23 Well pleas'd to be releas'd from their rude weight, She stood reveaPd in the sweet sex she bore ; And worthy was she of an Emperor's state, — Or, rather, of her own celestial shore ! Too high-souPd and too pure the couch to share Of aught save Bard, or knightly Cavalier ! XXI. One ankle, small and delicate, appear'd Sweetly disclos'd from underneath the dress, Which, jealous even of the part it spar'd, Would not give more, but, ah, could not give less ! The stocking, of soft, glowing silk, ad her' d Firmly tenacious of the loveliness ConceaPd beneath it; while the pale, pink shoe Clung to the small foot, as if there it grew ! XXII. Her dress, when Oscar found her, though a child, Bespoke her rank ; her boddice was in form A Cuirass set with stars, that like a shield Protected her young bosom 'mid the storm 24 THE GREEK GIRL. Of battle ! — her long hair, that floated wild In waving tresses gemm'd with shells from Orm, Gave to her aspect and her motions all That Fancy loves in visions to recall ! XXIII. Her head-dress was of satin, edgM with gold, And parti-color'd ribbands, forming bows, That wav'd behind in many a graceful fold ; A saffron band encircPd her fair brows, Of more than Grecian outline,-— soft, yet bold ; With all that intellectual grace that throws A charm round Beauty richer than her eyes, A lustre and a glory from the skies ! XXIV. The dark and heavy ringlets, clust'ring 'neath The head-dress, fell at times beside the cheek, Veiling its richness, where Love seem'd to breathe A balmy fragrance stealing o'er the streak, Pomegranate-like, which youth there seem'd to leave While one deep feeling, which alone could speak CANTO I. 25 In language eloquent as that fair face ! Left o'er its lines the lustre of its trace. XXV. " Oscar " — her pale lip quiver'd, and her eye Moisten'd a moment — " do you leave, then ? " Oscar's cheek color'd — - " You are silent ! — I Am answer'd ! Be it so. I '11 not again Renew the question ; that your destiny Takes you from me, is certain ! — 'tis in vain To tell you all now lab'ring at my heart — I know it is decided, and — we part! XXVI. Take these poor flowers back, they've lost their bloom ! Like all such gifts, however rich, when those Who gave them prove, like thee, unkind ! — a gloom, Reflected from the uncomplaining woes Of her who wore, would tinge them like her doom ! Where'er thou go'st, this bosom with thee goes ! If thou to me art nothing, O recall Thy vow, and take it back, like these — take all !" 26 THE GREEK GIRL. XXVII. The last word falt'ring died upon her tongue ! Like one who dreaded to be left alone, To Oscar's bosom tremblingly she clung, As though unto his heart she would have grown ! Gently remov'd, one beauteous hand now hung Pale as the lily there, and drooping down Beside the rich folds of a form too fair, Too tempting, yet too eloquently dear ! XXVIII. O gazing thus, and could he hope to wean From his the love that nestl'd in his arm ? And that fair face, in sorrow still serene ! Her head reclin'd upon his left, while, warm, And gently swelling, soft, and scarcely seen, Her bosom lay beneath him like a charm ! Whilst the frail lawn, that veil'd it, half reveal'd The sweet mystery, imperfectly conceal'd. . XXIX. He rais'd the face that droop'd upon his breast, While, half unclos'd, the dark lids of the eye CANTO I. 27 At once her passion and her grief confest ! The brow was pale, and, o'er its lines of high And perfect beauty, Sorrow had imprest A melancholy trace that secm'd to lie, Pillow'd and sleeping in its lovely shroud, Like darkness stealing o'er a silver cloud. XXX. In Oscar's bosom mix'd emotions vied, And sway'd by turns ; but still, whate'er might be The whisperings of passion, or of pride, A better feeling gain'd the mastery, To selfish natures never yet allied ; Looking to him she turn'd all helplessly — ■ O could he have requited her with evil, He had been less than man, and more than devil ! XXXI. Some painful recollections hedg'd him in, Not such divinities as guard a throne ! He knew the world full well, for he had been — Though principally living in his own — 28 THE GREEK GIRL. Partaker of its sorrow arid its sin ; It had a heart, only 'twas one of stone ! Mid-Lothian like — a prison where the weeper Is starveling Wit, and witless Wealth the keeper. XXXII. The truth is, his affairs were ebbing low, And at a time of life when such things prove, To say the least of it, mal-apropos ! For with such loss one 's apt to lose the love Of people in ail stations, as things go ; Your friends consider you but one remove From enemies ; whilst men, once secret foes, Fancy they then may tread upon your toes ! XXXIII. Sad sight ! on Fortune's faithless wheel revers'd, To see one's old acquaintance taking leave, In cautious couples pairing off, at first — When one's affairs, being just upon the eve Of an explosion, now sublimely burst ! When that is over, men cease to deceive CANTO I. 29 Themselves, or you — and thus we all discern why The poet wrote his " Facilis Averni " ! XXXIV. And then, perhaps, our mistress leaves us, too ! When one falls off, the rest are apt to follow ; Fidelity on earth 's a thing which you (The human heart at bottom is so hollow !) May meet with, possibly, in one or two ; But most wives, seeing the grave their first love swallow, Forget the loss in some new idol's clasp — Ah, Cleopatra ! why prefer an Asp ? XXXV. Oscar had still some friends in England, where His gentle birth secur'd him cold respect ; A distant kinswoman had caught a Peer, Who movM, of course, in what is calPd " select Society " — which means so much a year ! In tone and style not scandal could detect The slightest blemish in th' exclusive Peeress, Who heir'd, 'twas said, each virtue, being an Heiress! 