a 00001 69783 6 This book is due at the LOUIS R. WILSON LIBRARY on the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it may be renewed by bringing it to the library. DATE DUE RET. DATE DUE RET. THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA AT CHAPEL HILL LIBRARY PURCHASED ON THE DR. AND MRS. JOSEPH EZEKIEL POGUE ENDOWMENT FUND i 2*1 1 SIBYL OF COENWALL, THE LAND'S END, ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT, AND OTHER POEMS. NICHOLAS MICHELL, AUTHOR OF 1 Thb Poetry of Creation," "Famous Women and Heroes," " London in Light and Darkness," &c. THE CHEAP EDITION, LONDON : WILLIAM TEGG, PANCRAS LANE, CHEAPSIDE. 1871. LONDON: PRINTED BY C. WHITING, DUKE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS. THE MEMORY SIE HUMPHRY DAVY, BARONET, LATE OF PENZANCE, COBNWALL ; A MAN DISTINGUISHED BY REFINED TASTE, BUT MORE CELEBRATED FOR HIS DISCOVERIES IN CHEMICAL SCIENCE; THESE PAGES Are INSCRIBED BY HIS COUNTRYMAN AND RELATIVE, THE AUTHOR. Digitized by the Internet , Archive in 2014 http://archive.org/details/sibylofcornwalllOOmich CONTENTS. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. Part I. to Part XV. . . . Page 1 to 140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. PAGE The Land's End ...... 143 St. Michael's Mount . . . . 147 The Season of Youth . . . . . 151 The Evening of Life . . . . 155 The Dream of the London Seamstress . . 157 Woman's Love . . . . . 160 Hymn to the Rising Sun . . . .163 Ocean's Changes . ... . . 166 French and English Beauties . . . .169 Solitary Confinement .... 172 The Vagrant's Child - . . . . .175 The Classic Rhone . . . . . 178 Woman's Modern Aspirations . . . .180 Morning on Ramsgate Sands • . . 183 II, CONTENTS. PAGH The Echo in the Vale . . . . .185 The Meeting of the Lovers . . . 186 The Present Hour . . ♦ . .188 The Burial of a Young Officer at Sea . . 191 The Beautiful Lady . . . . .194 The Old Church Porch .... 196 Rest .... . . .198 The Convalescent . . . . . 200 Dreaming of Paradise . . . . .202 Far at Sea . . . . . . 205 The Burning Emigrant Ship . . . . 207 The Lily of Eden . . . . 213 Beautiful Things . . . . .215 Progress . . . . . . 217 The Ray of Light . . . . .219 Oriental Beauty . . . . . 222 The Dying Flower-Girl . , . .224 Past and Future . . . . . 226 A Cornish Village . . . . .228 The Loveliest thing on Earth . . . 232 Spirits Everywhere . . « . .234 The Guardian Angel and Child . . . 236 Evening at Hastings . . . . .238 ADDRESS TO CORNWALL Cornubia, hail ! thou land of mist and cloud ? Along whose coasts the hurrying tempests blow Their deep-mouthed trumpets, while, like warriors proud, , On mighty rocks, the billows charging go. Land of the granite peak, so wild, so bare, Great Nature looks a ragged beggar there ; Yet, stored beneath thy soil, rich coffers lie, And wealth untold those dreary vaults supply. Despite thy gloom and storms, oft smiles most bright Flash on thy shores from sunniest, bluest skies ; Peace after passion, after darkness light, And after tears, sweet Beauty's laughing eyes. B 2 ADDRESS TO CORNWALL. The rainbow sits in glory on thy hills, With dewy wine her bowl the kingcup fills ; Soft airs blow fragrance from the daisied vale, Where brooks sing lyrics to the throstle's tale. O yes, the wild Land's End, Tintagel's rocks, May war for ever with the sounding deep ; Granite-ribbed mountains brave the tempest's shocks, And the drear Mines in long, long deserts sweep ; Yet nooks adorn rough Cornwall, sweet and blest — So gems will grace the dusky Ethiop's breast — Plains where fertility each blessing showers, Glens where Arcadia smiles in fruits and flowers. Behold bright Tamar, England's Arno, sparkling By groves and meads, by rocks with moss embrown' d ; See Fowey crystal-trailing, flashing, darkling, While Lynher dances on with joyous bound : Clear-bosomed Fal divides the winding steeps, Woods fringe its course, the church-tower mirror' d sleeps ; Beauty in greenest coves doth laughing hide, Peace, like an angel, watching by its tide. ADDRESS TO CORNWALL. 3 With glittering rocks the Lizard breasts the waves, Emerald and flame, beyond art's painting grand !* Sure sea-nymphs fashioned Kynance' wondrous caves, Hoofed with rich glory by their cunning hand. Mount of St. Michael ! did that hallowed steep Drop from some lovelier star, to grace our deep ? So strange, so beautiful, it seems to stand, Half in the clasping ocean, half on land.f Cornwall, no more the barbarous wrecker hails The stranded ship, and plies his robber-trade ; But honesty and kindness walk thy vales, And art and science there bright homes have made. * The beautiful stone, called Serpentine, abounds at the Lizard Point — a stone, for the most part, of a deep green colour, veined with scarlet. Kynance Cove, in the neighbourhood, is considered one of the most extraordinary spots on our western coasts. Here also the rocks are composed of the rare and gorgeous marble above named. f St. Michael's Mount, near Penzance, renowned in early religious history, is separated from the mainland twice a-day, by the flowing of the tide. This