THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 

 
 REDMONDS BRIDE, 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS.
 
 - ^' 
 
 iaaiDHM)SJii)*s iDiaaiDia 
 
 3H fragment, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY A GENTLEMAN. 
 
 PEMBROKE: 
 
 PRINTED AND PUBLISHED BY JOHN TREBLE; 
 
 SOLD BY TREBLE AMD BOWERS, TENBY; MESSRS. LONGMAN, HURST, i\ CO. 
 AND BALDWIN', CRADOCK, & JOY, LO\DO\. 
 
 1824.
 
 
 TO THE PUBLIC. 
 
 «=*t^>*^ 
 
 Hie following humble efforts of the ee unlettered 
 Muse " the author tremblingly exposes to the pub- 
 lic. The solicitations of a few partial friends 
 have induced him to take this step ; and as these 
 unpretending lines are totally below the observance 
 of criticism, and were composed mostly at an 
 early period of life, the author throws himself on 
 the known liberality of a generous public, to par- 
 don what may seem presumption, and excuse what 
 may be really erroneous. 
 
 865168
 
 Page. 
 
 7, 1 
 
 8, I 
 22, I 
 36, i 
 
 36, 1 
 
 37, 1 
 40, 1 
 43, J 
 46, I 
 64, 1 
 74, 1 
 81, 1 
 83, 1 
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 ue, 3, fertive read festive. 
 
 ne, 8, sound read round. 
 
 ne, 15, polish'd read polish. 
 
 ne, 9, waves read wave. 
 
 ne, 12, love read lave. 
 
 ne, 7, deck't read deck'd. 
 
 ne, 3, to breath read to breathe. 
 
 ne, 20, deck't read deck'd. 
 
 ne, 13, doatard read dotard. 
 
 ue, 15, Grffyth read Griffyth. 
 
 ne, 9, Nine read None. 
 
 ne, 19, Wing read Wings. 
 
 ne, 2, the parts read she parts.
 
 gintrotmctioii. 
 
 To w Friend V Ll , Esq. 
 
 WRITTEN AT CHRISTMAS. 
 
 — <4©4*"~ 
 
 Precelly's top is white with snows, 
 And keen and rude the east wind blows, 
 
 Around my humble shed ; 
 The scud flies swiftly o'er the sky, 
 The lamp of night is pale on high, 
 
 And ocean lifts his head. 
 
 Hark, Hark, how heavy falls his wave, 
 Deep echoing in the misty cave, 
 
 With varied ice drops crown'd. 
 The spirit of the storm is up ; 
 To you I'll drain my Christmas cup, 
 
 Nor heed the chilling sound.
 
 11 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I'll draw my table near the fire, 
 
 And heap the faggot somewhat higher 
 
 And stir my spiced ale, 
 My spaniel Chlo, and Vixen too 
 (A wiry terrier, better few,) 
 
 Sleep reckless of the gale. 
 
 I'm all alone; the mind must strive 
 To make the weary moments live, 
 
 In thoughts of olden times : 
 'Tis sweet to trace our boyhood o'er 
 When first we fought with ancient lore, 
 
 Fresh from our nurses rhymes. 
 
 How many an hour of varied woe, 
 How many a moment's brilliant glow 
 
 Comes rushing on the soul, 
 Since first we join'd the youthful hand, 
 Then parted on that rocky strand 
 
 Where cares commingling roll.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 11) 
 
 Those sweeping cares of manhood's hour ; 
 But let us smile and blunt the power 
 
 Of that stern tyrant time. 
 I know you've lov'd for many a day 
 To hear the legendary lay 
 
 Though sung in uncouth rhyme. 
 
 And though uncouth my bardic strain, 
 If your attention it may gain, 
 
 And wile the christmas night, 
 Or give some lingering moment speed ; 
 'Twill pay my anxious muse her meed. 
 
 And me, thy friend delight.
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE, 
 
 A FRAGMENT ; 
 
 AXD 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 _L HE sinking Sun on western billow, 
 
 Threw its parting" streamers wide, 
 Which kissing far their ocean pillow, 
 
 Seemed to drink the golden tide : 
 On Osmond's tower a red ray fell, 
 
 And deeply ting'd its ivy vest, 
 While o'er the wood a silent spell 
 
 Had hush'd the rust'ling of its crest. 
 
 What side of yonder mountain way 
 That slop'd towards the parting beam,
 
 4 REDMOND'S RRIDE. 
 
 Was glittering bright with many a stream 
 
 Which leaping caught the golden ray. 
 The Sun is set, yet still there lives 
 
 Of all the past a mimic shew, 
 A brightness, which though fading, strives 
 
 To rival still its former glow. 
 That brightness now is dimn'd, is gone, 
 And Osmond's woods are dark and lone, 
 Their blithsome blackbird's tale is o'er ; 
 The Owlet from her roosting bower 
 Is flapping slow her omen'd wings, 
 As twilight deep'ning shadow flings. 
 The dewy star of softest even, 
 With all the glittering choir of Heaven 
 
 Is blending now her lovely rays ; 
 While o'er the vast ethereal space, 
 
 Some bright fantastic Sister strays, 
 As vision swift in Meteor race. 
 It is a calm which gently stealing 
 
 O'er the souls impassion'd tide,
 
 REDMOND S BRIDE. 
 
 In softest flow of liquid feeling 
 
 Bids its stream unruffled glide. 
 In Osmond's towers the lamps are bright, 
 
 There stirring sounds of mirth arise, 
 Which break upon the stilly night, 
 And ill with all the calm unite, 
 
 That concord sweet of cloudless skies. 
 Osmond's chief in pillar'd Hall, 
 
 Deeply drains the sparkling bowl, 
 Where hundred banners deck the wall, 
 
 And all is mirth and all is soul ; 
 Each eye is bright with laughing glee, 
 
 As high the beamy goblets foam, 
 
 And stranger minstrels far who roam, 
 Sing a strain of revelry. 
 But there is one among the rest, 
 Who does not mark the blithesome jest, 
 Whose azure eye is on her breast ; 
 Yet rather seems in absence there : 
 She sits her chieftain sire beside,
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 
 
 Of Northam's Lord the destined bride, 
 Ah where is bride so sweetly fair ? 
 Her auburn tresses silken shine 
 
 Is chastely decked with flow'ry braid, 
 In thousand playful curls they twine, 
 
 And tint her breast with softest shade. 
 That breast, as purest marble pure, 
 
 That breast, as fairest marble fair, 
 Although it's swell the eye may lure, 
 
 'Tis but the swell of virtue there. 
 Upon her forehead's polished round 
 
 Smiles enthroned the brightest grace: 
 But why are riot the roses found 
 
 Blushing o'er that fairy face ? 
 She seems to sit an Angel there, 
 That pensive, meek and blue eyed maid. 
 
 While all around the Sons of earth 
 
 Their spirits glut with idle mirth, 
 
 Lie-tit beings, frail, of other birth, 
 Buzzing in the lamp light glare.
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 
 
 Beside, the Chief of Northam's tower 
 
 Fills to her the goblet's flow. 
 And deeply drains it's fertive power 
 
 And often kens her bosom's snow. 
 But his are not the beamy eyes 
 
 Which glancing full with liquid love 
 May laughing gain a Maiden prize, 
 
 And every pulse extatic move. 
 Time has not thinn'd his raven hair, 
 
 Yet does it wear a hoary hue, 
 Although his brow no wrinkles bear, 
 
 Yet there are lines to passion true ; 
 Which faithful, mark a spirit wild, 
 That fearful burnt when e'en a child 
 Till check'd by times' benumbing press, 
 It flicker'd into selfishness. 
 The feudal chief of many a vale, 
 Whose bosom wafts the softest gale, 
 And thankful gives it's choicest wealth, 
 Of dimpling joy, and laughing health ;
 
 8 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 
 
 And Lord of many a castl'd steep, 
 
 And Northam's towers, which o'er the deep 
 
 At eve their lengthening shadows cast : 
 And yet he woes that maiden mild, 
 Whose father gives his only child 
 
 An ancient dowry, rich and vast. 
 Now loud the stringed Harps resound, 
 And free the wassa! circles sound, 
 
 To blooming hope, and tenderest love. 
 Hark ! one amongst the minstrel train, 
 Wakes a wild, and touching strain, 
 
 As thus his measur'd accents move. 
 
 THE MINSTREL'S SONG. 
 
 How sweet it is in evening hour, 
 To hear the distant village chime, 
 
 Which mellow'd from its ivy tower, 
 Softly speaks the lapse of time.
 
 REDMONDS BRIDE. 9 
 
 How sweet when stars are met above, 
 And all the Lake seems heaven below, 
 
 To hear the night bird's song of love, 
 Softest, from the myrtle bough. 
 
 How sweet to hear the magic shell, 
 
 Whose chords have nought of earthly sound, 
 Which kiss'd by heavenly breathings swell, 
 
 While chastest moonbeams play around. 
 
 But what on earth does passion move, 
 What strain the beating bosom thrill, 
 
 Like that, when love is told to love 
 In Jess'mine bower by limpid rill. 
 
 Old ocean's voice is wild and deep, 
 And awes the lone and musing soul, 
 
 When dark'ning 'round some headland steep 
 It's giant billows flashing roll. 
 
 How coldly chills with mortal dread 
 The midnight toll from sacred tower,
 
 10 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 
 
 Whose tongue is of the shrouded dead, 
 The church-yard turf, th' eternal hour 
 
 How wild the torrents buisting roar, 
 Which foaming o'er it's mountain steep 
 
 Uproots the pride of ages hoar, 
 In one relentless, reckless sweep. 
 
 But yet there is a sound, which tears 
 With fiercer pang the human heart; 
 
 When full confiding fondness hears 
 Farewell., we ever, ever part. 
 
 The stranger's voice is trembling, low, 
 And all his Minstrel's spirits flow 
 
 Seems frozen, still and cold ; 
 But hark ! he wakes the chords again 
 The Hall re-echoes with the strain, 
 
 It thrilling comes, so strong and bold.
 
 KEtiMOND S BRIDE\ ll 
 
 THE MINSTREL'S SONG. 
 
 -=*S»^- 
 
 Osmond's towers arc hoar with years, 
 And proudly lift their eastle keep, 
 
 Its vaulted hall is bright with spears, 
 And there an hundred banners sweep. 
 
 Banners those of ancient days, 
 
 That wav'd o'er hundred knights of fame, 
 The Minstrel's harp shall wake their praise, 
 
 The glory of their mighty name. 
 
 Though Osmond's tower is hoar with years, 
 And banners deck its lofty hall, 
 
 It yet a brighter treasure bears., 
 The purest, fairest, best of all. 
 
 The Minstrel's fingers idly move. 
 Although the theme his spirits fire. 
 
 He cannot sing of Ellen's love, 
 The powerless note^ in air expire. 
 
 c
 
 12 Redmond's bkide. 
 
 'Twas not the love of sordid earth, 
 But more it wore the tints of heaven, 
 
 It took its pure and guileless birth 
 When softly srriil'd the star of even'. 
 
