u 7 B I A N C A. POEMS AND BALLADS BY EDWARD BRENNAN. SECOND EDITION. LONDON : JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, PICCADILLY. 1868. LONDON : SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., CHANDOS STREET, COVENT GARDEN. / h C0 CljiirUttt, My Dearest Sister, The following Poems, — if such I may be permitted to call them — I dedicate to thee; aware, that none other can more fully enter into the sentiments and feelings which I have thrown into many of them than you ; and may I add he whom you have chosen to pass the rest of your days, should God spare him, as one with you. That they do not possess many faults, I cannot pretend to imagine ; but any which they may contain, you with some other very dear friends, can make allowance for. However, if you shall have derived any gratification in the perusal of them, haply finding there some image to awaken in your thoughts ; memories of those you love, and loved, I shall have in the present instance obtained the summit of my wishes. Many of them 1 have written in a manner akin to im- promptu, writing only when I felt inclined (a few cases 525946 vi DEDICATION. excepted) ; for 1 believe Poetry Is like a hothouse plant, which being forced, is delicate, and soon dies ; but when sponta- neous it is healthy, and long lived. ** Not in those climes where I have late been straying," have I seen aught to wean me from the love I bear the land which gave me birth ; nor have I seen a home more happily united than ours once had been ; when all our sorrows only were ephemeric, our joys and hopes reared upon the ideal foundations of futurity. Before concluding, I hope that each of us as years are borne along upon the untiring wings of Time ; now and then in some pensive moments snatched from the unstable Present ; — which long has fled, ere we can call it ours ; — will take a glance into the Past, so that the retrospect thereof, may be a means of the more cementing that love which binds us to each other, for the Future. Believe me dearest Ever your affectionate brother EDWARD J. BRENNAN. Palazzo Tunuit'i, Rome, Sr/jt. iS66. CONTENTS. BIANCA, THE FLOWER GIRL OF BOLOGNA • • PAGE 3 FRANCESCA 29 ALFRED AND EVELYN ; OR, RETRIBUTION 35 THE EXILE : A FRAGMENT 43 THE IMPROVISATORE 5© A MOONLIGHT LANDSCAPE • 56 SANTIAGO 60 A SERENADE 68 TO IDA 70 THE TROUBADOUR 72 BARCAROLA 79 TO ADA 82 viii CONTENTS. PAGE TO JULIE 84 AN IDIOT BOY TO HIS MOTHER's CORPSE .... 86 THE MEETING 90 IMPROMPTU ON MELANCHOLY 95 FIVE MINUTES LATE ! 96 A DIRGE 102 AN IMITATION OF SPENSERIAN RHYTHM IO4 THE OUTCAST IO5 OF THE WORLD, BUT NOT WORLDLY Ill LINES ON JOHN KEATS II7 METEMPSYCHIA 1 20 AU REVOIR 130 LA SPERANZA I34 A WISH 143 s*' i^ B I A N C A, THE FLOWER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. r B La verginella e simile alia rosa, Ch' in bel giardino su la nativa spina Mentre sola e sicura si riposa, Ne gregge ne pastor se le avvicina ; L'aura soave e I'alba rugiadcsa, L'acqua, la terra al suo favor s' inchina : Gioveni vaghi e donne innamorate Amano averne e seni e tempie ornate. Orlando Furioso, Canto 1. xmxtn, THE FLOWER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. '^XT'ITHIN Bologna's city, long there dwelt A pair of Artisans ; whom heaven had blest In all their labours ; they nor saw nor felt An hour's woe thus far thro' life, the rest Did augur well ; but who can tell when prest. What troubles may obstruct our path ere Death Doth beckon us to follow in his track, And bid our last Adieu ! to this fair earth ; While as yet flutters on our lips the parting breath. BIANCA, II. Heaven bounteous, them had lent one lovely child, A daughter; she so beautiful and fair. In limb so graceful, and in temper mild, Less child of earth than spirit of the air ; Seemed as if born an aerial throne to share ; Blushes, which with each beating of her heart Faded, then flushed as if with holy fire Glad to rekindle, being loth to part That face far lovelier than aught in sculptured art. III. Her purple eyes flashed like a liquid fire. And yet so kindly looking love to all ; THE FLOWER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. That callous hearts to love she would inspire, Spirits of kindred nature would enthrall, And thus entice them 'neath the treacherous palJ Of Hope ; her lips e'er wore a roseate hue, And felt when pressed of richest velvet made, Which caused the soul of him who ever knew What 'twas to love, seek out