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EI.EG-ANT EXTRACTS- 
 
 OF POETRY 
 
 FROM THE 
 
 WORKS OF 
 
 i^IODEPvN AUTHORS. 
 
 s HARTFORD: 
 i'UBLISTIED BY S. G. GOODRXCll. 
 
 rnjNTKD BY HAMMvX AXT) XEWlOy. 
 

 MVERTISEMEJii'T. 
 
 The design of tiris little selecUon ' 
 furnisliapockel'volumeofmodernp. 
 
 ry, compvising some distingtmlied p 
 tan each of the celebrated Imng be 
 
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t^ LOGHIEL^S WARNING 
 
 WIZAJRD— LOCHIEL. 
 
 LOCHIEL ! Lochiel, beware of the day 
 When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle an :. 
 For a Field of the dead rushes red on my sight 
 And the clans of CuUoden are scattered in fig-ht 
 They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and c • . 
 Woe, woe to the riders that trample them dow ' 
 Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain. 
 And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the p] . 
 Bat hark ! through the fast flashing lightning of s 
 What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ? 
 'Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride sUall awa^t, 
 Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the g.,x 
 A steed comes at morning : no rider is there ; 
 But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. 
 Weep Albin ! to death and captivity led ! 
 Oh weep ! but thy tears cannot number the dea^l : 
 For a merciless sword on CuUoden shall wave, 
 Culloden ! that reeks with the blood of the bi^a^vt-. 
 
 LOCm££. 
 
 Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seev ' 
 Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, 
 Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight ! 
 This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright. 
 
 Ha ! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? 
 Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be X\.'. 
 S-ay, rushed the bold eagle exuUingly forth. 
 
Prom his home in the dark rftliiiig clouds of the north r 
 1^ ! the death-shnt of foemai ontspeeding-, he rode 
 Gompanionxess, bearing destruction abroad ; 
 But down let him stoop from his havoc on high ! 
 \h ! home let him speed — for the spoiler is nigh ! 
 . lames the far summit ? Why shoot to the blast 
 embers, like stars from the firmament cast ? 
 le fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven 
 his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. 
 , • ested Lochiel ! the peerless in might, 
 t banners arise on the battlements' height, 
 . n's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ; 
 ' ' I to thy dwelling! all lonely return ! 
 . i 2 blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, 
 ,ri wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood: 
 
 e 'r vVizard, avaunt ! I have marshalled my clan : 
 -words are a thousand, 'leir bosoms are one ! 
 re tj-ue to the last ^ * tii i- blood and their breathy 
 .':e reapers descend to the harvest of death. 
 .'■■ veicome be Cumberland's steed to the shock ! 
 \]>xi dash his proud '-jam like a wave on the rock ! 
 woe to his kindrt d, and woe to his cause, 
 o:^ Albin her r-V^ymore indignantly drawls ; 
 ' er bonietted chieftains to victory crowd, 
 i ! ■ e dauntless, and Moray the proud ; 
 ^ and plumed in their tartan array 
 
 L jchiel, Lochiel, , beware of the day \ 
 i, dr./k and despairing, my sight I miglit seal, 
 ^ -/.a;! cannot cover what God would reveal : 
 i:- 'je sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
 ;a ^ O' ling events cast their shadows before. 
 xllUi^e, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring 
 'i\h ihe bloodliounds, that bark for tliy fugitive king 
 
 ' iiru inted by heaven with the vials of wrath, 
 ' h< \. where he flies on his desolate path ! 
 
Now, in darkness and billows, he sweep. 
 Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover U 
 'Tis finished/ Their thunders are hushed o> 
 CuUoden is lost, and my country deplores ; 
 But where is the iron-bound prisoner r Wh( 
 For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. 
 Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, foi 
 Like a limb from his country cast bleeding" a: 
 Ah no ! for a darker departure is near ; 
 The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bit 
 His death-bell is tolling" ; oh ! mercy dispel 
 Yon sight that it freezes my spirit to tell ! 
 Life flutters convulsed in his quivering" limbs, 
 And his blood-streaming" nostril in ag'ony swims. 
 Accursed be the faggots, that blaze at his feet. 
 Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to I 
 AVith the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale 
 
 Down, soothless insult er ! I trust not the tale 
 
 Though my perishing ranks should be strewed i 
 
 gore, " 
 Like ocean -weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore 
 Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, 
 While the kindling of life in iiis bosom remains. 
 Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low. 
 With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe 
 And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 
 Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fa 
 
 1^ 
 
THE PRISONERS OF CHILLON 
 
 vr 
 
 A FABLE, 
 
 MY hair is grey but not with years. 
 Nor gTCw it white 
 In a sing-Ie night. 
 As men's have grown from sudden fears : 
 My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, 
 
 But rusted with a vile repose, 
 For they have been a dungeon's tpoil. 
 
 And mine has been the fite of those 
 To whom the goodly earth and air 
 Are bann'd, and barr'd— forbidden fare ; 
 But this was for my fluher's faith 
 I suffered chains and courted death ; 
 'niat father perish'd at the stake 
 For tenets he would not forsake ; 
 And for the same his lineal race 
 III darkness found a dwelling-place ; 
 We were seven — wiio now are one. 
 
 Six in youth, and one in age, 
 Finish VI as they had begun. 
 
 Proud of Persecutions rage ; 
 One in fire, and two in field. 
 Their belief with blood have seal'd ; 
 Dying as their father died, 
 For the God their foes denied ; 
 Three were in a dungeon cast, 
 Of whom this wreck is left tlie last. 
 
 There are seven pillars of gothic mould. 
 In Chillon's dungeons deep and old. 
 Til ere are seven columns, massy and grev. 
 Dim with a dull imprisoned ray, 
 A suiibeam which hath lost its wa}', 
 And through the crevice and the cleft 
 or the thic'k wall is fallen and left ; 
 
Creeping' o'er the floor so damp. 
 Like a marsh's meteor lamp ; 
 And in each pillar there is a ring", 
 And in each ring" there is a chain ; 
 That iron is a cankering thing-, 
 For in these limbs its teeth remain. 
 With marks that will not wear away. 
 Till I have done with this new day. 
 Which now is painful to these eyes 
 Wliich have not seen the sun so rise 
 For years — I cannot count them o'er^ 
 I lost their long and heavy score. 
 When my last brother droop'd and died, 
 And I lay living" by his side. 
 
 They chainM us each to a column stone. 
 And we were three — yet, each alone, 
 We could not move a single pace. 
 We could not see each other's f:ice, 
 But wiih that pale and vivid light, 
 That made us strang-ers in our sig^ht ; 
 And thus together — yet apart. 
 Fettered in hand, but pined in heart ; 
 'Twas still some solace in the dearth 
 Of the pure elements of earth. 
 To heai'ken to each other's speech. 
 And each turn comforter to each, 
 Wiih some new hope, or legend old. 
 Or song heroically bold ; 
 But even these at length g-rew cold. 
 Our voices took a dreary tone. 
 An echo of the dung-eon-stone, 
 A grating sound— not full and free 
 As they of yore were wont to be : 
 Tt might be fancy — but to me 
 They never sounded like our own. 
 
 I was tl)e eldest of the three. 
 And to uphold and cheer the rest 
 1 ought to do — and did my best— 
 And each did well in his degree. 
 T))e youngest, whom my fjither loved, 
 Because our motlier's brow was irivcu 
 
To him — with eyes as blue as heaven, 
 For him my soul was sorely moved ; 
 And truly might it be distrest 
 To see such bird in such a nest ; 
 For he was beautiful as day — 
 (When day was beautiful to me 
 As to young" eagles, being free)— 
 A polar day, which will not see 
 A sun-set till its summer's gone, 
 Its sleepless sunsmer of long light, 
 The snow-clad offspringof the sun : 
 And thus he was as pure and bright, 
 And in his natural spirit gay, 
 With tears for nought but other's ills. 
 And then they flow'd like mourrr^in rills, 
 Unless he could assuage the woe, 
 W^hich he abhorr'd to view below. 
 
 The other was as pure of mind, 
 Jhii formed to combat with his kind ; 
 Strong in his frame, and of a mood 
 Which 'gainst the world in war had stood, 
 And perish'd in the foremost rank 
 
 With joy : — but not in chains to pine ; 
 His spirit withered with their clank, 
 
 X saw it silently decline — 
 And so perchance i.i sooth did mine ; 
 IJut yet I f )rced it on to cheer 
 Those relics of a home so dear. 
 He was a hunter of the hills, 
 
 Had followed there the deer and wolf; 
 
 To him tliis dungeon was a gulf. 
 And fettered feet the worst of ills. 
 
 I^ake Leman lies by Chilion's walls : 
 A thousand feet in de|rth below 
 Its massy waters meet and flow ; 
 Tlius m.uch the futliom-line was sent 
 From Chillon's snow-white battlement, 
 
 WJiich round about the wave enthralls : 
 A double dungeon wall and wave 
 Have made — and like a living gi*ave. 
 Below the surface of the lake 
 
y 
 
 The dark vault lies wherein we lay, 
 We heard it ripple night and day ; 
 
 Sounding" o'er our heads it knock'd ; 
 And 1 have felt the winter's spray 
 Wash through the bars when winds were h 
 And wanton in the happy sky ; 
 
 And then the very rock hath rock'd. 
 And I have felt it shake, unshock'd. 
 Because I could have swiil'd to see 
 The death that would have set me free. 
 
 I said my nearer brother pined, 
 I said his mighty heart declined. 
 He loath'd and put away his food ; 
 It was not that 'twas coarse and rude. 
 For we were used to hunters fare, 
 And for the like had little care ; 
 The milk drawn from the mountain goat 
 Was changed for water from the moat. 
 Our bread was such as captive's tears 
 Have moisten'd many a thousand years. 
 Since man first pent liis fellow-men 
 Like brutes within an iron den : 
 But what were these to us or him ? 
 These wasted not his heart or limb ; 
 ]My brother's soul was of the mould 
 Which in a palace had gi'own cold. 
 Had his free breathing been denied 
 The range of the steep mountain side ; 
 But why delay the truth ? — he died. 
 I saw, and could not hold his head, 
 Nor reach his dying hand — nor dead. 
 Though hard I strove, but strove in vain. 
 To rend and gnash my bonds in twain. 
 He died — and they unlocked liis chain. 
 And scoop'd for him a shallow grave 
 Even from the cold earth of our cave. 
 I begg'd them, as a boon, to lay 
 His corse in dust whereon the day 
 Might shine — it was a foolish thouglit. 
 But then within my brain it wj-ought. 
 That even in death his freeborn breast. 
 Ill such a elungeon could not rest. 
 
10 
 
 I mip-bt have spared my idle prayer — 
 Th *- coldly laugh'd— and laid him there 
 Th^ . ^ and tarfless earth above 
 The bv \g we so much did love ; 
 Hfs empty chain above it leant. 
 Such murder's fitting monument 1 
 
 But he, the favourite and the flower. 
 Most cherish'd since his natal hour, 
 Hi5 mother's image in fair face, 
 The infant love of all his race. 
 His martyred father's dearest tl^ought. 
 My latest care, for whom I sou^it 
 To hoard my life, that his might be 
 Less wretched now, and one day free ; 
 He, too, who yet had held untii:ed 
 A spirit natural or inspired — 
 ' He, too was struck, and day by day 
 Was withered on the stock away. 
 Oh God ! it is a fearful thing 
 To see the human soul take wing 
 In any shape, in any mood : — 
 I've seen it rushing forth fn blood, 
 I've seen it on the breaking ocean 
 -Strive with a swoln convulsive motion, rr 
 
 I've seen the sick and ghastly bed '> -/ 
 
 Of Sin delirious with its dread : .^\ 
 
 But these were horrors — this was woe ^ ^ ^%^. 
 Unmix'd with such— but sure and slow : .;«. ' /?\ 
 He faded, and so calm and meek, "',} *' 
 
 So softly worn, so sweetly weak. 
 So tearless, yet so tender— kind. 
 
 And grieved for those he left behind ; '. -^ 
 
 With all the while a cheek whose bloom ?* 
 
 Was as a mockery of the tomb, ^ 
 Whose tints as gently sunk awa^', 
 As a departing rainbow's ray — ^ 
 An eye of most transparent light, 
 That almost made the dungeon bright. 
 And not a word of murmur— not 
 A groan o'er his untimely lot, — 
 A little talk of better days, 
 A little hope my own to raise. 
 
ii 
 
 For 1 was sunk in silence— lost 
 In this last loss, of all the most ; 
 And then the sighs he would suppress 
 Of taintiug nature's feebleness, 
 More slowlv drawn, grew less and less 
 I listened, but I could not hear— 
 I caird for I was wild with fear; 
 I knew 'twas hopeless, but my dread .. 
 Would not be thus admonished ; 
 I called, and thought I heard a sound— 
 1 burst mv chain with one strong bound, 
 And rush'd to him :— t found him not, 
 J onlv stirrVl in this black spot, 
 I only lived— /only drew 
 The accursed breath of dungeon-aew ; 
 The last— the sole— the dearest link 
 Between me and the eternal brink, 
 Which bound me to my failing race, 
 Was broken in this fatal place. 
 One on the earth and one beneath-- 
 My brothers -both had ceased to breathe : 
 I took that hand which lay so still, 
 Alas ! mv own was full as chill ; 
 I had not strength to stir, or strive, 
 But felt that I was still alive— 
 A frantic feeling, when we know 
 That what we love shall ne'er be so. 
 1 know not why 
 I could not die, 
 I had no earthly hope-^but faith, 
 And that forbade a selfish deatli. 
 
 What nextbeifel me thenand there 
 I know not well— I never knew— 
 First caT)T<ft1ie loss of light and air, 
 And then of darkness too : 
 I had no tihought, no feeling— none— 
 Among the stones I stood a stone. 
 And was, scarce conscious what I wist, 
 As shrubless crags within the mist ; 
 For all was blank, and bleak, and '^vt.\. 
 It was not ni^ht— it was not day, 
 T^ was not even the dungeon-light, 
 
12 
 
 So hateful to my heavy sig-ht, 
 Bui vacancy absorbing* space, 
 And fixedness — without a place ; 
 There were no stars — no earth — no time — 
 No check — no change — no g*ood~-no crime- 
 But silence, and a stirless breath 
 AVhich neither was of life nor death ; 
 A sea of stagnant idleness, 
 Blind, boundless, mute, and motionless ! 
 
 A light broke in upon my brain, — 
 
 It was the carol of a bird ; 
 It ceased, and then it came again. 
 
 The sweetest song ear ever heard. 
 And mine was tliankful till my eyes 
 llan over with the glad surprise. 
 And they that moment could not see 
 I was the mate of misery ; 
 But then by dull degrees came back 
 My senses to their wonted ti-ack, 
 I saw the dungeon walls and floor 
 Close slowly round me as before, 
 I saw the glimmer of the sun 
 Creeping as it before had done. 
 But thi'ough the crevice where it came 
 That bird was perch'd, as fond and tame. 
 
 And tamer than upon the tree ; 
 A lovely bird, witii azure wings, 
 And song that said a thousand things. 
 
 And seem'd to say them all for me ! 
 I never saw its like before, 
 I ne'er shall see its likeness more : 
 It seem'd like me to want a mate. 
 Bat was not lialfso desolate, 
 And it was come to love me when 
 None lived to love me so again. 
 And cheering from my dungeon's brink, 
 Had brought me back to feel and think. 
 1 know not if it late were free, 
 ^^ Or broke its cage to perch on mine. 
 But knowing well captivity. 
 
 Sweet bird ! I could not wish for thine ! 
 Or if It were in winged guise, 
 
13 
 
 A visitant from Paradise ; 
 
 For — Heaven forgive that thought ! the while 
 
 Which made me both to weep and smile; 
 
 1 sometimes deemed that it might be 
 
 My brother's soul come dowii to me : 
 
 But then at last away it flew, 
 
 And then 'twas mortal — well I knew. 
 
 For he would never thus have fiown, 
 
 And left me twice so doubly lone, — . 
 
 J^one — as the corse within its shroud. 
 
 Lone — as a solitary cloud, 
 
 A single cloud on a sunny day. 
 While all the rest of Heaven is clear, 
 A frown upon the atmosphere, 
 Tliat hatli no business to appear 
 
 When skies are blue and earth is gay. 
 
 A kind of chai^.ge came in my fate, 
 My keepers grew compassionate, 
 I know not what had made them so. 
 They were inured to sights of woe. 
 But so it was : — my broken chain 
 Witli jinks unfasten'd did remain. 
 And it was liberty to stride 
 Along my cell from side to side. 
 And up and down, and then athwart. 
 And tread it over every part ; 
 And round the pillars one by one. 
 Returning where my walk begun. 
 Avoiding only, as I trod. 
 My brother's graves W)tl>out a sod ; 
 For if I thought with heedless tread 
 My step profaned iheu' lowly bed, 
 My breath came gaspingly and tliick. 
 And my cvush*d heart fell blmd and sick. 
 
 I made a fooling in the wall, 
 
 It was not therefrom to escape. 
 For I hud buried one and all. 
 
 Who loved me in a human sliape ; 
 And ihe whole earth wo\ild henceforth be- 
 A wider prison unlo me : 
 No child — no sire — no kin hadl^ 
 
 2 
 
14 
 
 No partner in my misery ; 
 
 1 thought of this, and I was glad. 
 
 For thought of tliem had made me mad ; 
 
 But I was curious to ascend 
 
 To my barr'd windows, and to bend 
 
 Once more, upon the mountains high, 
 
 The quiet of a loving eye. 
 
 I saw them — and they were the same. 
 They were not changed like me in frame ; 
 I saw their thousand years of snow 
 On high — their vvide long lake below. 
 And the blue Rhone in fullest flow ; 
 I heard the torrents leap and gusli 
 0*er channell'd rock and broken bush ; 
 I saw the white-wall'd distant town. 
 And whiter sails go skimming down ; 
 And then there was a little isle. 
 Which in my very face did smile. 
 
 The only one in view ; 
 A small green isle, it seem'd no more. 
 Scarce broader than my dungeon floor. 
 But in it there were three tall trees. 
 And o'er it blew the mountain breeze. 
 And by it there were waters flowing, 
 And on it there were young flowers growing'. 
 
 Of gentle breath and hue. 
 The fish swam by the castle wall, 
 And they seemed joyous each and all ; 
 The eagle rode the rising blast, 
 Methought he never flew so fast 
 As then to me he seemed to fly, 
 And then new tears came in my eye, 
 And I felt troubled— and would fain 
 I had not leu my recent chain : 
 And when I did descend again, 
 The darkness of my dim abode 
 Fell on me as a heavy load : 
 It was as is a new-dug grave, 
 Closing o'er one we sought to save, 
 And yet my glance too much oppre;5t. 
 Had almost need of such a reot. 
 
15 
 
 It might be months, or years, or days, 
 
 I kept no count— I took no note, 
 I had no hope my eyes to raise. 
 
 And clear them of their dreary mote ; 
 At last men came to set me free, 
 
 I ask'd not why, and reck'd not where. 
 It was at leng-th the same to me, 
 Fetter'd or fetterless to be, 
 
 I learn'd to love despair. 
 And thus when they appeared at last. 
 And all my bonds aside were cast. 
 These heavy walls to me had grown 
 A hermitage — and all my own ! 
 And half I felt as they were come 
 To tear me from a second home : 
 With spiders I had friendship made. 
 And watch'd them in their sullen trade. 
 Had seen the mice by moonlight play, 
 And why should I feel less than they ? 
 We were all inmates of one place. 
 And I, the monarch of each race. 
 Had power to kill — yet, strange^ to tell ! 
 In quiet we had learn'd to dwell — 
 My very chains and I grew friends, 
 So much a long communion tends 
 To make us what we are ; even I 
 Regained my freedom with a sigh. 
 
THE 
 
 PLEASURES OF MEMORY. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green. 
 With magic tint to harmonize the scene. 
 Still'd is the hum that through the hamlet broke. 
 When, round the ruins of their ancient oak, 
 The peasants flock'd to hear the minstrel play. 
 And games and carols closed the busy day. 
 Her wheel at rest, the matron charms no mbre 
 With treasured tales of legendary lore. 
 All, all are fled ; nor mirth nor music flows 
 To chase the dreams of innocent repose. 
 All, all are fled ; yet still I linger here ! 
 — What pensive sweets this silent spot endear ! 
 
 Mark yon old mansion, frowning through the trees, 
 Whose hollow turret woo's the whistling breeze. 
 That casement, arch'd with ivy's brownest shade, 
 First to these eyes the light of heaven convey'd. 
 The mouldering gateway strews the grass-grow^n court. 
 Once the calm scene of many a simple sport ; 
 When nature pleased, for life itself was new. 
 And the heart promised v;hat the fancy drew. 
 
 See, through the fractured pediment reveal'd, 
 Where moss inlays the rudely-sculptured shield, 
 The martin's old, hereditary nest. 
 I^ng may the ruin spare its hallowed guest ! 
 
 As jars the hinge, what sullen echoes call ! 
 Oh, haste, unfold the hospitable hall ! 
 That hall, where once, in antiquated state. 
 The chair of justice held the grave debate. 
 Now siain'd with dews, with cobwebs darkly hung ! 
 Oft has its roof with peals of rapture rung ; 
 When round yon ample board, in due degree. 
 
17 
 
 We sweetened every meal with social glee. 
 
 The heart's light laughter crown'd the circling jest j 
 
 And all was sunshine in each little breast. 
 
 Twas here we chased the slipper by its sound ; 
 
 And turn'd the blindfold hero round and round. 
 
 Twas here, at eve, we form'd our fairy ring ; 
 
 And fancy fluttered on her wildest wing. 
 
 Giants and genii chain'd the wondering ear ; 
 
 And orphan-Woes drew natur'es ready tear. 
 
 Oft with the babes we wander'd in the wood. 
 
 Or view'd the forest feats of Robin Hood : 
 
 Oft, fancy-led, at midnight's fearful hour. 
 
 With startling step, we scaled the lonely tower ; 
 
 O'er infant innocence to hang ai\d weep, 
 
 Murder'd by ruffian hands, when smiling in its sleep. 
 
 Ye household deities ! whose guardian eye 
 Mark'd each pure thought, ere registered on high : 
 Still, still ye walk the consecrated ground, 
 And breathe the soul of inspiration round. 
 
 As o'er the dusky furniture I bend. 
 Each chair awakes the feelings of a friend. 
 The story'd arras, source of fond delight. 
 With old achievement charms the wilder'd sight ; 
 And still, with heraldry's rich hues imprest. 
 On the dim window glows the pictured crest. 
 The screen unfolds its many-coloi-'d chart. 
 The clock still points its moral to the heart. 
 That faithful monitor twas heaven to hear ! 
 WJien soft it spoke a promised pleasure near : 
 And has its sober hand, its simple cliime, 
 Forgot to trace the feather'd feet of time ? 
 That massive beam, with curious carvings wrought^ 
 Whence the caged linnet sooth'd my pensive thouglit ; 
 Those muskets, cased with venerable rust ; 
 Those once-loved forms, still breathing through their dust, 
 Still from the frame, in mould gii^antic cast, ' 
 Starting to life — all whisper of the past ! 
 
 As through the garden's desert paths I rove, 
 What fond illusions swarm in every grove ! 
 How oft, when purple evening tinged the west, 
 We watch'd the emmet to her grainy nest ; 
 AVclcomed the wild-bee home, on wearied wing, 
 
 2* 
 
18 
 
 Laden with sweets, the choicest of the spring" ,• 
 How oft inscribed with friendship's votive rhyme. 
 The bark, now silver'd by the touch of time ; 
 Soar'd in the swing, half pleased and half afraid. 
 Through sister elm^ that waved their summer-shade ; 
 Or strew'd v/ith crumbs yon root-inwoven seat, 
 To lure the redbreast from his lone retreat ! 
 