 And as the dewy fragrance fell, 
 
 When that mild star its radiance shed, 
 
 May pleasure weave her fairest spell 
 To charm her Ellen's bridal bed. 
 
 Though I am but a Minstrel wild 
 I'll wake my harp at midnight hour, 
 
 Misfortunes lost and wayward child, 
 I'll sing to love in Ellens bower. 
 
 There swims a tear in Ellen's eye, 
 There heaves within her breast a sigh ; 
 That bosom's throb, and llutt'ring swell 
 
 Its fearful tale of torture tell. — 
 Yet all is past unheeded by 
 'Mongst those wild sons of revelry ;
 
 Redmond's bride. \li 
 
 But Osmond's Lord her throb has seen, 
 
 And mark'd the full and glist'ning eye, 
 The fiercest pang* of doubt I ween 
 
 Conies thrilling; o'er his spirit high. 
 He beckons one amongst the train 
 To thank the harper for his strain, 
 And in a soft and courtier voice,, 
 To bid his wandering limbs rejoice 
 In sweet repose in Osmond's tower ; 
 
 But cautions, in a whisper low, 
 
 To watch the Minstrel 'till he know 
 He quit at morn his resting bower. 
 The stranger Minstrel is not there, 
 
 He left unmark'd the joying crew, 
 His silent harp and staff he bare, 
 
 To meet the mornings earliest dew. 
 The lamps no more in Osmond's tower 
 
 Are glittering through its forest deep, 
 I(s strains no more of music pour 
 
 Their echoes through its vaulted keep.
 
 14 REDMOND'' KRIDE. 
 
 And every eye is clos'd and dull 
 
 Save one, which may not close so soon. 
 And that with tears is dim and full, 
 
 And bent upon the fading moon. 
 Ah why does Osmond's fairest flower 
 
 Look doating on the moonbeam chill ? 
 
 Why rings upon her spirit still 
 The farewell song of Minstrel hoar ? 
 Why sufPring throbs that gentle breast, 
 
 Whose throb should be the pulse of hope ? 
 Those words have robb'd her sweetest rest, 
 
 That stranger Minstrel idly spoke. 
 'Ere thrice, in Eastern floods of light 
 
 The sun shall wake the skylark's hymn, 
 Must Ellen meet the bridal night, 
 
 With shiv'ring pulse and spirit dim. 
 Osmond's Lord has sought his rest, 
 But o'er his high and anxious breast 
 Come thoughts he cannot chase away : 
 That Harper's wild pathetic lay,
 
 
 WEDMOM) S UUIDE. I .; 
 
 His Ellen's throbj and tearfiiil eye, 
 Willi all the look of agony, 
 Rise glaring on bis fever'd brain, — 
 Has Osmond's Ellen dar'd <o sfain 
 Her spotless-, pure ancestral vein 
 With otlitfi love, than such as he 
 Might offer to her sympathy ? 
 It cannot he ; That maiden mild, 
 Whose wishes, actions from a child 
 Were moulded to his will and word. 
 Could never with a stranger herd, 
 And give to one of doubtful name 
 Her virgin's spirit's holy (lame ; 
 And where could Ellen, in the shade 
 
 Of Osmond's tower, and fores! wild, 
 
 Seclusion's unrcpining child, 
 
 Her love resign to stranger fair ? 
 
 And he unknown, the insult dare, 
 To woo the high and princely maid?
 
 1G REDMOND'S BRTDE. 
 
 That tear-drop in the glist'ning eye, 
 That bosom's deep, convulsive sigh, 
 Was only such as maiden's weep, 
 Was only such as maidens feel, 
 When plaintive strains of music sweep, 
 And o'er their melting spirits steal ; 
 'Till full awaken'd passion gives 
 An essence to the sound, which lives 
 In richest imagery, 'till 
 The vision'd soul's tumultuous thrill, 
 Bursts trembling from the faithful eye 
 
 In saddest, sweetest, agony. 
 
 ****** 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 * * * * * * 
 ****** 
 
 Osmond's woods are dark and wild, 
 And giant crags sublimely pil'd,
 
 REDMONDS BRJDE. 1? 
 
 Rise towering through its gloomy pines, 
 And well, from yonder rugged steep 
 The eye can o'er the forest sweep, 
 
 As bright the crested Dian shines ; 
 
 It wears a deep and varied show. 
 
 One sullen mass of shade below, 
 
 And soft and silvery tints above, 
 
 Which revel in the moonbeam's love, 
 
 In wild and waving motion ; 
 Its black and giant arm extends 
 To where the wand 'ring radiance blends, 
 And in a stream of lovely light, 
 Tips sportive yonder headland height, 
 
 Then woos the breast of ocean ; 
 
 Whose ceaseless wave is heard afar, 
 
 But not in harsh and frantic jar, 
 
 As lash'd by elemental war, 
 
 But deeply mellow 'd, slow and mild : 
 And so does all the scene unite, 
 It seems to speak the voice of night,, 
 
 To fancy's lone and musing child.
 
 18 Redmond's bride. 
 
 Hark ! in Osmond's woods a sound., 
 
 And 'lis a sound of rudest mirth, 
 Its varied echoes dance around. 
 
 Of rocky glen and mountain birth. 
 The Outlaw's fire is kindled there, 
 
 Beneath yon high and ivied arch, 
 Which once had deck'd a chapel fair, 
 
 Within its grove of shadowy larch, 
 Y\ hose wild and shaggy arms are thrown 
 
 Above the hoar and mouldering pile, 
 As if to guard each hallow'd stoue 
 
 From time's unerring, reckless file. 
 The Outlaw's fire is kindled there, 
 And throws a red and deepening glare 
 
 Upon the carv'd and pillar'd wall, 
 Whose clust'ring shafts, though worn, declare 
 How light, and rich, and passing fair, 
 
 That sacred fane before its fall. 
 It is a strange and fearful scene, 
 
 To mark that wild and outlaw'd crew.
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. | {) 
 
 How deeply starrtp'd each frowning; mien 
 
 With passion's strongest, deepest hue : 
 The gesture their's, as fittest suits 
 
 The tenor of their wild discourse., 
 And theirs the life which nothing boots, 
 
 But nature's all resistless force. 
 As wide around the light is streaming 
 
 From the red and crackling flame, 
 Each varied feature's harshly gleaming 
 
 O s er their slain and bleeding game. 
 Hark ! hark ! ihe joying outlaw'd throug 
 Awake the wild untutor'd song, 
 And mingling in Bacchantic roar, 
 To echo thus their voices pour. 
 
 THE OUTLAW'S SONG. 
 
 The vagrant chough to roost is gone, 
 The owlet's eye is full and clear, 
 
 D
 
 20 Redmond's rride. 
 
 The blackbird's evening hymn is done, 
 And night winds whistle shrill and drear. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 But we when mists of midnight roll, 
 Loudly wake the festive soul, 
 And w.hen the wind blows shrill and drear, 
 It is the Outlaw's strain of cheer. 
 
 Now spreads the noon of awful night, 
 The nurse has hush'd her nursling's cry, 
 
 And dames have laid their napkins white 
 For fairy elves their hands to dry.* 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 But we &c. 
 
 Within the leafy wilds we dwell, 
 And when our wearied eyelids close, 
 
 Nature weaves her balmiest spell, 
 Around the Outlaw's light repose. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 But we &c. 
 
 * Alluding lo ;i custom in some parts <>i Wales ; North Wales parti- 
 
 ulprly.
 
 REDMONDS liKlDE. 
 
 2\ 
 
 Our's the limb, and our's the course, 
 
 Which reeks not of the mountain high, 
 Our minstrelsy the tempest hoarse, 
 And knotty oaks our canopy. 
 
 chorus. 
 But we &c. 
 
 Our's the spirit free and wild, 
 
 Which daring soars on nervous wing, 
 
 Not shackling custom's puny child, 
 
 Which form'd to mount, yet dreads the spring. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 But we &c. 
 
 And freedom our's, that thrilling word, 
 Which wakes the bosom of the brave, 
 
 Whose path is with a reeking sword, 
 On battle's plain, or ocean's wave. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 But we &c.
 
 REDMONDS BH1DE. 
 
 The strain is hush'd of that wild throng, 
 As each his mantle lays along, 
 
 Upon the chill and leafy ground : 
 One there seems of nobler crest, 
 And fairer stature than the rest, 
 Who seeks not yet his wrapping vest, 
 
 But kens the sleeping herd around : 
 Ilis eye is bright with youthful love, 
 
 Which yet might brighter seem in ire 
 As summer light'ning's playful move 
 
 Soft shadows of the tempest's fire ; 
 
 His brow is fair, yet on it sits 
 
 A trace of pain which there has worn 
 
 A furrow'd mark, which little fits 
 
 The polish'Ayouth would claim his own : 
 
 He bears a look of woe and power, 
 A haughty look which seems to tell 
 His birthright not the forest cell, 
 Nor rocky glen, nor hunting horn, 
 But he to lofty towers was born, 
 
 And princely dome and stately bower.
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. £3 
 
 The outlawed Redmond's blood is high. 
 
 And glances in his fiery eye, 
 
 Yet herds lie with that desp'ratc crew., 
 
 With ashen spear, and bow of yew. 
 
 Throwing around an anxious ken, 
 
 He lightly leaves his comrade men ; 
 
 A minstrel's harp and staff he bears, 
 
 With mimicry of ancient years, 
 
 And skill'd in every forest way, 
 
 By midnight deep, as open day, 
 
 His form in yonder woodland glade, 
 
 He buries in impervious shade. 
 
 The maiden Ellen, Osmond's child, 
 
 Is gazing on the waters wild, 
 
 That broken rush beneath her bower, 
 
 Whose sparkling foam that moonlight hour, 
 
 Has playful tipp'd with silv'ry gleam, 
 
 'Till like existence' tinsel I'd dream,
 
 24 
 
 REDMOND S BRIDE. 
 
 Wifhin the depths of yonder glen 
 
 'Tis heard and seen no more of men. 
 
 Yet ere again beneath the glance 
 
 Of that bright beam the waves shall dance, 
 
 Must Ellen weep, a loathing bride. 
 
 Oh ! where is he, that Minstrel man ! 
 
 Whose song, her love should seem to chide, 
 As not the love that first began. 
 Ah ! where is he whose beamy eve 
 
 Within that sweet secluded bower, 
 Has mark'd that bosom's swelling; si<rb, 
 
 A victim to entrancing power ; 
 Woe worn she bows her pensive head, 
 
 While streaming o'er her bosom's snow 
 
 Her wild luxuriant tresses flow j 
 
 And there the close and listful ear, 
 
 Might well that bosom's throbbing hear, 
 So much she loathes dark Northam's bed. 
 When all our soul's affections clench 
 
 Around the form they most adore,
 
 Redmond's bride. 23 
 
 How wild and fierce the savage wrench 
 That (ears them from their vital core. 
 Hist ! hist ! soft strains of music pour 
 Their echoes by the waters roar ; 
 Is it the goblin of the wave, 
 Who rising from his crystal cave 
 In liquid notes, harmonious strives, 
 To soothe his torrent as it drives ? 
 While to his harp's responsive tone 
 He pours his lonely spirits moan. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Oh ! silver beam of da"rk eyed night, 
 Whose gentle stream of virgin light, 
 On loves impassion'd spirit steals, 
 'Till rich in vision'd life, it feels 
 The maiden's lip, and balmy sigh ; 
 Oh ! soft and silver radiance why !
 