30 THE GREEK GIRL. XXXVI. She had, from early childhood, been designM To fill a station in the public eye ; Some care had been bestow'd upon her mind, But more upon her manners, which were high And full of graceful bearing ; 'twixt the wind Nought interven'd and her nobility ! Her temper being in certain matters pliable, To prepossessions render'd her quite liable. XXXVII. Painting and statuary had their charms For Lady Clementina Clarington ; She could draw heads, too, and excelPd in arms ! (I know a feminine Pygmalion, Beneath whose touch the statue sometimes warms !) Not that I mean her ladyship was one ; Though the censorious did say her " Ideal " Was but a concentration from the real. XXXVIII. She had a passion, too, for the Antique,— Adrian's male minion seemM to charm her most ; CANTO I. 31 The lips had tempted her— (could they but speak !) To press them, little caring for the cost; She took a caste, or two, from the old Greek, And sigh'd, as she surveyM them, to think lost Th' immortal forms that could so well express All that the heart must feel, but not confess ! XXXIX. She seem'd, at length, to have imbib'd disgust And sovereign aversion for the men And manners of the age ; and to distrust Her better taste, or her discernment, when But half inclin'd to praise a modern Bust ! So she recurr'd to the antique again, With a determination to extract Emotions which in most cases react ! XL. Such was the lady, but not such her lord, — Whose only merit was the care bestow'd On one whom he had nurtur'd, and ador'd ! Who, in return for feelings that still glow'd, 32 THE GREEK GIRL. Made him the daily butt at his own board ! And once dispatch'd him journeying on the road, To make his bow at Windsor, or St. James's, For honors that prov'd bubbles, like the Thames's ! XLI. Should not a man be wise at Forty, pray ? I know not how that may be, but I know, Let him be learn'd from Socrates to Say, A lady will not willingly bestow (Especially a lady in her May) Upon such years her love, like sun on snow ! * The Lady Clementina look'd like Spring, Her Lord like Saturn f — but without his wing ! XLII. But, being a Peer, he was in Parliament, Discussing the two nations — for the cloud, * This, to the honor of the sex, is, in general, true. The rich exceptions, to be sure, are of a character somewhat start- ling ; and constitute, at the same time, a pretty large minority. f Time. - CANTO I. 33 That had been low'ring over France, now sent Its shadow o'er the Isles ! and long and loud The thunder of the tempest that had rent The Gallic hills, came mutt'ring in its shroud ! Whose angry echoes startl'd even Burke,— As you may see by turning to his work : — XLIII. " Reflections, " full of proud and lofty thought, Intemperate, perchance — such was the man ; The elements within him were so wrought, He had renounc'd his birth-right sooner than Conform to other men's opinions ; fraught With daring doubts his lost career began ; * Ambition was the main-spring of his mind, That like a giant tower'd above his kind,— # It is scarcely necessary to say, that allusion is here had to the political life of the " Great Commoner," who merged the man of genius in the politician, "And to party gave up what was meant for mankind." The truth is, that " our good Edmund " was as little in his proper element in a House of Commons, as would have been Dr. Johnson there. Wraxall says he was " continually cough- ed down." 34 THE GREEK GIRL. XLIV. And taught him that worst policy, that last Infirmity of Intellect, disdain For those in the Olympic race surpast By his great genius — not content to reign Monarch of its own world — and one so vast ! But, baring his bright weapon to the stain Of earthlier conflict, sought th* arena, where, — Like the cagM Eagle , barr'd its mountain air ! XLV. His mighty spirit droop'd amid the throng Of meaner men, in whose trite element The wing that had been wont to soar along Its native Heaven, sunk ! and loftiest powers — lent For Immortality ! — reap'd wrath and wrong In the dull crowd, and secret discontent — Since lost the guerdon of the fool, or sot, Honors — more empty than the bones that rot ! XLVL His Lordship took the lead in a debate Which it was thought might occupy the House CANTO I. 35 Beyond its usual limits ; 't was his fate (He thought it glory !) — always to espouse The wrong side of