 Cliildhood's loved group revisits every scene. 
 The tangled wood- walk, and the tufted green ! 
 Indulgent 3ie>iory wakes, and, lo ! they live ! 
 Clothed with far softer hues than light can give. 
 Thou last, best friend that heaven assigns below. 
 To sooth and svreeten all the cares we know ; 
 AVhose glad suggestions still eacli vain alarm. 
 When nature fades, and life forgets to charm ; 
 Thee would the muse invoke ! — to thee belong 
 The sage's precept, and the poet's song. 
 What soften'd views thy magic glass reveals. 
 When o'er the landscape time's meek twilight steals i 
 As when in ocean sinks the orb of day, 
 Long on the wave reflected lustres play ; 
 Thy temper'd gleams of happiness resign'd. 
 Glance on the darken'd mirror of the mind. 
 
 The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses grey, 
 Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay, 
 Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, 
 QuickC! )ing my tnumt-feet across the lawn ; 
 Unheard the sliout that rent the noontide air. 
 When the slow dial gave a pause to care. 
 Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear 
 Some little friendship, form'd and cherish'd here ! 
 And not the lightest leaf, but trembling teems 
 With golden visions, and romantic dreams ! 
 
 Down by yon hazel copse, at evening, blazed 
 The gipsy's faggot — there we stood and gazed : 
 Gazed on her sun-burnt face, with silent awe. 
 Her tatter'd mantle, and her hood of straw ; 
 Her moving lips, her caldron brimming o'er ; 
 llic drowsy brood that on her back she bore. 
 Imps, in the barn with mousing owlets bred, 
 Fiom rifled roost at nightly revel fed ; 
 T\hosc dark eyes flash'd through locks of blackest shade, 
 
19 
 
 When in the breeze the distant watch-dog bay'd :— 
 
 And heroes fled the sibyl's mutter'd call. 
 
 Whose elfin prowess scaled the orchard wall. 
 
 As o'er my palm the silver piece she drew. 
 
 And traced the line of life with searching view ! 
 
 How throbb'd my fluttering pulse with hopes and fears, 
 
 To leam the color of my future years ! 
 
 Ah, then what honest triumph flush'd my breast ! 
 
 This truth once known— To bless is to be blest ! 
 
 We led the bending* beggar on his way ; 
 
 Bare were his feet, his tresses silver-grey, 
 
 Sooth'd the keen pangs his aged spirit felt, 
 
 And on his tale with mute attention dwelt. 
 
 As in his scrip we dropt our little store, 
 
 And wept to thi;ik that little was no more, 
 
 He breathed his prayer, * long may such goodness live !' 
 
 Twas all he gave, twas all he had to give. 
 
 Angels, when mercy's mandate wing'd their flight. 
 
 Had stopt to catch new rapture from the sight. 
 
 But hark ! through those old firs, with sullen swell 
 The church-clock strikes ! ye tender scenes farewell !' 
 It calls me hence, beneath their shade, to trace 
 The few fond lines that time may soon efface. 
 On yon grey stone, that fronts the chancel door. 
 Worn smooth by busy feet now seen no more. 
 Each eve we shot the marble through tlie ring. 
 When the heart danced, and life was in its spring , 
 Alas ! unconscious of the kindred earth, 
 That faintly echo'd to the voice of mirth. 
 The glow-worm loves her emerald light to shed, 
 Where now the sexton rests his hoary head. 
 Oft, as he turn'd the greensward with his spade. 
 He lectured every youth that round him play'd ; 
 And, calmly pointing where his fathers lay. 
 Roused him to rival each, the hero of his da}-. 
 
 Hush, ye fond flutterings, hush ! while here alone 
 I search the records of each mouldering stone. 
 Guides of my life ! instructors of my youth ! 
 Who first unveii'd the hallow 'd form of truth ; 
 Whose every word enlightened and endear'd ; 
 In age beloved, in poverty revered ; 
 In friendship's silent register ye live, 
 
20 
 
 Kor ask the vain memorial art can give. 
 .....But when the son.s of peace and pleasure sleep, 
 When only sorrow wakes and wakes to weep, 
 What spells in trance my visionary mind, 
 With sighs so sweet, with raptures so refined ! 
 Ethereal power ! whose smile, at noon of nig'ht, 
 Ilecalls the far-fled spirit of delight ; 
 Instills that musing, melancholy mood. 
 Which charms the wise, and elevates the good ; 
 Blest MEMORY, hail ! oh, grant the grateful muse, 
 Her pencil dipt in nature's living hues. 
 To pass the clouds that rovmd thy empire roll. 
 And trace its airy precincts in the soul. 
 
 Lull'd in the countless chambers of the brain. 
 Our thoughts are link'd by many a hidden chain. 
 Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise ! 
 Each stamps its image as the otiier flies ! 
 Kach as the varied avenues of sense 
 J)elightor sorrow to the soul dispense, 
 Brightens or fades; yet all, with magic ai*t. 
 Control the latent fibres of the heart. 
 As studious PRospERo's mysterious spell 
 Convened the subject spirits to his cell ; 
 Each, at thy call, advances or retires, 
 As judgment dictates, or the scene inspires. 
 Each thrills the seat of sense, that sacred source. 
 Whence the fine nerves direct their mazy course, 
 And through the frame invisibly convey 
 The subtle, quick vibrations as they play. 
 
 Survey the globe, each ruder realm explore, 
 From reason's faintest ray to newton soar. 
 AVhat different spheres to human bliss assigned ! 
 What slow gradations in the scale of mind ! 
 Yet mark in each these mystic wonders wrought ; 
 Oh mark tlie sleepless energies of thought ! 
 
 The adventurous boy, that asks his little share. 
 And hies froiu home, witli many a gossip's prayer. 
 Turns on the neighboring hill, once more to see 
 The dear abode of peace and privacy ; 
 And as he turns, the thatch among the trees, 
 The smoke's blue wreathes ascending with the breeze. 
 The village-common, spotted white with sheep, 
 
21 
 
 I'he cliurch-yard yews, i^ouncl which his fathers sleep ; 
 All rouse reflection's sadly-pleasing train, 
 Vnd oft he looks and weeps, and looks again. 
 
 So, when the mild tupia dared explore 
 Arts yet untaught, and worlds unknown before, 
 And, with the sons of science, woo'd the gale. 
 That, rising, swell'd their strange expanse of sail] 
 So, when he breathed his firm yet fond adieu. 
 Born from his leafy hut, his carved canoe. 
 And all his soul best loved, such tears he shed. 
 While each soft scene of summer-beauty fled ; 
 Long o'er the wave a wistful look he cast. 
 Long watch'd the streaming signal from the mast ; 
 Till twilight's dewy tints deceived his eye. 
 And fairy forests fringed the evening sky. 
 
 So Scotia's queen, as slowly dawn'd the day, 
 Rose on her couch, and gazed her soul away. 
 Her eyes had bless'd the beacon's glimmering height. 
 That faintly tipt the feathery surge with light ; 
 But now the morn, witli orient hues, poui^tray'd 
 Each castled cliff*, and brown monastic shade : 
 All touch'd the talisman's resistless spring, 
 And, lo, what busy tribes were instant on the wing ! 
 
 Thus kindred obj ects kindred thoughts inspire. 
 As summer-clouds flash forth electric fire. 
 And hence this spot gives back the joys of youth. 
 Warm as the life, and with the mirror's truth. 
 Hence home-felt pleasure prompts the patriot's sigh ; 
 This makes him wish to live, and dare to die. 
 For this foscari, whose relentless fate 
 Venice should blush to hear the muse relate, 
 When exile wore his blooming years away, 
 To sorrow's long soliloquies a prey. 
 When reason, justice, vainly urged his cause. 
 For this he roused her sanguinary laws ; 
 Glad to return, though hope could grant no more 
 And chains and torture hail'd him to the sliore. 
 
 And hence the charm historic scenes impart : 
 Hence Tiber awes, and Avon melts the hearjt. 
 Aerial forms, in Tempe's classic vale. 
 Glance through the gloom, and whisper in the gale ; 
 In wild Vaucluse with love and laura dwell, 
 
22 
 
 And watch and weep in eloisa's cell. 
 Twas ever ;hus. And now at Virgil's tomb, 
 V/e bie::S me shade and bid the verdure bloom : 
 So Tv:-.Lr paused, anf\id the wrecks of time, 
 On \he rude stone to trace the truth sublime ; 
 When at his feet, in honored dust disclosed. 
 The imnioriai .sage of Syracuse reposed. 
 And as his youth in sweet delusion hung". 
 Where once a plato taught, a pinbar sung ; 
 Who now but meets him musing when he roves 
 His ruiii d Tusculan's romantic groves ? 
 In Rome's gi eat forum, who but hears him roll 
 His moral thunders o'er the subject soul ? 
 
 And hence chat calm lelight the portrait gives : 
 We gaze on every feature till it lives ! 
 Still the fond lover views his absent maid ; 
 And i-he lost friend still lingers in his shade ! 
 Say why the pensive widow loves to weep, 
 Wl^en on her kiiee she rocks her babe to sleep : 
 TreiriDimgiy siill, she lifts his veil to trace 
 The iaiher's features in his infant face. 
 The iioary grandsire smiles the hour away. 
 Won by tJie charm of innocence at play ; 
 He bends lo meei each artless burst of joy. 
 Forgets his age, and acts again the boy. 
 What thougli the iron school of war erase 
 Eaclt milder virtue, and each softer grace ; 
 Whav though the fiend's torpedo-touch arrest 
 Each gentler, finer impulse of the breast ; 
 Still shall this active principle preside. 
 And wake the tear to pity's self deny'd.^ 
 
 The in.repid swiss, that guards a foreign shore, 
 Condemn'dto climb his mountahi-cliffs no more, 
 If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild 
 Which on those clifl^s his infant hours beguiled. 
 Melts at the long-lost scenes that round him rise, 
 And sinks, a martyr to repentant sighs. 
 
 Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm : 
 Say why vespasian loved his Sabine farm ; 
 Why great ^iavakre, when France and freedom bled. 
 Sought the lone limits of a forest shed. 
 Wheji DiociETiAN's self-corrected mind 
 
as 
 
 Tlie imperial fasces of a world resign 'd. 
 Say why we, trace the labors of his spade, 
 111 calm Salona's philosophic shade. 
 Say, when ambitious charles renounced a throne. 
 To muse with monks, unlettered and unknown, 
 What from his soul the parting tribute drew ? 
 What claim'd the sorrows of a last adieu ? 
 The still retreats that soothM his tranquil breast. 
 Ere grandieur dazzled, and its cares oppressed. 
 Undamp'd by time, the generous instinct glows 
 Far as Angola's sands, as Zembla's snows ; 
 Glows in the tiger's den, tlie serpent's nest. 
 On every form of varied life imprest 
 The social tribes its choicest inflneiice hail :■ — 
 And wheji the di'uni beats briskly in the gale, 
 Tlie war-worn couvsier charges at the sound, 
 And with young vigor wheels the pasture round. 
 Oft has the aged tenant of tlie vale 
 Lean'd on hi- staff to lengthen out the tale ; 
 
 Oft have his lips the grateful tribute breathed. 
 From sire to son with pious zeal bequeathed. 
 When o'er the blasted heath the day declined. 
 And on the scathed oak warr'd the winter wind ; 
 When not a distant taper's twinkling ray 
 Gleam'd o'er the furze to light him on his way ; 
 When not a sheep-bell sooth'd his listening ear. 
 And the big rain-drops told the tempest near ; 
 Then did liis horse the homeward track descry. 
 The track that shun'd his sad, inquiring eye ; 
 And win each wavering purpose to relent. 
 With warmth so mild, so gently violent. 
 That his charm'd hand the careless reign resign'd. 
 And doubts and terrors vanishM from his mind. 
 
 Recall the traveller, whose altered form 
 HiLs borne the buifetofthe mountain-storm ; 
 And who will lirsthis fond impatience meet ? 
 liis filrhful dog's already at his feet ; 
 Yes, though the porter spurn him from his door. 
 Though all, diat knew him, know his face no more. 
 His faithful dog shall tell his joy to each, 
 Willi that mute eloquence which passes speech. 
 And see, the master but returns to die 1 
 
2i 
 
 Yet who shall bid the watchful servant fly ? 
 
 The blasts of heaven, the drenching dews of earth. 
 
 The wanton insults of unfeeling* mirth ; 
 
 These, wlien to guard misfortune's sacred grave. 
 
 Will firm fidelity exult to brave. 
 
 Led by what chart, transports the timid dove 
 The wreath of conquest, or the vows of love ? 
 Say, through the clouds what compass points her flight ? 
 Monarchs have gazed, and nations bless'd the sight. 
 Pile rocks on rocks, bid woods and mountains rise, 
 Eclipse her native shades, her native skies ; — 
 Tis vain ! through ether's pathless wilds she goes. 
 And lights at last vrhere all her cares repose. 
 
 Sweet bird ! thy truth shall Harlem's walls attest. 
 And unborn ages consecrate thy nest. 
 When with the silent energy of grief. 
 With looks that ask'd, yet dared not hope relief. 
 Want with her babes, round generous valor clung, 
 To wring the slow surrender from his tongue, 
 Twas thine to animate her closing eye ; 
 Alas ! twas thine per chance the first to die, 
 Crush'd by the meager hand, when welcomed from the skr. 
 
 Hark the bee winds her small but mellow ho:.^n, 
 Blithe to salute the sunny smile of morn. 
 O'er thymy downs she bends her busy course. 
 And many a stream allures her to its source. 
 Tis noon, tis night. Tiiat eye so finely wrought 
 Beyond the search of sense, the soar of thought, 
 Now vainly asks the scenes she left behind ; 
 Its orb so full, its vision so confined ! 
 Who guides the patient pilgrim to her cell ? 
 Who bids her soul with conscious triumph swell • 
 With conscious truth retrace the mazy clue 
 Of varied scents, that charm'd her as she flew ? 
 Hail, MEMORY, hail ! thy universal reign 
 Guards the least link of Being's glorious chain. 
 
 
25 
 PART II. 
 
 Sweet memory, wafted by the gentle gale. 
 Oft up the stream of time I turn my sail, 
 To view the fairy -haunts of loDg-lost hours, 
 Blesr with far greener shades, far fresher flowers. 
 
 Ages, and climes remote to thee impart 
 What charms in genius, and refines in art ; 
 Thee, in whose hand the keys of science dwell j . 
 The pensive portress of her holy cell ; 
 Whose constant vigils chase the chilling damp 
 Oblivion steals upon her vestal-lamp. 
 
 The friends of reason, and the guides of youth. 
 Whose language breathed the eloquence of truth ; 
 Whose life, beyond preceptive wisdom, taught 
 The great in conduct, and the pure in thought ; 
 These still exist, by thee to fame consigned 
 Still speak and act, the inodles of mankind. 
 
 From thee sweet hope her airy coloring draws ; 
 And fiincy's flights are subject to thy laws. 
 From thee that bosom-spring of rapture flows. 
 Which only virtue, tranquil virtue, knows,^ 
 
 When joy's bright sun has shed his evening-ray. 
 And hope's delusive meteors cease to play : 
 W^hen clouds on clouds the sndling prospect close. 
 Still tlirough the gloom thy star serenely glows : 
 Like yon fair orb, she gilds the brow of night 
 With the mild magic of reflecied light. 
 
 The beauteous maid, that bids the world adieu. 
 Oft of that world will snatch a fond review ; 
 Oft at the shrine neglect her beads, to trace 
 Some social scene, some dear familiar face ; 
 Foigot, when first a father's stern control 
 Chased the gay visions of her opening soul : 
 And ere, with iron tongue, the vesper-bell 
 Bursts through the cvpress-walk, the convent-ceil. 
 Oft will her warm and wayward heart revive. 
 To love and joy still tremblingly alive ; 
 The wbisper'd vow, the chaste caress prolong, 
 AVeave the light darxe, and swell the choral son«' , 
 WiUi rapt ear drink the enchanting serenade^ 
 
 3 
 
 L-. 
 
26 
 
 \nd, as it melts along the moonlight-glade. 
 
 To each soft note return as soft a sigh, 
 
 And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly. 
 
 But not till time has calm'd the ruffled breast, 
 Are these fond dreams of happiness confest. 
 Not till the rushing winds forget to rave, 
 Is heaven's sweet smile reflected on the wave. 
 
 From Guinea's coast pm-sue the lessening sail. 
 And catch the sounds that sadden every gale. 
 Tell, if. thou canst, the sum of sorrows there 
 Mark the fixt gaze, the wild and frenzy'd glare, 
 The racks of thought, and freezings of despair ! 
 But pause not then — beyond the western wave. 
 Go, view the captive barter'd as a slave \ 
 Crush'd till his high heroic spirit bleeds, 
 And from his nerveless frame indignently recedes. 
 
 Yet here, even here, with pleasures long resign'd, 
 Lo MEMORY bursts the twilight of the mind : 
 Her dear delusions sooth his sinking soul. 
 When the rude scourge assumes its base control ; 
 And o'er futurity's blank page diffuse 
 The full reflection of their vivid hues. 
 Tis but to die, and then, to weep no more. 
 Then will he wake on Congo's distant shore ; 
 Beneath his plantain's ancient shade, renew 
 The simple transports that with freedom flew ; 
 Catch the cool breeze that musky evening blow s. 
 And quart' the palm's rich nectar as it glows ; 
 The oral tale of elder time rehearse. 
 And chant the rude traditionary verse ; 
 AVith those, the loved companions of his youlj], 
 V/hen life was luxury, and friendship truth. 
 
 Ah ! why should virtue dread the frowns of fate ? 
 Hers that no wealth can win, no power create ! 
 A little world of clear and cloudless day, 
 Nor wreck'd by storms, nor moulder'd by decay ; 
 A world with memory's ceaseless sunshine blest, 
 The home of happiness, an honest breast. 
 
 But most we mark the wonders of her reign. 
 When sleep has lock'd the senses in her chain. 
 When sober judg-ment has his throne resign'd, 
 She smiles away the chaos of the mind ; 
 
27 
 
 And, as warm fancj-^s bright Elysium glows. 
 From her each image springs, each color flows. 
 She is the sacred guest ! the immortal friend ! 
 Oft, seen o'er sleeping innocence to bend. 
 In that dead hour of night to silence given, 
 Whisper'ng seraphic visions of her heaven. 
 
 When tlie blidie son of Savoy, journeying round 
 With humble wares and pipe of merry sound. 
 From his green vale and sheltered cabin hies. 
 And scales the Alps to visit foreign skies ; 
 Though far below the forked lightnings play, 
 And at his feet the thunder dies away. 
 Oft in the saddle rudely rock'd to sleep. 
 While his mule browses on the dizzy steep, 
 With memory's aid, he sits at home, and sees- 
 His children sport beneath their native trees. 
 And bends to hear their cherub-voices call. 
 O'er the loud fury of the torrent's fall. 
 
 But can her smile with gloomy madness dwell ? 
 Say, can she chase the horrors of his cell ? 
 Each fiery fiiglit on frenzy's wing restrain. 
 And mould tlie coinage of the fever'd brain ? 
 Pass but that grate, which scarce a gleam supplies. 
 There in the dust the wreck of genius lies 1 
 He, whose arresting hand sublimely wrought 
 Each bold conception in the sphere of thought ; 
 Who from the quarried mass, like phidias, drew 
 Forms ever fair, creations ever new ! 
 But, as^lre fondly snatch'd the wreath of fame. 
 The spectre poverty unnerved his frame : 
 Cold was her grasp, a withering scowl she wore ; 
 And hope's soft energies were felt no more. 
 Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art ! 
 From the rtide stone what bright ideas start ! 
 E'en now he claims the amaranthine wreath, 
 With scenes that glow, with images that breathe r 
 And whence these scenes, these images, declare. 
 Whence but from her who triumphs o'er despair ! 
 
 Awake, arise ! with grateful fervour fraught. 
 Go, spring the mine of elevating thought. 
 He who, through nature's various walk, survevs 
 The good and fair her faultless line pourtrays*; 
 
28 
 
 Whose mind, profan'd by no unhallowed .^uest. 
 
 Culls from the crowd the purest and the best ; 
 
 IVIay range, at will, bright fancy's golden ciime. 
 
 Or, musing, mount where science sits sublime, 
 
 Or wake the spirit of departed time. 
 
 Who acts thus wisely, mark the moral muse, 
 
 A blooming Eden in his life reviews ! 
 
 So rich ihe culture, though so small the space. 
 
 Its scanty limits he forgets to trace : 
 
 But the fond fool, when evening shades tlie sky, 
 
 Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh ! 
 
 The weary waste that lengthened as he ran. 
 
 Fades to a blank, and dwindles to a span ! 
 
 Ah ! who can tell the ti'iumphs of the mind. 
 By truth illumined, and by taste refined ? 
 When age has quench'd the eye and closed the ear. 
 Still nerved for action in her native sphere. 
 Oft will she rise — with searching glance pursue 
 Some long-loved image vanish'd from her view : 
 Dart through the deep recesses of the past. 
 O'er dusky foi-ms in chains of slumber cast : 
 With giant-grasp fling back the folds of night. 
 And snatch the faithless fugitive to light. 
 
 So through the grove the impatient mother flies, 
 Each sunless glade, each secret pathway tries. 
 Till the light leaves the truant boy disclose. 
 Long on the wood-moss stretch'd in sweet repose. 
 
 Nor yet to pleasing objects are confined 
 The silent feasts of the reflecting mind. 
 Danger and death a dread delight inspire ; 
 And the bald veteran glows with wonted fire, 
 When richly bronzed by many a summer-sun, 
 He counts his scars, and tells what deeds were done. 
 
 Go, with old Thames, view Chelsea's glorious pile ; 
 And ask the shatter'd hero, whence his smile f 
 Go, vi«w the splendid domes of Greenwich, go ; 
 And own what raptures from reflection flow. 
 
 Hail, noble structures imaged in the wave \ 
 A nation's grateful tribute to the brave. 
 Hail blest retreats, from war and shipwreck, hail I 
 That oft arrest the wondering stranger's sail 
 Liong have ye heai'd the narratives of age, 
 
29 
 
 The battle's liavnc, and the tempest's rag-e ; 
 Long" hMve ye known reflection's g-enial ray 
 Gild the calm close of valor's variovis day. 
 
 Time's sombrous touches soon correct the piece^ 
 Mellow each tint, and bid each discord cease ; 
 A softer tone of lig-ht pervades the whole, 
 And steals a pensive languor o'er the soul. 
 
 Hast thou through Eden's wild-w^ood vales pursued : 
 Each mountain-scene, magnificently rude ; 
 To mark the sweet simplicity of life. 
 Far from the din of folly's idle strife : 
 Nor, with attention's lifted eye, revered 
 That modest stone which pious Pembroke rear'd: 
 Which still records, beyond the pencil's power, 
 The silent sorrows of a parting hour ; . 
 Still to the musing pilgrim points the place. 
 Her sainted spirit most delights to trace, 
 
 Tlius, with the manly glow of honest pride. 
 O'er his dead son old or^io^d nobly sigh'd. 
 7"hus, througl) the gloom of shenstone's fairy grove, 
 Maria's urn still breathes the voice of love. 
 