 26 Redmond's bride. 
 
 Why throw not on my anguish'd heart 
 Such bliss as thou canst best impart ? 
 No, no, that heart is blighted, lone, 
 And all thy loveliest lustre thrown, 
 Would but illume its cheerless gloom, 
 Like lamp-light in the misty tomb. 
 Come echo, maid of mountain birth, 
 Since none there are of sordid earth 
 To listen to my spirit's moan, 
 And pour the sympathetic tone ; 
 Lone echo list, where'er you dwell, 
 In mountain glade or forest cell, 
 And answer to mine agony ! 
 Till fancy deem it were the sigh 
 Of that soft maid whose throbbing breast, 
 Has erst the outcast wand'rer blest; 
 Of her whose spirit seem'd to thrill 
 When faint, he told his tale of ill.
 
 Redmond's bride. 27 
 
 A single plank of pine is laid 
 
 Across the torrent's eddying rush. 
 The minstrel man is nought afraid, 
 
 And he has pass'd the frantic gush. 
 With fitful pulse and changeful cheek, 
 And lips that would essay to speak, 
 
 The maiden meets the harper childe : 
 Intensest passion seems to bind 
 The full of avowal of the mind: 
 But they have met, and all is told, 
 As either arms their hearts enfold, 
 
 And Ellen's lovely lip has smil'd. 
 The stranger then ; oh fairest flower 
 
 I seek thee here, again where ne'er 
 Shall Redmond in impassion'd hour, 
 
 To Ellen pour his spirit's prayer ; 
 I seek thee here, to gaze the last 
 
 Upon the azure of thine eye, 
 Whose liquid beam in moments past, 
 
 Awoke the sweetest ecstaey.
 
 28 Redmond's bride. 
 
 I seek thee here, in this lone bower, 
 To hear the music of thy tongue, 
 Which oft, how oft ! in moonlight hour, 
 
 Its magic on my spirit flung : 
 Oh Ellen in my memory's scan 
 
 Your cheek the deepest rose had dyed, 
 When smiling on the outlaw'd man, 
 You swore to be none other's bride : 
 But Redmond does not seek to chide, 
 Lone Redmond, lost, degraded, sunk, 
 Such flower as thee, around a trunk, 
 So batter'd by the tempest's blow, 
 Should ne'er its blooming tendrills throw. 
 No, Ellen, Redmond does not chide, 
 Though when he tears him from thy side, 
 He feels the fiercest pang of death, 
 For thou to him, wert as the breath 
 Of his existence, which beside, 
 Had drowned in distraction's tide.
 
 REDMOND S BRIDE 
 
 29 
 
 But now thine love is not mine own, 
 
 He paus'd and from his bosom flung, 
 Passion's deep and anguish'd groan. 
 
 The maiden on his shoulder hung, 
 But dares'not raise the trembling eye 
 To view his feature's aaronv. 
 She feels the throbbing of his breast, 
 And her's would meet it through her vest, 
 
 In wild impassion'd sympathy : 
 Oh say not Redmond that the love 
 
 Which Ellen bore thee, now is flown, 
 That other thoughts her bosom move, 
 
 Her thoughts but not her will's her own : 
 Oh could thou feel the loathing deep 
 
 Which o'er my sick'ning spirit broods ; 
 But 'tis enough, and I must weep, 
 
 For sacred are a father's words. — 
 Ah then thy love is Redmond's own, 
 
 And you would leave your blooming bower, 
 To hear the night wind's hollow moan, 
 
 And mountain torrent ceaseless roar;
 
 30 
 
 REDMOND S BRIDE. 
 
 And you would leave the glittering bed, 
 
 Which Northam gives his promis'd bride 
 To nurse the wanderer's banish'd head, 
 
 And soothe his spirit's ruffled tide. 
 But 'tis, alas, a fairy dream, 
 And Redmond in the lovely gleam 
 A moment lives ; oh when your arm 
 Round Northam throws its magic charm, 
 And when he gazes on thine eye, 
 
 Think on that hour of agony, 
 
 When fainting on my heart you lay, 
 
 The she wolf's unresisting prey, 
 
 And writhing stretch'd beneath your feet 
 
 The savage by her wild retreat: 
 
 Then on thy soul shall Redmond come 
 
 Like spectre from the misty tomb. 
 
 Oh Redmond cease, oh do not tear, 
 
 My bosom with this wild despair, 
 
 You sav'd me, when a moment more 
 
 Had crush'd me in that den of gore,
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 31 
 
 Yes, ever on my soul must glow 
 What Redmond to thy love I owe, 
 And could you pore upon my heart 
 And mark its tide's impassion'd start, 
 There would thy doubting spirit see 
 How all its wishes spring to thee. 
 Though Ellen's love is fix'd, is deep, 
 And she could bear the tempest's sweep, 
 And gazing on her Redmond's eye, 
 (So but it gaze in sympathy,) 
 Forsake the pomp of heartless pride ; 
 Yet Ellen ne'er shall be a bride, 
 
 To shiver at the coming day, 
 And quit unknown her father's towers. 
 She has a soul within, which pours 
 Its light on every act she does. 
 And guides her most when passion loves, 
 
 To blind that all directing ray. 
 The Outlaw's eye and swelling breast 
 The triumph of his love confess'd ;
 
 32 Redmond's bride. 
 
 No, Ellen, fervent he replied, 
 You ne'er shall deck an Outlaw's side, 
 His secret injur'd trembling bride : 
 But if you held the sacred oath 
 Which Osmond's Ellen did betroth, 
 To Redmond of the green wood bower, 
 
 Before thy father and his peers, 
 
 From me, thine oath shall curse their ears 
 At Northam's nuptial hour. 
 I deeply, Ellen, hate that name, 
 
 But deeper, deeper hate the man, 
 The man, who crush 'd my dawning fame, 
 
 And chain'd it to the narrow span, 
 Of hunting spear and forest glen. 
 Oh Ellen once I was with men 
 Of lofty, bright, unsullied fame, 
 Now sadly crush'd : my spirit's flame 
 Of just and deep revenge, no more 
 Shall smoulder in my bosom's core.,
 
 Redmond's bride. 33 
 
 But flashing forth in holy ire, 
 
 Shall rive him as the lightning's fire. 
 
 Then Ellen when we meet again, 
 
 It shall be in the gaze of men, 
 
 It shall he in the blaze of light, 
 
 And sparkle of the bridal night ; 
 
 It shall be, (or my footsteps faulter,) 
 
 Before the high and hallow'd altar ; 
 
 Proud Northam's lord must tremble then, 
 
 Before the Outlaw of the glen. 
 
 He gives not now another word, 
 
 But rushing from the crazed maid 
 Upon the plank his foot is heard, 
 
 Its fall is lost in deepening glade. 
 Young Ellen stands within her bower 
 
 Like statue in the moonbeam pale ; 
 The last has been a racking hour, 
 
 The prelude to a fearful tale. 
 
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 ♦ 
 
 * 
 
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 ±.
 
 34 Redmond's bride. 
 
 Through Eastern clouds a light is streaming 
 
 Such roseate, soft, and blushing light, 
 As decks the cheek of love when dreaming 
 
 Of tender bonds which hearts unite. 
 A lingering star yet sheds a ray ; 
 
 Pale ensign of retreating night : 
 But now that beam is swept away 
 
 Before the gathering floods of light. 
 On all a magic seems to pour ; 
 Though still as deep the torrents roar, 
 It strikes not now upon the soul 
 With such appalling awful roll ; 
 Though ceaseless still yon ocean wave 
 Beats harshly round its flinty cave, 
 Yet joying in the morning gale 
 The eye descrys the brightening sail 
 Borne blithsome o'er the rippling swell. 
 The rose, the garden's fairest queen, 
 Is blushing from her bed of green ;
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 35 
 
 And brilliant with a thousand dews, 
 Her every matin care renews, 
 To breath on zephyr's wanton wings 
 The incense that her bosom brings. 
 The gorgeous day is in the east, 
 
 The breaking day of Ellen's woe, 
 When all shall hail the nuptial feast, 
 All bosoms in its splendour glow. 
 A thousand fragrant wreaths they twine, 
 
 And cull to love each sacred flower : 
 The myrtle, rose, and eglantine 
 Are woven in a votive bower. 
 A lovely choir of blooming maids 
 
 With blithsome foot and melting eye, 
 And tresses deck'd with spicy braids, 
 Are singing this their harmony.
 
 36 
 
 Redmond's bride. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Wake, Osmond's Ellen, Osmonds flower, 
 Wake fairest from thy sleeping bower 
 
 To love and soft desire; 
 Come wake thee, to the hallow'd kiss 
 And all the blooming train of bliss 
 
 Which fans the wedded lire. 
 
 There moves a rapture on the soul 
 When moonlight waters gently roll ; 
 
 And o'er their silver waveJC 
 The sound of flutes is softly stealing 
 With liquid air of softest feeling, 
 
 To charm their ceaseless love. 
 
 But where the raptures which can thrill, 
 And every pulse extatic fill, 
 Like those of wedded love ; 
 
 Come Ellen, light thy ruby smile, 
 And hasten to yon votive pile, 
 Those hallow'd joys to prove.
 
 Redmond's bride. 37 
 
 We'll twine for thee a myrtle wreath, 
 The freshest from the morning breath, 
 
 With flowers of blushing May ; 
 We'll dance thy bridal foot around, 
 In lightest measures tread the ground, 
 
 To grace thy virgin way. 
 
 Wake, Northam's Chief has deck't his brow 
 Then let thine azure eye-beam glow, 
 
 With all the light of love ; 
 Oh kindle then your ruby smile, 
 And hasten to yon votive pile, 
 
 Its hallow'd joys to prove. 
 
 Why wakes not Osmond's fairest flower ? 
 Why wakes not from her sleeping bower ? 
 This festal song's harmonious swell, 
 Comes o'er her spirit as the bell, 
 Which tells the tale of human doom 
 The deep ton'd language of the tomb.
 
 38 Redmond's bride. 
 
 A lightsome step and laughing voice 
 Bids Osmond's Ellen to rejoice ; 
 As Edith of the braided hair 
 And sylphic form and forehead fair 
 To Ellen stoops her glowing cheek 
 Where tell tale dimplings softly speak. 
 Hast thou not heard the votive strain 
 
 Which lov'd one we awoke for thee ? 
 " Hast thou not seen the blooming train, 
 
 Which pour'd our matin minstrelsy ? 
 Sweet Ellen why thine eye is dim, 
 
 The lustre of thy cheek is pale 
 Is this the greeting for the hymn, 
 
 We sent to thee on zephyrs gale ? 
 Ah Ellen as I press thine hand 
 Its fluttering pulses beat and stand, 
 And on this palm so parch'd and dry 
 Burns all a fever's agony." 
 Young Ellen left her couch of woe 
 With blushes, but the hectic glow
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. o l J 
 
 All idly sought to chase away 
 Sad lines of sorrow and decay. 
 Edith, she said, for that soft strain 
 
 1 thank thee which for me you rose, 
 For friendship is a balm to pain, 
 
 A blissful balm to human woes. 
 The voice, the press of those we love, 
 
 Is sweet when spreads the light of mirth, 
 
 Ah 'tis not sure a voice of earth, 
 
 But music of an angel's tongue, 
 When o'er the soul its accents move. 
 