famous rock-pyramid of nature's formation, rising to the height of more than 200 feet, and crowned with its ancient monastic building, presents in itself a strikingly picturesque object; while the surrounding scenery possesses a beauty and a magnificence, that cannot fail to captivate the imagination. B 2 4 ADDRESS TO CORNWALL. Proud, loyal are thy sons, and many a name Sheds on thy cairn-crowned hills the light of fame ; Davy and Opie, stars unfading, shine, And while they flash their lustre, heighten thine. SIBYL OF CORNWALL PART I. Day slowly to his ocean-couch retires, Warm with his travel o'er heaven's sultry plains ; His eye is languid, shooting softened fires ; Around, above, the soul of stillness reigns. The western sky is like a mighty rose, The clouds, the leaves, upfolding in repose, And, as they fold, more deeply red they turn, Till all the broad horizon seems to burn. The stream forgets its blueness, crimson glowing, The trees, late green, in hoods of saffron shine, Each little gadding rill in blushes flowing, As if by magic turned to ruby wine. The cairn, the brake, each flower that scents the way, All catch the tints flung back by dreamy day ; Awhile on Nature, dropped from burnished skies, A gorgeous robe, half fire, half colour, lies. 6 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. O'er level ocean broods the dove of peace ; At evening hour do angel-forms descend, And by their presence make all discords cease, And their own beauty to earth's beauty lend ? Ships move like spirits o'er the placid billow, That swells or falls — an amber, shining pillow ; Along the coast the sea-voice floats on air, Like murmur in the shell, or whispered prayer. High up a glen that opened to the sea, A granite mansion decked the sloping hill; Its rugged walls spoke hoar antiquity, Though comfort, beauty, lingered round it still. Old were the casements, and the roof was steep ; In front, white statues seemed calm watch to keep ; Behind rose patriarch elm~trees, tall and grey, Rooks cawing round their tops the live-long day. Hedged with green hollies, looking o'er the wave, Inviting to deep thought and soft repose, A garden spread its sweets ; the wild bee gave His heart to riot up ; the bashful rose, Prevailed on by the sun, expanded there Her fragrant bosom to the loving air ; And many a flower, of many a beauteous dye, Peeped from the earth to laugh upon the sky. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 7 But floored with spars, by tangled shrubs o'ergrown, A rustic arbour shunned the prying view- — As fair a nook as love e'er made his own, Or fancy asks, when love and life are new. Not ours to paint a weird Calypso's grot, Though still Ulysses, in such magic spot, Might linger long, forget the stormy wave, Worship bewitching eyes, and bow a slave. Sunset now washed with softest glossy gold, The ancient mansion, flowers, and turf of green, And strove, with eager ray, like robber bold, To force an entrance thro' that arbour's screen ; But the thick leaves the level shafts repelled, Save when a straggling beam the eye beheld, Piercing the verdant gloom with quivering fire, And running through the stems, like golden wire. Ye enter — are the wild birds nestling here, Or fairies gathering for their evening dance ? No speckled throats or fluttering wings appear, No elfin warrior shakes his rush-green lance ; But one of human mould, with eyes of light, And lovely as a sylphid, meets the sight, Combining all the ideal's gorgeous dreams, With all the warmth of beauty's living beams. 8 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. A deep voluptuous calmness held the spot ; Ye heard the faintest air that kiss'd the trees, The peasant's laughter from the distant cot, The drowsy hum of home -returning bees ; The billows, breaking on the broad flat shore, Just shook the pebbles, and forgot to roar, Their murmurs, bidding harsher thoughts depart, Eising so softly from great Ocean's heart. Bhe leant upon her hand ; before her lay An open book ; but those deep museful eyes From the late thralling page were turned away, And through the arbour's entrance sought the skies. A something calms the spirit, holy, blest, That all have felt when watching the red west ; The clouds of glory lift the soul, that seems Nearer to heaven, and borne away in dreams. Sibyl was gazing motionless and hushed ; Her bosom, heaving gently, as in sleep, Told only that she breathed ; upon her rushed A current of old memories, strong and deep : As her eye followed slow the floating mass Of cloudy splendour, fancy seemed to pass Along those opal battlements, and rise, Step after step, to God's bright paradise. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 9 Not common was her beauty ; in warm Spain, Or southern Italy, or those bright isles Whose marble cliffs gleam o'er the iEgean main, Fair beings, like that maid, may shed their smiles : A sorcery dwelleth in such forms, to sway All who may gaze — hearts struggle, yet obey ; Creatures, once seen, whate'er the strong endeavour, They haunt men's souls, and memory's world for ever. She leant upon her hand — unchecked, unbound, Fell from her stooping head a cloud of tresses, In Nature's sweet profusion, wreathing round Her arms, her shoulders, with their wild caresses. Those locks were deepest chesnut, and they beamed With glossy light, when sunshine on them streamed, Well suited to her features' changeful play, Where never night was seen, but always day. Her cheek no roses tinted, but its brown Was soft and glowing as a sunset-heaven, And witched with dimples ; her high brow looked down, As if her soul some conscious power were given : And yet there seemed a sweetness in her pride, A gushing forth of feeling nought could hide ; The mind and heart might oft at variance be, But heart, warm straggler, won the victory. 10 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. Her eyes resembled not those eyes which beam, The windows of a gentle soul that looks All timid forth, where mild emotions gleam, Plainly as pebbles shining in the brooks ; Nor those that never flash ambition's ray, But from the great and glorious turn away — Turn from the stars, the ocean in its power, More pleased to view a rill, or mark a flower. Hers, mirror of strong character, were seen, Black in their liquid beauty, with a light That, did not longest lashes form a screen, Had blazed too fiercely warm, too wildly bright : Yet nought unfeminine, ungentle, shone In those dark orbs, by feeling lit alone, As Nature formed them large and lustrous too, To match the soul, and all that sparkled through. Then purity, like moonlight, glowed around her, And modesty, and sweetest maiden grace, Defence more strong than breastplate, closely bound her; Her form was chastely beauteous as her face : Beholders might be ravished ; but her air, Her brilliant presence, like some magic there, Repelled the forward, till the base might feel The power of virtue, and to goodness kneel. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 11 Sibyl had moved no limb, but now her gaze Dropped from the western glory ; she was blind To all without — within, thought turned its rays, And she was looking, but with eyes of mind. A distant scene enthralled her ; strange the power Fancy exerts in reason's waking hour, Bearing away the soul o'er vale and hill, And yet that soul the body's prisoner still. Bright in the sun a mighty river flowed, The banks adorned with plane and spreading palm ; White tents stood round, hot skies like metal glowed, All things seemed basking in the sultry calm : Nought stirred amid the resting soldier ranks, The elephant was slumbering on the banks ; Deep drowsy stillness hushed the earth, the air, As if no breathing host — the dead lay there. He sat beside the ancient Indian stream, And watched it flow, to saddened thought resigned ; Oh, did he think, in that absorbing dream, Of English shores, and her he left behind ? Or dreamt he of a future crowned with fame, A hero's bays to grace his youthful name ? Was he in spirit 'mid the fearful fray, The happy past from memory swept away ? 12 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. No, she believed that he, her early love, Would not forget her in that far-off land ; Faith, changeless, fixed, as golden stars above, Burned in her breast, while time affection fanned. Thus did the eyes of soul behold him there, Doubt of his truth awoke no anxious care. Yes, he did think of her, that tranquil hour, His Cornish maiden, in her distant bower. They loved, when scarce the meaning of that word Dawned on their youthful minds: life's hours had past On rough Cornubia's shores, their bosoms stirred By the same spells wild Nature round them cast : Union of tastes another union wove, Love for the glorious woke another love ; And, growing one in spirit, one in heart, Each of the other's being seemed a part. 'Twas in this garden they had sighed farewell, On such an eve of beauty. Sibyl's fears Blanched her young cheek, grief's rain in torrents fell ; But he breathed hope, and kissed away her tears. Pledges of endless truth by both were given, Each lived for each, they placed their trust in heaven ; Though years might sever them, as seas would part, What can divide fond heart in thought from heart ? SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 13 But see where bright the garden fountain plays, .Dropping on shells beneath with murmurs low, A man sedately paces, evening's rays Falling across his path with quivering glow. His mien is dignified, yet gentle now ; Thought, placid as the landscape, smooths his brow. A country pastor he, whose feet have trod Scenes that to him, the preacher, preach of God. How happy glides the calm-soul'd pastor's life, In some green rural district, far away From anxious cities, mad ambition's strife, His sweetest toil 'mid Nature's haunts to stray ! His sweetest toil to drink pure learning's stream, To shed on darkened mind instruction's beam ; To heal the soul diseased, point out the snare By folly set, and soothe the poor man's care. Trelawn seemed living but for others' weal, A rampart round the weak his goodness reared ; What others felt, his heart would ever feel, Virtue high raised him, charity endeared ; Malice stung not, e'en envy was disarmed ; Strangers, who came to blame, still left him charmed ; Harsh men would kindly looks upon him cast, And village mothers bless'd him as he past. 14 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. A well of joy to him was learning's page, Grecian and Roman lore a banquet spread ; While astronomic wonders could engage A mind from which all narrow feelings fled :. . And thus life's peaceful road the pastor trod, Loving his simple flock, his child, his God ; No wish to soar, devout contentment given. Finding joy here, and hoping joy in heaven. Yet while, glass-smooth, the current seemed to flow, Trelawn of late was changed ; some deep distress Oppressed his soul, a stranger once to woe ; What gave delight, no longer now could bless; :. Something untold lay heavy at his heart ; And he would absent sit, and ofttimes start, Wander for hours beside the cliff-bound deep, Toss on his couch, and mutter in his sleep. As now, by that bright fount, the muser paced, His late calm look departed ; sorrow threw A shadow on his soul. He stopped, and faced The gorgeous west, where day bade earth adieu. Badly his vision rested on the globe, The everlasting sun-god, in a robe Of saffron clouds, his golden wings unfurled, A living glory fading from the world. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 15 But Nature's splendour failed to yield him peace ; He gazed upon the rising, splashing fount, Whose jets, like restless fancies, would not cease; Each diamond wave his eye appeared to count ; And then he conned his Greek, and thought how long The nations had been charmed with Homer's song ; But vain the attempt to lull dark dreams to rest, Or draw the barb that rankled in his breast. He sat upon a rustic bench, and there Bowed his lined forehead on his shrunken hand ; The last beams trembled on his thin, white hair ; What could affect him ? why so crush' d, unmanned ? He whom all loved — of other men the guide — Who, though he gave, had all his wants supplied — Faultless before the world — the pure, severe ; And yet he shivered, as from guilt or fear. A step — he raised his head, beheld his child ; Perplexed she stood before him ; for her eyes Had seen the grief, whose gusts came oft and wild ; Her shrinking ear had caught his secret sighs. She took his hand; she kissed his hueless cheek, And gazed into his face, but did not speak ; Then gently sat beside him, while she strove To read his thoughts, and soothe him with her love. 16 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. But e'en her efforts could not charm away Mind's heavy burden ; to her fond appeal He made no answer; deep his secret lay, And what he felt, his soul alone would feel. Though prayers and kisses brought a softness o'er The father's heart, that heart seemed wrung the more ; Gazing to heaven, a few slow tears he shed, Looked silent thanks, and drooped again his head. But twilight's arms were now 'round Nature thrown, Shadows on tree and meadow greyly fell ; The billows crept on shore with fainter tone, The linnet ceased his vespers in the dell. A hush came down upon the world, and gave, Without its gloom, the quiet of the grave ; And lovely one small star flashed out on high, Like some bright guardian angel's opening eye. Trelawn beheld the scene ; it touched his soul : " God grant me strength — forgive me, righteous heaven 1" He rose, and seemed strong feeling to control, And sought the porch, his hand to Sibyl given. " 'Tis past," he cried ; " my heart is tranquil now !" His limbs no longer trembled ; on his brow No more hung fear- drops ; gloom to light gave place, And placid smiles illumed the pastor's face. 17 SIBYL OF CORNWALL PART II Beightly and cheerily the morning rose, Sprinkling soft amber rays o'er all the deep ; Nature's wide realms were freshened by repose, And cape and cove flung off their dreamy sleep ; The towering cliffs looked out to greet the sun, The billow's trumpet sounded — day begun ! In open seas great barks pursued their way, And little skiffs shot jocund o'er the bay. On land the birds were all astir, and winging From blossom'd bough to bough ; the mottled thrush In the deep thicket to his true love singing, His melody one steady, flute-like gush ; While on spread plumes, quick winnowing in the sky, Upwheeling and upwheeling, still more high, As if his spirit scorned earth's lowlier sod, The lark, at heaven's gemmed gate, sang hymns to God. c 18 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. Morn flushed the happy face of all the skies ; The waking flowers were busy sending up Their prayers in odours, spreading their rich dyes, And offering to the bees the honied cup. Curled from the cottage chimney silvery smoke. Sharp, lively voices from the hamlet broke ; And soon the plough went winding o'er the soil, And peasants, light of heart, commenced their toil. She tripped along the honeysuckled lane, Sweet as the odorous morning, and as gay, Fresh as the breeze, in-wafted from the main, And with a low-humm'd tune beguiled the way. Her hat but half concealed her chesnut hair ; For summer warmth, her graceful throat was bare ; Her little feet, e'en as a song-bird's light, Were scarcely seen beneath her dress of white. The pastor's daughter bore upon her arm, Pomona-like, a basket, stored with grapes, And medicine for the sick ; that sight might charm Philanthropist or artist ; countless shapes Of charity bless earth ; but nought appears Lovelier than woman, in her maiden years, Walking abroad to misery's dreary haunt, Soothing pale sickness, and relieving want. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 19 The thoughts of her poor efforts spreading gladness, Filled her own breast with joy, that broke in gleams From those large eyes, no longer dimm'd by sadness — A joy more light than young hope feels in dreams. She looked a messenger of beauty born, Sent on love's errand by the gracious morn, Brushing the dew, as on her path she springs, Goodness and virtue lending her their wings. Across the dappled downs her fairy feet Shape their quick way ; around her daisies bloom, And seem to smile, her morning smile to greet : Beneath each step, crushed heath-flowers breathe perfume ; The hermit redbreast, on the neighbouring spray, Avoids her not, but pipes his cheerful lay ; And the rough goat, as softly she trips by, Looks in her face with mild, unf earing eye. A rural village, bosom'd 'mid the hills, So primitive, so far from city-life — Yet each poor dweller owns his share of ills, And that dead calm has oft its gusts of strife. Here burn small jealousies, and passions dwell In hearts that ne'er to high emotions swell ; A little world, with all its hopes and fears, Mirth with its laughter, sorrow with its tears, c 2 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. And Sibyl entered the low cottage door, Where want, but noble honesty abode ; Her dainty foot trod pleased the sanded floor, Her grace on graceless things a charm bestowed. The mother's face, where grief late spread its night, Grew, as she saw that lady, quickly bright ; And ragged urchins crowded to her side, By Mndness welcomed, never checked by pride. To give — what luxury to the virtuous soul ! As the poor children kissed that maiden's dress, And down the mother's cheek the tear-drop stole, In gratitude rough words might ne'er express ; She felt a joy as warm, as deep as they Her gifts made happy on that summer day. Oh, miser-souls, that ne'er an aim bestow, How great your loss, what raptures ye forego ! Another cottage. Seated in the sun, Bowed and infirm, an aged man is seen ; In life's turned glass the sands are almost run, He lives not in the " now," but what hath been. Yon churchyard elms he planted, casting gloom On many an early comrade's mouldered tomb. Sinee he was young, how altered all appears, Earth but the same, as slowly march the years ! SIBYL OF CORNWALL. Dimly he saw her. Age, though cold, oppressed, To youth still clings, made glad by happy eyes., The sun, in setting, seems to love us best, Lingering reluctant in the golden skies. The ancient man looked long in Sibyl's face, Won by her love, and cheered by youthful grace ^ Thanked her for mercy's gifts, rose, forward crept p Blest her, and blest again, till Sibyl wept. One dwelling more — a shaded, inner room, A little pallet, roses on the sill ; Yet poverty, which deepened suffering's gloom ff And sorrow seeming e'en the air to fill ; The mother moving with light, careful tread, And watchful eyes, around the sick one's bed ; The whispered voice, the low, checked sigh of paii\ And the tired form, which sought repose in vain. Such was the scene beheld by Sibyl there ; Ten springs had scarcely kissed that dying child Sweet age, when every thing is dear and fair, The feelings warm, the bosom yielding, mild. The pastor's daughter, striving grief to hide, With loving smiles approached the pallet's side; The stoic's iron heart might softened be ; Oh, when did death a lovelier victim see ? SIBYL OF CORNWALL. Slowly in that decline she pined away, Like a thin waning moon, with lessening light ; Her feeble limbs had shrunk, smiles lost their play, Her large blue eyes, with painful lustre, bright. No longer streaming wanton from her head, Her yellow ringlets o'er the pillow spread ; And the small hand, that once plucked daisies, now Lay cold and white, as that poor pallid brow. Sibyl breathed soothing words, and, as she spoke, Gave her the grape, to cool her parching lips. Thus freshened, drooping sense again awoke, Though life would soon grow dark in sad eclipse. 'Twas touching, and yet beautiful, that sight, Warm, blooming health — eyes full of kindly light, Bending o'er dying childhood — flower begun To fade away, ere opened to the sun. The little one, her hand in Sibyl's laid, Gazed on that face where love and pity shone, And both were silent ; but amid the shade Which death on white-soul' d innocence had thrown, A beauteous light now softened ; 'twas the beam Prom those large eyes, that seemed like gems to gleam. Bright thoughts did fill the soul of that sick child, And, looking upward, she serenely smiled. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 23 All trusting, hoping one, for whom doubt's breath Had ne'er diffused its poison ! who shall say But sinless childhood, in the arms of death, May see what loftier spirits ne'er survey ? Did she not mark some bright immortal there ? Did she not talk with angels in the air ? To spotless natures heaven is ever near, Childhood to God, and watching seraphs dear. She lay as in a trance, so hushed and still, So sweetly smiling with her loving eyes ; She seemed some creature, in our world of ill, A moment lost, and seeking Paradise ; A little wanderer on the plains of woe, Too beautiful to linger here below ; A dew-drop to unfolding morning given, That only waits to be exhaled to heaven. The dying maiden spoke in whispers low : " They'll place me in the churchyard cold and green ; The weeds and grass will soon above me grow, And I shall feel no more — no more be seen : Yet I should love the daisy there to peep — Dear, humble flower — 'twould soothe me as I sleep; And will you sometimes step aside to see The mouldering grave, and kindly think of me ?" 24 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. But Sibyl, stooping nearer, kissed the child, And thinking she might meet her never more — That soon death's hand would close the eyes that smiled, Her heart with stifled grief was brimming o'er : She sobbed as for a sister, stroking there Her arms, her shrunken neck, and flaxen hair ; And then she blest her, saying God would be Her father, friend, through bright eternity. Quitting the cottage, sadly weeping now, She gave the mother coins. Alas ! no gold Can bribe death's angel ; all must meekly bow Beneath the dark wings that our lives enfold. Childhood and age, the pauper and the king, Must cross the valley's gloom, must feel the sting ; Deep trust in heaven, the hope of happier years, Can only balm the soul, and chase our fears. Sibyl the peaceful village left behind, Where joys may smile, but grief must also be. She trod the path, by purple heath-flowers lined, Up the steep hill that looked across the sea ; The freshening winds, the glorious summer day, The earth, the sky, betokening no decay ; The waves that swept with long-resounding roll, Soothed her late sorrow, and revived her soul. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 25 Bright Cornish scene, that mingled in one view The stern, the fair, the lovely, and the grand ! The mossy valley peeped the bald hills through, Like infancy, which holds by age's hand; There beech and sycamore made greenest gloom, And flowers, like brides their blushes, hid their bloom Winds in that hollow lay as on their pillows, And rushing rills set trembling yellow willows. The old vaned church-tower, solemn as a saint, O'erlooked the dell ; and, from its ivied side, Burst the deep chime of bells, that, sweetly faint, Stole down the glen, and o'er the ocean died. Whitening along the moor, where rivulets crept, Boulders and ancient cairns in sunshine slept ; While far-off granite mountains reared their forms, The home of desolation, rain, and storms. The pastor's daughter, on her homeward way, Walked by the coast — a savage, wondrous shore ; The ribbed cliffs towered stupendous o'er the spray, While billows lashed their base with endless roar. No foot might downward pass ; but ofttimes there The sea-gull's brood launched venturous on the air ; And when ships struck in storms, from peaks so high, Ye scarcely heard the drowning seaman's cry. 26 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. She trod the narrow path, and frequent cast A shuddering look where boiled the impetuous surge; Yet all beyond was glory. Ships, that pass'd, Appear' d on floors of pearl their course to urge ; And white sails skimm'd the horizon's tranquil blue, Like angels' far-off wings that heavenward flew. Oh, God-created symbol was that sea, Of passive power and veiled eternity ! Near crags that blackly towered, a lonely form Now drew her gaze — 'twas standing by the brink ; There bonfires had been lit on nights of storm ; Still, statue-like, he only seemed to think. His eyes were fixed upon the waste of waves, Broad rolling in, and thundering tow'rd the caves ; Then high he raised his hand, and on the air Waved it, and beckoned slow, though nought was there. Sibyl, unseen, pursued her thoughtful way ; He turned aside, and, falling on his knees, Lifted strained eyes to heaven, as if to pray ; His hoary locks waved backwards in the breeze : Some strong emotion shook him, past control — Some inward pang or terror seized his soul ; And now aloft his trembling arms were tost, And the low words were heard, " My soul is lost!" SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 27 The maiden gazed, and felt a harrowing thrill ; She knew the mourner now. As some frail bird The deadly cobra charms, so power and will Died in her shrinking soul ; no limb she stirred. One object fixed her sight — that sorrowing man; Through all her veins quick, chilly tremors ran ; Her lip was mute, and, in that breathless hush, She could nor move away, nor forward rush. But he, so pierced by fear or keen remorse, Now bowed to other feelings. Speechless grief Poured on him with subduing, softening force ; Nature in such sad hour will bring relief. Sibyl beheld his head droop low, more low, And she could hear his long-drawn sobs of woe, That told of thoughts where hope could take no part, That seemed the wail of some fast-breaking heart. The spell was loosed ; the sight of bitter tears Drew Sibyl forward — a faint cry she gave, Half of surprise, half anguish, blent with fears. She sprang, she reached him kneeling o'er the wave. " Father !" embracing him, she wildly cried; " Tell me your grief." He shook his head and sighed. " Whatever your secret be, your wrong, or ill, I'll shield you, comfort you, and love you still." 28 SIBYL OF CORNWALL PART III. Trelawn was seated in the quiet room, Where oft his hours in mental toil were past ; Where classic studies charmed him, and no gloom, Till of late days, did retrospection cast. It drew near midnight, and another there Sat sternly silent, in an old oak chair. A lamp before them feebly shed its rays, And on the flame both fixed a thoughtful gaze. With anxious sorrow drooped the pastor's brow ; He once sweet peace and many a pleasure knew ; These, crush'd, o'erthrown, lay saddest ruins now, Grief and remorse the weeds that round them grew ; And yet his heart, obeying duty's call, Warmed with kind thoughts, and cherished love for all Whate'er his sufferings, still 'twas his to give Joy unto others, and for others live. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 29 The stranger had life's zenith reached, his frame Tall and commanding, black his ample beard, His features coarse, his eye of dullest flame, Where no fine mind or genial light appeared ; But base self-love spake there, concentred, cold, And there a tale unbridled passions told. Though no true boldness on his front was seen, His brow was stern, and fierceness marked his mien. ►Silence was broken. Lifting slow his eyes, Fiery yet sullen, Osborne proudly spoke ; The pastor's face betokened no surprise, Though every word was like a dagger's stroke : " No more I plead; pride's iron shall be bent; Sibyl I wed, so give thy full consent. I love her deeply ; every fear resign ; Thy life is safe, thy gentle daughter mine." Trelawn smiled faintly — it was struggling scorn That curled his lip ; but soon the smile had past, And other feelings in his heart were born ; The shaft had struck, the terror came at last. Shall Sibyl's bliss be wrecked, himself to save From bitter shame, an ignominious grave ? Or shall he boldly now the worst defy, Bear shame, if shame must come, and dare to die ? 30 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. " She loves, thou say'st, another," Osborne cried ; " Such early love is folly, light as frail ; Sibyl will all forget it, when a bride ; My lands are broad ; birth — what does birth avail ? I won my gold by slaves on Afric's coast ; But gold is power ; I make no further boast. Consent, I bid thee ; ask not love to wait ; Aid me to bend her will, nor rush on fate." A change came o'er the pastor ; sudden fire . Flashed from his eyes, age burning vigour now ; Yet anguish swayed his spirit more than ire ; He rose, put back the white hair from his brow ; He clenched his hand, and, in the doubtful light, His high-raised form still grew upon the sight : " I do defy thee — let the tempest burst ! I will not sell my daughter — do thy worst !" Osborne confronted him with careless air, His features wearing smiles ; nought recked his heart How bled Trelawn's ; he only sought to bare Its wounds afresh, and deeper stir the dart. " What ! art thou callous, then, to public shame ? Wouldst thou not shield, at least for life, thy name ? Will it be nought a felon's death to die, The jest of mobs — the mark of infamy ?" SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 31 And Osborne watched him. Firm awhile he stood, Nor heeded that keen, scrutinizing look ; But soon from flushing cheek ebbed back the blood, And his wan face a pained expression took. He, the deemed godly man, who preached of heaven, Thus to be branded, to the gallows given ! 'Twas not he feared the tranquil, resting tomb ; But, oh, this horrible, this dreadful doom ! A moment for support he grasped the chair, And called on God to strengthen him that hour ; His soul half wandered in its deep despair, Though still resisting, braying Osborne's power. Gradual he sank, and, while no word he said, Drooped over trembling knees his hoary head. Flesh struggled hard with mind ; he could not shroud That inward agony, but groaned aloud. Osborne stood by, exulting, seeing well Nature had triumphed — that he clung to life. A doom of shame — this, this seemed spirit's hell ; Trelawn slow yielded in that -mental strife. " Consent, though she oppose me !" Osborne cried; " And thou art safe ; no ill shall e'er betide ; I keep the secret." Low the pastor bent, And moaned in anguished accents, u I consent !" 