 As the stern grandeur of a gothic tower 
 Awes us less deeply in its morning hour, 
 Than when the shades of time serenely fall 
 On evevy broaken arch and ivy'd wall ; 
 The tender images we love to trace. 
 Steal from each year * a melancholy grace !' 
 And as the spai-ks of social love expand. 
 As the heart opens in a foreign land. 
 And witii a brother's warmth, a brother's smile. 
 The strai.ger greets each native of his isle ; 
 So scenes of life, when present and confest, 
 Stam.p but their bolder features on the breast ; 
 Yet not an iniage, when remotely view'd. 
 However trivial, and however rude. 
 But whis the heart, and wakes the social sigh 
 With every claim of close affinity ! 
 
 But these jHire joys the world can never know ; 
 In gentler climes their silver currents flow. 
 Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day, 
 When the hush'd grove has sung its jparting lay ; 
 When pensive twilight, in her dusky car, 
 
 3# 
 
 i 
 
30 
 
 Gomes slowly on to meet the evening star ; 
 
 Above, below, aerial murmurs swell. 
 
 From hanging" wood, brown heath, and bushy dell f 
 
 A thousand nameless rills, that shun the light, 
 
 Stealing soft music on the ear of night. 
 
 So oft the finer movements of the soul. 
 
 That shun the sphere of pleasure's gay control, 
 
 In the still shades of calm seclusion rise. 
 
 And breathe their sweet seraphic harmonies ! 
 
 Once, and domestic annals tell the time, . 
 Preserved in Cumbria's rude, romantic clime, 
 When nature smiled, and o'er the landscape threw 
 Her richest fragrance, and her brightest hue, 
 A blithe and blooming forester explord 
 Those nobler scenes salvators' soul adored ; 
 The rocky pass half hung with shaggy wood. 
 And the cleft oak, ilung boldly o'er the flood. 
 
 High on exulting wing the heath-cock rose. 
 And blew his shrill blast o'er perenial snows ; 
 When the rapt youth, recoiling from the roar. 
 Gazed on the tumbling tide of dread Lodour ; 
 And through the rifled cliffs, that scaled the sky, 
 Derwent's clear mirror charm'd his dazzled eye. 
 Each osier isle, inverted on the wave, 
 through morn's grey mist its melting" colors gave ; 
 ^ JlEr\d o'er tlie cygnet's haunt, the mantling grove : 
 Its emerald arci\ with wild luxuriance v/ove. 
 
 Light as the breeze that brush'd the orient dew. 
 From rock to rock the young adventurer flew ; 
 And day's last sunshine slept along the shore, 
 When lo, a path the smile of welcome wore. 
 Imbowering shrubs with verdure veiPd the sky, 
 And on the musk-rose shed a deeper dye ; 
 Save when a mild and momentary gleam 
 Glanced from the white foam of some shelter'd stream. 
 
 Cer the still lake the bell of evening toll'd, 
 And on the moor the shepherd penn'd his fold ; 
 And on the green hill's side the meteor play'd ; 
 When, hark ! a voice sung sweetly through tiie shade. 
 It ceased.. ..yet still in flokio's fancy sung, 
 Still on each noiehis captive spirit hung ; 
 Till o'er the mead a cool sequester'd grot 
 .From its rich roof a sparry lustre shot. 
 
31 
 
 A crystal water cross'd the pebble floor. 
 And on the front these simple lines it bore : 
 Hence away, nor dare intrude ! 
 In this secret, shadowy cell 
 Musing- 31 EMORY loves to dwell. 
 With her sister solitude. 
 Far from the busy world she flies, 
 To taste that peace the world denies. 
 Intranced she sits ; from youth to ag-e. 
 Reviewing" life's eventful pag-e ; 
 And noting", ere they fade away. 
 The little lines of yesterday. 
 Florio had gain'd a rude and rocky seat, 
 When lo, the genius of this still retreat I 
 Fair was her form. ...but who can hope to trace 
 The pensive softness of her angel-face .? 
 Can tirgil's verse, can raphel's touch impart 
 Those finer features of the feeling heart, 
 Those tender tints that shun the careless eye. 
 And in the world's contagious climate die ? 
 
 She left the cave, nor mark'd the stranger there ; 
 Her pastoral beauty, and her artless air, 
 Had breathed a soft enchantment o'er his soul ! 
 In every nerve he felt her blest control ! 
 What pure and white-winged agents of the sky, 
 Who rule the springs of saci-ed sympathy. 
 In form congenial spirits when they meet ? 
 Sweet is their office,. ...as their nature sweet ! 
 Florio, with fearful joy, pursued the maid 
 Till through a vista's moonlight-chequer'd shade, 
 Where the bat circled, and the rooks reposed. 
 Their wars suspended, and their councils closed. 
 An antique mansion burst in awful state, 
 A ricli vine clustering" round its gothic gate. 
 Nor paused he there. The master of the ^cene 
 Saw his light step imprint the dewy green ; 
 And, slow advancing*, hail'd him as his giiest, 
 Won by the honest warmth his looks exprest. 
 He wore the rustic manners of a squire. 
 Age had not quench'd one spark of manly fire ; 
 But giant gout had bound him in her chain. 
 And his heart panted for the chase in vain. 
 
Yet here remembrance, sweetly-soothing' power I 
 Wiiig-\i with d el ig-ht confinement's lingering" hour. 
 The fox's brush still emulous to wear, 
 lie scourM the county in his elbow-chair : 
 And, with view-hallo, roused the dreiiming" hound, 
 That rung, by starts, his deep-toned music round. 
 
 Long by the paddock's hum])le pale confined 
 His aged hunters coursed the viewless wind ; 
 And each, with glowing energy pourtray'd, 
 "i'he far-fiimed triuinphs of the field display'd ; 
 Usurp'd the canvass of the crowded hall, 
 And chased a line of heroes from the wall. 
 Tliere slept the horn each jocund eciioknew. 
 And many a smile and many a story drew \ 
 Higlio'er thf^ hearth his forest-trophies hung, 
 And their fantastic branches wildly fiung. 
 How would he dwell on each vast antler there ! 
 This dash'd tlie wave, that fann'd the mountain-air. 
 Each, as it frovv'n'd, unwritten records bore. 
 Of gallant feats and festivals of yore. 
 
 But why the tale prolong ?....his only cluld. 
 His darling JULIA on the stranger smiled. 
 Her little arts a fretful sire to please. 
 Her gentle gaiety, and native ease. 
 Had won his soul ; and rapturous fancy shed 
 Her golden lights and tinis of rosy r^-d : 
 Hut ah ! few days had pass'd, ere the bright vision fied, 
 
 When evening tinged the lake's ethereal blue, 
 And her deep shades irregularly tlirew ; 
 Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove, 
 Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove ; 
 Whence erst the chanted hymn, the taper'd rite. 
 Amused the fislier's solitary iViglit : 
 And still the mitred window, richly wreathed, 
 A sacred calm through the brown foilage breathed. 
 
 The wild deer, starting through the silent glade, 
 With fearful gaze, their various course surveyed. 
 High hui^g in air the hoary goat reclined. 
 His stre.'vming beard the sport of every wind ; 
 And as the coother jet-wing loved to lave, 
 Kock'd on the bosom of the sleepless wave ; 
 '!lie eagle rush'dfrom Skiddaw's purple crest, 
 A cloud still brouding o'er her giant nest. 
 
33 
 
 And now the moon had dinim'd, with dewy ray,' 
 The few fine flushes of departing day ; 
 0*er the wide water's deep serene she hang*, 
 And her broad liglits on every mountain flung- : 
 When lo ! a sudden blast the"^ vessel blew. 
 And to the surge consign'd its little crew. 
 All, all escaped — but ere the lover bore 
 His faint and faded julia to the shore. 
 Her sense had fled !.... exhausted by the storm, 
 A fatal trance hung' o'er her pallid' form ; 
 Her closing eye a trembling lustre fired ; 
 Twas life's last spark— it flutter'd and expired. 
 
 The flither strew'd his white hairs in the wind, 
 Call'd on his child — nor linger'd long behind : 
 And FLORID lived to see the willow wave, 
 With many an evening whisper o'er their grave. 
 Yes, FLomo lived — and, still of each possest. 
 The father cherish'd and the maid carest ! 
 Forever would the fond enthusiast rove, 
 With Julia's spirit throngh the shadowy grove ; 
 Gaze with delight on every scene she plann'd. 
 Kiss every floweret planted by her hand. 
 Ah ! still he traced her steps along the glade, 
 When hazy hues and glimmering lights betray'd 
 Half viewless forms ; still listen'd as the breeze 
 Heaved its deep sobs among* the aged trees ; 
 And at each pause her melting accents caught. 
 In sweet delirium of romantic thought ! 
 Dear was the grot that shunn'd the blaze of day ; 
 She gave its spars to shoot a trembling ray. 
 The spring, that bubbled from its inmost cell, 
 Murmur'd of julia's virtues as it fell ; 
 And o'er the dripping moss, the fretted stone. 
 In FLORio's ear breathed language not its own. 
 Her charm around the enchantress memory threw, 
 A charm that sooths the mind, and sweetens too. 
 
 But is her magic only felt below ? 
 Say, through what brighter realms she bids it flow ; 
 To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere. 
 She yields delight but faintly imaged here : 
 All that till now their rapt researches knew, 
 Not called in slow succession to review ; 
 
u 
 
 Bat as a laiidscape meets the eye of day. 
 At once presented to their glad survey! 
 
 Each scene of bliss reveal'd, since cliaos fleci* 
 And dawning- lig-ht its dazzlin,^ glories spread ; 
 l^Lach cliain of wonders that sublimely glow'd, 
 Since first creation's choral anthem fiow'd, 
 Each ready flig'ht, at mercy's smile divine. 
 To distant vvorlds that undiscover'd shine ; 
 Full on her tablet fling's its living* rays, 
 And all, combined, with blest effulgence blaze. 
 There thy bright train, immortal friendship, soar 
 No more to part, to mingle tears no more ! 
 And, as the softening hand of time endears 
 The joys and sorrows of our infant-years. 
 So there the soul, released from human strife. 
 Smiles at the little cares and ills of life ; 
 Its lig"hts and shades, its sunshine and its showers ; 
 As at a dream that charm'd her vacant hours ! 
 
 Oft may the spirits of the dead descend, 
 To watch the silent slumbers of a friend ; 
 To hover round his evening-walk unseen. 
 And hold sweet converse on the dusky green ; 
 To i)ail tlie spot w^here first their friendship grew, 
 A.nd heaven and nature open,d to their view ! 
 Ofv, when he trims his cheerful hearth, and sees 
 A smiling circle emulous to please ; 
 Thei-e may these gentle guests delight to dwell, 
 And bless the scene they loved in life so well ! 
 
 Oh ihou ! with Vv horn my heart was wont to share 
 From reason's da^Aii each pleasure and each care ; 
 With whom, alas ! I fondly hoped to know 
 The humble walks of happiness below ; 
 If thy blest nature now unites above 
 An angel's pity with a brother's love. 
 Still o'er my life preserve tliy mild control. 
 Correct my views, and elevate my soul. 
 Grant me thy peace and purity of mind. 
 Devout yet cheerful, active yet resign'd ; 
 Grant me, like thee, whose heart knew no disguise. 
 Whose blameless wishes never aim'd to rise. 
 To meet the changes time and cliance present, 
 "\V ith modest dignity and culm cement. 
 
35 
 
 When thy last breath, ei'e nature sunk to rest, 
 Thy meek submission to tliy God express'd ; 
 When tiiy last look, ere thought and feeling- fled, 
 A ming-led gleam of hope and triumph shed ; 
 What to thy soul its glad assurance gave. 
 Its hope in death, its triumph o'er the grave ? 
 The sweet remembrance of unblemish'd youth. 
 The inspiring voice of innocence and truth ! 
 
 Hail, ?iEMORY, hail ! in thy exhaustless mine 
 From age to age unnumber'd treasures shine I 
 Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey, 
 And place and time are subject to thy sway ! 
 Thy pleasures most we feel, when most alone ; 
 The only pleasures we can call our own. 
 Lighter than air, hope's summer vision's die. 
 If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky I 
 If but a beam of sober reason play, 
 Lo, fancy's fairy frost-work melts away ! 
 But can the wiles of art, the grasp of power. 
 Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour ? 
 These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight, 
 I^our round her patli a stream of living light : 
 AvA p;ild those pure and peifect realms of rest, 
 A\ htic Virtue ti-iumplis, a; id her sons areblesi ! 
 
PARADISE AND THE PERL 
 
 ONE morn a Peri at the gate: 
 Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; 
 And as she listen'd to ihe Springs 
 
 Of Life within, like music flowing ; 
 And caught the light upon hev wings 
 
 Through the half-open portal glowing, 
 She wept to think her recreant race 
 Should e'er have lost that gloi ious place ! 
 " How happy,'* exclaim'd this child of air, 
 '^ Are the holy Spirits who wander there, 
 
 " Mid flowers that never shall fade or fall ; 
 " Though mine are the gardens of earth and sea, 
 " And the siars themselves have flowers for me, 
 
 " One blossom of Heaven out-blooms them all ! 
 " Though sunny the Lake of cool Cashxere, 
 ** With its plane-tree Isle reflected clear, 
 
 '* And Sweetly the founts of that Valley fall • 
 " Though bright are the vraters of Sing-su-hay, 
 ** Ard the golden floods that thitherward stray, 
 " Yei— oh, 'tis only the B'est can say 
 
 ** How the w atei-s of Flciven outsliine them all ■ 
 « Go wing thy flight from star to star, 
 «' From world to luminous world, as far 
 
 « As the universe spreads its flaming wall ; 
 " Take all the pleasures of ail the spheres, 
 '< And multiply each through endless years, 
 " One minute of Heaven is worth them all 1" 
 The glorious Angel, who was keeping 
 Tlje gates of Light, belield her weeping*, 
 And, as he nearer drew and listen'd 
 To lier Scid fconp', a tear-drop glisten'd 
 AVithin his eyelids, like the spray 
 
 From Eden's fountain, when it lies 
 On tlie blue flow'r which — Bramins say— 
 
 Bloom.s no w here but in Paradise ! 
 " Nymph of a fair, but erring line !" 
 Hently he said—" One hope is thine. 
 
S7 
 
 *♦ «Tis written in the Book of Fate, 
 
 ** The Peri yet may be forgiven 
 " Who brings to this Eternal Gate 
 
 *« The Gift that is most dear to Heaven ! 
 '* Go, seek it, and redeem thy sin ; — 
 ** 'Tis sweet to let the Pardon'd in I" 
 Rapidly as comets run 
 To th' embraces of the San : — 
 Fleeter than the starry brands, 
 Flung at night from angel hands 
 At those dark and daring sprites. 
 Who would climb th' empyreal heights, 
 Down the blue vault the Peri flies. 
 
 And, lighted earthward by a glance 
 That just then broke from morning's eyes. 
 
 Hung hovering o'er our world's expanse. 
 But whither shall the Spirit go 
 To find this gift for heav'n ?— " I know 
 "The wealth," she cries, "of every urn-, 
 " In which unnumber'd rdbies burn, 
 " Beneath the pillars of Ckilminar ; — 
 " I know where the Isles of Perfume are 
 " Many a fathom down in the sea, 
 " To the south of sun -bright Araby ; — 
 " I know too where the Genii hid 
 " The jewell'd cup of their King Jamshid, 
 " With Life's elixir sparkling high — 
 " But gifts like these are not for the sky. 
 " Where was there ever a gem that shone 
 " Like the steps of Alla's wonderful Throne ? 
 " And the Drops of Life — oh ! what would they be 
 " In the boundless Deep of Eternity ?'' 
 While thus she mus'd, her pinions fann'd 
 The air of that sweet Indian land. 
 Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads 
 0'e» coral banks and amber beds ; 
 Whose mountains, pregnant by the beava 
 Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; 
 Whose rivulets are like rich brides. 
 Lovely, with gold beneath their tides ; 
 Whose sandal groves and bowers of spice 
 flight be a Peri's Paradise ! 
 
 4 
 
38 
 
 But crimson now her rivers ran 
 
 Wifh hanian blood — the smell of deatk 
 Came reeking- from those spicy bowers, 
 And man the sacrifice of man, 
 
 Ming-led his taint with every breath 
 Upwafied from the innocent flowers ! 
 Land of ihe Sun ! what foot invades 
 Thy Pagods and thy pillar'd shades — 
 Tli; cavern shrines, and Idol stones, 
 Thy Monarchs and their thousand Thrones ? 
 *Tis heofGAzxA — fierce in wrath 
 
 He comes, and India's diadems 
 Lie scatter'd in his ruinous path.— 
 
 His blood-liounds he adorns with gems. 
 Torn from the violated necks 
 
 Of many a young and lov'd Sultana ; — 
 
 Maidens, within their pure Zenana, 
 
 Priesls in the very fane he siaug-hters. 
 And choaks up with the glittering- wrecks 
 
 Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! 
 Downward the Pert turns her gaze. 
 And, through the war-field's bloody haze 
 Beholds a youthful warrior stand. 
 
 Alone, beside his native river,— 
 The red blade broken in his hand 
 
 And the last arrow ii^ his quiver. 
 "Live," said the Conqueror, *^ live to share 
 The trophies and the crowns I bear 1" 
 Silent that youthful warrior stood — 
 Silent he pointed to the fiood 
 All crimson with his country's blood. 
 Then sent his last remaining dart. 
 For answer, to th' invader's heart. 
 False fiew the shaft, though pointed well — 
 The Tyrant liv'd, the Hero fell ! 
 Yet mark'd the Peri where he lay. 
 
 And when the rush of war was past, 
 Swiftly descending on a ray 
 
 Of morning light she caught the last — 
 Last glorious drop his heart had shed. 
 Before its free-born spirit fled ! 
 ''^ Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, 
 *' My welcome gift at tiie Gates of Light. 
 
39 
 
 *^ Thoug-h foul are the drops that oft distil 
 " On the field of warfare, blood like this, 
 <* For Liberty shed> so holy is, 
 ^« It v/oiild not stahi the purest rill, 
 
 " That sparkles among die Bowers of Bliss ! 
 " Oh ! if there be, on this earthly sphere, 
 " A boon, an off'ering Heaven holds dear, 
 *« 'Tis the last libation Liberty draws 
 *« From the heart diat bleeds and breaks in her cause T* 
 " Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave 
 
 The gift into his radiant hand, 
 *f Sweet is our welcome of the Brave 
 
 ^« Who die thus for their native Land — 
 ** But see — alas ! — the crystal bar 
 " Of Eden moves not — holier far 
 " Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, 
 . " That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee !" 
 Her first fond hope of Eden blighted. 
 
 Now among Afric's Lunar Mountains, 
 Far to the South, the Peri lighted ; 
 
 And sleek'd her plumage at the fountains 
 Of that Eg}'ptian tide, — whose birth 
 Is hidden from the sons of earth. 
 Deep in those solitary vi^oods, 
 Where oft the Genii of the Floods 
 Dance round the cradle of their Nile, 
 And hail the new-born Giant's smile ! 
 Thence, over Egypt's palmy groves. 
 
 Her grots, and sepulchers of Kings 
 The exil'd Spirit sighing roves, 
 And now hangs listening to the doves 
 In warm Rosetta's vale — now loves 
 
 To watch the moonlight on the wings 
 Of the white pelicans tliat break 
 The azure calm of Mceris' Lake. 
 'Twas a fair scene — a Land more bright 
 
 Never did mortal eye behold ! 
 Who could have thought, that saw this night 
 
 Those valleys and their fruits of gold 
 Basking in heav'n's serenest light ; — 
 Those gi'oups of lovely date-trees bending 
 
 Languidly their leaf-crow n'd heads, 
 liike youthful maids, when sleep descending 
 
4(j 
 
 Warns them to their silken beds ; — 
 Those virgin lilies, all the nig-ht 
 
 Batl)ing their beauties in the lake, 
 That they may rise more fresh and bright. 
 
 When their beloved Sun's awake ; — 
 Those ruin'd shrines and towers that seem 
 The relics of a splendid dream ; 
 
 Amid whose fairy loneliness 
 Nought but the lap-wing's cry is heard, 
 Nought seen but (when the shadows, flitting^ 
 Fast from the moon, unsheath its gleam) 
 Some purple-\ving'd Sultana sitting 
 
 Upon a column, motionless 
 And glittering, like an idol bird ! — 
 Who could have thought, that there, ev'n there. 
 Amid those scenes so still and fair. 
 The Demon of the Plague hath cast 
 From his hot wing a deadlier blast. 
 More mortal far than ever came 
 From the red Desert's sands of flame J 
 So quick, that every living thing 
 Of human shape touched by his wing, 
 Like nlants, where the Simoom hath past, 
 A"^ once falls black and withering ! 
 The sun went down on many a brow. 
 
 Which, full of bloom and freshness then, 
 la rankling in the pest-house now, 
 
 And ne'er will feel that sim again ! 
 And oh ! to see the unburied heaps 
 On which the lonely moonlight sleeps — 
 The very vulturs turn away, 
 An 1 sicken at so foul a prey ! 
 0:iiy the fierce hvccna stalks 
 T]iroughou:the city's desolate walks 
 Ai midnight, and his carnage piles— 
 
 Woe to the half-dead wretch, who meets 
 The glaring of those large blue eyes 
 
 Amid the darkness of the streets ! 
 " Poor race of Men !'' said the pitying Spirit, 
 
 Dearly ye pay for your pri'.nal Fall — 
 " Some flowerets of Eden ye still inherit, 
 *« But the trail of the Serpent is over them all !'J 
 
41 
 
 She wept—the air grew pure and clear 
 Around her, as the brig-ht drops ran ; 
 For there's a magic in each tear 
 
 Such kindly spirits weep for man ! 
 Just then beneath some orange trees. 
 Whose fruit and blossoms in the breeze 
 Were wantoning together, free. 
 Like age at play with infancy — 
 Beneath that fresh and springing bower. 
 Close by the Lake, she heard the moan 
 Of one who, at this silent hour. 
 
 Had thither stol'n to die alone. 
 One who in life, where'er he mov'd. 
 
 Drew after him the hearts of many ; 
 Yet now, as though he ne'er were lov'd. 
 
 Dies here, unseen, unwept by any ! 
 None to watch near him — none to slake 
 
 The fire that in his bosom lies. 
 With e'en a sprinkle from that lake, 
 
 Which shines so cool before his eyes. 
 Xo voice, well-known through many a day. 
 
 To speak the last, the parting word, 
 AVhicli, when all other sounds decay. 
 
 Is still like distant music heard. 
 That tender farewell on the shore 
 Of this rude world when all is o'er, 
 Which cheers the spirit, ere its bark 
 Putts off into the unlmown Dark. 
 Deserted youth ! one thought alone 
 
 Shed joy around his soul in death — 
 That she, whom he lor years liad known 
 And lov'd, and might have call'd Iiis own. 
 
 Was safe from this foul midnight's breath : 
 Safe in her father's princely halls. 
 Where the cool airs from fountain falls. 
 Freshly perfum'd by many a brand 
 Of the sweet v/ood from India's land. 
 Were pure as she whose brow they fann'd. 
 But see, who yonder comes by stealtli. 
 
 This melancholy bower to seek. 
 
 Like a young envoy, sent by Hei 1th, 
 
 With rosy gifts upon her cheek .«' 
 
 *4 
 
42 
 
 'Tis she — far off, Uirough moonlight dim, 
 
 He knew his own betrothed bride, 
 She, who would rather die with him, 
 Than live to gain the world beside ! 
 Her arms are round her lover now. 
 