 By grief and passion fiercely wrung. 
 "Ellen, your Edith late has seen 
 
 A tear drop struggling in your eye, 
 Has seen some bitter grief between 
 
 Your prospect joys to steal; but, why? 
 "Unless the thought that Ellen's arms 
 
 Might not again entwine her sire, 
 I could not guess, for nuptial charms 
 
 And rank, and wealth vouna: bosoms fire."
 
 40 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 
 
 "Oh Edith do not tell of charms 
 They circle not in Northam's arms • 
 Is there a charm to breath/the breath 
 Of him the spirit loathes as death ? 
 Is there a charm to hear the vow 
 Without according passion's glow ? 
 Is there a charm to light the eye 
 With false unreal imagery ? 
 When rather from its lid would start 
 The woe-drop of the broken heart. 
 Is there a charm to dress the smile 
 In joy, when all that joy is guile? 
 And far the smile were meetest there 
 Which sometime, madness gives despair, 
 Is there a charm the soul to bind, 
 To nip that blossom of the mind. 
 Pure love, which to another given 
 Breathd all the fragrancy of Heaven ? 
 Edith, my heart is wildly torn, 
 Yet must I wait this mystic night,
 
 Redmond's buide. 41 
 
 The victim's crown it must be worn 
 
 'Round misery's brow that chaplet bright. 
 As o'er a wounded sister flower 
 
 Which some rude gale unholy strew, 
 The lilly at the orient hour 
 
 Sheds forth her bosom's faithful dew : 
 On Edith's cheek the tear drop shone, 
 
 As Ellen raised her humid eye, 
 Which seem'd expecting as a boon 
 
 That pearly drop of sympathy. 
 Oh ! may I Ellen, Edith said, 
 Oh may I golden tressed maid 
 
 Bend to your sire the suppliant knee, 
 And tell him how your spirit chills, 
 What deep and dreadful loathing thrills, 
 Each fibre of your sickening heart 
 He may not force the fearful part, 
 
 But bow his soul to charity. 
 No Edith, no, the time is come, 
 The reckoning's full, but what the sum,
 
 Redmond's bride. 
 
 Or, blood, or love, or joy, or flight, 
 None know the issue of the night. 
 Thou dost not, canst not, Edith guess, 
 What images my fancy press, 
 And fiercely wanton in my brain ; 
 Visions of slaying men, and slain : 
 But I will not thy heartstrings tear, 
 And I will braid my golden hair ; 
 And thou shalt lead me to the pile 
 Where votive maidens blandly smile ; 
 Mine eye shall fire, as if delights 
 Extatic chas'd their mimic rites. 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 * 
 
 The lamps are bright in Osmond's tower, 
 And sparkle thro' its forest shade, 
 
 A tuneful choir of maidens pour 
 
 Their nuptial song to Osmond's maid. 
 
 The chapel's high and sculptur'd door 
 Is open flung, a flood of light
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE 43 
 
 Wide streaming o'er the marbled floor 
 
 Comes dazzling on the wilder'd sight : 
 A light from hundred tapers shed, 
 
 From hundred shrines of rarest stone, 
 Which hearse the memorable dead, 
 
 Whose fame has rais'd the minstrel's tone. 
 And round, above that altar high, 
 
 Which awful bears the christian sign, 
 An hundred lights in canopy, 
 
 In purest, holiest lustre shine. 
 The door without, an aged train 
 
 Of bards await the bridegroom's foot ; 
 
 Their silver stringed harps are mute, 
 
 'Till when the priest shall raise on high 
 
 The hallow'd wafer to the sky. 
 'Till then, they will not wake their strain. 
 And he, that minstrel hoar is there, 
 
 Who sang of love in Osmond's hall, 
 When all around the feast was fair, 
 
 And blazon'd banners deckt the wall.
 
 44 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 
 
 The maiden comes, the fairest bride, 
 A lilly in her virgin pride ; 
 Her tresses' wild luxuriant curl 
 Is fasten'd with a braid of pearl, 
 While falls upon her ivory brow, 
 Her neck and bosom's taintless snow, 
 A long deep veil of vestal white ; 
 She rather seems as one of light, 
 There glows around her fairy form 
 Such trancing witchery of charm. 
 As Ellen moves along the aisle 
 She closer draws the snowy veil ; 
 Is it to hide within its shade 
 The mantling blushes of the maid? 
 Blushes dear to him, whose eye 
 Shall feast upon their luxury. 
 To hide the bosom's timorous swell ? 
 Which timid, yet a tale does tell, 
 In the soft throbbings of its pride 
 Of love and conquest on its' side.
 
 redmond's bride. 45 
 
 Dark Northam took the passive hand : 
 
 It froze him with its chilly dew. 
 Cannot his press a pulse command. 
 
 Nor light with love her eye's soft blue ? 
 The rite begin, oh man of god. 
 
 The sternly gazing Osmond cried: 
 
 Earl Northam 'tis a simple maid, 
 A simple maid as ever trod, 
 Nurtur'd, shelter'd in these halls, 
 She dreads a freedom from their walls. 
 The holy rite it is began, 
 And meekly bows that holy man, 
 While 'fore the hallow'd altar high 
 He lifts the wafer* to the sky. 
 Hark ! hark ! a voice throughout the aisle, 
 From yon dim minstrel hoar and pale. 
 Hold ! thou of God, the rite forbear, 
 Nor damning profanation dare : 
 
 * The sacrament ainongsl the Roman Catholics: the Priest previously 
 to administering, raises it up and invokes the Deity.
 
 46 Redmond's bride. 
 
 The maid is mine ! 'tis seal'd on high. 
 There fled a lightening from his eye. 
 As with a curling lip of pride 
 He rush'd beside the shiv'ring bride, 
 And fiercely with a phrenzied grasp 
 Shook Northam from his trembling clasp. 
 A strange awe fell on all around, 
 And deep the silence that it bound, 
 'Till Osmond's Earl ; — in heaven's name 
 What right is that you frantic claim? 
 This, Osmond is my frantic right 
 That Ellen be my bride to-night. 
 Hold, doatard minstrel, Northam ciieu, 
 While passion drove the florrid tide 
 From either cheek, and all his soul 
 Glar'd wildly in his eyeball's roll : 
 Hold ! dotard, lest mine anger's force 
 May crush thee to a senseless corse, 
 And crimson with thy recreant blood.. 
 The sacred altar of thv God.
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 47 
 
 He pluck 'd a poignard from his vest : 
 But Ellen threw her on his breast ; 
 Shriek'd Redmond, Northam, stay, forbear, 
 Or plunge that sheathless dagger here, 
 Here, in this frenzied heart, whose tide 
 Shall deck these vestments of a bride, 
 A witherd, blighted bride; her form 
 Fell pale and senseless ; while the storm 
 Which blacken'd upon Osmond's brow 
 
 Burst forth ; ye trembling slaves who stand 
 Pale, choak'd with terror, drag him now 
 
 Yon madman to my wrathful hand. 
 Hold, cried the minstrel man, nor dare 
 The lion from his own to scare, 
 Nor thou, nor thine shall ever fright 
 Me from my bride my bridal night; 
 Nor tear this angel form, which now 
 Lies pillow'd on this breast in woe ; 
 All vainly do your weapons shine 
 For at a single word of mine
 
 48 Redmond's bride. 
 
 I'll muster those whose blade and arm 
 Shall shield their minstrel chief from harm ; 
 Rut Osmond I am he no more. 
 Instant his wrapping garb he tore. 
 And with his horn and hunting vest 
 The Outlaw, Redmond stands confess'd, 
 He turns on Northam, with an eye 
 The fountains of his soul to dry, 
 And speaks him in the bitterest tone 
 Which taunting vengeance wakes alone, 
 Vile slandering Northam do you ken 
 The outlaw'd Minstrel of the glen ? 
 Yes, well those features do you know, 
 Though worn by tempest and by woe ; 
 It would have pleas'd thee, if this form 
 Had blacken'd in the midnight storm ; 
 It would have pleas'd thee, if these eyes 
 Had dropt, the raven's feast and prize ; 
 It would have pleas'd thee, if this tongue 
 Had from the creaking gibbet hung,
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. 49 
 
 And (logs amidst the whirlwind's groans 
 Had fatten'd on these bleaching bones ; 
 But man. thy villany I loath. 
 I'll crush thee for that false, false oath 
 Which yon against your kinsman swore, 
 Me, Oswald lord of Dunstan Moor, 
 And drove me from my native right, 
 An exile to the cavern's night : 
 That you might revel in my spoil, 
 And lure within thy savage toil 
 This maiden and her princely dower. 
 But now is retribution's hour ; 
 That hour for which my soul was parch'd 
 As he who has o'er desarts march'd, 
 Without one drop from crystal lake, 
 The fever of his thirst to slake. — 
 Osmond, said Northam, while the dew 
 
 Of fear upon his forehead stood, 
 I would not willingly imbue 
 
 This altar or thine halls with blood :
 
 50 
 
 REDMOND S BRIDE. 
 
 If thou wouldst then escape the stain, 
 And pity this, thy daughter's pain, 
 Bind, instant bind, that raving youth : 
 Thine ear is but alive to truth. 
 Earl Osmond mark'd his blanching cheek ; 
 
 He mark'd the fear drop on his brow : 
 Sternly he said, the youth shall speak, 
 
 And what you to my praise allow, 
 I will exert in such an hour. 
 And now before the sacred power, 
 If well unto my mind he prove 
 His tale of wrong, and Ellen's love. — 
 Here Ellen waking from her trance, 
 
 Threw on her sire a frenzied glance ; 
 My love, oh God, she fervent cried, 
 
 Ah but for him your child had died: 
 I am his own, such, such I swore. 
 Earl Osmond started, but he bore 
 His presence high. — Young man he cried 
 If but for thee this maid had died,
 
 REDMOND'S BRIDE. >1 
 
 And thou canst stamp upon thy tale 
 The seal of truth it may avail ; 
 For I have honor with the king, 
 And fully forth thy wrongs will bring. 
 And turn upon the wretched head 
 Of yon pale man who would have led 
 My daughter to a vile embrace, 
 Such a wild flooding of disgrace, 
 That he must seek some foreign clime, 
 To cling to from the curse of crime ; 
 Or strive beneath su;ne hallo w'd fane 
 
 To wipe away his spirit's stain. 
 