the god and once more sue. IV. Hers was the custom when in years she'd grown, To listen to the skylark's warbling song Welcoming the dawn of morn, as he'd flown Forth from his moss-built nest to fly along The sun's first ray : and joyous trip among BIANCJ, The dew-refreshed wild flowers, which had been Trampled by some faery feet last night In dance ; illumined by the silvery sheen From Phoebe's shield, to mystify th' immortal scene. V. There from the lap of earth where flowerets grew. Where honeysuckles and wild violets shed Their fragrance and rich variegated hue ; Where the wild rose, with its pale tinted red, Opened its petals on its dewy bed To instil the morn's first breath of incensed air ; Ere the gold sun had centered in the heaven. Would she with soul ethereal, from its lair Chase the gay spangled butterfly secreted there. THE FLOIVER (iIRL OF BOLOGNA. VI. Ripe was she now for Eros* treacherous shaft. Nor had the incessant toil of every day Dulled her eye's lustre, for whene'er she laughed. Shadows, if aught were there, fast fled away ; As skims the petrel over Ocean's spray. What Monarch on this Orb, could he but feel How light the heart of that blithe spirit beat, Would not yearn to know how he might steal But one short hour from rolling Time ; of life so real ? VII. A life Hke hers of mingled joy and hope, Is an intoxicating bowl few taste : 8 BIANCA, When the first days of happy youth elope, The gall of disappointments lays all waste, And sullies that which once was pure and chaste ; Casting a thick cloud o'er its loveliness : Thus is driven from her ambrosial bower Sweet Innocence, unpitied, comfortless ; Veiled doth she wander to the grave in her distress. VIIT. Weep with me ! Weep ! but not in ecstacy ; Open the floodgates of thy Soul ! Weep on ! Death at the door doth stand. Oh misery ! As Angels chant their funereal song, A Spirit on their wings is borne along THE FLOWER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. To heaven ; lighter than ether in the skies Mortality immortalised ascends. Swifter than an arrowy thought it flies, To live 'mid joys of an eternal Paradise. IX. Breeze ! sigh thy mournful dirge. Sigh on ! bewail ! Tune thy last Melody to my heart's grief, Flames gnawing in this bosom doth exhale ; Niobean springs have ceased to give relief : Alas ! I am bereft. Oh moment brief ! That did bereave a home of Spouse and Mother, Why so unkind as place on her thy hand, And freeze her heart's blood ? Why not mark another .? And have twin souls as one ent'ring Heaven together. fo BIANCA, X. Death ! thou wan sovereign of another world, — Who tho' unconquerable, art vanquished ; — From the fair regions of Elysium hurled In ignominy, and from Eden pushed, Did shelter in the nether earth, there flushed With shame, within thy walls of mouldering earth Seated upon a throne of blanched skulls. Dost watch thy empire's slowly growing dearth. As Psyche's offspring waken to Celestial birth. XL Home to Bianca had few pleasures now. Sorrow e'er present seemed to cast a gloom THE FLOJFER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. ti On all ; and from that pure Angelic brow, The aerial sprightliness of youthful bloom Had fled ; her Hope's first hope ceased to illume With its transparent flame ; and now she sought Some daily occupation to distract The canker grief, which in her bosom wrought Ravages direful, by demoniac whispers taught. XII. Chaplets and bouquets of fresh flowers she wreathed, Garlands of rue and violets entwined. These would she vend, e'en whilst as yet they breathed Odorous exhalations on that wind. Whose gentle suspirations o'er the mind 12 " BIANCJ, Of troubled mortals, spread a dreamy lull Of peacefulness cooling the feverish brain. Her wicker basket which at morn was full. Ere noon was emptied, as by hand invisible. XIII. Oh subtle sorrow ! who with cunning drew Into thy meshes the remaining stay. Upon whose strength, our Nymph dependant grew To blossom in frail beauty's bower, and play The hours of her ephemeral life away. If thou her loving father snatched in ruth. Why as an oarless bark on Ocean cast Didst thou forsaken leave her ? 'Twas forsooth Jealous Earth was possessor of such blooming youth. THE FLOIFER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. 