 His livid cheek to hers she presses. 
 And dips, to bind his burning- brow. 
 
 In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses. 
 Ah ! once, how little did he think 
 An hour would come when he should shrink 
 With horror from that dear embrace, 
 
 Those gentle arnis, that were to him 
 Holy as is the cradling place 
 
 Of Eden's infant cherubim ! 
 And now he yields— now turns away. 
 Shuddering as if the venom lay 
 All in those proffer'd lips alone — 
 Those lips that, then so fearless grown, 
 "Never until that instant came 
 Near his unask'd or without shame. 
 " Oh I let me only breathe the air, 
 
 <* The blessed uir, that's breatli*j by thee, 
 <* And, whether on its wings it bear 
 
 " Healing or death, 'tis svv'eet to me ! 
 *' The; e, drink my tears, while yet they fall, 
 
 •* Would that my bosom's blood were balm, 
 " And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it rdl, 
 ** To give thy brow one minute's calm, 
 <^'Nay, turn not from me that dear face — v . 
 
 " Am I not thine— thy own lov'd brid^— ^ 
 J* The one, the chosen one, whose place, 
 " In life or death is by thy side ! 
 " Think'sttbou that she, whose only light, 
 
 " In this dim, world, from thee hath shone, 
 " Could bear the long, the cheerless night, 
 
 " That must be hers, when thou art gone ? 
 ** Tliat I can live, and let thee go, 
 ••* Who art my life itself ? No, no — 
 '* When the stem dies, the leaf that grew 
 " Out of its heart must perish voo ! 
 ^' Then turn to me my own love, tiim, 
 *' Before like thee I fade and bum ; 
 
43 
 
 " Cling to these yet cool lips, and share 
 " The' last pure life that ling'ers there !" 
 She fails — she sinks— as dies the lamp 
 In charnal airs or cavern-damp. 
 So quickly do his baleful sighs 
 Quench all the sweet light of her eyes ! 
 One struggle — and his pain is past— 
 
 Her lover is no longer living! 
 One kiss ^he maiden gives, one last, 
 
 Long kiss, which she expires in giving ! 
 " Sleep," said the Peri, as softly she stole 
 The ftirewell sigh of that vanishing soul. 
 As true as e'er warm'd a woman's breast ; 
 ** Sleep on, in visions of odour rest, 
 "In balmier airs than ever yet stirr'd 
 " The enchanted pile of that holy bird, 
 " Who sings at the last his own death lay, 
 «* And in music and perfume dies awavM" 
 Thus saying, from her lips she spread 
 
 Unearthly breathings through the place. 
 And shook her sparkling wreath, and shed 
 
 Such lustre o'er each paly face. 
 That like two lovely saints they seem'd 
 
 Upon the eve of dooms-day taken 
 From their dim graves, in odour sleeping ; 
 
 While that benevolent Peri beam'd 
 Like their good angel, calmly keeping 
 
 Watch o'er them, till their souls would waken !. 
 But morn is blushing in the sky; 
 
 Again the Peri soars above. 
 Bearing to heav'n that precious sigh 
 
 Of pure, self-sacrificing love. 
 High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate, 
 
 The Elysian palm she soon will win. 
 For the bright Spirit at the gate 
 
 Smil'd as she gave that offering in ; 
 And she already liears the trees 
 
 Of Eden, with their crystal bells 
 Rin^^ing in that ambrosial breeze 
 
 That from the Throne of Alla swells ; 
 And slie can seethe starry bowls 
 
 That lie around that lucid lake 
 Upon whose banks admitted Souls 
 
 Their first sweet draught of gloi'y take ! 
 
44 
 
 But ah! ev'n Peri's hopes are vain — 
 
 Ag-ain the Fates forbade, again 
 
 The immortal barrier clos'd— " not yet," 
 
 The angel said as, with regret. 
 
 He shut from her that glimpse of glory— 
 
 " True was the maiden, and hei' story, 
 
 " Written in light o'er Alla's head, 
 
 *' By seraph eyes shall long be read. 
 
 '^ But Pehi, see — the crystal bar 
 
 "Of Eden moves not — holier far 
 
 " Than even this sigh the boon must be 
 
 '^ That opes tlie gates of Heav'n for thee." 
 
 Now, upon Stria's land of roses 
 
 Softly the light of Eve reposes. 
 
 And, like a glory, the broad sun 
 
 Hangs over sainted Lkbanon ; 
 
 Whose head in wintry grandeur towers. 
 
 And whitens with eternal sleet. 
 While summer in a vale of flowers 
 
 Is sleeping rosy at his feet. 
 To one, who look*d from upper air 
 O'er all the enchanted regioiis there. 
 How beaut ious must have been the glovr^ 
 The life, the sparkling from below ! 
 Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks 
 Of golden melons on their banks. 
 More golden where the sun-light falls; 
 Gay lizards, glittering on the walls 
 Of ruin\l shrines, busy and bright 
 As they were all alive with light ; 
 And yet, more splendid, numerous flocks 
 O' j>igeons, settling on the rocks, 
 Wiih their rich restless wings, that gleam 
 Variously in the crimson beam 
 Of the Warm west, as if inlaid 
 With brilliants from the mine, or made 
 Of tearless rainbows, such as span 
 The unclouded skies of PtmsTAjf ! 
 And then, the mingling sounds that come. 
 Of Shepherds' ancient reed, with hum 
 Of the wild bees of Palestine, 
 
 Banquelting through the flowery vales ; 
 And Joiij)A]v, those sweet banks of thine. 
 
 And woods, so full of nightingales ! 
 
45 
 
 jBut nought can charm the luckless Pert^ 
 Her soul is sad — her wings are weary- 
 Joyless she sees the sun look down 
 On that great temple, once his own, 
 Whose lonely columns stand sublime. 
 
 Flinging their shadows from on high, 
 Like dials, which the wizard, Time, 
 
 Had rais'd to count his ages by ! 
 Yet haply tliere may lie concealed 
 
 Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, 
 Some Amulet of gems, anneal'd 
 In upper fires, some tablet seal'd 
 
 With the great name of Solomon-, 
 
 Which, speird by her ilium in'd eyes, 
 May teach her where, beneath the moon. 
 In earth or ocean lies the boon. 
 The charm, that can restore so soon, 
 
 An erring spirit to the skies ! 
 Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither ; 
 
 Still laughs the radient eye of Heaven, 
 
 Nor have the golden bowers of Even 
 In the rich West begun to wither ; 
 When, o'er the vale of Balbfx winging 
 
 Slowly, she sees a child at play, 
 xVmong the rosy wild-flowers singing, 
 
 As rosy and as wild as they ; 
 Chasing, with eager hands and eyes. 
 The beautiful bhie-damsel flies. 
 That fluttered round the jasmine stems. 
 Like winged flowers or flying gems : 
 And, near the boy, who tir'd with play 
 Now nestling 'mid the roses lay. 
 She saw a wearied man dismount 
 
 From his hot steed, and on the brink 
 Of a small imaret's rustic fount 
 Impatient fling him down to drink. 
 Then swift his haggard brow he turn'd 
 
 To the fair child, who fearless sat. 
 Though never yet hath day-beam burn*d 
 
 Upon a brow more fierce than that. 
 Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire, 
 Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire ! 
 In which the Peri's eye could read 
 Dark tales of many a ruthless deed ; 
 
46 
 
 The ruin'd maid— the shrine profan'd — 
 Oaths broken— and the threshold stain'd 
 With blood of guests ! there written, all. 
 Black as the damning drops that fall 
 From the denouncing Angel's pen, 
 Ere Mercy weeps them out again ! 
 Yet tranquil now that man of crime, 
 (As if the balmy evening time 
 Soften'd his spirit,) look'd and lay. 
 Watching the rosy infant's play : 
 Though still, whene'er his eye by chance 
 Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance 
 
 Met tliat unclouded, joyous gaze, 
 As torches, that have burnt all night 
 Through some impure and godless rite, 
 
 Encounter morning's glorious rays. 
 But hark ! the vesper call to prayer. 
 
 As slow the orb of day -light sets. 
 Is rising sweetly on the air, 
 
 From Syria's thousand minarets ! 
 The boy has started from the bed 
 Of flowers, where he had laid his head. 
 And down upon the fragrant sod 
 
 Kneels, with his forehead to the south, 
 Lisping th' eternal name of God 
 
 From Purity's own cherub mouth. 
 And looking, while his hands and eyes 
 Are lifted to the glowing skies. 
 Like a siray babe of Paradise, 
 Just lighted on that flowery plain. 
 And seeking for its home again ! 
 Oh twas a sight — that Heav'n — that Child — 
 A scene, which might have well beguil'd 
 Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh 
 For Glories lost and peace gone by ! 
 And how felt he the wretched Man 
 Reclining there — while memory ran 
 O'er many a year of guilt and strife. 
 Flew o'er the dark flood of his life. 
 Nor found one sunny resting-place. 
 Nor broughv him back one branch of grace \ 
 « There -was a time," he said, in mild. 
 Heart-humbled tones — " thou blessed child ! 
 
±1 
 
 '"' when young and haply pure as thou, 
 
 "I look'd and Pray'd like thee— but now—" 
 
 He hung his head — each nobler aim 
 
 And hope and feeling, which had slept 
 3'>om boyhood's hour, that instant came 
 
 Fresh o'er him, and he wept— he wept ! 
 Blest tears of soul-felt penitence ! 
 
 In whose benign, redeeming flow 
 Is felt the first, the only sense 
 
 Of guiltless joy that guilt can know. 
 *^ There's a drop, said the Pert, " that down from the 
 
 " moon 
 *^ Falls through the withering airs of June 
 *' Upon Egypt's land, of so healing a power, 
 '' So balmy a virtue, that even in the hour 
 ** That drop descends, contagion dies, 
 *' And health reanimates earth and skies ! 
 
 " Oh, is it not thus, thou man of sin, 
 
 " The precious tears of repentance fall ? 
 *^ Though foul thy fiery plagues within, 
 '• One heavenly drop hath dispell'd them all I'' 
 
 And now — behold him kneeling there 
 
 By tlie child's side, in humble prayer. 
 
 While tlie same sun-beam shines upon 
 
 The guilty and the guiltless one, * 
 
 And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven 
 
 The triumph of a Soul Forgiven ! 
 
 'Twas when the golden orb had set, 
 
 W^hile on their knees they linger'd yet, 
 
 There fell a light, more lovely far 
 
 Tlian ever came from sun or star. 
 
 Upon the tear that, warm and meek, 
 
 Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek ; 
 
 To mortal eye this light might seem 
 
 A northern flash or meteor beam — 
 
 But well th' enraptured Peri knew 
 
 'Twas a bright smile the Angel tln-ew 
 
 From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear 
 
 Her harbinger of glory near ! 
 
 " Joy, joy for ever ! my task is done — 
 
 " The Gates are pass'd, and Heaven is won! 
 
48 
 
 ^* Oh ! am I not happy ? I am, I am — 
 
 " To thee, sweet Eden! how dark and sad 
 "Are the diamond turrets of Shadukiam, 
 
 " And the fras^rant bowers of Amberabau ! 
 ** Farewell, ye odours of earth that die, 
 ** Passing" away like a lover's sigh ; — 
 ^ My feast is now of the Tooba Tree, 
 ** Whose scent is the breath of Eternity ! 
 ''Farewell ye vanishing flowers, that shone 
 
 ** In my fairy wreath, so brig-ht and brief, — 
 " Oh ! what are the brightest that e'er have blown, 
 " To the lote-tree, springing by Alla's Throne, 
 
 " Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf I 
 " Joy, joy for ever ! — my task is done — 
 " The Gates are pass*d, and Heav'n is won !*' 
 
THE COMBAT. 
 
 Fair as the earliest beam of eastern light, 
 
 When first by the bewildered pilgrim spied, 
 It smiles upon the dreary brow of nig-ht. 
 
 And silvers o'er the torrent's foaming" tide, 
 And lights the fearful path on mountain side ; 
 
 Fair as that beam, althoug-h the fairest far. 
 Giving to horror grace, to danger pride. 
 
 Shine martial Faith, and Courtesy's bright star. 
 Through all the wreckful storms that cloucl the brow 
 of War. 
 
 That early beam, so fair and sheen. 
 Was twinkling through the hazel screen. 
 When, rousing at its glimmer red. 
 The warriors left their lowly bed. 
 Looked out upon the dappled sky. 
 Muttered their soldier matins by. 
 And then awaked their fire, to steal. 
 As short and rude, their soldier meal. 
 That o'er, tlie Gael around him threw 
 His graceful plaid of varied hue, 
 And, true to promise, led the way. 
 By thicket green and mountain grav. 
 A wildering path I— they winded now 
 Along the precipice's brow. 
 Commanding the rich scenes beneath, 
 The windings of the Forth and Teith, 
 And all the vales between that lie. 
 Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 
 I'hen, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 
 Gained not the length of horseman's lance. 
 'Twas oft so steep, the foot was fain 
 Assistance from tlie hand to gain ; 
 So tangled oft, that, bursting through, 
 Each hawthorn shed her showers of^lew. 
 That Diamond dew, so pure and clear, 
 It rivals sll but beauty's tear ! 
 
5Q 
 
 At length they came where, stem and steep. 
 
 The hill sinks down upon the deep ; 
 
 Here Vennachar in silver flows. 
 
 There, ridge on ridge, Benledi rose. 
 
 Ever the hollow path twined on. 
 
 Beneath steep bank and threatening stone -, 
 
 An hundred men might hold the post 
 
 With hardihood against a host. 
 
 The rugged mountain's scanty cloak 
 
 Was dwarfish shrubs of birch and oak_, 
 
 With shingles bare, and cliffs between. 
 
 And patches bright of bracken green. 
 
 And heather black, that waved so high. 
 
 It held the copse in rivahw. 
 
 But where the lake slept deep and still. 
 
 Dank osiers fringed the swamp and hill ; 
 
 And oft both path and hill were torn, 
 
 AVhere wintry torrent down had borne. 
 
 And heaped upon the cumbred land 
 
 Its wreck of gravel, rocks and sand. 
 
 So toilsome was the road to trace. 
 
 The guide, abating of his pace. 
 
 Led slowly through die pass's jaws. 
 
 And asked Fitz James, by v.iiat strang-e cause 
 
 He sought these wilds ? traversed by few. 
 
 Without a pass from Roderick Dhu. 
 
 " Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried. 
 Hangs in my belt, and by my side : 
 Yet sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 
 " I dreamed not now to claim its aid. 
 When here, but three days since, I came. 
 Bewildered in pursuit of game. 
 All seemed as peaceful and as still. 
 As the mist slumbering- on yon hill ; 
 Thy dangerous chief was then afar, 
 Xor soon expected back from war. 
 Thus said, at least, my mountain guide. 
 Though deep, perdhance, the villain lied.''- — 
 " Yet why a second venture try f" — 
 " A warrior thou and ask me why ! — 
 Moves our free course by such fixed cans«. 
 As g^lves the poor mechanic laws ; 
 
Enough, I sought to drive away 
 The lazy hours of peaceful day ; 
 Slight cause will then suffice to guide 
 A knight's free footsteps far and wide— 
 A falcon flown, a gray-hound strayed. 
 The merry glance of mountain maid ; 
 Or, if a path be dangerous known, 
 The danger's self is Jure alone.'* 
 
 ** Thy secret keep, I urge thee not ; — 
 Yet, ere again ye sought this spot. 
 Say, heard ye nought of lowland war. 
 Against Clan-Alpine raised by Mar ?" — 
 *^ — No, by my word ; — of bands prepai'ed 
 To guard King James' sports I heard ; 
 Nor doubt I aught, but w^hen they hear 
 This muster of the mountaineer, 
 Their pennons will abroad be flung. 
 Which else in Doune had peaceful hung.'* — 
 ** Free be they flung ! — for we were loth 
 Their silken folds should feast the moth, 
 Free be ihey flung ! as free shall w^ave 
 Clan-Alpine's pine in banner brave, 
 But, stranger, peaceful since you came 
 Bewildered in tlie mountain game. 
 Whence the bold boast by which you show 
 Vich Alpine's vowed and mortal foe ?" — 
 "" Warrior, but yester-morn, I knew 
 Nought of thy Chieftain Roderick Dhu> 
 Save as an exiled desperate man. 
 The chief of a rebellious cian. 
 Who, in the Regents court and sight. 
 With ruflian dagger stabbed a knight. 
 Ye^ .his alone mig'ht from iiim part 
 Sever each true and loyal heart." — 
 
 Wrothful at such arraignment foul, 
 Davk iow^ered the clau&man's sable scowl. 
 A space he paused, then sternly said,— 
 " And heardst thou why he drew his blade ? 
 Heardst thou that shameful word and blow 
 Broiight RrKlerick's vengeance on his foe ? 
 What recked ihe Chieftain, if he stood 
 
62 
 
 On highland heath, or Holy-Rood ? 
 He rights such wrong where it is given, 
 If it were in thecourt of heaven.'' — 
 *' Still was it outraged ; — yet, 'tis true. 
 Not I hen claimed sovereignty his due ; 
 While Albany, with feeble hand, 
 Held borrowed truncheon of command, 
 The young King mewed in Stirling tower, 
 Was stranger to respect and power. 
 But then, thy Chieftain's robber life ! — 
 Winning mean prey by causeless strife. 
 Wrei»ching from ruined lowland swain 
 His herds and harvest reard in vain — 
 Methinks a soul, like thine, should scorn 
 The spoils from such foul foray borne." 
 
 The Gael beheld him grim the while. 
 And answered with disdainful smile — 
 " Saxon fiom yonder mountain high, 
 I marked thee send delighted eye. 
 Far to the south and east where lay, 
 Extended in succession gay. 
 Deep waving fields and pastures green. 
 With gentle slopes and groves between ; — 
 These fertile plains, that softened vale. 
 Were once the birth-right of the Gael ; 
 The stranger came with iron hand, 
 And from our fathers reft the land. 
 Where dwell we now ! See rudely swell 
 Crag over crag, and fell o'er tell. 
 Ask we this savage hill we tread. 
 For fattened steer or household bread ; 
 Ask we for flocks these shingles dry. 
 And well the mountain might reply — 
 * To you, as to your sires of j^ore. 
 Belong the target and claymore ! 
 1 give you shelter in my breast, 
 Your own good blades must win the rest.'— ^ 
 Pent in this fortress of the North, 
 Think'st thou we will not sally forth. 
 To spoil the spoiler as we may. 
 And from the robber rend the prey ? 
 Aye, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 
 
53 
 
 The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 
 
 While, often thousand herds, there strays 
 
 Bat one along yon river's maze— 
 
 The Gael, of plain and river heir, 
 
 Shall, with strong hand, redeem his share. 
 
 "Where live the mountain chiefs who hold. 
 
 That plundering low^land field and fold 
 
 Is aught but retribution true ? 
 
 Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." — 
 
 Answerd Fitz-James— " And, if I sought, 
 
 Think'st thou no other could be brought ? 
 
 What deem ye of my path way-laid. 
 
 My life given o'er the ambuscade ?" — 
 
 " As of a meed to rashness due ; 
 
 Hadst thou sent warning far and true — 
 
 I seek my hound, or falcon strayed, 
 
 I seek, good faith, a Highland maid ; 
 
 Free hadst thou been to come and go — 
 
 But secret path marks secret foe. 
 
 Nor yet, for tliis, even as a spy, 
 
 Fladstthou, unheard, been doomed to die, 
 
 Save to fulfil an augury." — 
 
 *^ AVell, let it pass ; nor will I now 
 
 Fresh cause of enmity avow, 
 
 To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 
 
 £nough, I am by promise tied 
 
 To match me with this man of pride : 
 
 Twice have I so^ight Clan-Alpine's glen 
 
 Tn peace ; btit, when I come agen, 
 
 I come w^ith banner, braiul, and bow. 
 
 As leader seeks his mortal foe. 
 
 For love-lorn swain, in lady's bower, 
 
 Xe'er panted for the appointed hour. 
 
 As 1, until before me stand 
 
 This rebel Chieftain an.d iiis band." — 
 
 *«IIave, then, thy wish !" he wjiistled shrill. 
 And he was answerd from the hill ; 
 Wild as the scream of the curlew, 
 From crag to crag the signal flew. 
 Instant, through copse and heath, arose 
 Bonnets and spears, and bended bows ; 
 
 5^ 
 
54 
 
 On rig-ht, on left, above, belo^^", 
 
 Sprung up at once the lurking" foe ; 
 
 From shingles gray their lances start, 
 
 The bracken-b^ish sends forth the dart, 
 
 The rushes and the willow-wand 
 
 Are bristling into ax and brand. 
 
 And every tuft of broom gives life 
 
 To plaid ed warrior armed for strife. 
 
 That whistle garrison'd the glen 
 
 At once with full five hundred men, 
 
 As if ihe yawning hill to heaven 
 
 A subterranean host had given. 
 
 Watching their leader's beck and will. 
 
 All silent there they stood, and still ; 
 
 Like the loose crags whose tlu*eatening mass 
 
 Lay tottering o'er the liollow pass, 
 
 As if an infant's touch could urge 
 
 Their headlong passage down the verge ; 
 
 With step and weapon forward flung", 
 
 irpon the mountain-side they hung. 
 
 Tlie mountaineer cast glance of pride 
 
 Along Benledi's living side, 
 
 T]ien fixed his eye and sable brow 
 
 ¥i\\\ on Fii-z -James — " How say'st thou now : 
 
 ^Fhese are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ; 
 
 And, Saxon — I am Roderick Dhu !" 
 
 Fltz-James was brave : — Though to his heart 
 
 The life-blood thrilled with sudden start. 
 
 He mann'd himself with dauntless air, 
 
 Return'd the Chief his hauglity stare, 
 
 His buck against a rock he bore. 
 
 And firmly placed his foot before : 
 
 ** Come one, come all ! this rock shall fiy 
 
 From its firm base as soon as I." — 
 
 Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes 
 
 Respect was mingled with surprise, 
 
 And the stern joy whicli warriors feci 
 
 III foemen worthy of their steel. 
 
 Short space he stood — then waved his hand : 
 
 Down sunk the disappearing band ; 
 
 Each warrior vanished where he siood, 
 
 In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 
 
 Sunk brand and spear andbesuled bow. 
 
55 
 
 In osiers pale and copses low ; 
 
 It seeiiied as if their mother Earth 
 
 Had swallowed up her warlike birth. 
 
 The wind's last breath had tossed in air, 
 
 Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair ; 
 
 The next but swept a lone hill-side, 
 
 Where heath and fern were waving* wide ; 
 
 The sun's last glance was glinted back, 
 
 From lance and glaive, from targe and jack — 
 
 Tiie next, all unreflected, shone 
 
 On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 
 
 Fitz-James looked round — yet scarce believed 
 
 The witness that his sight received ; 
 
 Such apparition well miglit seem 
 
 Delusion of a dreadful dream. 
 
 Sir Rodrick in suspense he eyed. 
 
 And to his look the Chief replied, 
 
 " Fear nought— nay, that I need not say — 
 
 But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
 
 Thou art my guest ; 1 pledg'd my word 
 
 As far as Coilantogle ford : 
 
 Nor would I call a clansman's brand 
 
 For aid against one valiant hand. 
 
 Though on our strife lay every vale 
 
 Hen t by die Saxon from the Gael. 
 
 So move we on ; I only meant r^ 
 
 To show he reed on which you leant. 
 
 Deeming this path you niiglit pursue 
 
 AVithout a pass f,om Roderick Dau." 
 