32 SIBYL OF CORNWALL PART IV. The noon was sunny ; flowers breathed odours sweet — Odours of thankfulness for skies so fair ; The wren quick twittered in his green retreat, The fountain curved a rainbow in the air; The spotted butterflies and tawny bees Floated or frolicked, telling to the breeze What joy was theirs, and fancying suns and flowers Made only to delight their jocund hours. Sibyl was walking mid the garden beds ; Oh, tranquil and delicious scene around ! Red roses, with their hanging, lustrous heads, Sweet mignonette perfuming all the ground ; Scarlet geraniums, and the fuschia's bell, In whose rich chambers fairies love to dwell ; Streaked hooded pinks, and pansies with soft dyes, Catching their light and blueness from the skies. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 33 Flowers, offspring of the teeming, generous earth — Flowers, the sole relics of our Eden lost — So beautiful, so stainless in their birth, Something of heaven with dying nature crossed ; They breathe on outer sense ambrosial balm, Soothe grief within, and bring the spirit calm ; Sorrow, mid cheerful flowers, earth's smiling store, Looks up to Nature's God, and pines no more. Thus Sibyl viewed her flowers with brightened eyes, Forgetting sadness in that bloomy scene ; Her cheek, from rose and pink, caught richer dyes, And in gay sunshine, gayer grew her mien. With tripping step from plant to plant she passed, And looks of pride on those most gorgeous cast ; But the small lowly flower she loved the best, Kissed its sweet lips, and placed it in her breast.. Swung on its hinge the creaking garden-gate £ A heavy step — a form beside her stood ; She knew him well — one who had roused her hate, But to her forehead sprang no mantling blood. Calmly she greeted him. In Osborne's mien Something unwonted now, and strange, was seen. He drew her to a bowery walk aside, And to her anxious questions naught replied. D 34 SIBYL OF COBNWALL. Sibyl stood waiting with down-glancing eyes ; Cautious he looked around, but none were near. Then Osborne urged his suit. At first surprise Startled her heart, while thrilled a sense of fear. His was not love by honest truth professed, Such as doth echo find in woman's breast ; But love where self was seen, all else in shade, And rather it demanded, than it prayed. Not yet Trelawn had forced his lips to say, His child must wed the man whom riches bless'd, Though heart and soul revolted ; terror lay A pressing weight on Sibyl's aching breast ; But keen aversion veiled, as clouds will hide The lightning's slumbering fire, she softly cried : 11 I dare not listen — honour I obey; My poor hand hath been pledged since childhood's day." Osborne was calm. Beneath his heavy brows A sidelong, stealthy, piercing glance he cast ; He cared not what strong feelings he might rouse, If, awed or won, her spirit bowed at last. He knew her in his power, whate'er befell ; So the fierce tiger eyes the wild gazelle, Close held in griping paws : it cannot flee, And finds no pity in its agony. SIBYL OF CORNWALL. 35 " First love, they tell us, dearest Sibyl, claims No serious thought, its feeble fires will die ; As mind grows stronger, love lights other flames : First love, believe me, is a butterfly : It sports an hour and perishes. My soul Bends now a slave beneath thy dear control ; Oh, wilt thou not child-feelings soar above, Forget the past, and bless me with thy love ?" He seized her hand, and dropt upon his knee ; Contempt and hatred only Sibyl felt. First love to her was sacred ; she would be True to her vows, if there earth's monarch knelt. " Never !" she cried ; " you wrong my woman's heart It cannot act the changeling's worthless part." And Sibyl from him turned, her head raised high, Scorn on her brow, and anger in her eye. No passion he betrayed, but, sternly cold, Before her stept, and firmly griped her arm. A low short scream- — he did not loose his hold, Bidding her stay, and banish all alarm. He gazed with searching calm, yet fierceness too, Till her eye drooped, her cheek lost all its hue. He gazed, like one resolved to sweep away Each barrier that opposed his desperate way. d 2 36 SIBYL OF CORNWALL. " Sibyl, I love you. Though my suit and me Your lips repel, I loye you madly still. No more a supplicant I bend to thee, For life and death hang now upon my will. Thy early loye I ask thee to resign ; Thou must — thy father wills it — must be mine ! Urge me not dark-veiled secrets to declare, A desperate thing hurt pride, and love's despair." His words, like strange enigmas, Sibyl heard; Waves of conjecture seemed on waves to rise. Oh, whence sprang Osborne's power ? strong wonder stirred Her bosom's depths, and glistened in her eyes. " Answer me, Sibyl — moments press — be mine, And wealth and calm security are thine ; Kefuse with love's dear smiles my heart to bless, And be thy father's self-willed murderess !" She trembled — something dread his w T orcls implied ; Though loathing him, she could not flee him now ; With asking eyes she crept unto his side, For more he knew than lips had dared avow.