 ****** 
 
 *!* vj? 'sp 3(* 3j» '5*£r 
 
 ****** 
 
 H
 
 To Major Gen. A- 
 
 Awake my muse, and bid thy shell inspire 
 The lightning flashes of heroic fire ; 
 Pour thy wild notes in high, diffusive strain 
 Fraught with the thunders from the battle plain. 
 Place me behind the foamy steeds of war, 
 And whirl me onward in his reeking car, 
 Where strides fierce courage with gigantic might, 
 The goried pathway of the closing fight, 
 With eye of flame, and spear, and iron'd brow 
 Hurling the great on earth to shades below. 
 Oh friend of mine, and of my father's years, 
 (Whose early turf has glisten'd with thy tears,) 
 You who have heard the Indian wharhoop rais'd, 
 While suns meridian o'er thy helmet blaz'd, 
 You who have seen their swarthy squadrons slain 
 With gore barbaric, Assay's crimson'd plain.
 
 11 
 
 And calmly heard the deep mouth'd cannons roar. 
 Flashing destruction on the javan shore ; 
 Fain would I seek to make thy fancy live 
 
 Mid' hosts embattle'd where the mighty strive ; 
 But all too high for me the giant theme. 
 My spirit sickens in the dazzling beam ; 
 My humble muse must seek the shadowy grove, 
 And sing some olden song, or tale of love ; 
 Must cull from memory, and tradition's lore, 
 A theme, which may not urge her wing to soar, 
 Lest just contempt, and eke the critic's might 
 May crush her fluttering in the wanton flight. 
 And prone, and bruis'd like Icarus of yore 
 She crawl unpitied o'er the desert shore. 

 
 ADA OF SNOWDON, 
 
 A FRAGMENT.
 
 ADA of SNOWDON, 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 iCc|=0« 
 
 Where is the feast that smil'd in Arvon's * tower 
 And woke the echoes of its vaulted keep ? 
 
 The beauty where, that deck'd its fairest bower, 
 
 And plumed knights, with music's softest power ? 
 Lo, with the years away they deeply sleep. 
 
 The flag of death has wav'd on Arvon's wall ; 
 
 The dank weed grows on its pillard hall, 
 
 And sadly bends to the sweeping storm ; 
 The screech owl on the chamber stair, 
 Whoops the wild knell of the lofty and fair, 
 
 Of eyes that once were bright, and spirits warm. 
 
 * Many names in this little fragment are fictitious.
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 53 
 
 Lost pride of ancient Snowdon, when the race 
 
 Of old Llewellyn lit thy winter hearth, 
 Where now the dark wing'd raven holds her place, 
 
 And gives her nestling young a lonely birth. 
 Hill of the eagles, mighty in thy crest, 
 Wrapt in a veil of clouds and sleety vest, 
 How red have lightnings Wyddfa * round thee 
 
 shone, 
 Flash d from the hand of him, the Immortal One. 
 Thou livest yet, stern monument of power, 
 Of power on high ; though Arvon's castled tower 
 Has bow'd it to the wreck of storm and years : 
 
 Whose ancient glory vanish'd, wakes our tears. 
 
 ******* 
 ******* 
 
 Llanberris lake is pav'd with light 
 
 Reflected from the starry sky, 
 And Wyddfa's peak this lovely night 
 
 Seems canopied in glory. 
 
 * The Summit of Snoudoq.
 
 54 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 The mighty mountain monarch throws 
 His varied shade upon the wave, 
 Which gently loves its bank to lave ; 
 And as the moonbeam brighter glows 
 In silver ripple meets the strand 
 As driven by a fairy hand. 
 Who hither comes with slacken'd rein ? 
 The foam is on his charger's mane, 
 Whose fiery eye, and nostril wide, 
 And the quick heavings of his side, 
 Tell wildly that his rider strove 
 To match his speed with time or love. 
 He checks the steed ; now bending low, 
 Now rising from his saddle bow 
 As if to catch a falling sound : 
 
 Perhaps he seeks to hear the bay 
 Of some far distant roaming hound 
 
 He lost upon his hunting day : 
 Perhaps his route is all unknown, 
 And fearful in these wilds alone,
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 55 
 
 He turns him for the hum of men, 
 Lest the wild spirit of the fen 
 Might lead him to the deep morass, 
 From human eye and human pass. 
 Perhaps — hut hark a footstep falls, 
 
 But light as gossamer or fay 
 
 It meets the rugged mountain way. 
 He lists again — then softly calls 
 
 "My Ada, sure none other tread 
 But thine, can thus my spirit thrill ; 
 None other step upon the hill, 
 So softly fleet, so wing'd by love 
 Can thus my throbbing bosom move" 
 
 A maiden's at his courser's head 
 A maiden's hand is on his arm. 
 He quits his steed, as if a charm, 
 A magic burnt in that light press. — 
 "Dear Ada with a fond caress, 
 Smiling he says, thy love and mine 
 Are dyed with hues, a sunnier clime
 
 56 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 Than this,, they say, delights to throw 
 O'er bosoms which extatic glow " 
 " Ah Griffyth, said a voice whose tongue 
 A music through the aether flung; 
 You say your love is as the beam 
 Of noontide on Llanberris stream 
 My bosom's then the mirror bright 
 To give it back its loveliest light." 
 Young Ada seem'd in air and make 
 The fairy spirit of the lake ; 
 Her auburn hair in silken flow 
 Fell o'er a Grecian neck of snow, 
 And moist the radiance of her eye 
 As love's soft planet in her sky, 
 While o'er her cheek the mountain air 
 Just softly ting'd the lily there; 
 Lightly her polish'd footstep fell, 
 As mountain roe or fleet gazelle ; 
 If kindest heaven had lent its hue 
 To give her eye its purest blue,
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. Ot 
 
 Still deeper, lovelier it imprest 
 Its fairest spirit on her breast 
 
 Which heav'd to love, and virtue true. 
 
 ******* 
 
 ******* 
 ******* 
 
 The bell is tolling in Arvon's tower ; 
 It rings the knell of midnight hour,, 
 And sullenly the echoes tell 
 
 The power of sorcery and hell 
 
 Stern Sytsylt by the torrent's rush 
 Stands hark'ning to the frantic gush. 
 Dark Sytsylt hates his father's blood : 
 His canker'd spirit loves to brood 
 
 On fancied ills, or ills sustain'd : 
 He bites his lip, he rolls his eye 
 Wild lightnings 'neath its lashes fly ; 
 
 His clenched hand is fiercely straind. 
 As if it sought — some other clime 
 May whisper— here the thought is crime.
 
 5S ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 He Ada, loves ; whose maiden heart 
 Is blent with Griffith's; does he start 
 At that one name, his brother's name ? 
 While o'er his cheek a hectic flame 
 Flits strangely ; now the flame is gone. 
 He leans him o'er that rude grey stone, 
 Around whose base the waters break 
 And rude the cavern'd hollows shake 
 Where is the stream his thirst to slake ? 
 To Wyddfa's summit and its sky, 
 He lifts his dark and sullen eye ; 
 And muttering forth his gloomy mind, 
 Thus pours it to the midnight wind. 
 "Oh awful crown of snow and cloud 
 Where storms eternal weave thy shroud, 
 Wyddfa to this high beating heart 
 Some portion of thy snows impart. 
 Chill, chill this blood, whose pulses move 
 Too maddening in hate and love.
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 59 
 
 Ott have I sought, e'er dawning day 
 Thy wildest region ; where the fay 
 Might find no turf, her dance to thread ; 
 And seen the vapours as a bed 
 Of waves below, above whose gloom 
 I stood, where scarce a fitting room 
 Nor roe, nor mountain goat could find. 
 The sun broke on me, yet my mind 
 Joyed not to see its glories rise, 
 
 Gilding far distant lands and skies 
 
 I've clim'd thy pinnacle of snow 
 
 When tempests rais'd their heads below, 
 
 But not to me ; — I seem'd in soul 
 
 To give their revels stern control. 
 
 The lightnings play'd around my feet 
 
 Hurld from their vapour throne, and seat ; 
 
 They riv'd the oak ; yet there I stood 
 
 The genius of the sulphur flood. 
 
 I stood in light, while wild below 
 
 Storm, darkness wrapt the world in woe.
 
 60 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 I sought for joy; not joy I sought, 
 
 Light minds find that, what's dearer bought, 
 
 Ease to a tortur'd soul. Thy form 
 
 Is by me in the midnight storm, 
 
 Or beam of day, Ada, when throws 
 
 O'er others, sleep her still repose 
 
 My spirit gives thee in my dream : 
 
 E'en curses that fantastic gleam. 
 
 I've seen the she-wolf with her fang 
 
 Tearing the kid's warm heart ; no pang 
 
 It felt as mine, when on that morn 
 
 Young Ada gave my love her scorn. 
 
 I've sometime seen a drowning soul, 
 
 Spent, gasping in the billows roll, 
 
 Sink clutching the deceitful weed : 
 
 E'en then did not his spirit bleed 
 
 Like mine, when Ada bid me flee 
 
 And paid "thy brother's love for me." — 
 
 Who wends him at this lonely hour 
 
 With hoof of speed to Arvon's tower !
 
 ADA OF SNOW DON. <> I 
 
 'Tis he, a brother, oh that name ! 
 
 If now my hate, like lightning flame 
 
 Could scorch him. — Sitsylt, ho ! what here ! 
 
 'Tis Griflyth calls, he claims thy ear — 
 
 Man, man, why rashly thus intrude 
 
 On me thus lonesome, for my mood 
 
 Is dark to-night — 'Tis ever dark ; 
 
 Could I but fan one single spark 
 
 Of such fond love — Griffyth, things speak 
 
 Though tongueless, yet upon thy cheek 
 
 The kiss she printed, there's the flush 
 
 Her rosy fingers left, the blush 
 
 When — enough ; where does Ada meet 
 
 Thy love, making the moments fleet 
 
 As winged winds ? but what to me! 
 
 Why should my heart conceal from thee 
 
 My brother all its best delight 
 
 St. Margaret's eve, to-morrow night, 
 
 By Morfa's fount, she's all my own. 
 
 All thine own—away, —
 
 62 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 The sheep bell on the mountain heath 
 Is tinkling to the even's breath. 
 The sun is setting, thick and red 
 His streamers seek their ocean bed. 
 No golden radiance loves to streak 
 The leaping billows as they break ; 
 But pil'd and fleecy clouds, the west 
 Robe in a wild and stormy vest. 
 A deep dead stillness reigns. The bound 
 
 Of conant mawr,* upon the air, 
 Strikes with a hoarse and heavy sound. 
 