 They moved:— I said Fiiz-James was brave 
 
 As ever knight that belled glaive ; 
 
 Yet dare not say, that now his blood 
 
 Kept on its woiit and tempered flood. 
 
 As, following Roderick's siridc, )ic drew 
 
 Thai seeming lonesome pathway tin'ough, 
 
 Whicii }'et, by feai-ful proof, was rife 
 
 Wi Ji lances, that lo vake his life 
 
 Waited but signal from a guide. 
 
 So late dishonoured and defied. 
 
 Eye!', by steaiih, iiis eyes sought round 
 
 Tiie vanished guardians of the ground, 
 
 \nd still from cop^e and heather deep. 
 
51) 
 
 Fancy saw spear and broad-sword peep, 
 And in the plover's shrilly strain. 
 The signal whistle heard again. 
 Nor breathed he free till far behind 
 The pass was left, for then they wind 
 Along a wide and level green. 
 Where neither tree nor tuft was seen. 
 Nor rush, nor bush of broom was near, 
 To hide a bonnet or a spear. 
 
 The Chief in silence strode before. 
 
 And reached that torrent's sounding shore. 
 
 Which, daughter of three mighty lakes, 
 
 From Yennachar in silver breaks. 
 
 Sweeps through the plain, and ceaseless mines 
 
 On Bochastle the mouldering lines. 
 
 Where Rome, the empress of the world. 
 
 Of yore her eagle wings unfurPd. 
 
 And here his course the Chieftain staid, 
 
 Threw down his target and his plaid. 
 
 And to the lowland warrior said : 
 
 " Bold Saxon ! to his promise just, 
 
 Vich-Alpine has discharged his trust. 
 
 This murderous chief, this ruthless man, 
 
 Tlrls head of a rebellious clan, 
 
 Hadi led thee safe, through watch and ward, 
 
 Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. 
 
 Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 
 
 A chieftain's vengeance thou sbaltfeel. 
 
 See, here, all vantageless I stand, 
 
 Armed, like thyself; with single brand ; 
 
 For this is Coilantogle ford. 
 
 And thou must keep thee with ihy sword." 
 
 The Saxon paused :— " I ne'er delayed, 
 When foeman bade me drav.' mv blade ; 
 Nay more, brave Cliief, T vowed thy death : 
 Yet sure thy flur and generous faith. 
 And my deep debt for life preserved, 
 A better meed have well deserved : 
 Can nought but bk)od our feud atone .? 
 Are there no means ?'*— « No, Stranger, none 
 And hear— to fire thy flagging zeal,—. 
 
57 
 
 The SaxoH cause rests on thy steel ; 
 For thus spoke P'ate by prophet bred 
 Between the living and the dead ; 
 " Who spills the foremost foeman's life, 
 His party conquers in tlie strife." — 
 ** Then, by my word," tlie Saxon said, 
 " The riddle is already read. 
 Seek v'onder brake beneath the cliff- 
 There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stifl. 
 Thus Fate has solved her prophecy. 
 Then yield to Fate, and not to me. 
 To James, at Stirling", let us go. 
 When, if thou wilt be still his foe. 
 Or if the King shall not agree 
 To grant thee grace and favour free, 
 I plight mine honour, oath, and word, 
 That, to thy native strengths restored, 
 With each advantage shalt thou stand, 
 That aids thee now to guard thy land.'* 
 
 Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye— ■ 
 
 *' Soars thy presumption, then, so high, 
 
 Because a wretched kerne ye slew, 
 
 Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 
 
 He yields not, he, to man or Fate ! 
 
 Thou add'st but fuel to my hate : — 
 
 My clansman's blood demands revenge.— 
 
 Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I change 
 
 My thought, and hold thy valour light 
 
 As that of some vain carpet-knight. 
 
 Who ill deserved my courteous care. 
 
 And whose best boast is but to wear 
 
 A braid of his fair lady's hair.'' — 
 
 — « I thank thee, Roderick, for the word ! 
 
 It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
 
 For I have sworn this braid to stain 
 
 In the best blood that warms thy vein. 
 
 Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, be gone !— . 
 
 Yei ihink not that by thee alone, 
 
 Proud Chief! can courtesy be shown ; 
 
 Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, 
 
 Start at my whistle clansmen stern, 
 
58 
 
 Of this small horn one feeble blast 
 Would fearful odds against thee cast. 
 But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt — 
 We ti7 this quarrel hilt to hilt." — 
 Then each at once his falchion drew, 
 Each on the ground his scabbard threw. 
 Each looked to sur?, and stream, and plain, 
 As what they ne''er might see again ; 
 Then, foot, and point, and e3^e opposed, 
 In dubious strife they darkly closed. 
 
 Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 
 That on the field his targe he threw, 
 Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 
 Had death so often dashed aside ; 
 For, trained abroad his arms to wield, 
 Fitz- James's blade was sword and shield. 
 He practised every pass and ward, 
 To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 
 While less expert, though stronger far. 
 The Gael maintained unequal war. 
 Three times in closing strife they stood. 
 And thrice the Saxon sword drank blood 
 No stinted draught, no scanty tide, 
 The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
 Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain. 
 And showerea his blows like wintry rain ; 
 And, as firm rock, or casile roof, 
 Against the winter shower is proof. 
 The foe invulnerable still 
 Foiled his wild rage by steady skill ; 
 Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 
 Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand. 
 And, backwards borne upon the lee. 
 Brought the proud chieftain to his knee. 
 
 " Now, yield ye, or, by Him who made 
 
 The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade !'' 
 
 *' Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
 
 Let recreant yield, who fears to die." 
 
 Like adder darting from his coil. 
 
 Like wolf that dashes through the toil, 
 
 Like mountain-cat who guards her young. 
 
59 
 
 Full at Fit z -James's throat he sprung. 
 Received, but recked not of a wound. 
 And locked his arms his foeman round.— 
 Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 
 No maiden*s hand is round thee thrown ! 
 That desperate grasp thy frame might feel. 
 Through bars of brass and triple steel ! — 
 They tug, they strain ; down, down, they go, 
 The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 
 The chieftan's gripe his throat compressed, 
 His knee vi^as planted in his breast ; 
 His clotted locks he backward threw. 
 Across his- brow his hand he drew. 
 From blood and mist to clear his sight. 
 Then gleam'd aloft his dagger bright ! — 
 — But hate and fury ill supplied 
 The stream of life's exhausted tide. 
 And all too late the advantage came. 
 To turn the odds of deadly game ; 
 For while the dagger gleam'd on high. 
 Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye. 
 Down came the blow ! but in the heath 
 The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
 The struggling foe may now unclasp 
 The fainting chief's relaxing grasp ; 
 Un wounded from the dreadful close. 
 But breathless ail, Fitz-James arose. 
 
THE VISION. 
 
 JVOTE.'-^These lines are extracted from the Poet^s Pil- 
 grimage to Waterloo, and are the fancies of the Bard as he 
 travels through Fraiice, relating to the Philosophy "which is 
 supposed to have produced the revolution. 
 
 Methought that I was travelling o'er a plain 
 Wliose limits, far beyond all reach of sense, 
 
 The aching* anxious sig-h*^ explor'd in vain. 
 
 How I ci.me there I could not tell, nor whence ; 
 
 Kor where my melancholy journey lay ; 
 
 Only that soon the niglit would close upon my way. 
 
 Behind me was a dolorous, dreary scene. 
 
 With huge and mouldering ruins widely spread ; 
 
 Vv hstes whicli had whilome fertile regions been, 
 Tomb."^ which had lost all record of the dead ; 
 
 And where the dim horizon seemed to close. 
 
 Far off the gloomy Pyramids arose. 
 
 Full fain would I have known what lay before. 
 
 But lifted there in vain my mortal eye j 
 That point with cloud and mist was covered o'er. 
 
 As vhough the earth were mingled with the sky. 
 Yet thi^lier, as some power unseen impelled, 
 My blind involuntaiy way I held. 
 
 Across the plain innumerable crowds 
 
 Like m.e were on their destined journey bent, 
 
 Tov.ard the land of shadows and of clouds ; 
 
 One puce they travelled, to one point they went ;. . 
 
 A motly muiticude of old and young, 
 
 Men of ail climes ?rd liues and every tongue. 
 
61 
 
 -*re long I came upon a field of dead, 
 
 Where heaps of recent carnage fiU'd the way ; 
 
 A g-hastly sight,....nor was there where to tread. 
 So thickly slaughtered, horse and man they lay. 
 
 Methought that in that place of death I knew 
 
 Again the late-seen field of Waterloo. 
 
 Troubled I stood, and doubtful where to go,— 
 
 A Cold damp shuddering ran tlirough all my frame : 
 
 Fain would I fly from that dread scene, when lo ! 
 A voice as from above pronounced my name ; 
 
 And looking to the sound, by the way side 
 
 I saw a lofty structure edified. 
 
 Most like it seemed to that aspiring Tower, ^ 
 Whiciiold Ambition reared on Babel's plain. 
 
 As if he weened in his presumptous power 
 
 To scale high Heaven with daring pride profane j 
 
 Such was its giddy height : and round and round 
 
 The spiral steps in long ascension wound. 
 
 Its frail foundations upon sand were placed, 
 And round about it mouldering rubbish lay ; 
 
 For easily by time and storms defaced. 
 The loose materials crumbled in decay : 
 
 Rising so high, and built so insecure, 
 
 111 might such perishable work endure. 
 
 I not the less went up, and as I drew 
 
 Toward the top, more firm the structure seemed. 
 With nicer art composed, and fair to view : 
 
 Strong and well-built perchance I might have deemed 
 The pile, had I not seen and understood. 
 Of what frail matter formed, and on what base it stood. 
 
 There on the summit a grave personage 
 
 Received and welcomed me in courteous guise ; 
 
 On his gray temples were the marks of age. 
 
 As one whom years methought should render wise. 
 
 ** I saw that thou wert filled with doubt and fear/* 
 
 He said, and therefore have I called thee here. 
 
 Hence from this eminence sublime I see 
 The wanderings of the erring crowd below. 
 
62 
 
 And pitying thee in thy perplexity, 
 
 Will tell thee all that thou canst need to know 
 To guide thy steps aright. 1 bent my head 
 As if in thanks, — And who art thou ? I said. 
 
 He answered, I am Wisdom. Mother Eartli 
 Me, in her vigour self-conceiving, bore ; 
 
 And as from eldest time I dale my birth. 
 Eternally with her shall I endure ; 
 
 Her noblest offspring I, to whom alone 
 
 The course of sublunary things is known. 
 
 Master ! quoth I, regarding him, I thought 
 That Wisdom was the child divine of Heavea. 
 
 So, he replied, have fabling preachers taught. 
 And the dull world a light belief hath given. 
 
 But vainly wotild these fools my claim descry, . . 
 
 Wisdom 1 am, and of the Earth am I. 
 
 Thus while he spake I scanned his features well : 
 Small but audacious was the Old Man's eye ; 
 
 His countenance was hard, and seemed to tell 
 Of knowledge less than of effrontery. 
 
 Instruct nue then, I said, for thou shouldst know. 
 
 From whence I came, and whither I must go. 
 
 Art thou then one who would his mind perplex 
 AVith knowledge bootless even if attained ? 
 
 Fond man ! he answered ; . . whej efore sliouldst thou vex 
 Th} heart with seeking what may not be gained ! 
 
 Reg-ard not what hits been, nor what may be, 
 
 Child of Earth, this Now is all that toucheth thee ! 
 
 He who performs the journey of to-day 
 
 Cares not if yesterday were shower or sun : 
 
 To -Morrow let the heavens be what they may. 
 And what recks he ? . . his way^'are will be done. 
 
 Heedless of what hereaftei' may befall. 
 
 Live whilst thou livest, for this life is all ! 
 
 1 kept my rising indignation down, 
 
 That I miglii hear what farther he woidd teach ; 
 Yet on my darkened brow the instinctive frown, 
 
 Gathering at that abominable speech, 
 Maintained its place ; he marked it and pursued. 
 Turning his practised tongue to subtle flattery's mood : 
 
63 
 
 Do I not know thee, . . that from eai'liest youth 
 Knowledge hath been thy only heart's-desire ? 
 
 Here seeing all things as they are in truth, 
 I show thee all to which thy thoughts aspire : 
 
 Xo vapours here impede the exalted sense, 
 
 Nor mist of earth attain this eminence ! 
 
 Whither thy way, thou askest me, and what 
 The region dark whereto thy footsteps tend. 
 
 And where by one inevitable lot 
 
 The course of all yon multitude must end. 
 
 Take thou this glass, whose perfect power shall aid 
 
 Thy faulty vision, and therewith explore the shade. 
 
 Eager I looked ; but seeing with surprise 
 
 That the same darkness still the view o'erspread, 
 
 Half angrily I turned av>^ay mine eyes. 
 
 Complacent then the Old Man smiled and said. 
 
 Darkness is all ! what more wouldst thou descry ? 
 
 Rest now content, for farther none can spy. 
 
 jVow mark me, Child of Earth ! be thus pursu.ed ; 
 
 Let not the hypocrites thy reason blind, 
 A.nd to the quest of some unreal good 
 
 Divert with dogmas vain thine erring mind : . . 
 Learn thou, whatever the motive they may call, 
 That Pleasure is the aim, and Self the spring of all. 
 
 This is the root of knowledge. Wise are they 
 Who to this guiding principle attend : 
 
 They as they press along the world's high -way. 
 With single aim pursue their steady end : 
 
 No vain compunction checks their sure career ; 
 
 No idle dreams deceive ; their heart is here. 
 
 They from the nature and the fate of man. 
 
 Thus clearly understood, derive their strength ; 
 
 Knowing that as from nothing they began. 
 
 To nothing they must needs return at length ; 
 
 This knowledge steels the lieart and clears the mmd. 
 
 And they create on earth the Heaven they find. 
 
 Such, I made answer, was the Tyrant's creed 
 Wlio bruised the nations with his iron rod, 
 Till on yon field the wretch received his meed 
 
 6* 
 
64 
 
 From Britain, and the outstretched arm of God ! 
 Beliold him now, . . Death even in his view. 
 The only change for him, . . and judgment to ensue ! 
 
 Behold him when the unbidden thoughts arise 
 Of his old passions and unbridled power ; 
 
 As the fierce tiger in confinement lies, 
 
 And di earns of blood that he must taste no more, . . 
 
 Then waking in that appetite of rage, 
 
 Frets to and fro within his narrow cage. 
 
 Hath he not chosen w^ell ? the Old Man replied ; 
 
 Bravely he aimed at universal sway ; 
 And never earthly Chief was glorified 
 
 Like this Napoleon in his prosperous day. 
 All-ruling Fate itself hath not tiie power 
 To alter what has be«n : and he has had his hour ! 
 
 Take him, T answered, at his fortune's flood ; 
 
 Russia his friend, the Austri^an wars surceased, 
 "Wiicn Kings his creatures some, and some subdued, 
 
 Like vassals wai.;ed at his marriage feast ; 
 And Europe like a map before him lay. 
 Of wliicii he gave at wil], or look away. 
 
 Call then to mind Navarre'b hei-oick chief, 
 
 Wandering by night and day thro' wood and glen. 
 
 His country's culTei ings like a private grief 
 Wi'ing his heart : would Mina even iheu 
 
 Those perils and that sorrow have foregone 
 
 To be that Tyrant on his prosperous du'one ? 
 
 But wherefore name I him whose arm was free ? 
 
 A living hope his noble heart sustained, 
 A faih which bade him thro' all dangers see 
 
 Tlie triumph liis enduring country gained. 
 See Hofer with no earthly hope to aid, . . 
 His country lost, . . himself to chains and death betriiyed ! 
 
 By those he served deserted in his need ; 
 
 Given to the unrelenting Tyrant's power. 
 And by his mean revenge condemned to bleed, . . 
 
 Would he have bariered in that aweful hour 
 His heart, his conscience, and his sure renov/n, 
 For the malignant murderer's crimes and croM-n ? 
 
05 
 
 ilim too, I know, a worthy thoiiglit of fame 
 
 In that dread trance uplield ; . . the foresight sure 
 
 That in his own dear country his g"ood name 
 
 Long- as the streams and mountains should endure ; 
 
 The shepherds on the Isills should sing his praise, 
 
 And children learn his deeds thro* all succeeding day&. 
 
 Turn we to those in whom no glorious thought 
 Lent its strong succour to the passive mind ; 
 
 Nor stirring enterprise within them wrought j . . 
 Who to their lot of bitterness resigned, 
 
 Endured their sorrows by the world imknown. 
 
 And looked for their reward to death alone. 
 
 ISIothers within Gerona's leaguered wall, 
 
 AVho saw their fannisheil children pine and die ; . . 
 
 Widows surviving Zaragoza's fall 
 To linger in abhorred caplivity : . . 
 
 Yet would not have exchanged their sacred wo 
 
 For all the empire of tlieir miscreant foe ! 
 
 Serene the Old Man replied, and smiled with scorn. 
 Behold the effect of erronr ! thus to wear 
 
 The days of miserable life forlorn. 
 
 Struggling with evil and consumed with care ; . . 
 
 Poor fools, wliom vain and empty hopes mislead ! 
 
 They reap their sufferings for their only meed. 
 
 O false one ! I exclaimed, whom canst thou fool 
 With such gross sophinis, but the wicked heart ! 
 
 Tlie pupils of thine own unhappy school 
 
 Are they who chuse the vain and empty part ; 
 
 How oft in age, in sickness, and inw^o. 
 
 Have they complained that ail was vanity below ! 
 
 Look at tliat mighty Gazenvide IMalimood, 
 
 When pining in his Palace of Delight, 
 He bade the gathered spoils of realms subdued 
 
 Be spread before him to regale his sight, 
 Whate'^er the Orient boasts of rich and rare, . . 
 And then he wept to think Vvhat toys they were ! 
 
 Look at the Russian minion when he played 
 
 With pearls and jewels which surpassed all price ; 
 And now apart tlieir various hues arrayed, 
 
GO 
 
 Blended their colours now in union nice. 
 Then weary of the baubles, with a sigh, 
 Swept them aside, and thought that all was vanity ! 
 
 Weaned by the fatal messenger from pride, 
 
 The Syrian thro' the streets exposed his shroud ; 
 
 And one that ravaged kingdoms far and wide 
 Upon the bed of sickness cried aloud, 
 
 What boots my empire in this mortal tliroe, 
 
 For the grave calls me now, and I must go ! 
 
 Thus felt these wretched men, because decay 
 
 Had touched them in their vitals ; death stood by ; 
 
 And reason when the props of flesh gave way. 
 Purged as with euphrasy the mortal eye. ' 
 
 AVho seeks for worldly honours, wealth or power. 
 
 Will find them vain indeed at that dread hour ! 
 
 These things are vain ; but all things are not so. 
 The virtues and the hopes of human kind ! 
 
 Yea, by the God who ordering all below. 
 In his own image made the immortal mind, 
 
 J3esires there are which draw from Him their birth. 
 
 And bring forth lasting fruits for Heaven and Earth, 
 
 Therefore thro' evil and thro' good content, 
 
 The righteous man performs his part assigned ; 
 
 In bondage lingering', or with sufferings spent. 
 Therefore doth peace support the heroick mind ; 
 
 And from the dreadful sacrifice of all. 
 
 Meek woman doth not shrink at Duty's call. 
 
 Therefore the Martyr clasps the stake in faith. 
 And sings thanksgiving while the flames aspire , 
 
 Victorious over agony and death. 
 
 Sublime he stands and triumphs in the fire. 
 
 As tho' to him Elijah's lot were given, 
 
 And tiiat the Chariot and the steeds of Heaven. 
 
EDWARD SHORE. 
 
 Genius ! thou giftof Heav'n ! thou light divine 
 Amid what dangers art tliou doom'd to shine ! 
 Oft will the body's weakness check thy force. 
 Oft damp thy vigour and impede thy course ; 
 And trembling nerves compel thee to restrain 
 I'hy nobler efforts to contend with pain ; 
 Or want (sad guest !) will in thy presence come. 
 And breathe around her melancholy gloom ; 
 To life's low cares, will thy proud thought confine. 
 And make her sufferings, her impatience, thine. 
 
 Evil and strong, seducing passions prey 
 On soaring minds and win them from dieir way ; 
 Who then to Vice the subject spirits give. 
 And in the service of the conqu'ror live ; 
 Like captive Sampson making- sport for all, 
 Who fear'd tlieir strength, and glory in their fall 
 Genius, with virtue, still may lack the aid 
 Implor'd by humble minds and hearts afraid ; 
 Mav leave to +imid souls the shield and sword 
 Of the tried faith, and the resistless Word ; 
 Amid a world of dangers venturing forth. 
 Frail, but yet fearless, proud in conscious worth, 
 Till strong temptation, in some fatal time. 
 Assails the heart, and wins the soul to Crime ; 
 When left by Honour, and by Sorrow spent, 
 XJnus'd to pray, unable to repent ; 
 The nobler powers that once exalted high 
 Th' aspiring man, shall then degraded lie ; 
 Reason, through anguish, shall her throne forsake. 
 And strength of mind but stronger madness make. 
 
 When Edward Shore had reachVl his twentieth year. 
 He felt his bosom light, his conscience clear; 
 Applause at school the youthful hero gain'd, 
 And trials there with manly strength sustain'd : 
 
68 
 
 AVith prospects bright upon tlie world he came. 
 Pure love of virtue, strong* desire of fame ; 
 Men watch'd the way his lofty mind would take. 
 And all foretold the progress he would make. 
 Boast of these friends, to older men a guide. 
 Proud of his parts, but gracious in his pride ; 
 He bore a gay good-nalure in his face. 
 And, in his air was dignity and grace ; 
 Dress that became his state and years he wore. 
 And sense and spirit shone in Edward Shore. 
 
 Thus while admiring friends the Youth beheld. 
 His own disgust their forward hopes repelPd ; 
 For he unfix'd unfixing look'd around, 
 And no employment but in seeking found ; 
 He gave his restless thoughts to views refin'd. 
 And slirank from worldly cares with wounded mind. 
 
 Rejecting trade, awhile he dwelt on laws, 
 ** But who could plead if unapproved the cause ?" 
 A doubting, dismal tribe physicians seem'd 
 Divines o^er texts and disputations dream'd : 
 War and its glory he perhaps could love. 
 But there again he must the cause approve. 
 
 Our Hero thought no deed should gain applause. 
 Where timid virtue found support in laws ; 
 He to all good would soar, would fty all sin. 
 By the pure prompting of the will within ; 
 " Who needs a law that binds him not to steal," 
 Ask'd the young teacher, " can he rightly feel ? 
 To curb the will, or arm in honour's cause, 
 " Or aid the weak—are these enforced by laws ? 
 " Should we a foul, ungenerous action dread, 
 " Because a law condemns the adulterous bed ? 
 " Or fly pollution, not for fear of stain, 
 *' But that some statute tells us to refrain ? 
 ^* The gi'osser herd in ties like these we bind, 
 " In virtue's freedom moves th* enlighten'd mind. 
 
 ' Man's heart deceives him,' said a friend : " Of course,'* 
 Replied the Youth, " but, has it power to force ? 
 " Unless it forces, call it as you will, 
 " It is but wish, and proneness to the ill." 
 
 * Art thou not tempted ?' « Do I fall ?" said Shore ,• 
 * The pure have fallen,' — " Then are pure no more ; 
 
GO 
 
 " While reason guides me, I shall walk aright, 
 « Nor need a steadier hand, or stronger light ; 
 " Nor this in dread of awful threats, designed 
 *^ For the weak spirit and the grovelling mind ; 
 " But that, engag'd by thoughts and views sublime, 
 " I wage free war with giossness and with crime." 
 Thus look'd he proudly on the vulgar crew, 
 Whom statutes govern, and whom tears subdue. 
 