13 XIV. Even steals into night ; Night upon its wings Doth stealthily usher in reflection. Grief drinking freely of the springs Issuing from Memories of past affection. Rears thus a monument, whose erection By sighs made complete, us beholds secured As prisoners in the charnel house of Death, Within an everlasting wall immured : To this are we by wily Phantasy allured. XV. Lonely, alone she sate to weep, — to die ; When at her chamber door is heard a rap, 14 BIANCA, A gentle rap, and then a deep-drawn sigh ; She listens with an intent ear, " mayhap " Her soul suggests, " some troubled spirit ; " tap, As from bolder hand this time awakes The thoughts that linger in the land of spells. And as she rises, o'er her dark mind breaks A lustrous hallowed lisi^ht, radiant in golden flakes. XVI. She opens wide the door ; when lo ! there stands A youth, in form so comely, and so meek In bearing, that with trembling out-stretched hands And throbbing heart, she welcomes him. '* I seek " For thee sweet Cherub," said he, " not to break THE FLOIVER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. 15 Thy peaceful solitariness, but came To pour the oil of pity in thy wounds ; Do not such holy services disclaim, I've come to minister in Mercy's sacred name." XVII. The heart he thus addressed, with tender love For him already brimmed ; oft had she seen Those light blue eyes, as the bright stars above Twinkle and sparkle, they to her had been A loadstone of delight ; his very mien Bespoke a nature full of tenderness. Endymion ne'er couched upon such flowers Of dewy freshness, as she would wreath and dress In fantastic forms, to expire 'neath his caress. i6 BIANCA, XVIII. He often spoke to her, he loved to hear The words of honied sweetness drop from hps That ever wore a smile divine, the tear E'en glassing those black orbs of hers : the tips Of hills on which the expiring sun drips His last rays of liquid gold, glow not more Than did those cheeks of hers, when faltering She answer'd ; inwardly did she implore High Heaven on him its holiest gifts to pour. XIX. They each the other loved in secretness ; Love so holily sublime they cherished THE FLOJFER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. x; Hidden from the world, lest that its sweetness Should be marred ; as the young sapling's nourished By the clear milk of Earth, so they flourished In the splendour of their own pavilion Builded of Sighs and Hopes and Youthful dreams, Whose plastic loveliness by a million Of Thought's dazzling atomies ever grows still on. XX. Tremulously he took her hand in his, And with language fervourous and intense, Proclaimed his heart's impassioned ecstacies. There lies within the Eye a power immense, Expression, which tho' tongueless, doth the sense D 1 8 BUNCA, Of love, or pain, or anger indicate ; It is the unerring Mirror of the mind, The Fountain of the soul ; its power's innate. Received when first the Spirit's clothed in mortal state. XXI. He who indites has seen them when at birth They first receive the impressionable fire. When the young spirit wakens on this earth, Its guileless heart yet panting to suspire Life's breath — rolling and wondering, as if desire Had seized its yet unformed mind to see Through the thick mists of its ov/n nothingness. The land where heavenly wisdom did decree A temporal rest, ere passing to eternity. THE FLOJFER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. 19 XXII. I've seen them too when lustreless in death. The wearied spirit scarce a moment fled. Fixed and calm ; as if with holden breath, The body watched its spirit as it fled Upward on its celestial flight to tread The airy halls of heaven : Ah thou lovers ! 'Neath lucid curtains laid expressionless. What refulgent splendour now discovers Itself, as each transformed in Heaven uncovers. XXIII. Silently thus did her bright eyes reveal To him the fires which kindled in her breast ; 20 BIANCJ, Then did each happy heart from the other steal That part with which each hoped to be most blest The snowy robe in which First Love is dressed, Is Innocence, 'tis woven by the Angels From the silvery down carped from their wings ; It veils from us the future, and dispels The shadows overhanging Hope's o'erflowing wells. XXIV. Joyous the months rolled on, and then did Spring Bursting upon the world make merry hearts ; The unfledged nestlings oped their beaks to sing In flowing strains which vied with Orphic arts, Their melodies of welcome in tuned parts ; THE FLOJFER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. 