a subject : " He would state The question briefly ; and he hop'd his views, — 'T would be conceded him"— —a general groan Burst from the benches might have chill'd a stone ! XLYII. But not the placid gentleman, I trow, Who went on plunging in the blank profound Of his own fancies ; and, when once below, He challeng'd ordinary minds to sound The depth of his analysis ! and so, — As the Mole sees and searches under ground, — PleasM with himself, he labor'd on his way, For what to them was night, to him was day ! XLVIII. He lit on error not from chance, or choice, But from an impulse he could not control ; You gather'd from his action and his voice, The strong conviction that constrain'd his soul ; 36 THE GREEK GIRL, And naturally led him to rejoice In blunders which he manag'd, on the whole, T' expound so well by rhetoric and rule, As serv'd to show the Statesman in the Fool ! 2 XLDL Young Oscar and his lady-love lay sleeping — Ah, happy — did such sleepers ne'er awake ! To know and feel that they have cause for weeping, And learn how much the hearts can bear that break ! The trial's hard, where we must still be keeping, Aloof from all that earth can give, or take, A single recollection — one emotion,— Deep at the core, like rocks beneath the ocean. And such the struggle Passion must sustain, When, side by side, — no matter how sincere, — Love walks with Error — for they part in pain, Who meet in guilt ! the penalty's severe, No doubt — but we must bear it, nor complain ; The world, whose virtue flames out once a year, CANTO I. 37 Still claims its victim, sear'd in heart or thought — Behold, the Christianas car of Juggernaut ! LI. And thus we're doubly losers in the end, Mind, fortune, morals, and our youth expended, We find, at last, that we have got no friend ! Where most begin, our brief career has ended ; * No more on us may those fond hopes descend, With which the day-dreams of the boy were blended ! Sad thought ! that in our hours of self-inspection, Occasions us some serious reflection ! LII. You cannot couch the Intellect, which sees Darkly, as through a glass of its own fashion ; And nurtures, till it grows into disease, Th' idiosyncracy of pride and passion ! Born with these failings, it subsides with these — As the grim Hurricane ! whose winds will dash on, # "At nine and twenty," said Napoleon to Joseph, " I have exhausted every thing." 38 THE GREEK GIRL. Nor pause, remorseless ! till their o'er- blown wrath Hath scatter'd desolation in their path ! LIII. Oscar appear' d averse from marriage ■ — why ? It might be pride — a thing always perverse, — Kept him aloof from the servility (For such it is, or something else still worse) Of him who dangles in a lady's eye^ And vows his deep devotion — to her purse ! With well affected fervor plays his part, Until the time comes when he wrings her heart ! LIV. On pins, — the hypocrite ! six months, or so — An interval of feeling quite ecstatic ! Replete with sonnets full of love and woe, — In terms, at times, exceedingly erratic ; Dreading the fearful fiat of her " No " ! While she her female arts, so diplomatic, Plays off, not valuing the fool a feather, And in the end rejects him altogether ! CANTO I. 39 LV. Or if she takes him, after a denial, Th' experiment is very soon decided ; Some friend is sure to " sit upon the trial," By whom alone the gentle spouse is guided ; A sort of moral and domestic dial, That shows how love and time should be divided ! A monitor still faithful to her duty, t A miscreant! bent on mischief — 'tis her booty. LVI. The lady, being jealous of her love, Or of her dignity, consults her friend, Who, zealous her fidelity to prove, Is cautious, always, never to defend ; Doubts and surmises into snares are wove, To compass, for the most part, some base end ; And thus between them they contrive to fashion, Into proofs of guilt, th' effects of pride, or passion. LVII. The sex are so extremely sensitive, 'Tis difficult to deal with them at best ; 40 THE GREEK GIRL. And then their pride exceeds all things that live ! And is the foe at once to love and rest ; It shocks the mind to see such creatures grieve ! And when we wound them — let it be confest — 'Tis from some vicious quality of blood, And not that we deliberately could. LVIII. A noble mind will anxiously repair, (Provided she allows it) any ill, A moment's pang, the slightest doubt, or fear, Invading breasts we 're bound to cherish still ! A delicate task, no doubt, requiring care, Yet all who really love possess the skill ; But then — aye, there's the rub, Sir ! she wo 'n't let you, When once her mind is bent to tease and fret you ! LIX. Which is the case, nine cases out of ten, Where confidantes and mothers interpose ; Who fancy they've a right to govern men, The first from pique ; the other — God only knows CANTO I. 41 What prompts her, save the pleasure of, giving pain ! Mov'd by a feeling that no longer glows, She soon essays to make her daughter chilly, Who, thinking her wise, chooses to be silly. LX. They do not know (the fact is, they don't