 In dark and lengthen'd shadow, there 
 YY here rests the lake, stern Snowdon's crest 
 Falls frowning on its slumbering breast. 
 There's wind above, no zephyrs blow f 
 To wake the lightest wave below. 
 Bent at his door, old Conan stands, 
 
 An ancient staff his forehead bears 
 
 * A large cataract which falls into the vale of Llanberris. 
 
 t Often before a storm, we see the scud flying fast when we are not 
 aware of anj breeze below.
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 63 
 
 And streaming o'er his raised hands 
 
 Are ages boast, its silver hairs. 
 He bends in thought : a maiden's face 
 
 Stoops gazing on that figure grey, 
 She sees a. trickling tear-drop trace 
 
 Slow down his cheek its furrow'd way. 
 Her lip is press'd with gentle force 
 To stay the wanderer in its course, 
 And thus in native accents mild 
 Her sire bespeaks the tender child. 
 " My father, Conan, why this tear ? 
 Your Ada sees the flocks are near ; 
 The stillness of this evening air 
 Predicts a storm ; I drove them where 
 Yon shadowing rocks might yield retreat. 
 Can you not hear your nurslings bleat?" 
 ec Lov'd Ada, thine observant care " 
 The old man said, his hoary hair 
 Mingling with her's, like lines of snow. 
 Upon those tresses auburn glow ;
 
 64 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 As o'er her polish'd brow lie bent 
 
 And she upon his bosom leant — 
 
 " Lov'd daughter, thine observant care 
 
 Is ever faithful. Ada where 
 
 When these dark orbs are closd in death, 
 
 And fate demands this aged breath, 
 
 Will you be heard, your Orphan bleat ?" 
 
 My fondest father I entreat 
 
 She urg'd, you do not thus depress, 
 
 Thy spirit ; He above will bless, 
 
 And shield with his eternal wing 
 
 The helpless flock who to him cling. 
 
 And there is one my sire (the thought 
 
 O'er her young cheek twin roses brought,) 
 
 My GrfFyth, Arvon's pride and heir. — 
 
 Ah Ada lean not wholly there ; 
 
 Some flower 'twere meeter lie should choose 
 
 That blushes with the morning hues, 
 
 Distilling fragrance o'er the green 
 
 The sun beam's treasure, and his queen
 
 ADA OF SXOWDOX. 65 
 
 Think'st thou, he'll stoop to thy low bower, 
 
 And wreath its unobstrusive flower ? 
 
 Whose sweets, though sweets indeed it shed, 
 
 Would grace no garland for his head. 
 
 Ah, Ada, when the sea of woe 
 
 Heaves its wild billows to and fro, 
 
 And when its breaking surges ring 
 
 'Tis not to man the soul must cling ; 
 
 No, midst the watery waste, our eye 
 
 Must rise to the eternal sky ; 
 
 Although the mountain wave may hide, 
 
 That glorious beacon, and the tide 
 
 May flash around us, and beneath 
 
 Yawn hideous gulphs of night and death ; 
 
 Still with unwearied faith and arm 
 
 Ply for that beacon through the storm.— 
 
 My Ada, never may you feel, 
 
 That dagger of the keenest steel, 
 
 Which piercest to the spirits core, 
 The thought of crime: when balmy sleep 
 Loves o'er the healthful mind to creep,
 
 66 ADA OP SNOWDON. 
 
 Then with unclosing eye, and heart 
 Wrilh'd, and mangled, and convulsive start, 
 Each nerve a minister of pain, 
 The guilty turn to rest in vain, 
 
 And wish jet dread, life's passage o'er. 
 Father you make my bosom thrill, 
 The pulses of my blood are still. 
 I said my trust is not on earth, 
 But Griffyth's noble as his birth ; 
 I've seen him, when the friendless hare 
 Shrunken with flight and sad despair, 
 Her small heart throbbing through her side 
 Stopp'd, fainting, harkening to the tide 
 Of chase, to rush with eager bound 
 And snatch the trembler from the hound. 
 Ah, think you that his mountain maid 
 Claims from his love a feebler aid ! 
 No, no, but come my father, now 
 Dim night is over Wyddfa's brow
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 6? 
 
 The winds are moaning in the cave 
 And bid Llanberris wake her wave : 
 I'll lead you, but I know not why, 
 My spirit like yon gathering sky 
 Is shadowy, and a thickening cloud 
 
 Of thought enwraps it as a shroud. 
 
 ******* 
 
 ******* 
 
 Llewellyn sits in his ancient hall, 
 
 Where high the piled faggots blaze, 
 And from its chimney wide, and tall, 
 
 w 
 
 They're flashing round those cheerful rays, 
 The blazon'd banners of the race 
 
 Are glowing in the spreading light ; 
 And corslet, spear, and helm and mace 
 
 Are gleaming with a lustre bright ; 
 The stag head with its antler's wide ; 
 The fox fur and the brocken hide, 
 Arrang'd in olden pride of game, 
 Are colour'd with the ruddy flame. 
 
 K
 
 68 
 
 ADA OF SNOW DON. 
 
 Llewellyn sits in his ancient hall ; 
 Stretched at his foot the shaggy hound, 
 
 Whose deep loud baying wont to wake 
 The quarry from the covert brake ; 
 Ere time Llewellyn's sinews bound 
 
 And check'd with years his huntsman's call. 
 Beside him Griffyth fills the bowl 
 
 With laughing eye and smiling lip ; 
 I ween his free and youthful soul 
 
 Thinks on the sweets to-night he'll sip. 
 Yet sometime o'er his brow there steals 
 A cast of gloom ; his spirit feels, 
 A sickness, which it sadly brooks 
 When on his hoary sire he looks : 
 A transient shade, a summer cloud. 
 But where is Sitsylt ? harsh and proud 
 His front, above his eye's dark lash, 
 Contracts to hide its withering flash ; 
 W ith folded arms he sits apart ; 
 No smile shines lighted from the heart
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. OJ 
 
 On that wan cheek, hut black design 
 
 And jealousy their traits combine. 
 
 Sitsylt, my son, Llewellyn says, 
 
 Why shrink you from the faggot's blaze 
 
 Bowing with cheerless eye your head ? 
 
 They say you commune with the dead ; 
 
 That some unearthly spirit drives 
 
 Thee wandering, where the tempest strives 
 
 On Wyddfa's rock ; and lightnings find 
 
 Thee loneliest, muttering to the wind, 
 
 Or some unhallow'd shapes which love 
 
 Mid' storm and dunnest night to rove. 
 
 Not such was I ; a maiden's face, 
 
 The toilsome glories of the chase, 
 
 When war had chain'd his angry hounds, 
 
 (Now with the thought my heart it bounds ;) 
 
 Aye made my youthful bosom glow ; — 
 
 I left to age the shroud of woe. 
 
 Tindaethwy come, thy minstrel art 
 
 Shall make my Sitsylt's pubes start,
 
 70 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 GrifFyth, thine eye is ever bright ; 
 For him we'll wake the chords to-night. 
 Tindaethwy strike, the night is long, 
 Some wild and ancient border song, 
 When old Llewellyn's blood defied 
 The powers upon the marches side. 
 The ancient minstrel's eye is dark, 
 
 He sees no golden beam of day ; 
 But o'er his time worn frame, a spark 
 
 Flash'd from the soul shoots forth its ray, 
 As bending o'er the echoing strings 
 His hand along the chord he flings, 
 And gives to song this tale of yore 
 With all the skill of bardic lore. 
 
 ELLEN OF GLENALVON. 
 
 Glenalvon's tower is strong and high, 
 And proudly bears its vaulted keep ; 
 
 There jocund strains of minstrelsy 
 In deep and lengthen'd echoes sweep.
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 71 
 
 The lamps are bright, the feast is fair, 
 The chrystal goblets sparkling foam ; 
 
 Sir Hildebrand of Bourne is there 
 To fetch Glenalvon's Ellen home. 
 
 Forty yeomen, stout and tall 
 
 Guard the knight with sword and spear ; 
 Twenty pages in his hall 
 
 Wait upon his beck with fear. 
 
 Broad lands, and lofty castles own 
 
 Sir Hildebrand their feudal lord, 
 His red cross banner high has flown 
 
 On Paynim fields for holy word. 
 
 Glenalvon's maid, sweet Ellen fair 
 He comes to woo, his blushing bride, 
 
 The lord of Arvon's tower is there 
 He sped him to the border side. 
 
 His bow was good, his eye was keen, 
 His arrow pierced the swiftest deer
 
 72 ADA OF SNOW DON. 
 
 He rov'd amidst the forest green 
 
 With bugle horn and hunting spear. 
 
 His hearth was free in Arvon's tower ; 
 
 To cheer the wand'rers toilsome way; 
 The pilgrim bless'd the happy hour 
 
 That gave him to his turret grey. 
 
 His life was wild, his blood was high, 
 And much he lov'd Glenalvon's pride, 
 
 Quoth he "may lightnings blench this eye, 
 If e'er it see her other's bride. 
 
 With that he spurred his swiftest steed, 
 And rous'd his comrades of the spear, 
 
 And bid them wait for hour of need 
 In dark Glenalvon's forest near. 
 
 The night was dim, the tower he gain'd, 
 When high the wassail sparkl'd there ; 
 
 A light f excuse he idly feign'd, 
 And sat him by the maiden fair.
 
 ADA OF SSOWDON'. '( \i 
 
 He whisper'd gently in her ear ; 
 
 Her smiling 1 eyes responsive speak ; 
 But yet there came a hue of fear 
 
 That blanch'd the roses on her cheek. 
 
 And when he saw fair Ellen smile 
 
 His bugle horn he loudly wound ; 
 Said he "none shall my love beguile" 
 
 And clasp'd her maiden waist around. 
 
 Then bounding from the festive board 
 
 He bore her to his saddled steed : 
 And bade his comrades draw the sword 
 
 While he must make his courser bleed. 
 
 His steed was fast ; through Greta's wood 
 
 He bore her from the border hall ; 
 His comrades drew their weapons good 
 
 And fought the forty yeomen tall. 
 
 So stoutly press'd his gallant band 
 
 Sir Hildebrand could nought oppose ;
 
 74 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 Quoth he, "we will not longer stand 
 I see not why we should be foes. 
 
 Your lord has gain'd the maiden prize 
 And fled far o'er the border side ; 
 
 'Twixt him and me the reck'ning lies, 
 And each that reck'ning must abide. 
 
 And Arvon's lord has won the maid, 
 Say was he not a gallant youth ! 
 
 Nine of GlenaWon's host afraid, 
 But trusting in the lady's truth. 
 
 Well, well, Tindaethwy hast thou sung 
 Said GrirTyth, as he upward sprung, 
 And bore to cheer the harper's soul 
 His meed of thanks, the spark'ling bowl. 
 When thou hast drank, old man, he cried, 
 I'll dip me in the goblet's tide,
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON, ?5 
 
 And driiik to beautv, faith and love : 
 Such theme shall even Sitsylt move ; 
 Will thou not brother pledge to-night 
 St. Margaret's Eve, 'tis fitting quite. 
 A hectic ilush on Sitsylt's cheeks 
 Some deep internal feeling speaks ; 
 The flush is gone, a paleness now ; 
 A bitter smile uplifts his brow. 
 "To such, he says, my lips I wet; 
 
 My pledge to-night you'll soon forget. 
 
 ******* 
 
 ******* 
 ******* 
 No silver moonbeam tips with light 
 
 Of Morfa's fount the bubbling spray ; 
 The crystal gush this darksome night, 
 Falls rayless in its basin grey. 
 
 'Tis pleasant there, when stars are bright 
 To see and hear that lovelv stream
 
 76 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 Which leaps from out her rocky bed, 
 By her own spirit softly led 
 
 To meet with sparkling wave the gleam, 
 And revel in the heavenly light. 
 