21 /•» Shepherds on oaten reeds their carols played ; With youthful Nature all the world seemed young Ev'n when the Day to Night its homage paid, Groups of young rustic lovers in the fields delayed. XXV. Summer in its amber robes came marching in. Already to the sickle's edge the fields Yielded their offspring, and the whizzing din Of threshing flails through the light air sent peals As if of laughter, and swift spinning wheels, Plyed by some maiden's foot tempered to time With her life's metronome, buzzed as she sang Unto her Patron-Saint a prayer in rhyme Of thanks, for blessing with full harvests her fair clime. 2 2 BIANCA, XXVI. Where stands Poseidon's fount in majesty. Surrounded by his Sirens, from whose paps Issues the crystal stream in mirthful glee. Enrico and Bianca stood, perhaps The happiest that since Earth's first collapse Ever the wan face of Cynthia shone on ; The fragile cup of Joy was nigh their lips. For on the morrow thro' triumphant throng. To Altars Hymeneal they'd lead each along. XXVII. Alas ! thou misty Morrow ; curtains Impenetrable o'er thy Destiny THE FLOWER GIRL OF BO LOG X J. 23 "' For ever hang, enveloping the stains Bedimming it, as blackened clouds the sky ; How often both a Joy and Terror lie Within that word ? — To-morrow ! How tlie hearts Of lovers at the word do palpitate And flutter ? but Alas ! it frights and starts The crime-condemned, who at its dawning, earth departs. XXVIII. The Morrow came in splendid pomp arrayed ; Drawn in Its chariot of gilded flame By fiery coursers, whose fair forms displayed Themselves as prancing thro' the heavens they came, Pawing the azure sky, as if to claim 2 4 BIANCA, The out-stretched canopy for their own ; Onward they dashed, till in the midmost sky, This grand celestial pageant stood to crown The god of Day upon his rose-flamed aerial throne. XXIX. The cup of Pleasure now so nigh those lips Had fallen, Oh God! — and broken ; Unkind Fate ! Oh cruel ! thou whose ruthless hand us strips Of all our Joys, our hopes you dissipate. And leave us as a broken reed to wait Upon the signal knell of welcome death : Ah ! my Bianca where's thy loved one gone ? Where are the lips thou kissed ; and kissed thee, 'neath The pale moon's shadow yesternight ? A small voice saith. THE FLOWER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. 25 XXX. "^ Death is his bride ; cold earth his marriage bed. He waits for thee Blanca ; follow him, Go ; on his bosom lay thy weary head." Her brain now reels, her sparkling eyes grow dim, And bridal robed she goes to follow him. When lo ! at that same fountain's marble base. Where they last night so happily had parted ; She sees her loved Enrico's pallid face, Bithed in his own heart's blood ; In rigid death's embrace. XXXI. His golden locks fell o'er his lofty brow, His rich soft azure eves did calmly stare, 26 BIANCA, A smile did his sweet countenance endow With a clear effulgence hallowing the air, As if some heavenly being housed there ; Lifeless he lay, felled by th' assassin's knife : As some poor Ocean traveller homeward bound. After long absence from both home and wife, Hoping, he in peace by his own hearth may end his life. xxxir. E'en at the threshold of his fatherland Is wrecked ; his longed for joys almost to reach. And from the sinking bark where he doth stand Viewing them all dismayed upon the beach. Life's scene is fading : in the sea a breach THE FLOIVER GIRL OF BOLOGNA. 2/ /-« Doth yawn, and with a hollow groan the flood Engulpheth all ; the clouds which frowned now weep, The winds which moaned now sigh ; the dismal hood Has cleared away, o'er where ebbing life had stood. XXXIII. Tears would not flow ; grief struck a higher chord, The chill of death already thro' her veins Had coursed unto the heart ; the poisoned sword Of sorrow pierced too deep, and left such stains As only fade when earth the soul disdains ; Their hands tho' never joined, their spirits cling. And would not e'en in death the other part ; But she to heaven did following wing. Where Angels their Epithalamium did sing. 28 BIANCA, THE FLOWER GIRL OF BOLOGNJ. XXXIV. Should any to Bologna find his way. Perchance a wanderer in search of Fame ; And if he near the Campo Santo stray, — An ancient convent which Carthusians claim, — Let him seek out the mound marked with each name. And grieve with me, that this should be their lot ; That love so pure could meet such untoward fate. An antique cross, doth mark the humble spot ; And