care) The mental anguish their vile arts occasion ; With rocky bosoms, strangers to a tear, — How should they feel, when thus they plan th' invasion Of tenderness ! and seek to banish there An object which, in spite of false persuasion, The heart ■ — that never yet itself deceiv'd — Still cherishes — devotedly, though griev'd ! LXI. Alas, the broken image multiplies, In ev'ry shatter'd fragment still the same ! And thy pale spectres, Memory ! arise, To wrap the heart in unconsuming flame ! Nurs'd by a source from which in vain it flies — The thought that we must share with them the blame 42 THE GREEK GIRL. Of having robb'd the Being we lov'd of rest, And planted thorns within a human breast ! LXIL And what remains ? Can either love again ? Ah, no ! regret, remorse, pride — all forbid ! The portion that remains to us of pain, Is treasur'd up — strange instinct ! and still hid By the very knowledge that we Ve livM in vain ! The Good have sorrow'd, and the Wise have chid, But neither prayer nor precept can restore To the bruis'd heart the health it knew before. LXIIL An " innocent flirtation " being the 4 mode,' His " parts, his title, and his perfect soul," Oscar embark 1 d with one who danc'd, sung, rode, " Divinely " ! being, in fact, upon the whole, Without a rival in that bright abode Of Beauty's daughters ! where the soft control Of wedded love imparts a charm unknown To Dian, girded in her icy zone ! 3 CANTO I. 43 LXIV. In one respect his choice was a bad one, It touch'd a friend, whose honor was his life ; And so the issue prov'd a very sad one ! Not that it implicated either wife — For Oscar, they all took for granted, had one ; Though, as to that, so had the " Thane of Fife " ! * Ambition led the one, and love the other, To the same purple goal — each slew a brother ! LXV. O London — but I hate apostrophes To brick and mortar merely — London, then — Though Wordsworth, in a certain song of his, Sings of its " mighty heart," — is but a den, Like ev'ry other such place upon this Dark earth and erring, of not painted men ; f * The Thane of Fife had a wife. — Macbeth. f La Harpe, in his " Course of Literature/' speaks of the intellectual " Barbarians " of the eighteenth century. The man of society, in his social relations, is pretty much the same savage — that is, he has all the vices, with few, or none, of the higher virtues that elevate the untutored character of his Red brother — in every instance, at least, where the latter has been fortunate enough to escape his fraternal hug ! 44 THE GREEK GIRL. Eousseau, and he, the Sage of Monticello, * Esteemed the Savage much the nobler fellow ! LXVI, And know I not his native manliness, His stern integrity of soul — the faith That sooner perishes than work out less Than it is pledged to, and his scorn of death ? A list of lofty virtues, I confess, Might make the paltry " Pale face " hold his breath ; Nor longer prate of bootless schools and colleges, His " fierce democraties," and worse doxologies. LXVII. London, awaking from its sleep of years, f (All minor cases being mere interludes,) Swoop'd down on Oscar with a wrath that sears Excessively — so seldom it intrudes ; # Thomas Jefferson. f Once in seven years/' says Macaulay, " our virtue becomes outrageous. . At length our anger is satiated. Our victim is ruined, and his heart broken. And our virtue goes quietly to sleep for the next seven years." — Essays : vol. 1, p. 334. CANTO I. 45 Mothers turn'd pale, and daughters were in tears ! (For self-love figures largely in such feuds ;) When luckily a " Challenge " came, in time To save the parties from lampoons in rhyme. LXVIII. Now Inez, to whom such things were quite new, Scarce comprehended Oscar's dereliction ; She had been spending a few weeks at Kew, Where nature sports her in the garb of fiction, (The latter very often spoils the true !) And little had foreseen the great affliction That now awaited her ; but Youth's elastic, And outlives shocks at times extremely drastic ! LXIX. O not that human feeling, like the grass Which grows beneath th' ascending Pyramid ! # Hath power to renew itself — alas, Even as the ashes there, for ages hid # The " great Pyramid" is as much entitled to an Oasis, as was the Temple of Jupiter Ammon. 3 46 THE GREEK GIRL. Consum'd — as shall that perishable mass Of worldly grandeur be, — it is forbid ! And like the fires of some volcanic isle, It lights the flames of its own funeral pile ! LXX. > The knowledge that affection hath surviv'd The worth of that it lov'd, and loves — for still The heart, though deeply wounded, worn, and griev'd. Though it recoil from the conviction, will, Even from the fulness of its sense bereav'd ! Seek to extract some solace out of ill ; And clings — not to the thought of what we are,— But to the memory of what we were 1 LXXL That lonely feeling that survives, when those It loves are chang'd, and never can regain The height from which they fell ! with hopes that rose Only to set in darkness and in pain, — Is as the solitary flower that blows And blooms above the dead — it is