 Faith, with his virtue, he indeed profess'd. 
 But doubts depriv'd his ardent mind of rest ; 
 Reason, his sovereign mistress, fail'd to show 
 Light through the mazes of the world below ; 
 Questions arose, and they surpassed the skill 
 Of his sole aid, and would be dubious still ; 
 These to discuss he sought no common guide. 
 But to the doubters in his doubts applied ; 
 When all together might in freedom speak, 
 And their lov'd truth with mutual ardour seek. 
 Alas ! though men who feel their eyes decay 
 Take more than common pains to find their way,. 
 Yet, when for this they ask each other's aid, 
 Their mutual purpose is the more delay'd : 
 Of all their doubts, their reasoning clear'd not one. 
 Still the same spots were present in the sun ; 
 Stili the same scruples haunted EdwarcVs mind. 
 Who found no rest, nor took the means to find. 
 
 But though with shaken foith, and slave to fame, 
 Vain and aspiring on the world he came ; 
 Yet was he studious, serious, moral, grave^ 
 No passion's victim, and no system's slave ; 
 Tice he oppos'd, indulgence lie disdain'd. 
 And o'er each sense in conscious triumph reign'd. 
 
 Who often reads, will sometimes wish to write, 
 And Shore would yield instruction and delight ; 
 A serious drama he designed but found 
 'Twas tedious travelling in that gloomy ground ; 
 A deep and solemn story he would try. 
 But grew asham'd of ghosts, and laid it by ; 
 Sermons he v/rote, but they who knew liis creed. 
 Or knew it not, were ill dispos'd to read ; 
 And he would lastly be the nation's guide, 
 But, studying fail'd to fix upon a side j 
 
?0 
 
 Fame he desir'd, and talents he possess'd, 
 But lov'd not labour, though he could not rest, 
 Nor firmly fix the vacillating mind. 
 That, ever working, could no centre find. 
 
 *Tis thus a sanguine Reader loves to trace 
 The JVile forth rushing on his glorious race ; 
 Calm and secure ihe fancied Traveller goes 
 Through sterile deserts and by threatening foes: 
 He thinks noi then of Africk's scorching sands, 
 Th' Arabian sea, the Abyssinian bands ; 
 Fasils and Michaels , and the robbers all. 
 Whom we politely chiefs and heroes call ; 
 He of success alone delights to think, 
 He views that fount, he stands upon the brink, 
 And drinks a fancied draught, exulting so to drink. 
 
 In his own room, and with liis books around. 
 His lively mind its chief employmejit*ibund ; 
 Then idly busy, quietly employed. 
 And, lost to life, his visioiis were enjoy'd ; 
 Yet still he took a keen inquiring view. 
 Of all thai crowds neglecv, desire, pursue ; 
 And thus abstracted, curious, still, serene^, 
 He, unempio\''d, beheld life's shifting scene; 
 Still more averse from vulgar joys and cares, 
 Still more unfitted for the world's aftairs. 
 
 There was a house where Edward ofttimes went. 
 And social hours in pleasant trifling spent ; 
 He read, convers'd and reasoned, sang and play'd. 
 And all were happy w^bile the idler stay'd ; 
 Too happy one, for thence arose the pain. 
 Till this engaging Irifler came again. 
 
 But did he love ? We answer, day by day, 
 Tlie loving feet would take th' accustom'd way -, 
 The amorous eye would rove as if in quest 
 Of something rare, and on the mansion rest ; 
 The same soft passion touch'd the gentle tongue. 
 And Annans charms in tender notes were sung ; 
 The ear too seemVA to feel the common flame, 
 Sooth'd and delighted with the fair-one's name ; 
 And thus as love each other part possess'd. 
 The heart, no doubt, its sovereign pow^r confess'd, 
 Pleas'd in her sight, the Youth reqair'd no more , 
 Not rich himself, he saw the Damsel poor ; 
 
71 
 
 And he too wisely, nay, too kindly lov'd, 
 To pain the being- wliom his soul appjov'd. 
 
 A serious Friend our cautious you Ji po.ssess'd. 
 And at his table sat a welcome g-uest ; 
 Both unemploy'd, it was iheir chief delight 
 To read whnt free and daring- auihors w.ite ; 
 Authors who lov'd from common view s id soar. 
 And seek the fountains never trac'd before ; 
 Trutli they profess'd, yet often left the true 
 And beaten prospect, for tlie wild and new. 
 His chosen Friend his fiftieth year had seen. 
 His fortune easy, and his air serene ; 
 Deist and Atheist calFd ; for few at^reed 
 What were his notions, principles or creed ; 
 His mind repos'd not, for he hated rest. 
 But all thing's made a query or a jest ; 
 Perplex'd himself, he ever soug-ht to prove 
 That man is doom'd in endless doubi. to love; 
 Himself in darkness he profess'd to be. 
 And would maintain that not a man could see. 
 
 The youthful Friend, dissentient, reuson'd still 
 Of the soul's prowess, and the subject-wiil ; 
 Of virtue's beauty, and of honour's fo; ce. 
 And a warm zeal g-ave life to his discourse : 
 Since from his feeling's all his fire arose. 
 And he had interest in the themes he ciiose. 
 
 The Friend, indulging* a sarcastic smile. 
 Said — * Dear Enthusiast ! thou wiit chanp;e tliy styW, 
 
 * When Man's delusions, errors, criaies, deceit, 
 
 * No more distress thee, and no longer cheat,' 
 
 Yet lo ! this cautious Man so coolly wise. 
 On a young Beauty fix'd unguarded eyes ; 
 And her he married ; Edward di the view 
 Bade to his cheerful visits long* adieu ; 
 But haply err'd, for this engaging' Bride 
 No mirth suppress'd, but rather cause supplied : 
 And when she saw the frienas, by reasoning long, 
 Confus'd if right, and posi.ive if wrong : 
 With playful speech and smile, that spoke delight 
 She made them careless both of wrong and right. 
 
 This gentle Danjsel gave consent ;o wed, 
 With school and bchool-day dinners in her iiead. 
 
72 
 
 She now was promis'd choice of daintiest food. 
 And costly dress, that made her sovereign good; 
 With walks on hilly heath to banish spleen, 
 And summer-visits when the roads Avere clean. 
 All these she lov'd, to tliese she gare consent. 
 And she was married to her heai-t's content. 
 
 Their manner this — the Friends together rc^d, 
 Till books a cause for disputation bred ; 
 Debate then followed, and the vapour'd Child 
 Declared they argued till her head was wild ; 
 And strange to her it was that mortal brain 
 Could seek the trial or endure the pain. 
 
 Then as the Friend repos'd, the younger Pair 
 Sat down to cards, and play'd beside his chair ; 
 Till he awaking, to his books applied, 
 Or heard the music of the obedient Bride : 
 If mild the evening, in the fields they stray'd 
 And their own flock with partial eye survey'd ; 
 But oft the Husband, to indulgence prone, 
 Resum'd his book, and bade them walk alone. 
 
 * Do, my kind Edward ! I must take mine ensCj 
 ' Name the dear girl the planets and the trees ; 
 
 * Tell her wliat warblers pour their evening song, 
 *■ What insects flutter as you walk along ; 
 
 * Teach her to fix the roviiig thoughts, to bind 
 
 * The wandering sense, and methodize the mind," 
 
 This was obey'd; and oft when this v/as done 
 They calmly gazM on the declining sun ; 
 In silence saw the glowing landscape fade, 
 Or, sitting, sang beneath the arbor's sliade ; 
 Tillrose tjje moon, and on each youthful face, 
 Shed a sot4 beauty, and a dangerous gnxe, 
 
 Yv'hen die young Wife beheld in long debate 
 The friends, all careless as she seeming sate ; 
 It soon appear'd, ihere was in one combined 
 'IMie nobler person, a'^d the richer mind : 
 He wore no wig, no grisly beaixl was seen, 
 And none beheld hhn careless or unclean ; 
 Or wa.ch'd him sleeping : — we indeed have heard 
 Of sleeping beauty, and it has appear'd ; 
 'Tis seen in infants, there indeed we find 
 The features softened by tlie slumbering mind ; 
 
But other beauties, when dispos'd to sleep. 
 Should from the eye of keen inspector keep : ^ 
 The lovely nymph who would her swain surprise, 
 May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes; 
 Sleep from the fairest face some beauty takes. 
 And all the homely features, homelier makes ; 
 So thought our Wife, beholding with a sigh 
 Her sleeping Spouse, and Edtcard smiling by. 
 
 A sick relation for the Husband sent. 
 Without delay the friendly Sceptic went ; 
 Xor fear'd the youthful Pair, for he had seen 
 The Wife untroubled, and the Friend serene ; 
 No selfish purpose in his roving eyes, 
 No vile deception in her fond replies : 
 So judg'd the Husband, and with judgment true. 
 For neither yet the guilt or danger knew. 
 
 What now remain'd ? but they again should play 
 Th' accustom'd game, and walk th' accustom'd way ; 
 With careless freedom should converse or read. 
 And the Friend's absence neither fear no heed ; 
 But rather now they seem'd confus'd, constrain'd ; 
 Within their room still restless they remain'd, 
 And painfully they felt, and knew each other pain'd.- 
 Ah ! foolish men ! how could ye thus depend, 
 One on himself, the other on his friend .? 
 
 The Youth with troubled eye the Lady saw. 
 Yet felt too brave, too daring to withdraw ; 
 While she, with tuneless hand the jan*ing keys 
 Touching, was not one moment at her ease ; 
 Xow she would walk, and call her friendly Guide, 
 Now speak of rain, and cast her cloak aside ; 
 Seize on a book, unconscious what she read, 
 And restless still to new resources fled ; 
 Then laugh'd aloud, then tried to look serene. 
 And ever chang'd, and every change was seen. 
 
 Painful it is to dwell on deeds of shame — 
 The trying day was past, another came ; 
 The third was all remorse, confusion, dread. 
 And (all too late !) the fallen Hero fled. 
 
 Then felt the Youth, in that seducing time. 
 How feebly Honour guards the heart froni crime \ 
 Small is his native strength; man needs the stay. 
 The strength imparted in the trying day ; 
 
For all that Honour brings against the force 
 
 Of he.icUong* passion, aids its rapid course; 
 
 Its 'Jifrhr resistance but provokes the fire, 
 
 As wr,od-\v nvk stops the flame, and then conveys it highci 
 
 The FInsband came ; a Wife by guilt made bold 
 Hid, meeting, soolh'd him, as in days of old ; 
 Bu; sooa *his fict trai)spir*d ; her strong distress. 
 And Ids Friend's absence, left him nought to guess. 
 
 Still cool, tno' giiev'd, thus prudence bad him write— 
 *1 cannol pardon, and I will noi fight ; 
 
 * Thou art too poor a culprit for the laws, 
 
 * And I too faulty too support my cause : 
 
 * All must v'C punish'd ; I must sigh alone, 
 
 * A^ home thy victim for her guilt alone : 
 
 * And tluou un I A uppy ! vii'tuoiis now no more, 
 
 * Must loss of fame, peace, purity deplore ; 
 
 * Sinners wiih pnu e will pierce thee to the heart, 
 
 * And saints deriding tell thee what thou art.' 
 
 Such was his fall ; and Edward^ from that time, 
 Fell in full force the censure and the crime — 
 Despis'd, ashi-m'd ; his noble views before, 
 And his proud thoughts degraded bim the more : 
 Should Le repent — would thai conceal his shame ? 
 Could pe ce be Ids ? It perish'd with his fame : 
 Him.-eif hescorn'd, noj coidd his crime forgive. 
 He tecu-'d to die, ye; fell asham'd to live : 
 Griev'd, but noi contrite was his heart ; oppress'd, 
 N»>^ brrken ; not conve. vcd, but distress'd ; 
 He wanted will io bend the stubborn knee. 
 He wiiU'.ed ligiit the c^vtise of ill to see, ^ 
 
 To learn how frail is man, how humble then shoi^ld be ; 
 For f d h he had not, or a f d h oo weak 
 To gain he help that humbled sinners seek ; 
 Eise iiad he pray'd — to an offer.ded God 
 His . eurs had flown a penitential flood ; 
 Tho i^'h far as.i-ay, he would have heard the call 
 Of mercy --« Come ! reuirn ^hou prodigal ;' 
 Thea, ihongh confused, distressed, asham'd afraid, 
 S'ilJ had the \:» embling peni'ent obey'd ; 
 Tliougli faith had fainted, when assail'd by fear, 
 Hope o the soul had whisper'd, * Persevere !' 
 Tiii in his Father's house an humble guest, 
 He would have found forgiveness, comfort, rest. 
 
iO 
 
 But all this joy was to our Youth denied 
 By his fierce passions, and his daring pride ; 
 And shame and doubt impell'd him in a course 
 Once so abhorr'd, with unresisted force. 
 Proud minds and guilty, whom their crimes oppress. 
 Fly to new crimes for comfort and redress ; 
 So found our fallen Youth a short relief 
 In wine, the opiate Guilt applies to Grief, — 
 From fleeting mirth that o'er the bottle lives. 
 From the false joy its inspiration gives ; 
 And from associates pleas'd to find a friend. 
 With powers to lead them, gladden, and defend. 
 In all those scenes where transient ease is found. 
 For minds wliom sins oppress, and sorrows wound. 
 
 Wine is like anger, for it makes us strong, 
 Blind and impatient, and it leads us wrong ; 
 The strength is quickly lost, we feel the error long : 
 Thus led, thus strengthened in an evil cause. 
 For folly pleading, sought the Youth applause ; 
 Sad for a time, then eloquently wild. 
 He gaily spoke as his companions smil'd ; 
 Lightly he rose, and with his former grace 
 Propos'd some doubt, and argued on the case ; 
 Fate and fore-knowledge were his favourite themes — 
 How vain man*s purpose, and how absurd his schemes :- 
 " Whatever is, was ere our birth decreed ; 
 '* We think our actions from ourselves proceed, 
 '' And idly we lament th' inevitable deed ; 
 " It seems our own, but there's a power above 
 ** Directs the motion, nay, that makes us move ; 
 " Nor good nor evil can you beings name, 
 " Who are but Rooks and Castles in the game ; 
 " Superiour natures with their puppets play, 
 ** Till, bagg'd or buried, all are swept away.'* 
 
 Such were the notions of a mind to ill 
 Now prone, but ardent and det-srmin'd still ; 
 Of joy now eager, as before of fame, 
 And screen'd by folly when assail'd by shame. 
 Deeply he sank ; obeyed each passion's call. 
 And us'd his reason to defend them all. 
 
 Shall I proceed, and step by step relate 
 The odious progress of a Sinner's fate ? 
 
 7"^ 
 
7C, 
 
 No — let me rather hasten to the time 
 
 (Sure to arrive) when misery waits on crime. 
 
 Wiih Virtue, Prudence fled ; wiiat *S/iore posses'd 
 Was sold, was spent, and be was now disii-ess'd ; 
 And Want, unwelcome siranger, pale and wan, 
 Met with her hag-g-ard looks the liurried Man ; 
 His pride felt keenly what he must expect 
 From useless pity and from cold neglect. 
 
 Struck by new terrors, from his friends he fled, 
 And wepL his woes upon a restless bed ; 
 Retiriiig la.e, at early hour to rise. 
 With shrur.ker. features, and wiih blood-shot eyes ; 
 If sleep Owe moment clos'd the di.^mal view. 
 Fancy her ler.ors built upon the true ; 
 And nigijt and day had their alteinate woes. 
 That biiffled pleasure, and that mock'd repose ; 
 Till .0 despair and anguish was consign'd 
 The wreck and ruin of a noble mind. 
 
 Now seiz'd for debt, and lodgM within a jail, 
 He tried his friendshi; s, and he found them fail ; 
 Then hul d his spirits, and his thoughts were all 
 Fix'd on his sins, his stiffei ings, and his fall : 
 His ruflfiedmind was pictur'd in his face, 
 Once vhe fair seat of dignity and grace : 
 Great was the danger of a man so prone 
 To think of madness, and to think alone ; 
 Yet pride still liv'd, and snuggled to sustain 
 The drooping spirit, and the roving brain ; 
 But this too faii'd : a Friend his freedom gave. 
 And sent him help the tiu-eat'ning world to brave ; 
 Gave solid counsel what to seek or flee, 
 But still would stranger to his person be : 
 In vain ! the irtith determin'd to explore, 
 He trac'dthe Friend whom he had wrong'd before. 
 
 This was too much ; both aided and advis'd 
 By one who shunn'd him, pitied, and despis'd : 
 He bore it not ; 'twas a deciding stroke, 
 \nd on his reason like a torrent broke ; 
 In dreadful stillness he appeared awhile, 
 With vacant hori-or, and a ghastly smile ; 
 Then rose ator.ce into the frantic rage. 
 That force controU'd not, nor could love assuage. 
 
Friends now appear'd, but in tlie man was seen 
 The angry Maniac, with vindictive mien ; 
 Too late their pity gave to care and skill 
 The hurried mind and ever-wandering will ; 
 tJnnotic'd pass'dall time, and not a ray 
 Of reason broke on his benighted way ; 
 But now he spurn'd the straw in pure disdain. 
 And now laugh'd loudly at the clinking chain. 
 
 Then as its wrath subsided, by degrees 
 The mind sank slowly to infantine ease ; 
 To playful folly, and to causeless joy. 
 Speech without aim, and without end, employ ; 
 He drew fantastic figures on the wall, 
 And gave some wild relation of them all ; 
 With brutal shape he join'd the human face, 
 And idiot smiles approved the motley race. 
 
 Harmless at length the unhappy man was found. 
 The spirit settled, but the reason drown'd ; 
 And all the dreadful tempest died away, 
 To the dull stillness of the misty day. 
 
 And now his freedom^he attain'd, — if free 
 The lost to reason, truth, and hope, can be ; 
 His friends, or wearied with the charge, or sure 
 The harmless wretch was now beyond a cure. 
 Gave him to wander v/liere he pleas'd, and find 
 His own resources for the eager mind : 
 The playful children of the place he meets. 
 Playful with them he rambles through the streets ; 
 In all they need, his stronger arm he lends. 
 And his lost mind to these approving friends. 
 
 That gentle Maid, whom once the Youth had lov'd. 
 Is now wiih mild religious ])ity mov'd ; 
 Kindly she chides his boyish flights, while he 
 Will for a moment fix'd and pensive be ; 
 And as she trembling- speaks, his lively eyes 
 Explore her looks, he listens to her sighs ; 
 Charm'd by her voice, th' harmonious sounds invade 
 His clouded mind, and for a time persuade : 
 Like a pleas'd Infant, who has newly caught 
 From the maternal glance, a gleam of thought ; 
 He stands enrapt, the half-known voice to hear. 
 And starts, half-conscious, at the falling tear. 
 
78 
 
 Rarely from town, nor then unwalch'd^he goes 
 In darker mood, as if to hide his woes ; 
 Ueturnin;.'; soon, he with impatience seeks 
 His youthful frier.ds, and shouts and sing's and speaks ; 
 Speaks a wild speech with action all as wild — 
 Tiie children's leader, and himself a child ; 
 He spi-;s their top, or, at their bidding, bends 
 His back, while o'er it leap his laughing friends ; 
 Simple and weak, he acts the boy once more^ 
 And heedless children call him SIUt/ Shore. 
 
MALCOLM OF LORN. 
 
 Came ye by Ora's verdant steep. 
 
 That smiles the restless ocean over ? 
 Heard ye a suffering maiden weep ? 
 
 Heard ye her name a faithful lover ? 
 Saw ye an aged matron stand 
 O'er yon green grave above the strand, 
 JBent like the trunk of withered tree, 
 Or yon old thorn that sips the sea ? 
 Fixed her dim eye, her face as pale 
 
 As the mists that o'er her flew : 
 Her joy is fled like the flower of the vale. 
 
 Her hope like the morning dew ! 
 That matron was lately as proud of her stay, 
 As the mightiest monarch of scepter or sway : 
 O list to the tale ! 'tis a tale of soft sorrow^ 
 Of Malcolm of Lorn, and young Ann of Glen-Ora. 
 
 The sun is sweet at early morn, 
 
 Just blushing from the ocean's bosom ; 
 The rose that decks the woodland thorn 
 
 Is fairest in its opening blossom ; 
 Sweeter than opening rose in dew. 
 Than vernal flowers of richest hue. 
 Than fragrant birch or weeping willow. 
 Than red sun resting on the billow ; 
 Sweeter than aught to mortals given 
 
 The heart and soul to prove ; 
 Sweeter than aught beneath the heaven, 
 
 The joys of early love ! 
 Never did maiden, and manly youth. 
 Love with such fervour, and love with such truth 
 Or pleasures and virtues alternately borrow, 
 As Malcolm of Lorn, and fair Ann of Glen-Ora. 
 
80 
 
 The day is come, the dreaded da). 
 
 Must part two loving* hearts for ever » 
 The ship lies rocking* in the bay, 
 
 Tbe boat comes rippling up the river : 
 O haprv has the gloaming-'s eye 
 
 In I reen Glen-Ora*s bosom seen them ! 
 But S(;(yn shall lands and nations lie, 
 
 And angry oceans roll between them. 
 Yes they must pan, forever part ; 
 Chill falls the truth on -either heart ; 
 For honour, tiiles, wealtn, and state, 
 In distant lands her sire await. 
 The maid must wiih her sire away. 
 
 She cannot stay behind ; / 
 
 Strait to the south Ihe pennons play. 
 
 And s:eady is the wind. 
 Shall INIalcolm reiii quish the home of his youth. 
 And sail with his lov^e to the lands of the south ? 
 Ah, no ! for his father is gone lo the tomb : 
 One prirent survive:* in her desolate home ! 
 No child but her Malcolm to cheer her lone way ^ 
 B: eak not her tond he.irt, gentle Malcolm, O, stay ! 
 
 The boat impatient leans ashore. 
 
 Her pro\y sleeps on a sandy pillow ; 
 The rower lec^ns upon his oar, 
 
 Ali ead} bent to brush the billow. 
 O ! Malcolm, view yon melting eyes. 
 
 With tears }on stainiless roses steeping- I 
 O ! M.ilcohn, list thy rnother's sighs ; 
 
 She's Itjrung o'er her staff and weeping ! 
 Thy Anna's heart is bound lo thine, 
 And must tha; c^eatle heart repine ! 
 Quick from the shore ibe boat must fly ; 
 He- scui is speaking through her eye ; 
 Thii:k of thy joys in Ora's shade ; 
 
 From Anr.a canst thou sever ? 
 Think of the vows thou often hast made. 
 
 To love the dear maiden for ever. 
 And canst thou foiego such beauty and youth. 
 Such maide.i honour and spotless truth ? 
 Forbid ii !— He yields ; to the boat he draws nigh. 
 Haste, Malcolm, aboard, and revert not thine eye. 
 
J51 
 
 rhaltreTiibilng voice, in muriDurs weak, 
 
 Comes not to blast the hopes before thee ; 
 For pity, Malcolm, turn, and take 
 
 A last farewell of her tliat bore thee. 
 She says no word to mar thy blis:> ; 
 A last embrace, a pariing* kiss. 
 Her love deserves ; — then be ihou gone ; 
 A mother's joys are thine alone. 
 Friendship may fade, and fortune prove 
 
 Deceitful to th}' heart ; 
 But never can a mother's love 
 
 From her own offspring* part. 
 That tender form, now bent and g"ray. 
 Shall quickly sink to her native clay ; 
 Then who shall' watch her parting breath. 
 And slied a tear o'er her couch of deaih ? 
 "Who follow the dust to its long, lon;^- home. 
 And lay that head in an honoured tornb P 
 
 Oft hast thou, to her bosom prest. 
 