clustering violets quilt that virgin plot. Jfraitasca:* lago. O, beware, my lord, of jealousy ; It is the green-eyed monster, which doth mock The meat it feeds on. Othello. XT ALIA ! thou land of love. Beneath thy trellised bowers, How often have I whiled away In dreams thy sunny hours ? II. How often 'neath thy canopy Of blue and burnished gold, 30 FRANCESCA. I've seen behind thy azure hills The sun sink to his fold ? III. And oft along thy verdant banks, Where silvery streams rushed by. We've talked of happy days to come, My Francesca and I. IV. Can memory ever prove so false As e'er forget the day. When from beneath this troubled breast She stole my heart away ? FRJNCESCA. 31 'Twas on one lovely eve in Spring, The sun had sunk to rest. As tripping by she pluckt a flower And placed it in my breast ; VI. And then her basket full of fi-uit ; Above her head she bore. Then turning round on me she smiled A smile of love, — no more. yii. But that one glance within my heart, A secret spring had moved. FRANCESCyl. For as her smiling eyes met mine, We only looked, and loved. VIII. And day by day to ripening, Our loves had grown apace ; Till blushing Hope had tinted both With a becoming grace. IX. And, as the juicy blushing peach When to full rip'ning grown. The tendril shoot it fearful holds. As passing winds are blown ; FRJNCESCJ. 33 X. Lest it might by too rough a blast, Low on cold earth be laid ; No longer basking in the sun, Unnoticed ; early fade. XI. So had our loves dependent been Upon each others' faith ; Till poisoning jealousy us both. Smote with its withering breath. XII. My heart long since to love is dead, For I've been left alone ; 34 FRANC ESC A. I find no comfort on this earth, Since Francesca is gone. XIII. Oh heavens ! the truth, it came too late, She would not in her pride Use e'en a word to undeceive. But broken-hearted died. XIV. In every dream, her form I see In heaven upon a throne ; And by her side, unoccupied, A seat for me alone. I^Ifetr antr d^tr^Ign; OR, RETRIBUTION. Evadne. In youth my love was like a little brook Issuing from a pure unmuddied well ; Which by degrees swelled larger, till at last It reached the ocean, and there lost itself Amidst the flood : but now that stream is dried And parched, save in some parts where artifice Hadi taught it cold formality. The Drama of Life. 'Hp'WAS midnight in the cold December time. Lone by a fading fire a woman sat, A thoughtful mien, and lips comprest, bespoke The inward workings of an evil fire ^6 ALFRED JND EVELYN; OR, Which fluttered with uncertain flame awhile. And then was quenched by conscience' kindly aid ; But evil thoughts in fine alas ! held sway ; She thus sat revelling in murderous thought, Till flame-red streaks of clouds foretold the day. And then came morn, a dull and foggy morn. Yet still before the warmless cinders sat Dread Satan's self in lovely woman's form ; Heedless that man had long begun his task. Obeying God's command was " up and doing." Not till the shrill gong's sound jarred on her ears. Was she unbound from her Satanic spell ; In haste her morning toilet she arranged. And as she entered, smiled upon her lord, Awhile he looked amazed as he beheld RETRIBUTION. 37 Her haggard death-like form before him sit ; Then without speaking, suddenly arose And seized those lovely snow-white hands of hers — Which seemed of alabaster made — in his, Then with a fervour mingled with grim fear, Exclaimed, " My darhng Evelyn, my love. Tell me ! — O ! say what's caused this sudden blight To all thy beauty buoyancy and love ? Let not remembrance of our guilty love. Which I upbraided thee with yester-eve. Thus mar the blossomed summer of our youth. And don too soon the wrinkled mask of age : Forgive me I'.velyn, let the past within The deep abyss of dark Oblivion sink ; And seal the eternal compact with a kiss." ALFRED AXD EFELYN; OR, All while he spake she statue-like had sat, But now as if awakened to new life, She wildly threw her arms around his neck, And fervidly she pressed her lips to his ; Anon those arms which ecstacy had nerved. By slow degrees relaxed their loving clasp ; For she had smelt the foetid air of death, And thought that o'er his mouth suspended hung She saw his spirit fluttering in doubt As if to house within, or hie to heaven. She shrieked, " Too late, may heaven forgive my crime ;" And ere those words had from her lips escaped, Her Alfred lay a corpse low at her feet : And she fell by his side in deathlike faint. RETRIBUTION. 