in vain ! CANTO I. It only adds a keener edge to woe, It only tells us all is dust below ! LXXII. Thus Sorrow leaves us standing on the shore, To see our last sail shiver'd ! and the wave, From the dark womb of waters, closing o'er The founder'd vessel we had hop'd to save ! We watch for those who can return no more, And Memory lights her vigil at the grave ! A heavy thought, that saddens the long day, And lives, when all things else have past away ! LXXIII. Though somewhat early, better 'tis to die. Than bear a discontent about the heart, Perhaps a grief ! that would suppress the sigh, And finds suppression but the bitterer part ; To watch the dear illusions as they fly ! Till life becomes a cold and cheerless mart ; The past has perish'd ! and we feel no more The beacon burns to light us to that shore I 47 48 THE GREEK GIRL. LXXIV. Imprest with a presentiment of sorrow, Inez determin'd to regain the city ; And so she started on the very morrow, And carol'd, as she went, a plaintive ditty, As if from song some solace she could borrow ; She was, in sooth, fit subject for sad pity! But checkM her sighs, as, gather' d in each trace, The Past return'd upon her with that face ! LXXV. And Oscar met her in the silvery night, Gliding with airy mantle round her thrown ; With noiseless step, and glance more wildly bright Than the immortal radiance that shone Upon her from above ! — earth has no light Like woman's eye, no music like her tone ! In youth we think so, when dispos'd to flirt— we Are apt to change our sentiments at Thirty ! LXXVI. With trembling hand, and lip that quiver'd still, She tried to eat the small wing of a bird ; CANTO I. 49 Then sipp'd some chocolate, that, like a rill, Went gurgling down her sweet throat, scarcely heard ! The effort independent of her will Appeared, and statue-like she sat, nor stirr'd ; Her manner puzzl'd you — ■ it was not vanity, 'Twas something deeper — 'twas true love's insanity ! LXXVII. It had been settl'd that the combatants Should cross the Channel on their deadly mission ! Which thus assum'd an air of stern romance, Especially in men of their condition ; Whether they went to Flanders or to France, Was kept a secret, to avert suspicion ; So, leaving London by a western route, Oscar and Inez fairly had set out ! LXXVIII. The Lovers saw St. Paul's behind them fade, And Piccadilly brighten up before ! They sigh'd adieu to Burlington Arcade, The old Abbey rear'd its towers high and hoar ; 50 THE GREEK GIRL. While on the left lay Hyde Park's gay parade, With Wellington in bronze, who fights no more ! They quitted Kensington, its walks and Palace — Adieu to England ! — sets the wind for Calais ? LXXIX. A mingl'd feeling, something like regret ! Stirs in the heart when thus we 're borne away Forever from a spot of earth, where yet Sorrow, perchance, had sadden'd each dull day ; That very feeling dares us to forget ! And when, at length, the time arrives to say " Fare well "! — the tongue will falter, as when we Renounce an old friend, turn'd new enemy ! LXXX. The Bois de Boulogne, the Hyde Park of France — But wanting thy grand Gardens, Kensington ! O Kensington — how thoughts at times entrance \ To leave us, in the end, where we begun — What ? Life, or a dream ! no matter, they enhance The recollections of the course we run ; CANTO I. 51 And, whether joy or grief usurp the mind, These mental musings leave their trace behind ! LXXXI. " Those thoughts that wander through Eternity," Unbidden still, transport us to the past, When it had been a happiness to die ! Had we been schooPd to dread the worst and last Of evils that still prompt the hourly sigh, When all subsides ! and life itself seems cast A weather-beaten wreck upon the shore, Lash'd by the sea that it shall sail no more ! LXXXIL The Bois de Boulogne was the place appointed, Where five next morning was to see them pitted, Like game cocks, dipt and close — ay, and well jointed ! The spot selected was extremely fitted For such rencounters ; Chevaliers, anointed With the true unction — men who never quitted Their guard, or hold, and scorn'd pacification, Had grac'd that rendezvous of the French nation. 52 THE GREEK GIRL. LXXXIII. All those who think, know thought is busiest, when — The time and place arrang'd, — we sit us down, And feel like victims singl'd out from men, Held up as moral beacons to the town ! With curious eyes surveying us, as then They look'd on monsters whom they dar'd not own ! The shrug, the whisper, with — u The Captain's got His match, at last — the Major's a dead shot!" LXXXIV. Oscar's immediate " Second," was a man Of grave demeanor, and some forty years ; Dark skin, and darker eyes, that seem'd to scan And read you through ! — calm, and above all fears, (A stouter heart ne'er led Napoleon's van !) He had a direct manner, such as wears Well with the brave ; his words were few, but ne'er Fell light or unregarded on the ear. LXXXV. In youth, — ere time had temper'd his warm blood, — His sword had sever'd several threads of life ; CANTO I. 53 And it was said (and I believe