 For many a day about been boi'ne ; 
 Oft hushed and cradled on her bieast. 
 
 And canst thou leave that breast forlorn I 
 O'er all tliy ails her heart has bled ; 
 Oft has she watched beside thy bed ; 
 Oft prayed for thee in dell at eve<:. 
 Beneath the pitying stars of heuven, 
 Ah ! Malcohn, ne'er was parent yet 
 
 So tender, so benigni 1 
 Never \tas maid so loved, so sweet, 
 
 ISTor soul so rent as thine ! 
 He looked to the boat,— -slovr she heaved from the 
 
 shore ; 
 He saw his loved Anna all speechless implore : . 
 But, grasped i)y a cold and a trembling hand. 
 He clung to his parent, and sunk on the strand. 
 
 The boat across the tide flew fast. 
 
 And left a silver curve beliind j 
 
 Loud sung the sailor from the mast, 
 
 ^ Spreading his j,aiU before the wind. 
 The stately ship, adown the b;vy, 
 A corslet framed of heaving snow. 
 
82 
 
 And flurred on high the slender spray. 
 Till rainbows gleamed around her provr. 
 
 How strained was Malcolm's watery eye. 
 
 Yon fleeting vision to descry ! 
 
 But, ah ! her lessening form so fair. 
 
 Soon vanished in the liquid air. 
 
 Away to Ora's headland steep 
 The youth rehired the while. 
 
 And saw th* unpitying vessel sweep 
 Around yon Highland isle. 
 
 His heart and his mind with that vessel had gont. 
 
 His sorrow was deep, and despairing his moan. 
 
 When, lifting his eyes from the green heaving deep. 
 
 He prayed the Almighty his Anna to keep. 
 
 High o'er the crested cliffs of Lorn 
 
 The curlew coned her wild bravura ; 
 The sun, in pall of purple borne, 
 
 Was hastening dov\Ti the steeps of Jura. 
 The glowing ocean heaved her breast, 
 
 Her wandering lover's glances under ; 
 And shewed his radiant form, imprest 
 
 Deep in a wavy world of wonder. 
 Not all the ocean's dyes at even. 
 Though varied as the bow of heaven j 
 The countless isles so dusky blue. 
 Nor medley of the gray curlew, 
 Could light on Malcolm's spirit shed ; 
 
 Their glory all was gone ! 
 For his joy was fled, his hope was dead. 
 
 And his heart forsaken and lone. 
 The sea-bird sought her roofless nest, 
 To warm her brood with her downy breast ; 
 And near her home, on the margin dun, 
 A mother weeps o'er her duteous son. 
 
 One little boat alone is seen 
 
 On all the lovely dappled main, 
 That sofily sinks the waves between, 
 
 Then vaults their heaving breasts again ; 
 Wilh snowy sail, and rower's sweep. 
 
 Across the tide she seems to fly. 
 Why bears she on yon headland s^cccp. 
 
83 
 
 Where neither house nor home is nigh r 
 Is that a vision from the deep 
 That springs ashore and scales the steep, 
 Nor ever si ays iis ardent haste 
 Till sunk upon youn^ Malcolm's breast ! 
 O ! spare that breast so lowly laid. 
 
 So fraug-ht wiih deepest sorrow I 
 It is his own, his darling" maid. 
 
 Young Anna of Glen-Ora ! — 
 ** My Malcolm ! part we ne'er ag-ain ! 
 My father saw thy bosom's pain ; 
 Pided my grief from ihee lo sever ; 
 Now I, and Gien-Ora, am thine for ever !" — 
 
 That blaze of joy, through clouds of wo, 
 
 Too fierce upon his heari did fall. 
 Bui, ah ! ihe shaft had left the bow, 
 
 Which power of man could not recall ! 
 No word of love could Malcolm speak ; 
 
 No raptured kiss his lips impart ; 
 No tear bedewed his shivering cheek. 
 
 To ease the grasp that held his heart. 
 His arms assayed one kind embrace — 
 
 Will they eiiclose her ? never ! never ! 
 A smile set softly on his face, 
 
 Bin ah ! die eye was set for ever ! 
 'Twas more than broken heart could brook ! 
 How throbs thai breast ! — How glazed that l(;ou 
 One sliiver more ! — Ail ! all is over I 
 As melis the wave on level shore ; 
 As fades the dye of tailing even. 
 Far Qn the silver verge of heaven ; 
 As on thy ear, the minstrel's lay, — 
 So died the comely youth away." 
 
FEAST OF THE POETS. 
 
 T'other day, as Apollo sat pitching hi? darts 
 Throug-h ihe clouds of November, by fits and by starts., 
 He be.^-au to consider how long it had been 
 Since tiie bards of Old England had all been rung in. 
 ** I think," said the God, recollecting, (and then 
 He fell twiddling a sunbeam as I may my pen,) 
 " i think— let me see— yes, it is, I declare, 
 As long ago now as that Buckingham there : 
 And yei I can't see why I've been so remiss, 
 Unless ii may be — and it certainly is, 
 That since Dryden's fine verses and Miiton''s sublime. 
 I have fairly been sick of their sing-song and rhyme. 
 There Vv'as Collins, 'tis true, had a good deal to say r 
 But the rogue had no industry — neither had Gray : 
 And Thomson, though best in his indolent fits. 
 Either slept himself weary, or bloated his wits. 
 But ever since Pope spoiPd the ears of the town 
 Widi his cuckoo-song verses, half up and half down, 
 Tiieiehas been such a doling and sameness — by Jove, 
 I'd as soon have gone down to see Kemble in love. 
 However, of late as they've roused them anew, 
 ni e'en go and give them a lesson or two ; 
 And as nothing's done there now-a-days without eating', 
 See what kind of set I can muster worth treating." 
 So saying, the God bade his horses walk for'ard. 
 And leaving them, took a long dive to the nor'ard. 
 For Gordon's he made ; and as Gods wlio drop in do. 
 Came smack on his legs through the drawingroom win- 
 dow. 
 
 And here I could tell, if it wasn't for stopping. 
 How all the town shook as the godhead went pop m^ 
 How brigiit look'd the poets, and brisk blew tlie airs. 
 And the laurels took fiow'r in the gardens and squares ; — 
 ^al timcies like these, though I've stores to supply me. 
 
85 
 
 l*d better keep back for a poem I've by rae, 
 And merely observe that the giris look'd divine. 
 And the old folks m-doors exclaimed " Bless us how 
 fine !" 
 
 Apollo arriv'd, had no sooner embodied 
 His essence ethereal, than quenching liis godhead, 
 lie chang'd his appearance — to— wliat shall I say ? 
 To a gallant young soldier returning in May ? 
 Xo_ that's a resemblance too vapid and low ; — 
 Let's see — to a finished young traveller r — No. 
 To a graceful young lord just stept out of his carriage ■ 
 Or handsome young poet, the day of his m.arriage ? 
 No— nobody's likeness will help me, I see, 
 To afford you a notion of what he could be ; 
 Not though 1 collected one pattern victorious 
 Of all that was good, and accomplish'd, and glorious, 
 From deeds in the daylight, or books on the shelf. 
 And caird up the shape of young Alfred himself 
 
 Imagine, however, if shape there must be, 
 A figure sublim'd above mortal degree, 
 His limbs the perfection of elegant strength — 
 A fine flowing roundness inclining to length — 
 A back dropping" in — an expansion of chest, 
 (For the God, you'll observe, like his statutes was drest,) 
 His throat like a pillow for smoothness and grace. 
 His curls in a cluster — and tlicn such a face. 
 As m.ark'd him at once the true offspring of Jove, 
 The brow all of wisdom, and lips all of love ; 
 For though he was blooming, and oval of cheek, 
 And youth down his shoulders went smoothing and sleek, 
 Yet his look with the reach of past ages was v.i^e. 
 And the soul of eternity thought through his eyes. • 
 
 I would not say more, lest my climax should lose ; — 
 Yet now I have mentioned those lamps of the Muse, 
 I can't but observe wha^ splendour they shed, 
 When a thought more than common came into his head : 
 Then they leap'd in their frankness, deliciously bright, 
 And shot round about them an ai-rowy light ; 
 And if, as he sliook back his hair in its cluster, 
 A curl fell athwart them and darken'd their lustre, 
 A sprinkle of gold through the duskiness came, 
 J. ike the sun through a tree, when he's setting in flame. 
 
 The God, then, no sooner had taken a chair, 
 
86 
 
 \nd rung for the landlord to order the fare, 
 rhan he heard a strange noise and a knock from without. 
 And scraping* and bowing, came in such a jout ! 
 Tliere was Arnold, and Reynolds, and Diddin, and Cher- 
 ry. 
 \ll grinning, as who should say, " Shan't we be merry ?'* 
 And mighty dull Cobb, lumbering just like a bear up. 
 And sweet Billy Diamond, a patting his hair up. 
 The God, for an instant, sat fix'd as a stone. 
 Till recov'ring, he said in a good-natur'd tone, 
 " O, the waitei-s, I see ; ah, it's all very well — 
 Only one of you'll do just to answer the bell/' 
 Bui lord ! to see all the great dramatists' faces ! 
 They looked at each other, and made such grimaces ! 
 Then turning about, left the room in vexation. 
 And Hook, they say, couldn't help mutt'ring « Damna- 
 tion !" 
 'Twas lucky for Colman he wasn't there too, 
 For his pranks would have certainly met with their due. 
 And Sheridan's also, that finished old tricker ; — 
 But one was in prison, and both were in liquor. 
 
 The God fell a laughing to see his mistake, . 
 But stopp'd with a sigh for poor Comedy's sake ; 
 Then gave mine hosi orders, who bow'd to the floor, 
 And presented three cards thut were brought to the door : 
 A])ollo just gave them a glance with his eye — 
 " Spencer— Rogers— Monigom'ry"—nd putting them by, 
 Begg'd the landlord to give his respects to all three, 
 And say he'd be happy to see them to tea. 
 
 " Your majesty, then,'' said the Gains, " don't know 
 That a person nam'd Crabbehas been waiting below .? 
 He has taken his chair in the kitchen, they say." 
 " Indeed 1" said Apollo, " O pray let him stay : * 
 He'll be much better pleased to be with 'em down stairs. 
 And will find ye all oui with your cookings and cares. 
 But mind tliat you treat ium as well as you're able, 
 And let him have part of what goes from the table." 
 
 A soil, smiling voice then arose on the ear. 
 As if some one from court was about to appear : 
 " O, this is the room, my good friend ? Ah, 1 see it is ;— 
 Room, sure enough, for the besi-bred of deities !" 
 Then came a whisper — und then was a hush — 
 And then, with a sort of a look of a blush. 
 
sr 
 
 Came in Mr. Hayley, all polisli'd confusion. 
 
 And said, ** TVill Apollo excuse this intrusion ? 
 
 I might have kept back— but I thought 'twould look 
 
 odd— 
 And friendship, you know — pray how is my dear God ?" 
 A smile, followed up by a shake of the head, 
 Cross'd the fine lip of Phosbus, wlio view'd him, and 
 
 said — 
 ** I'll give you a lesson. Sir, quite your own seeking, 
 And one that you vevy much want — on plain speaking. 
 Pray liave you to learn — and at this time of day. 
 That your views on regard have been all the wrong way ? 
 One ten thousandth part of the words and the time 
 That you've wasted on praises instead of ymir rhyme. 
 Might have gained }'ou a title to this kind of freedom ; 
 But volumes of endings, lugg'd in as you need 'em, 
 Oi' hearts and imparts, where's the soul that can read 'em ? 
 So saying, his eye so alarmingly shone, 
 That ere it could wink, the poor devil was gone. 
 
 A hem was then heard, consequential and snapping', 
 And a sour little geiUleman walk'd witii a rap in.' 
 He bow'd Icok'd abojt lum, seem'd cold, and sat down, 
 And said, " I'm surprised th^.t you'll visit ihis town: — 
 To be sure, there are one or two of us who know you. 
 But as for the rest, they are all much below you. 
 So stupid, in gen'ral, the natives are grown. 
 They really prefer Scotch reviews to their own ; 
 So that what with their taste, their reformers, and stuff. 
 They have sicken'd myself and my friends long enough.'' 
 " Yourself and your friends !" cried the God in high 
 
 glee ; 
 " And pray, my frank visiter, who may you be .^" 
 
 *' Who be ?'' cried the other ; " why really — this tone 
 
 William Gifibrd's a name, I think, pretty well known ?'* 
 
 « O— now I remember," said Phoebus ;— " ah, true 
 
 My thanks to ihai name are undoubtedly due : 
 
 The rod, that got rid of the Cruscas undLauras — 
 
 That plague of the butterflies — sav'd rn^ the horrors ; 
 
 The Juvenal, too, stops a gap in one's shelf, 
 
 At least in what Dryden has not done himself; 
 
 And there's something, which even distaste must respect, 
 
 In the self-taught example, that conquer'd neglect. 
 
88 
 
 But not to insist on the recommendations 
 
 Of modesty, wit, and a small stock of patience, 
 
 Mr visit just now is to poets alone, 
 
 And not to small critics, however well known.'' 
 
 So saying" lie rang", to leave nothing* in doubt. 
 
 And the sour little gentleman bless'd himself out. 
 
 Next came Walter Scott with a fine weighty face, 
 For as soon as hi? visage was seen in the place. 
 Tile diners and barmaids ail crowded to know him, 
 And thank him with smiles for that sweet pretty poem ! 
 However, he scarcely had got through the door. 
 When he look'd adoration and bo\y'd to the floor. 
 For his host was a God — what a very great thing ! 
 And what was still greater in Ids eyes — a king ! 
 Apollo smil'd shrewdly, and bade him sit down 
 With " Well, Mr. Scott you have manag'd t!ie town ; 
 NovvT pra}', copy less — have a little temerity — 
 
 — Try if you can't also manage posterity, 
 
 All you add now only lessens your credit ; 
 
 And how could yovi think, to, of taking to edite ? 
 
 A great deal's endur'd, where there's measure anc 
 
 rhyme ; 
 But prose such as your's is a pure waste of time — 
 A singer of ballads unstrung by a cough. 
 Who fairly takes on, till his hearers walk off. 
 Be original, man ; study more, scribble less ; 
 Nor mistake present favor for lasting success ; 
 And remember, if laurels are what you would find, 
 The crown of all triumph is freedom of mind." 
 " And here," cried Apollo, " is one at the door, 
 Who shall prove wliat I say, or my art is no more. 
 Ah, Campbell, you're welcome ;— well how have you 
 
 been, 
 Since the last time I saw you on Sydenham-green .? 
 I need not ask after the plans you've in view ; 
 *T would be odd, I believe, if I had'nt them too ; 
 But there's one thing Fve always forgotten to mention — 
 Your versification — pray give it invention. 
 A fancy like your's that can play its ov\n part, 
 And clip with ti«e fingers the chords of the heart, 
 Should draw from itself the whule charm of its song*, 
 Nor put up with notes that to others belong.'' 
 
89 
 
 Tlie poet to til is was about to reply, 
 Wlien ^[ool•e, coming in, caiig-ht the Deity's eye. 
 Who g-ave him his hand, and said, " Show me a sight 
 Tiiat can give a divinity sounder deliglit, 
 Or that earth should more prize from its core to the 
 
 poles. 
 Than the self-improved morals of elegant souls. 
 Repentant I speak it — though when I was wild. 
 My friends should remember the world was a child — 
 That customs were dift 'rent, and young people's eyes 
 Had no better examples than those in the skies. 
 But soon as I learnt how to value these doings 
 1 never much valued your billings and cooings ; 
 They only make idle tlie best of my race ; 
 And since my poor D.iphne turned tree in my face. 
 There are very few poets, whose caps or whose curls 
 Have obtained such a laurel by hunting the girls. 
 So It gives me, dear Tom, a delight beyond measure. 
 To find r.ow you've mended your notions of pleasure ; 
 For never was poet, wliose fanciful hours 
 Could bask in a richer abstraction of bowers, 
 Witli sounds and with spirits, ofcliarm to detain 
 The wonder-eyed soul in their magic domain ; 
 And never should poet so gified and rare, 
 Pollute the brigiii Eden Jove gives to his care. 
 But love the fair virtue, for whom it is given. 
 And keep the spot pure for the visits of heaven." 
 
 He spoke wiih a warmth, but his accent was bland. 
 And die poet bov/Vl dov^n with a blush to his hand, 
 Vv hen all on a sudden, there rose on the stairs 
 A noise as of persons with singular airs ; 
 You'd have thought *twas the bishops or judges a com- 
 ing* 
 Or whole court of aldermen havving and humming, 
 Or Abbot, at least, with his usliers before, 
 But Hwas only Bob Southey and iwo or three more. 
 As soon as he saw him, Apollo seem'd pleas'd ; 
 But as he had settled it not to be teas'd 
 By all the vain-dreamers from bed-room and brook. 
 He turn'd from die rest without even a look ; 
 For Coleridge had vex'd hiui long since, I suppose. 
 By his idling, and gambling, and muddling in prose ; 
 
90 
 
 And "W'ords worth, one day, made liLs very hairs bristle, 
 
 By g-oing and changing- his harp for a whistle. 
 
 Tiiese heroes, however, long used to attack. 
 
 Were not by contempt to be so driven back. 
 
 But folio w'd the God up, and shif. ip.g their place, 
 
 Stood full in his presence and look'd in his face ; 
 
 Wlicn one began spouting the cream of orations 
 
 In praise of bombarding one's f. lends and relations ; 
 
 And t'other some lines he had made on a straw, 
 
 Showing how he had found it, and wliat it was for. 
 
 And how, when 'twas balunc'd, it stood like a spell ! 
 
 And how, when 'twas balanc'd no longer, it fell ! 
 
 A wild thing of scorn hedescrib'd it to be, 
 
 B\V he said it was patient to heaven's decree : — 
 
 Then hegaz'd upon n>thing, and looking foriorn, 
 
 Dropt a natural tear ibr that ivikl thing- ofsconi ! 
 
 Apoiio half laughed beiwixt ang-er and mirth, 
 
 And cried, " Was there ever such trifling on earth ? 
 
 It is not enough that this nonsense, I fear. 
 
 Hast hurt ihe fine head of my fciend Robert here, 
 
 But the very best promise bred np in the school, 
 
 I\Iu.sr show himself proudest in playing the fool. 
 
 Whai ! think ye a bard's a mere gossip, who tells 
 
 Of ihe ev'ry-day feelings of every one else. 
 
 And that })oelry lies, not in something select. 
 
 But in gath'ring the refuse that others reject ? 
 
 Must a ba:lad dokd out by a spectacled nurse 
 
 About Two-Shoes or Thumb, be your model of verse/" 
 
 And j'our writings, instead of sound fuicy and stylei' 
 
 Look more like the morbid abstracvions of bile ? / " 
 
 There is one of you here — 'twas of him that I sjioke — 
 
 Who, instead of becoming a bvword ajid joke. 
 
 Should liave brought back our fine old pre-eminont way. 
 
 And been the first man at my Uibl^ to-day : 
 
 But resolv'd as I am to maintain the partitions 
 
 *Tvvixt wit and mere wildness, he knovrs the conditions : 
 
 And if he retains but a spark of my fire. 
 
 Will show it this instant — and blush — and retire." 
 
 He spoke ; and poor Wordsworth, his cheeks in a glow, 
 
 (For he felt the God in him,) made symptoms to go. 
 
 When Apollo, in pity, to screen him from sight, 
 
 Threw around him a cloud that was purj^le and white, 
 
91 
 
 The same that of old us'd to wrap his own shoulders, 
 When coming' from heaven he*d spare ihe beholders :-• 
 The bard like a second iEneas, wer.t home in't, 
 Ajid lives underneaili it, it seems, at this moment. 
 
 Apollo then turning and smoothing iiis frown, 
 Bade Southey take warning", and let him sit down ; 
 But tlie rest of Bob's friends, too ambitious to flinch, 
 Stood fixing their faces, and stirr'd not an inch ; 
 While Sam, looking soft and politely dejected, 
 Confcss'd vv'ith a sigh, that 'twas what he expected. 
 Since Phoebus had fatally learnt to confide in 
 Such prosers as Johnson, and rliymers as Dryden. 
 But wrath seiz'd Apollo ;~and turning again, 
 " Whatever," he cried, " were the faults of such men. 
 Ye shall try, wretched mortals, how well 3'e can bear 
 What Dr\den has witness'd unsmote with despair. 
 
 He said ; and the place all seem'd swelling with light, 
 While his locks and his visage grew awfully bright ; 
 And clouds, burning inward, roll'd roimd on each side, 
 To encircle his state, as he stood in his pride ; 
 Till at last the full Deity pui on his rays, 
 And burst on the sight in the pomp of his blaze ! 
 Then a glory beam'd round, as of fiery rods, 
 With the sound of deep organs and chorister gods : 
 And the faces of bards, glowing fresh from their skies, 
 Came thronging about with intentness of eyes — 
 And the Nine were all heard as the harmony swell'd — 
 And the spheres, pealing in, the long rapture upheld — 
 And all things above, and beneath, and around, 
 Seem'd a world of bright vision, set floathig in sound. 
 
 That sight and that music might not be sustain*d 
 But by those who a glory like Dryden's had gain'd ; 
 And even the (bur who had graciousness found, 
 After gazing awhile, bow'd them down, to the ground. 
 What then could remain for that feeble-eyed crew ? 
 7'iu-ough the door in an instant they rubh'd and they flew. 
 They rush'd, and they dash'd, and they scrambled and 
 
 stumbled, j 
 
 And down the hall staircase distractedly tumbled, 
 And never once thought which was iiead or was feet. 
 And slid through the hall, and fell plump in the street. 
 So great was the panic they struck with their fright, 
 That of all who had come to be feasted that night, 
 
i)i 
 
 Not one veiitiir'd up, o? would slay iiear the place i 
 Even Croker declm'd, notwithstanding" his face ; 
 And old Peter Pindui*, turn'd pale and suppress'd. 
 With a death-bed sensation, a blasphemous jest. 
 
 But Phoebus no sooner had g-ain'd his good ends. 
 Than he put off his terrors, and rais'd up his friends. 
 Who stood for a moment, entranc'd to behold. 
 The glories subside and the dim-rolling gold. 
 And listeii'd to sounds, that with ecstacy burning 
 Seem'd dying far upward like heaven returning. 
 Then *' Come," cried the God in his elegant mirth, 
 " Let us make us a heaven of our own upon earth. 
 And wake with the lips, that we dip in our bowls. 
 That divinest of inusic — congenial souls." 
 So saying, he led through the dining-room door, 
 And seating the poets, cried " Laurels for four I" 
 No sooner demanded, than lo ! they were there. 
 And each of the bards had a wreath in his hair. 
 Tom Campbell's with willow and poplar was twin'd, 
 And Southey's wiih mountain-ash piuck'd in the wind. 
 And Scott's with a heath from his old garden stores. 
 And with vine-leaves and Jump-up-and-kiss-me, Tom 
 
 Moore's. 
 Then Apollo put his on, that sparkled with beams, 
 And rich rose {he feast as an epicure's dreams — 
 Not epicure civic, or grossly inclin'd. 
 But such as a poet might dream ere he din'd ; 
 For the God had no sooner determin'd the fare. 
 Than itturn'd to wliatevcr was racy and rare : 
 The fish and the flesh, for example, were done, 
 On account of their fineness, in flame from the sun ; 
 The wines were all nectar of different smack. 
 To which jNIuskat w^as nothing", nor Virgiuis Lac, 
 No, nor LachrymaChristi, though clearly divine. 
 Nor Montepulciano, though kingof all wine. 
 Then as for the fruits, you might garden for ages 
 Before you could raise me such apples and gages ; 
 And all on the table no .sooner were spread. 
 Than their cheeks next the God blush'd a beautiful red. 
 *Twas magic, in short, and deliciousness all ; 
 The very men-servants grew handsome and tall, 
 To velvet-hung ivory the furniture turn'd. 
 The service with opal and adamant burn'd. 
 