39 Great consternation filled the Hall thro'out ; And thro' the village various whisp'rings spread, Of poison mingled by domestic hands ; And now a withered hag — once thought a "Witch — Shrugged up her shoulders, and with knowing glance Brought all the curious group to list awhile ; " She's not his wife, his wife lives far away ; Unseen, I heard it once from her own lips, 'Tis she has poisoned him t' escape disgrace ;" Growled the old dame so low that scarce 'twas heard ; Some thought it true, whilst others shudd'ring spat With holy fear, to keep the devil off. Death o'er that house had spread its dismal pall, And in a room with night black tap'stry hung Within an oaken coffin, Alfred lay ; 40 ALFRED AND EVELYN; OR, And on his face there sat a tranquil smile, The same when he forgiven shared her kiss, And for the last time blest her in his heart. Now gently turned the handle of the door, And spectre-hke into the chamber stalked, With flashing eye but fearful heart. The lovely grieved murd'ress Evelyn ; And now in mournful silence o'er his bier With tearless eye, but bleeding heart she stood ; Scarce else than breathing marble monument. At last she moaned, as caused by some dire thought. And wildly threw herself upon his corse. Kissed — kissed his lips, and patted his cold brow, And raised his eyelids but once more to gaze RETRIBUTION. 41 Upon those now dimmed cloud-hung crystal orbs. Whose glassy brilliancy of life had fled. The damp and dew of death hung on his cheek. Which she with loving tender hand wiped off; ** Come back, Come back," beseechingly she cried, '^ And tell me thou and heaven's forgiven my sin." Just then the dreadful dismal death-spell broke. And thro' the chamber echoed loud and shrill The grey-eyed churchyard owlet's scritch, The midnight blast with howling whine did blow. And the whole wood with hellish squeaking rung. Whereon a shiv'ring fear seized Evelyn, t Who terror-stricken, sank upon the ground ; The storm soon o'er, out brightly shone the sun, The mighty forest trees no longer swayed, 42 ALFRED AND EVELYN. The nests of young birds chirping welcomed peace. A low and tranquil breath of balmy air Came a<5 a sigh from the thrice wearied sky, And wafted o'er the earth a genial health. Still lowly on the ground with thoughts confused. And brain a-fire, distracted Evelyn lay Whilst the high tempest fiercely raged o'erhead. The calm now came — she rose to pray and weep, She rose Alas ! bewildered, and aghast, A helpless, senseless, raging Maniac. Cljt ^ixh: A FRAGMENT. I've stood on shores where strangers stand ; But there could never see. Scenes half so sweet or wonderful, As fling their witchery O'er thine, my own, my native land. Land of the good and beautiful ; Land of the Great and Free ! /. Howard Paynt. T?AR from my home, to distant lands exiled ; I seek a rest where cooling breezes mild Waft o'er the earth their rich perfumed air. To soothe the worn spirits ling'ring there ; 44 THE EXILE: There, disappointed lovers seek repose In telling each their corresponding woes ; And there poetic dreamers love to rhyme Of beauty reared amidst the southern clime ; 'Tis here, ethereal incense lulls to sleep. The gentle murmurs of the azure deep. Close to the beach a fickle mountain stands. Whose inmost fated holds surrounding lands ; Hard by, within the bosom of a hill. There lies an ancient city slumbering still : Pompeii ! 'wakened relic of the past. Thy palaces hath been a tomb at last. True, true thou art a City of the Dead, Thy brilliancy of busy life hath fled ; A FRAGMENT. 45 Thy streets deserted^ tenantless thy halls. Vacant the portal seats within thy walls ; No gilded chariots rattle o'er the street. But all as Death within its winding sheet. Here did the exiled wanderer love to roam, A truant from his fatherland and home ; As from his gaze yon aspect stole away. Inspired by heaven, he sang this simple lay. Enchanting Mem'ry, hie thee hence Upon thy ether wing ; Till thou hast pleased my ev'ry sense. Whilst of my home I sing. 46 THE EXILE Home of my heart ! my Island home My thoughts to thee do flee, For in whatever land or zone, They always cling to thee. There, is to me a hallowed part. More sacred than the rest ; For there lies one within whose heart My hopes were mirrored best. On one of thy rich mossy slopes. With flow'rets speckled o'er ; Sleeps there the soul of all my hopes, To waken here no more. A FRAGMENT. 