on good Authority) that in that early strife Fell one whom, but few hours before, he would Himself have died to save ! A pretty wife Had been the unoffending cause of feud, And the imaginM stain demanded blood ! * LXXXVL And then, by way of moral retribution, A goodly fortune, honorably earn'd, Exhausted in an elegant profusion, He could no more command — the tide was turn'd, And ebb'd away his friends ! What 's the solution ? A very simple one, as all have learn'd, Who, as the lawyers say, have " tried the question," Whether a prison aids or checks digestion ! LXXXVII. The somewhat singular coincidence Was mark'd by all, and should have been averted ; # I knew well the party here described, and the above representation is literally true. . From the hour of that fatal meeting, he appeared, indeed, to " live a man forbid" ! 54 THE GREEK GIRL. For such things should be govern'd by a sense Exceedingly fastidious, 'tis asserted; Whatever furnishes the least pretence For comment, or surmise, should be deserted ; The practice, when 'tis plac'd in right condition, Like Caesar's wife, should be above suspicion ! LXXXVIII. The parties took their ground at seven paces, A snap, or flash, to be esteem'd a shot ; The "Code," it doubtless will be said, embraces No such arrangement — let us ask, why not ? A pistol 's surer than the hand it graces, And may not snap — a flash may seal our lot ! And so it turn'd out, as all such things may, With one of the Bellig'rants in this fray. The husband fell ! — a martyr to his folly,— And so should foolish wives and husbands fall ! But from that hour a settl'd melancholy Descended on the victor, as a pall ! CANTO I. 55 Shrouding the man in mystic musings wholly ; Life seem'd to wither from him as a scroll ! The flash that wing'd the bullet through his friend, Appear' d to blast his being's aim and end ! XC. Still, Paris, with its Tuilleries and Louvre, Might yet restore him to a pristine health ; And his sweet Inez ! — Few things seem'd to move her In that Mosaic grand of Woe and Wealth ! But her perceptions were all right, and prove her Athenian blood ! She saw Crime move in stealth ; The infant Hercules of social error, Had not yet quite matur'd his " Reign of Terror" ! XCI. But traces of his awful steps were there ! The aspect of the city, the whole clime, Bore marks of force, suspicion, fraud, and fear! The color and the character of crime Seem'd as imprest upon the very air, And France grew pale at the disjointed time !* * The time is out of joint. — ■ Macbeth. 56 THE GREEK GIRL. On ev'ry column, with suspended breath, You read the words, " Equality or Death ! " XCII. 'Twas at this crisis that the wild " Decree," Abolishing, by law, a " Future State," Was known through France — this was " Philosophy" ! A word which then had power to awe the Great ; The very watch- word of French c Liberty' • — Freedom miscall' d — unknown, or known too late ! O France ! thy mad career of Gain,* or Glory, Hath left thee but a doubtful page in story ! XCIII. Old Brunswick's " Manifesto," and Pilnitz, Taught her to hope no mercy from her foes ; And England's War-steeds 'gan to champ their bits, Because her neighbors chose to come to blows, — A crafty system, worthy of the Pitts ! Beyond subsistence means the mass still grows, r # Perhaps I should -have written "Grain" — which was very much in demand at the time. CANTO I. 57 And thus, to save the populace from famine, They're sent to fight the Turk, and teach the Brahmin ! XCIY. The Anti-Austrian influence of that day, Transmitted by Du Barry, and the Court,— Prov'd ultimately fatal, as they say, To the poor Queen ! who had, in sooth, a sort Of terror and presentiment that lay Heavy at heart — why did she not retort ? Too much the " Saint," had Louis couch' d the lance,* He had redeem'd his Bride, and rescu'd France ! XCV. In ev'ry Churchyard, here and there, a tree Was planted, shadowing the form of " Sleep," That knew no dawn — a blank Eternity ! There it stood pointing to the Tombs, where deep The ashes slept of those who ne'er should see The light again ! a thing might make one weep — * To arms ! cried Mortimer, and couch'd his quiv'ring lance. — Gray. 58 THE GREEK G-IRL. But that we 've grounds for hope in our Avatai\ Transcending the Convention's u Imprimatur " ! XCVL Oscar had luckily a friend in town, Beneath whose roof he shelter'd him a space ; A brave old Briton, whom he long had known, — Herville his name, the last of a proud race ; A man too, in his day, of some renown ; Who seem'd as if he struggl'd to efface Some vestiges that linger' d from the Past — Where Memory sat a Spectre 'mid a waste ! XCVII. She haunts us in our hours of age and death,* A guest that shakes the temple of the Mind ! # Certainly in some of its forms. Madame de Stael, speak- ing of a dentil-bed (it was her own) says, that " our ideas are confused." In death by drowning, however, (not that I speak from per- sonal experience, although I have been a great deal at sea) and by other casualties, it is often the reverse — as Shakspeare