 'Tis cheerless now ; the gush is heard, 
 But rather gently seems to chide 
 The tempest in its noisy pride, 
 Deafening with its hollow roar 
 What it unto the night would pour 
 
 As to her love the evening bird. 
 Young Ada by the sacred fount 
 Stands list'ning, as the moments mount 
 To that dear hour, when Griffyth's voice 
 Shall bid her heart, her love rejoice. 
 The storm is up ; a wrapping vest 
 Is cross'd upon her budding breast ; 
 The band which kept her flowing hair 
 Has yielded to the rushing air, 
 And partly on the sweeping blast 
 Its lovelv trust has careless cast.
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. < / 
 
 She strains her eye, she bends her ear ; 
 Is that a footstep falling near ! 
 No, 'tis the wind in yon old bough 
 That waves above the fountain's flow, 
 With wither'd trunk, and splinter'd arm ; 
 Reft monument of time, and storm. 
 A horse step on the mountain heath ; 
 A hoof of speed ; she holds her breath ; 
 'Tis he, 'tis Griffyth, he is come 
 
 From Arvon's tower with slacken'd rein : 
 His arm enfolds his lovely one ; 
 
 Nor hearts, nor lips, nor breasts are twain, 
 But mingle in tumultuous bliss 
 
 By yon lone fount in mutual kiss. 
 
 ('Tis said, and I suppose it true 
 
 That pleasure steeps with balmier dew, 
 
 That stolen love, when kisses seem 
 
 Created by a fairy dream ; 
 
 When the red pouting lip we press 
 
 We scarcely credit the caress,
 
 78 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 And know, and revel in the thought, 
 How better lost, how dearly bought.) 
 Ada my love, young Griffyth speaks, 
 The darkness veils thy blushing cheeks, 
 But well thine heart's quick pulses tell 
 Again we will not say farewell ; 
 St. Margaret's eve, this holy night 
 We'll mutual vows eternal plight, 
 A beaded man, mine earliest friend 
 Will here ere morn his footsteps bend. 
 Ah Griffyth, none but you shall share 
 My maiden heart, my maiden prayer ; 
 I would, but cannot speak my love, 
 Tis surely dyed in tints above ; 
 For when at morn my voice I raise 
 In thought, and hymn, to his high praise, 
 
 Who's all around me ; Griffyth then 
 Unconsciously I breath thy name 
 And start, as erring; 'tis the same
 
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 79 
 
 At even, or at midnight toll, 
 Still, still enshrin'd within my soul : 
 On the lone heath and forest glen, 
 In woody wild and shadowy glade, 
 Your vision's with thy mountain maid. 
 But sadly all my bosom thrills 
 Whene'er I think upon the ills 
 Which Ada's hand on thee may hurl ; 
 My spirit, and my senses whirl 
 As if there yawn'd a gulph below 
 Of grief and of unfathom'd woe. 
 Ada, high heaven can attest, 
 Your cheek lay blushing on my breast, 
 You swore to be thy GrifFyth's bride ■ 
 And shall my faith be thus denied ? 
 Talk not of woe ; the storm may blow 
 When pillow'd on thy breast of snow ; 
 Talk not of grief; it cannot chill 
 When loves warm fires our pulses thrill.
 
 80 
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 Hark, Ada ! how the distant roll 
 
 Of thunder strikes upon the soul ; 
 
 Ah think you it will lighter fall 
 
 When conscience's rankling arrows gall • 
 
 And when yon flash, now brightly fled 
 
 Shall quiver o'er a perjur'd head. 
 
 Oh Griffith, Griffyth do you think 
 
 I'd faulter at the torrent's brink, 
 
 If Ada's arm or life might save 
 
 Thee struggling in the drowning wave ; 
 
 No, if 1 thought one lock of hair 
 
 Could buoy thee to the vital air, 
 
 I'd plunge within the wild abyss, 
 
 And revel in a dying kiss. 
 
 Heaven frowns upon our loves to-night. 
 
 See Griffyth how the phantom light 
 
 Flies wildly o'er the shadowy heath, 
 
 Indignant at the tempest's breath.
 
 ADA OF SNOVVDON. 81 
 
 How dark the skies are gathering round; 
 Hark, how the nearer thunders bound 
 From rock to cave ! what mass of clouds 
 And sulphur Wyddfa's summit shrouds ! 
 Griffith it bursts ; the light'ning's ire 
 Wraps all Llanberris lake in fire. 
 A figure pass'd me in the gleam, 
 Or else my quailing senses dream. 
 What darkness now ! again the flash : 
 Oh shield me from the following crash. 
 Here Ada on thy Griffith's breast 
 Bow thy poor head ; my ample vest 
 Shall guard thee Ada, as my soul 
 Shall ever from the wilder roll 
 Of grief's rude storm. Thy trembling hand 
 Give into mine, its pulses stand ; 
 Now quicken : Ada you must swear 
 By him who through the midnight air 
 Wing these wild lightenings, ere the sun 
 Of morn shall through his hpaven run
 
 82 
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 That thou art mine, — Griffith, I sivear. 
 That lightening's flash ! what's in the glare 
 With edge of fire ! young Griffith falls ; 
 His heart blood ebbs, dying he calls 
 On Ada ****** 
 ******* 
 ******* 
 
 What form is that which hovers o'er the rush 
 Of Morfa's fount ? and in the babbling gush 
 Wets her wild ringlets, as she dips her hand ; 
 And from its hollow palm, upon the strand 
 Scatters the limpid wave, and talks of blood 
 And stains of gore. Oh 'tis a fearful mood 
 That lights with maniac fire her eye's soft blue ; 
 And marks those sunken cheeks where roses 2*rew. 
 One breast is bared to the sweeping storm, 
 Cold, shrunken ; where the life stream warm 
 Of health and youth, had sometime swell'd to love.
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 63 
 
 Her pale and wither'd lips all strangely move. 
 True to the frantic soul. See, see the parts 
 
 With shadowy fingers, her dishevell'd hair 
 
 Which sadly streams around her forehead fair ; 
 While wildly forth her wand'ring eye beam darts. 
 How stern, unpitying memory strives 
 To rake within the compass where it lives, 
 Visions of acted woe. She gives them sound ; 
 Hush ! hush ! the plaintive strain she pours around, 
 iC Wild spirit of the mountain cave ! 
 Wild spirit of the crested wave I 
 
 Tell, tell me of my love. 
 Oft has Ada strove to wake 
 The gentle fairy of the lake, 
 
 And guardian of the grove : 
 But when she rose to upper air, 
 She only shook her dewy hair, 
 
 And sigh'd and sunk again. 
 Eke the fair spirit of the grove 
 Wav'd sadly cypress wreaths he wove 
 
 M
 
 84 ADA OF SNOW DON. 
 
 In dark umbrageous glen. 
 Come thou then of the mountain cave ; 
 And thou upon the tempest wave 
 
 Appear to Ada's eyes ; 
 Leave for awhile the rugged cell, 
 And foamy grotto where you dwell, 
 
 And answer to my cries. 
 
 ******* 
 
 ******* 
 Ah, when shall these sad footsteps bear 
 Ada, to him with flowing hair, 
 And eye of joy, in whose bright beam 
 Is full delight : the lovely gleam 
 Will warm this heart : why is it cold ? 
 'Twas not so once ; but I've been told 
 'Tis chill'd and wither'd : What could blight ? 
 I know, I know, 'tis he of night, 
 Yon of the gloomy brow. My love 
 I'll mourn thee as the cushat dove
 
 ADA OF SNOWDON. 85 
 
 Her murder'd mate ; what did I say ? 
 It cannot be : the brightest ray 
 Of heaven shone upon his soul 
 And Ada lov'd him. Hark ! the roll 
 Of Thunders ring upon my heart ; 
 Who dares entwined souls to part ! 
 Come GrirFyth we will seek the bower ; 
 I'll watch thee in thy sleeping hour, 
 
 And while thy dewy lip I press 
 I'll bid the wanton breezes there 
 They do not fan too rough an air 
 
 Where loves soft dreams thy slumbers bless. 
 This stone is stain'd ! with what ? Oh God 
 'Tis the deep print of Grirfyth's blood. 
 It rises now before mine eyes, 
 In Griffyth's form a vision flies ; 
 But where the cheek of youthful red ? 
 Where the light ringlets of the head ? 
 The smiling eye, the arched brow ! 
 Those locks are dyed, and matted now
 
 86 ADA OF SNOWDON. 
 
 With gore, and wither'd is the cheek, 
 That eye is death's ; why dont you break 
 Full heart ! so full, my throbbing side 
 Feels bursting ; saddest vision hide 
 Thyself. Ah wont one tear drop fill 
 This swelling eye ! no blessed rill 
 Springs from my parched heart. 
 I must away ; vision we part. 
 My father calls me.
 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. >\> 
 
 LORD RONALD. 
 
 — t=><3t£»s— 
 
 Lord Ronald was absent with hawk and with spear 
 To chase the wild pigeon, and pierce the swift deer, 
 And his lady he left in her tower so lone, 
 Ah what shall she do now Lord Ronald is gone? 
 
 Ah well-a-day, ah well-a-day, 
 
 The Lady's love is far away. 
 
 Lord Ronald was young, and his spirit was gay, 
 Andhespurr'd to the chase at the dawning of day; 
 He car'd not for mountain, nor thicket, nor dell, 
 So the quarry he hunted but gallantly fell. 
 Ah well-a-day, &c. 
 
 The eye of the lady was loveliest blue, 
 Her fair flowing tresses luxuriantly grew,
 
 { J0 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 The snowdrop would blush on the tint of her 
 
 breast, 
 Her voice was the music lull'd Ronald to rest. 
 Ah well-a-day, &c. 
 
 And how could so bold and so valiant a knight 
 Alone leave his lady so lovely and bright ? 
 The lily will droop in the withering storm 
 If the oak of the valley be riven and torn. 
 Ah well-a-day, &c. 
 
 The Lady she lean'd on her white arm and wept, 
 As the winds round the turret so fearfully swept, 
 And the Demon of night sent his spirits around 
 To wrap the grey mountain in darkness profound. 
 Ah well-a-day, &c. 
 
 Hark, hark, 'tis the watch dog that bays at the 
 
 door, 
 Lord Ronald is come from the forest and moor, 
 The lady ran swiftly to welcome him home, 
 And kissing, forbid him thus wildly to roam. 
 Ah well-a-dav, &c,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 91 
 
 It was not the watch dog which bay'd, but the 
 
 hound, 
 His master the truest and fleetest had found ; 
 'Twas lightfoot who challeng'd the flight of the 
 
 roe, 
 O'er the rudest of mountains,, and deepest of snow. 
 
 
 Ah well-a-day, &c. 
 
 No Ronald returning there met her embrace ; 
 The staunch hound whin'd deeply, and gaz'd on 
 
 her face, 
 Laid his head on her foot, with a quivering breath, 
 Then stretch'd his stiff" limbs in the numbness of 
 
 death. 
 Ah well-a-day, &c. 
 