93 
 
 F-ach candlestick chang'd to a pillar of gold. 
 
 While a bundle of beams took the place of the mould; 
 
 The decanters and glasses pure diamond became, 
 
 And the corkscrew ran solidly round into flame. 
 
 In a word, so completely forestall'd were the wishes.. 
 
 E'en harmony struck from the noise of the dishes. 
 
 It can't be supposed I should think of repeating 
 The fancies tliat flow'd at this laureat meeting ; 
 I haven't the brains, and besides, was not there i 
 But the wit may be easily guess'd by the chair : 
 Suffice it to say, it was keen as could be, 
 Though it soft'en'd to prettiness rather at tea. 
 
 I must mention, however, that during the wine. 
 The mem'ry of ShoJcspeare was toasted with nine : 
 When lo, as eacli poet was lifting his cup, 
 A strain of invisible music struck up : — 
 ^Twas a mixture of all the most exquisite sounds 
 To be heard upon earthly or fknciful grounds. 
 When pomps or when passions their coming declare. 
 Or there's something Lit v/ork in the moonshiny air ; 
 For the trumpet sprang out, with a fierce-flowing blast, 
 And the hautboys lamentingly mingled, and pass'd. 
 Till a smile-drawing sweetness stole in at tiie close 
 With the breathing of flutes and the smoothing of howf?; 
 And Ariel was heard singing thinly and soft. 
 Then with tricksy tenuity vanish'd aloft. 
 The next name was Milton, and six was the shout. 
 When bursting at once in its mightiness out. 
 The organ came gath'ring and roiling its thunder j 
 Yet wanted not intervals, calmer of wonder, 
 Kor stops cf low sweeiness like winds wlien they fall. 
 Nor voices Elysian, that came with a call. 
 Then foilov,'\l my Spenser, vvith five to his share. 
 And the lig-ht-neigldng trumpet leap'd freshly on ait% 
 With prelude? of flutes as to open a scene. 
 And pipes with coy snatches that started between^ 
 Till sudden it stop'd— andyou heard a dim strain, 
 Lik« the sliell of old Triton far over the inain. 
 
 'Twould be tedious to count all the n.macs as they ro.s; 
 But none were omitted, you'll easily .suppose. 
 Whom Fancy has crown'd with one twir^ of the bar. 
 From old fuilier Chaucer to Collins and Gray. 
 I mustn't fo!-L;ct thotig^h, that Bob, like agnndtr. 
 
94 
 
 Would give " a great genius" — one Mr. Landor ; 
 And Walter look'^ up, too, and begg'd to propose 
 A parucular friend of his — one Mr. Rose : 
 But the God look'd at South ey, and shrugging his shoul- 
 der, 
 Cried, " When, my good friend, will you try to grow 
 
 older ?" 
 Then nodding to Scott, ^e said, " Pray be as portly 
 And riclj as you please, but a little less courtly. ' 
 So, changing the subject, he calPd upon Moore, 
 Who sung such a song, that ihey shouted " Encore !" 
 And t])e God was so pleas'd wiih his taste and his tone. 
 He obey'd :he next call, and gave one ot his own — 
 At \» hich vou'd have thought — ('twas so winching a war- 
 ble) ' \v^ .; 
 The guests had all tum*d irtlo listening marble; 
 The wreathes on their temples grew brighter of bloom, 
 As the breath of the Deity circled the room ; 
 And the winein the glasses went rippling in rounds. 
 As ii" followed and funn'd by the soft-winged sounds. 
 
 Thus chatting and singing they sat till eleven, 
 W'heii Phcebus shook hands, and departed for heaven ; 
 ** For poets,*' he said, " who would cherish their powers. 
 And hop'd to be deathless, mtist keep to good hours." 
 So off lie betook him the Way that he came. 
 And shot up the north like an arrow of flume ; 
 For the Bear was his inn ; and the comet, they say, 
 W^as his tandem in wailing to fetch him away. 
 
 The others then parted, all higlily delighted : 
 And so shall I be, when you find me invited. 
 
ZEMBO AND NILA. 
 
 AN AFRICAN TALE. 
 
 Wheue the beauteous Niger roll'd 
 Thro' the land of slaves and gold. 
 On the brink a tyger lay. 
 Slumbering thro' the seltry day ; 
 Stately palms their branches spread. 
 Cool and verdant o'er his head ; 
 Deeply murmuring in his ear. 
 Rippling ran the river clear ; 
 While tlie sun in noon of light. 
 Like an eagle in his flight. 
 Borne upon the wings of time, 
 Tower'd in majesty sublime. 
 Earth and ocean, air and sky. 
 Basking in his boundless eye. 
 
 Soft as desert fountains flow. 
 Sweet as ocean breezes blow, 
 Came a lonely negi-o maid, 
 Where the sleeping brute was laid. 
 O what wild enchanting grace 
 Sparkled o'er her dimpled face. 
 While the moonlight of her eyes 
 Glow'd and glanced with fond surprize. 
 Bright tho' shadow beam'd her lips ; 
 She was beauty in eclipse. 
 Sportive, innocent, and gay, 
 All in nature's disaiTay. 
 Unashamed as infancy. 
 Dancing on the father^s knee ; 
 Feai'less as the babe at rest, 
 Pillow'd on the mother's breast : 
 But to crown her conquering charms. 
 Pearly bracelets ^wind her arms. 
 Brilliant plumes her temples grac'd, 
 Flow'ry foliage wreath'd her waist ; 
 
 8 
 
96 
 
 The startled nymph, with silent awe^ 
 The lovely dreudtul monster saw, 
 iVIark'd the sleek enamell'd pride 
 Of* his variegated hide. 
 Marbled o'er with glossy dies, 
 Like the peacock's spangled eyes : 
 Gently heaved the spotty chest 
 Of his broad tremendous breast : 
 Slumber smoothed his hideous features. 
 Closed his eyes, ten-ifick meteors ; 
 Hush'd the thunder of his jaws, 
 Sheathed the lightning of his claws : 
 Harmless, beautiful and mild, 
 Seem'd the savage grim and wild. 
 
 Nila's bosom o'er the sight 
 Swell'd from wonder to delight ; 
 On tlie mossy bank reclining. 
 In her hands a garland twining. 
 Unaware of danger nigh. 
 All her soul was in her eye. 
 Till her tongue the silence break. 
 And, transported, thus she spake : 
 " Lovely stranger ! void of fear. 
 Innocently slumbering here. 
 Rest secure in thy repose. 
 From the rage of prowling foes ; 
 Never wanderer was betray'd 
 In this hospitable shade : 
 Calm refreshing dreams attend thee ! 
 And the mighty gods defend thee ! 
 From the lion's ravening jaws : 
 From the dread hyxna's paws ; 
 From the subtle panther's wiles. 
 Lurking where the shrubbery smiles : 
 From the snake, whose tainting breath 
 Scatters pestilence and death ! 
 From the elephant, whose might 
 Crushes armies in the fight; 
 From the fangs of tigers ghaunt. 
 Cruellest of friends that haunt 
 Forest, wildeniess, or plain. 
 Grimly strewn with victims slain, 
 
or 
 
 When, like whirlwind, flood, and fire, 
 
 Irresistible in ire, 
 
 Tygers — so my parents say — 
 
 Gorge alive their shrieking prey. 
 
 Then in frenzy of hot p^ore, 
 
 Fiercer, feller than before, 
 
 Still with quenchless thirst they bum, 
 
 Headlong still to slaughter turn. 
 
 Fiends like these the desert awe. 
 
 Fiends that Nila never saw ; 
 
 On this silent solitude 
 
 Those destroyers ne'er intrude. 
 
 For my father keeps this grove. 
 
 Sacred to the gods above : 
 
 Nor beyond this sheltered home. 
 
 Dare his daughter's footsteps roam. 
 
 Here then, charming stranger, rest, 
 
 Nila's friend, companion, guest ; 
 
 With the sweetest herbs Pll feed thee. 
 
 To the purest fountains lead thee ; 
 
 Here in gambols, wild and gay. 
 
 Let us sport our lives away. 
 
 And this bloom ingwreath shall be 
 
 Nila's pledge of love to thee. 
 
 While I crown thee thus with flowers 
 
 Prince of these sequester'd bowers." 
 
 Sudden as the lightning's stroke 
 Glances on the splint er'd oak, 
 At her touch tlie tyger sprang. 
 With his voice the mountains rang, 
 One wild moment Nila stood. 
 Then plunged instinctive in the flood : 
 With a roar of thunder iioUov/, 
 As the monster leapt to follow. 
 Quick and keen a venom'd dart 
 Quiver'd in his cruel heart ; 
 Round he reeVd in mortal pain, 
 Bit the barbed shaft in twain, 
 Groan'd and fell, and pour'd his breath 
 In a hurricane of death. 
 
 Lost as in a wandering dream, 
 Nila floated down the stream, 
 
96 
 
 1 lie conscious river swell*d with pride. 
 While buoyant on his circling tide, 
 Light as the silvery shadows sail 
 0*ei' corn-fields waving to the gale, 
 The ge.ijtle waters safely bore 
 The panting Naiad to the shore. 
 
 Zembo from the grove emerging, 
 Ran to meet the rescued virgin ; 
 Zembo, whose victorious bow 
 l^id the treacherous tyger Ioav j 
 Zembo, swiftest in the race, 
 Matchless in the savage chase ; 
 Tall and shapely as the palm, 
 A storm in war, in peace a calm ; 
 Black as midnight without moon, 
 Bold and undisguised as noon : — 
 — Zembo long had wooed in vain. 
 But while Nila scorn'd his pain. 
 Love's insinuating dart 
 Slid so slyly through her heart. 
 That the nymph, in all her pride, 
 Sigh'd — yet scarcely knew she sigh'd. 
 
 Now she saw with transports sweet, 
 Gallant Zembo at her feet ; 
 •^rho' her tj embling lips wereseal'd. 
 Love her hidden soul reveal'd ; 
 Zembo read with glad surprize 
 All the secrets of her eyes ; 
 AVild with joy his eager arms 
 Sprang to clasp her modest chai^ms ; 
 Startled, like the timid deer, 
 Nila fled witli lovely fear ; 
 He pursued the nimble maid 
 To the broad palmetto shade ; 
 There the flowery wreaths she found. 
 Which the tyger's front had crown'd ; 
 These on Zembo's brow she twined. 
 Whispering thus in accents kind : 
 •« Noble Youth ! accept, tlio* small, 
 This reward ; — 'tis Nila's all ; 
 If my hero claims a higher. 
 Yonder, Zembo — lives mv Sire.'' 
 
THE FEMALE VAGRANT. 
 
 My Father was a ^ood and pious man. 
 
 An honest man by honest parents bred ; 
 
 And I believe, that soon as I began 
 
 To lisp, he made me kneel beside my bed, 
 
 And in his hearing" there my prayer* I said : 
 
 And afterwards, by my good Father taught, 
 
 I read, and loved the books in wliich I read ; 
 
 For books in every neighbouring liouse I sought, 
 
 And nothing to my mind a sweeter plea.sure brought. 
 
 The suns of twenty summers danced along, — 
 
 Ah ! little marked how fast they rolled away : 
 
 Then rose a stately Hall our woods among, 
 
 And cottage after cottage owned its sway. 
 
 No joy to see a neighbouring House, or stray 
 
 Through pastures not his own, the master took ^ 
 
 My Father dared his greedy wish gainsay ; 
 
 He loved his old hereditary nook. 
 
 And ill could I the thought of such sad parting brook, 
 
 But, when he had refused the proffered gold. 
 
 To cruel injuries he became a prey. 
 
 Sore traversed in whatever he bought and sold : 
 
 His troubles grew upon hinn day by day, 
 
 And all his substance fell into decay. 
 
 They dealt most hardly with him, and he tried 
 
 To move their hearts — but it was vain — for they 
 
 Seized all he had ; and, weeping side by side, 
 
 We sought a home where we uninjured might abide. 
 
 It was in truth a lamentable hour. 
 
 When, from the last hill-top, my Sire surveyed, 
 
 I'eerjng above the trees, the steeple tower ' 
 
 That on his marriage-day sweet music made. 
 
 Till then he hoped his bones might there be laid, 
 
 Close by my Mother, in their native bowers ; 
 
 3>iddjng me trust in God, he stood and pra} ed, — 
 
 9# 
 
100 
 
 I could not pray : — tlirovigh tears that fell in showers 
 
 I saw our own dear home, that was no longer ours. 
 
 There wiis a Yoinh, whom I liad loved so long-, 
 
 That when I loved him not I cannot say. 
 
 'Mid the green mountains many and many a song 
 
 We two had sung, like gladsome hirds in May. 
 
 When we began to tire of cliildish play 
 
 We seemed still more and more to prize each other ; 
 
 We talked of marriage and our marriage day ; 
 
 And I in truth did love him like a brother ; 
 
 For never could I hope to meet with such another. 
 
 Two years were pass'd, since to a distant Town 
 
 He had repair'd to ply the artist's trade. 
 
 What tears of bitter grief till then unknown ! 
 
 What tender vows our last sad kiss delayed ! 
 
 To him we turned : — we had no other aid. 
 
 Like one revived, upon his neck I wept : 
 
 And her whom he had loved in joy, he said 
 
 lie well could love in grief: his faith lie kept ; 
 
 And in a quiet home once more my Father slept. 
 
 We lived in peace and con^fort ; and were blest 
 
 AVith daily bread, by constant toil supplied. 
 
 Three lovely infants lay upon my breast ; 
 
 And often, viewing their sweet smiles, 1 sighed, 
 
 And knew not why. My happy Father died 
 
 When sad distress reduced the Children's meal : 
 
 Thrice happy ! that from him the grave did hide 
 
 The empty loom, cold hearth, and silent wheel, 
 
 \n(l tears that flowed for ills which patience could not 
 
 heal. 
 ' Twas a hard change, an evil time was come ; 
 ^Ve had no hope, and no relief could gain. 
 iUit soon, day after day, the noisy drum 
 Beat round, to sweep the streets of want and pain. 
 My husband's arms now orily served to strain 
 Me and his clnldren hungeKng in his view : 
 In such dismay my prayers and tears were vain : 
 To join those miserable men he ^e\v : 
 And now to the sea-coast, with nuiiabers more, we drew, 
 riici-c. long were we neglected, arid wc bore 
 Much sorrov/ ere the fleet its anchor weigh'd ; 
 Green fields before us and our native shore. 
 AVe brcath'd a pestilential an* that made 
 
101 
 
 KuvHge foi- which no knell was heard. We pray'd 
 For our departure ; wish'd and vvish'd— nor knew 
 •Mid that long sicknes, and those hopes delay'd. 
 That hiippier days we never more must view : 
 The parting signal streamed, at last the land withdrew. 
 But Uie calm summer season now was past. 
 On as we drove, the equinoctial Deep 
 Kan mountains-high befjre ihe howling blast ; 
 And many perished in liie whirU\ iud's sweep. 
 We gazed with terror on their gloomy sleep, 
 Untaught that soon such anguish must ensue. 
 Our hopes such harvest of affliction reap, 
 That we the mercy oftlie waves should rue. 
 We reach'd the Western W^orld a poor devoted crew. 
 The pains and plagues that on our heads came down, 
 Disease and famine, agony and fear. 
 In wood or wilderness, in camp or town. 
 It would thy brain unsettle, even to hear. 
 All perished — all, in one remorseless year. 
 Husband and Children ! one by one, by sword 
 And ravenous plague, all perished : every tear 
 Dried up, despairing, desolate, on board 
 A British ship I waked, as from a trance restored. 
 Peaceful as some immeasurable plain 
 By the first beams of dawning light impressed. 
 In the calm sun-shine slept the glittering main. 
 The very ocean has its hour of rest. 
 I too was calm, though heavily distressed 1 
 Oh me, how quiet sky and ocean were ! 
 My heart w^as healed within me, I was bless'd. 
 And looked, and looked along the silent air, 
 I'ntil it seemed to bring a joy to my despair. 
 Ah ! how unlike those late terrific sleeps ! 
 And groans, that rage of racking famine spoke { 
 The unburied dead that lay in festering heaps ! 
 rlie breathing pestilence that rose like smoke 
 The shriek that from the distant battle broke ! 
 The mine's dire earthquake^ and tlie pallid host 
 Driven by the bomb's incessant thunder-stroke 
 '{'o loathsome vaults, wliere heart-sick anguish tossM. 
 Hope died, and fear itself in agony was lost ! 
 At midnight once the storming Army came, 
 S'';t do 1 see the miserable siaflit. 
 
102 
 
 The Bayonet, the Soldier, and the Flanne 
 
 That foH :, % ed u . and faced us in our flight ; 
 
 When Rape and iVfurder by the gliastiy light 
 
 Seized cheir'joint prey, the Mother and the Child ! 
 
 But 1 must leave these thoughts. — From night to night. 
 
 From day to day, the air breathed soft and niild : 
 
 Aad on the gliding vessel, Heaven and Ocean smiled. 
 
 Some mighty gulph of separation past, 
 
 I seemed transported to another world :— 
 
 A thought resigned with pain, when from the mast 
 
 The impatient mariner tlie sail unfurl'd. 
 
 And, whistling, called the wind that hardly curled 
 
 The silent sea. From the sweet droughts of home 
 
 And from all hope I was forever hurled. 
 
 For me — farthest from earthly port to roam 
 
 Was best, could I but shun the spot where man might 
 
 come. 
 And oft I thought (my fancy was so strong) 
 That I at last a resting-place had found ; 
 " Here will I dwell," said I, <* my whole life-long, 
 Roaming the illimitable waters round : 
 Here will I live :— of every friend disowned. 
 Here will I roam about the ocean flood." — 
 To break my dream the vessel reached its bound : 
 And homeless near a thousand homes I stood. 
 And near a thousand tables pin*d, and wanted food. 
 By grief enfeebled was I turned adrift, 
 Helpkss as sailor cast on desert rock ; 
 Nor morsel to my mouth that day did lift, 
 Nor dared my hand at any door to knock. 
 I lay where, with his drowsy Mates, the Cock 
 From the cross timber of an out-house hung ; 
 Dismally tolled, that night, the city clock ! 
 At morn my sick heart hunger scarcely stung, 
 Nor to the beggar's language could I frame my tongue. 
 So pass'd another day, and so the third ; 
 Then did I try in vain the crowd's resort. 
 —In deep despair by frightful wishes stirr'd. 
 Near the sea-side I reached a ruined Fort : 
 There, pains which nature could no more support. 
 With blindness link'd, did on my vitals fall, 
 And [had many interi^ptions short 
 Of hideous sense ; I sank, nor step could crawl. 
 
103 
 
 And thence was carried to a neighbouring Hospital. 
 
 Recovery came w itli food : but still my brain 
 
 Was weak, nor of the past had memory. 
 
 I heard my neighbours, in their beds, complain 
 
 Of many things which never troubled me ; 
 
 Of feet still bustling round with busy glee ; 
 
 Of looks where common kindness had no part ; 
 
 Of service done with careless cruelty, 
 
 Fretting the fever round the languid heart ; 
 
 And groans, which, as they said would make a dead man 
 
 start. 
 These things just served to stir the torpid sense. 
 Nor pain nor pity in my bosom raised. 
 My memory and my strength returned ; and thence 
 Dismissed, again on open day I gazed, 
 At houses, men and common light, amazed. 
 The lanes I sought, and, as the sun retired. 
 Came where beneath the trees a faggot blazed : 
 The Travellers saw me weep, my fate inquired. 
 And gave me food, — and rest, more welcome, more de- 
 sired. 
 My heart is touched to think that men like these, 
 Wild houseless Wanderers, were my iirst relief : 
 How kindly did they paint their vagrant ease, 
 And their long holiday that feared not grief! 
 For all belonged to all, and each was chief 
 jNio plough their sinews strained ; on grating road 
 No wain they drove ; and yet the yellow sheaf 
 In every vale for their delight was stow'd ; 
 In every field, with milk their dairy overflow'd. 
 They with their pannier'd Asses semblance made 
 Of Potters wandering on from door to door : 
 But life of happier sort to me pourtray'd. 
 And otlier joys my fancy to allure ; 
 The bag-pipe dinning on the midnight moor 
 In barn uplighted, and Companions boon 
 Well met from far with revelry secure. 
 Among the forest glades when jocund June 
 Rolled fast along the sky his warm and genial moon. 
 But ill they suited me ; those journeys dark 
 O'er moor and mountain, midnight theft to hatch ! 
 To charm the surly House-dog's faithful bark, 
 Or hang on tip -toe at the lifted latch ,• 
 
104 
 
 The gloomy lantern, and the dim blue match, 
 
 The black iisguise, the warning- whistle shrill. 
 
 And ear still busy on its nightly watch. 
 
 Were not for me, brought up m nothing ill : 
 
 Besides, on griefs so fresh my thoughts were brooding 
 
 still. 
 What could I do, unaided and unblest ? 
 My Father ! gone was every friend of thine : 
 And kindred of dead husband are at best 
 Small help ; and, after marriage such as mine, 
 With little kindness would to me incline, 
 III was I then for toil or service fit : 
 With tears whose course no effort could confine. 
 By the road-side forgetful would I sit 
 Whole hours, my idle arms in moping sorrow knit, •* 
 I led a wandering life among the fields ; 
 Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused, 
 I lived upon what casual bounty yields. 
 Now coldly given, now utterly refused. 
 The gi'ouiid I for my bed have often used : 
 But, what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth 
 Is, that I have my inner self abused, 
 Forgone the home delight of constant truth. 
 And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth» 
 Three years thus wandering, often have I view'd. 
 In tears, the sun towards that country tend 
 Where my poor heart lost all its fortitude : 
 And now across this moor my steps I bend — 
 
 Oh ! tell me whither for no earthly friend 
 
 Have I." She ceased, and w^eeping turned away. 
 
 As if because her tale was at an end 
 
 She wept ; — because she had no more to say 
 
 Of that perpetual weight which on her spirit lay. 
 
IJS'DEI 
 
 Lochiel's Warning, 
 
 The Prisoners of Chillon, 
 
 Pleasures of Memory, 
 
 Paradise of the Peri, 
 
 The Combat, - 
 
 The Vision, 
 
 Edward Shore, 
 
 Malcohn of Lorn, 
 
 Feast of the Poets, - 
 
 Zembo and Nila, 
 
 The Female Vagrant, - 
 
 Campbell, 3 
 Byron, 
 Rogers, 
 Moore, 
 Scott, 
 sottthey, 
 Crabbe, j ' 
 Hogg, 7d 
 - Hunt, S-- 
 montgomery, ^6 
 Wordsworth, '•> 
 
I 
 
 # 
 
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 ^ - Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
 
 I ^" J e J ^ Treatment Date: Jan. 2009 
 
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