was aware when he wrote his famous description of the " dream," in Richard III. CANTO I. 59 Or the dread Siroc, that, with scorching breath, Doth leave it staggering, and scath'd, and blind ! For, like all other creditors beneath The sun, whom we may meet with, we shall find That "wracking Steward, Remembrance,"* closest clings To those who least can pay their reckonings ! XCVIII. The finest minds, like metals, or a kiss, Dissolve the easiest ;f and stand no chance Of getting on in such a world as this, Made up of fools and rogues, who " shave " and dance ! Whilst few things will be found to come amiss To him whose brain's untinctur'd by romance ; Give him but competence, his spouse and glass, He'll "daff the world aside, and bid it pass." XCIX. Or if his feelings, once in seven years, Prevail upon themselves to take an airing, # A phrase of Sir Philip Sidney's. f Pope somewhere says something to the same effect. 60 THE GREEK GIRL. Seek they the kindred board of him whose cares A soul supreme, perchance, is downward bearing ? Does nature's voice arrest his dull, cold ears ? He goes upon a mission of " cheese-paring" ! To save a brother ? No — to squeeze his Broker — His daughter must be taught to dance the Polka ! C. Yet, after all, money's the only "Good," In this low world of lucre and its lust ; The Frenchman's bitter " Maxim" still hath stood Its ground, in spite of shame, and always must, — For men can be no better if they would ; Each learns, in time, the other to distrust, And finds, of all the things within his range, The only thing immutable, is "Change" ! END OF CANTO I. NOTES TO CANTO I Note 1. Page 17. Like the dread words that shook th) Assyrian's soul ! I have tried the two extremes of social life, — the culti- vated city, and the unchartered wilderness, — and, after an ample experience of the two, I have no hesitation in deciding in favor of the latter. In the one, perpetually perked up in the strait-jacket of conventional forms, and as perpetually treading upon the sharp points of angry and conflicting passions, man becomes as artificial in his feelings as his wants. In the other, clad in a loose and flowing robe, he finds himself moving with step as light as the air he breathes, and firm as the unfettered earth on which he walks. There is, too, a heartiness in the one sphere, the want of which is far from being atoned for by what are supposed to be the comforts and elegancies that belong to the other. In the former, in short, our ideas, as to the " fitness of things," are always upon a scale corresponding with that vastness of domain, which, in a land of stream and prairie, is so well calculated to impart elasticity to the feelings, and elevation to the thoughts of those, who, in the fulness of health, and with the spring of Hope as yet unbroken in their bosoms, go on their way rejoicing, like the strong man in his strength. 4 62 THE GREEK GIRL. Note 2. Page 36. As served to show the Statesman in the Fool ! It is a little remarkable, that the most eloquent, perhaps the only really eloquent speaker, since the days of Chatham, should have been almost an uneducated and self-taught man. The " forest-born Demosthenes," Patrick Henry, comes more fully up to the standard of the great orators of Antiquit)^ than any other name (unless we except Mirabeau) of which our modern annals can boast. True, he arose amidst the strife of great elements — yet those elements seem to have roused but one master-spirit, capable of wielding the thun- ders, and directing the lightnings of forensic eloquence. There were, in those " times that tried men's souls/' other minds of equal moral grandeur, and probably more capacious ; but the suadce medulla of the poet, — the quintescence of persuasion, — seems to have been preeminently the gift of Patrick Henry. John Randolph, had he studied better models in oratory, and cultivated a better forensic taste, might have transmitted to posterity something more than the shadow of a name — which is all (leaving out the " magni") that he has bequeathed to us. "The midnight bell does not toll for fire in Richmond," said he, "but the mother presses her infant closer to her breast " — a fine sentence, of which the "curious felicity " forms the striking and strong merit. Such sentences abound in the ancient classics, terse and nervous; and con- trast, in this respect, with what may be termed the highly expletive character of our modern oratory, — a few names of severe masters excepted. Setting aside the sublime, the NOTES TO CANTO I. 63 wonderful, in eloquence, there is, perhaps, no speaker, of the present day, who can fairly be adduced as a master of the tender and pathetic, — with power " To tune his lips to that soft rhetoric, Which steals upon the ear, and melts to pity The heart of the stern judge." It must be owned, I think, that too many of our public men, of both hemispheres, seem to have embraced the opinion of " Mephistophiles," in the play, that "where ideas are want- ing, words come on purpose to supply their place." There is, assuredly, nothing