 There was gore on his throat from the wound of 
 
 a spear, 
 But where is Lord Ronald, why is he not here ? 
 
 i\
 
 92 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 He was murder'd they say in the gloom of the 
 
 wood, 
 And an old blasted yew tree was stain'd with his 
 blood. 
 Ah well-a-day, &c. 
 
 Though none e'er saw the body, yet still there 
 
 remain 
 The withered trunk and the red colour'd stain ; 
 And there in the tempest of midnight are seen. 
 The shades of a hound, and a hunter in green. 
 
 Ah well-a-day, ah well-a-day, 
 
 The Lady's love is far away.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 93 
 
 MARRIAGE. 
 
 = *>5<©C 
 
 Marriage, experience says, does often prove 
 
 The funeral dirge of harmony and love, 
 
 Acts like a haggard witch's incantation, 
 
 Whose baleful spells extend o'er ev'ry station. 
 
 Before the knot's indissolubly tied, 
 
 Ere happy bridegroom clasps his blushing bride, 
 
 How soft the time, in bows and wooing spent, 
 
 Each on each other's smile alone intent. 
 
 Should but a little fly assault the cheek 
 
 Of lovely Bella, she must give a shriek ; 
 
 Instant her swain starts tremulous and pale, 
 
 And sighing, listens to the piteous tale. 
 
 Cut when the Priest has bless'd, and bells have 
 
 rung, 
 And one sweet honey-moon her radiance flung ;
 
 94 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Then comes the harmonv of amorous cats, 
 The wife's sharp tongue, and minstrelsy of brats. 
 Says old sir Paul, to dashing Lady Crust, 
 Madam, I plainly tell you that you must. 
 J must l sir Paul, I do not understand 
 That you should thus my little whims command. 
 Zounds madam ! what, how dare you thus rebel, 
 By heavens a modish wife, is what ? is Hell. 
 But howsoe'er you rant, or rave, or frown, 
 On Monday next you leave this cursed town. 
 Hey day ! old cribbage face, my lady cries, 
 Your threats and you I equally despise : 
 Shall I, because mayhap you please to frown 
 Melt into tears, and fall into a swoon ? 
 Madam, he roars, you'd better not provoke 
 My gentle temper, for I'm not in joke. 
 To which my lady saith, I little care, 
 Tho' like tornadoes sir, your passions are ; 
 Because forsooth you hounds and horses love 
 Shall I with feign'd affection say, my dove
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 95 
 
 Absent from thee no happiness I feel ; 
 
 Then with a coaxing leer, to slily steal 
 
 A kiss ambrosial from thy lips — of skin 
 
 Ah pretty mouth, without one tooth within. 
 
 No sir, believe me ; such is not my merit, 
 
 I am sir Paul, a girl of better spirit : 
 
 And wont sir Paul, because alone you please 
 
 Resign my comforts, luxuries, and ease ; 
 
 To leave the ball, the play, the masquerade, 
 
 To gather snowdrops in a frozen glade ; 
 
 To change the prattle and the am'rous looks 
 
 Of well dress'd beaux, for horrid cawing rooks. 
 
 And what a monstrous bribe my dear proposes, 
 
 To watch his nodding head whene'er he dozes. 
 
 To hear the curate tell the oft-told tale ; 
 
 Learn from his wife the way to brew good ale." 
 
 'Tis thus that discord bears her constant sway, 
 
 Thus night succeeds to night, and day to day. 
 
 Destin'd to jars eternal during life, 
 
 She hates the name of husband, he of wife.
 
 9(> MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 If then discordant tempers really prove 
 So deadly fatal to connubial love 
 It does appear to me that plain good sense 
 Would from their data draw this inference, 
 " Study each virtue,, and each failing know 
 This is the fount whence happiness must flow. 
 True says the cynic., but pray who can find 
 The wily labyrinth of the female mind ? 
 Who can unravel each designing plan ? 
 They always plot too deep for honest man. 
 All this in part may possibly be right : 
 But none for years can act the hypocrite. 
 I would advise all good folks who are led 
 To think no comfort, but the marriage bed, 
 Who call its chains, (though adamant,) of silk ; 
 Lest the lov'd object should their reckoning bilk, 
 " To mark, to learn, and inwardly digest" 
 Which way the compass points of either breast; 
 Ry this alone, may they expect to find 
 Jov in connubial love, and peace of mind.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS- 9? 
 
 THE 
 
 COUNTRY JUSTICE AND BOREAS. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 sOefcOi 
 
 A Justice, sir, a member of the Quorum, 
 (I like to speak of all with due decorum,) 
 A man whose dignity so proves the sequel 
 In its friend folly, only found an equal. 
 King of a country village, struts to stare 
 At a balloon about to mount the air. 
 Numbers had met, allur'd by the delight 
 Of gazing, gaping at this wond'rous sight. 
 Anxious to disappoint the staring croud 
 Old Boreas muster'd up so very loud 
 That each attempt the operator tried, 
 Was by his rudeness quickly dash'd aside.
 
 98 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 At this the pompous justice angry grew, 
 
 And vow'd the impostor should such tricking rue. 
 
 At once, a constable his worship sent 
 
 To ask what 'twas the dirty scoundrel meant ? 
 
 And if he took him for a downright fool, 
 
 Or a goodnatur'd easy humdrum tool. 
 
 The man, of pow'r and dignity afraid, 
 
 To this demand, his humble answer made, 
 
 "All such design, I from my soul disdain, 
 
 That villain Boreas, is alone to blame." 
 
 Straight to his worship toddled back the wight 
 
 And told, O wondrous! all the message right. 
 
 " What, cried the Justice, who's that fellow 
 
 Boreas ? " 
 " I know not, please your honor, by the mass, ' 
 Poh, you're a fool he cried, I've found him out ; 
 He is the fellow's partner, past a doubt; 
 I'll teach the fellow to play tricks on us, 
 Clerk, clerk, he bawl'd, make out his mittimus.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 93 
 
 EMMA. 
 
 Emma, bright Emma when tempests arc meeting, 
 And dark flies the mist of the storm o'er the sky. 
 
 When wild round its rock the white billow is 
 beating, 
 And all lonely and loud is the sea bird's cry. 
 
 Then go to the altar, where ever is burning 
 A lamp 'fore the lady so stainless and pure, 
 
 There pray for the man, you shall ne'er see 
 returning, 
 The Pilgrim who wanders in vain for a cure. 
 
 His heart it has leap'd like the roe of the 
 
 mountain 
 
 When she he ador'd was unchangeably true ; 
 
 His spirit flow'd gaily, but dry is the fountain 
 
 Since constancy feeds it no more with her dew. 
 
 o
 
 100 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Ah farewell then forever sweet flower of the vale ! 
 
 Thy sweets to the Pilgrim were sweetest of all : 
 But now sacred no morefrom each wantoning: jrale 
 
 The bloom of thy beauties must speedily fall. 
 
 ON OBSERVING 
 
 SILENCE REPRESENTED BY A 
 FEMALE FIGURE. 
 
 Good Heavens ! what a strange vagary 
 
 To enter into sculptor's head, 
 Ne'er did I think the pates of Bedlam 
 
 A queerer maggot could have bred. 
 
 It sure was meant for snarling satire, 
 
 Or at the best for sneering fun, 
 That silence's emblem be a woman, 
 And that, a woman with a tongue.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 101 
 
 TO MY 
 
 ON PRESENTING HER A FLOWER WITH A DEW DROP 
 ON HER BIRTH DAY. 
 
 -«<(£>«=► 
 
 Oh purest brilliant in the early ray, 
 
 Which gems the blushing features of the day ! 
 
 Oh pearly offering at affection's shrine ! 
 
 On this fair morn be double chasteness thine. 
 
 Then, and but then, with twofold pureness bless' d 
 
 Art thou an image of -— breast. 
 
 To thee, lov'd partner of my earliest days, 
 
 This little dewdrop gives a praise. 
 
 Since first to thee the light her realms display'd, 
 And me the partner of thy pleasures made ; 
 Since first our souls in fondest union glow'd, 
 Have vears in blissful concord flow'd.
 
 102 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 If sportive pleasure with her chaplet fair 
 Should bind the wavy tresses of thine hair, 
 You ever lov'd to share the flow'ry crown, 
 And wreathitsbloominghonoursroundmine own. 
 
 Did pallid sickness bow head, 
 
 Or starting- woe drop, leave its silken bed, 
 
 A breast responsive anguish felt, 
 
 A suppliant for thy safety knelt. 
 
 And as our years their fleeting course sustain, 
 May our affections unestrang'd remain. 
 May joys unsullied fan thee with their wings, 
 While peace of mind her balmiest treasure brings. 
 May white rob'd virtue, with her golden plumes, 
 Which heaven's eternal radiance illumes, 
 Her finger pointing to the boundless sky, 
 Teach thee to live, and teach thee how to die. 
 
 So may each morn, my lov'd find 
 
 Spotless in soul, and elegant in mind.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 10;} 
 
 TO MY 
 
 ON HIS BIRTH DAY. 
 
 Oh dearest guardian of our helpless years, 
 Source of our every smile and sweetest tears ; 
 Such tears as now our grateful spirits shed, 
 Bright o'er the hallow'd silver of thy head ; 
 Accept this humble tributary lay 
 A soul sprung offering to thy natal day. 
 
 Thine th year, with all its changeful scene, 
 
 Now gives thee to us with unfading mien : 
 Not as the batter'd trunk, denuded, lone 
 A blighted spectre of its beauties gone, 
 But such, as mighty in its ancient grace. 
 Throws a blest shelter o'er its budding race. 
 Since first you listen'd to our orphan moan, 
 And round thy neck, our infant arms were thrown.
 
 104 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Since smiling first, caressing, and caress'd, 
 
 Our childhood nestled in thy fostering breast ; 
 
 Thine was the envied lip we clim'd to kiss, 
 
 The easy summit of our guileless bliss. 
 
 Though basking now in life's benignant ray, 
 
 Thine is the smile that lights us on our way. 
 
 And if our guardian angel ever bring, 
 
 From man a prayer, which sullies not his wing, 
 
 If he in heavenly records ever wrote, 
 
 A wish untainted by corruption's blot, 
 
 'Tis that, which kneeling gratitude would send 
 
 To Heaven, for blessings on the orphan's friend. 
 
 And we, oh Sire, with fervent spirit dare 
 
 To lift above this supplicating prayer. 
 
 Long may thy hallow'd crown of years be worn ; 
 
 Long may we greet with thee, thy natal morn, 
 
 The joyful moment of our birth 
 
 Which gave to us the blessings of his hearth. 
 And oh, for ever, 'til that night shall come, 
 Which thou or us must destine to the tomb ;
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 105 
 
 May all that blissful unison of mind, 
 Our pure affections to each others bind, 
 Which yet, unshaken by a jarring breath 
 Has twin'd our spirits with its fragrant wreath. 
 Oh, may thy life, in this, its evening prove 
 A setting sunbeam in the light of love, 
 Which mildly glorious in its cloudless sky 
 Sinks softly downwards with a zephyr's sigh. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 PRINTED BY J, TREBLE, PEMBF.OKF,.
 
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