of the mens divinior, the impetus sacer, — the immensum, infinitumque, of Cicero, — in our modern oratory. Our great men — really and truly such — seem to have passed away with the occasions that produced them. No matter how stirring the theme, should a speaker of the present day ven- ture to touch those loftier chords that vibrate in " quick bosoms," the cry of "Moderation" (like that of "Treason," in the Virginia Assembly, when Henry introduced his famous revolutionary " Resolutions ") would most probably be heard from the lips of his practical hearers (with the Utilita- rians everything that is not trite, is impractical) in this age of Steam, when the object seems to be to render mental operations as cheap, speedy, and facile, as are those of our thirty-mile-an-hour railroads. These moderes might do well to bear in mind the reply of the Frenchman to his friend, who, recommending to him, on some occasion shortly after their first Revolution, to use " more moderation," received, in reply, the following: — "On parle tant de la moderation ; ma foi, Monsieur! on n'a pas pris la Bastille avec de la limonade." 64 THE GREEK GIRL. Note 8. Page 42. To Diarij girded in her icy zone ! How few young ladies understand the art of pleasing! Like wax figures, or that "frozen music/' to which archi- tecture has been likened (a comparison ascribed to Madame de Stael) they, in general, address themselves exclusively to the eye — forgetting that, whether in the drawing-room, or the parlor, manner is of more importance than matter — by which I mean mere physical advantages. A very expert dandy, whom I once knew, was wont to say — in speaking of what are called "fine persons, 7 ' (not being an Apollo himself) " Figure is nothing — attitude is all"! Now, in the case of all young ladies, personal charms, however charming, like the "figure" of my friend, are, comparatively, nothing — man- ner, like his " attitude, is all." The daughter of Necker, by means of this "manner" (for she was without beauty) threw her celestial friend, Madame Kecamier, in the shade. It was manner, and not her great talents, that did it. Ease is neces- sary to manner, which is the reason why so few young ladies possess the latter — as it is impossible to be at one's ease, where the attention is engrossed with appearances. Plain women are usually agreeable, because they cultivate manner, in the absence of personal charms. Another false idea is, that young ladies should never " come out " in conversation — that, like children, they are to be seen, not heard. These are the results of a want of true refinement. For all such, Paris is the best school. THE GREEK GIRL CANTO II THE GREEK GIRL. CANTO II. The womb of Glory, and alike the grave, O France, thy sun went down upon his tomb ! * First in the field, the idol of the Brave, Reluctant justice ratified his doom ! Who came, in evil hour, to curse, not save Thy people from convulsion's guilt and gloom ; The ghosts of slaughter' d millions mark'd his state, And shriek'd — " The desolator desolate !" * Napoleon. The " sun " referred to ; is that of military, not moral glory. 68 THE GREEK GIRL. II. And she, the early partner of his throne, Whose virtues lent a ray to pierce its gloom, How amply Fate aveng'd her — groan for groan ! The purple tyrant in his sea-girt tomb, Had felt her bitter exile made his own ; She shar'd his diadem, and he her doom ; Fore-shadow'd, — -when, in hour of unmixt evil, An Angel link'd her fortunes with a Devil ! l III. Celestial genius, faculties akin To inspiration — and the field how vast ! The "heroes of Humanity"* had been Triumphant over error in this last Great argument ! and Washington — serene In glory f — had beheld the mighty past, — - *" Nations/' said Mirabeau, " should mourn none but their benefactors ; and regret no others but the heroes of humanity." f If, in the annals of human greatness, there be one char- acter more luminous than another — lending its mingled CANTO II. 69 Bequeathed as Freedom's latest legacy,— RenewM again, Napoleon, in thee ! IV. Such might have been the picture ! but thou didst Prefer that guilty eminence that made The name of tyrant hated in the midst Of tyranny— -then witherM in the shade ! Imperial Suicide ! who madly hid'st The light which nature gave thee, to degrade Her image, when thou play'dst the murderer's part, And struck the guiltless Bourbon to the heart ! * lights of genius, valor, and a lofty patriotism, to a nation's history, and throwing into the shade, from its " excessive bright," the lesser luminaries that from time to time have set their watch in the political firmament of ages, it is that of "Washington. But what pen can hope to do justice to it ? Envy grows pale as it contemplates that character j and Vir- tue feels that it were superfluous to offer to it the incense of its praise. View it under what aspect we may, its surpassing moral grandeur overpowers the mind, and awes it into reve- rential wonder ! Vir magnanime ! Vir fortissime ! Junior Brute ! # Execution of the Duke d'Enghein. 70 THE GREEK