47 'Tis 'neath an Ash with drooping head. Whose leafy branches shade, The cold cold narrow earthen bed. Wherein my mother's laid. Oh Mem'ry ! cruel memory I a Release me from thy spell, To other thoughts I fain would flee ; And wish thee now, Farewell ! See ! to where San Martino greets the eyes, Sloping, fair Naples clambers to the skies ; By Nature blest with ev'ry scenic charm, 'Tis only man who keeps it in alarm. 4 8 THE EXILE No longer now may stranger ears rejoice To hear the Improvisatore's voice ; Genius with nations crumbles to decay. Till rising Monarchies fresh arts display ; When new Ambitions rouse degenerate man To think how he his country's good may plan Thus, when new wants invade on ev'ry side, No sooner seen, than Wisdom doth provide ; These are blessings which make Empires stand 'Midst ev'ry blow from Fortune's heavy hand. Adieu ! fair city, yea once more adieu ! As purple night excludes thee from my view. Sweet Contemplation ! my poetic spouse, To thy loved arms I fly when man allows ; A FRAGMENT. 49 Intoxicating draughts still ling'ring on thy lips. My thirsty soul with heated fervour sips : Ah me ! — when revelling in thy Magic bower, The deeds of centuries flit by in an hour ; 'Tis thus in solemn reveries we see. Is linked the present with antiquity. Upon the banks of Anio, a tower Majestic stands, in ancient pomp and power, A seeming fortress, but within a tomb. Containing relics of man's certain doom. •I* •I* •t* Sj* SfC PjC ^ <7^^^^^\^^^ ^'W^m^^ H ©Ijt |mpr0trisat0it. Life is a jest, and all things show it ; I thought so once, but now I know it. Gay s Epitaph. 'HP'HE sea was calm, the breeze was mild, On all mankind the summer smiled ; As many people gathered near. To hear the minstrel of the pier. A youth he was of noble mien, Who scarce had twenty winters seen ; His brow bore trace of anxious care Seemed as a canker eating there. How many of that motley throng THE IMPROFISATORE. 51 Who listened to his doleful song, Thought on themselves, and thanked their God That they'd escaped misfortune's rod ? How many heedless tried to play In worthless talk the hours away ? Whilst budding youth in wanton fun, Gambolled and frolicked in the sun. There played the child of tender years. Buoyant with hope, unknown to fears ; Heaping its sorrows in a sigh, Beneath a loving mother's eye. And there the youth who laughed away The ill-boding fears from every day ; Whilst flippant coxcombs turned and sneered At one who oft like them had jeered. 52 THE IMPROVISATORE. Beware ! and boast not oh ye proud ! The Tyrian robe is but a shroud ; The purple velvet of to-day Is but a rag, Inwrapping clay. Yonder, with a heart as cold as stone, A stern old Abbe sits alone ; Long dead to love's wide-spreading leaven, He thinks of nought but self and heaven, Condemns the thoughtless acts of youth, Thinks of himself, and then, forsooth Sends up to heaven a vaunting prayer ; — Thinking 'twill gain admission there — Boasting that he in youth ne'er made THE IMPROVISATORE. ^^ Errors whose traces never fade : That his — not Fortune's — cunning hand Guided the wheel, and dealt the sand ; That he in virtue's paths e'er kept. Measuring each stride before he stept. These are the thoughts thou movest poor boy. Which known, would thy last hopes destroy ; Though thou in soul may'st once have been As stout as any in this scene ; Till all thy cunning faithless proved, When Fate and Fortune 'gainst thee moved ; And when thy fellows on thee frowned. Left thee despairing, sorrow-bound: These when unhooded wildly glare Maketh oppression hard to bear. 54 THE IMPROFISATORE. Yet there is one amidst the throng, Who pitying, hearkens to thy song ; One, who with th' unchanging time Fast is descending from his prime : See him, who seated seems to gaze On thy pale brow with deep amaze. Pities thy fate, forgives thy faults ; Fearful in judgment, kindly halts ; Lest judging slips as man is prone. Condemning thine, forgets his own ; Tender in thought, in spirit kind, A noble man of simple mind. Ay, tenderer hearts by far are there ? Hearts which are born to soothe and share Man's ev'ry woe and ev'ry care : THE IMPROFISATORE. 55 The blushing cheek, the loving eye. The kindly look, the half-breathed sigh ; The ever-ready hand to aid The wearied — low by sickness laid ; In these thou'st sympathizing friends. Now when thy soul 'neath sorrow bends. ******* Youth, vainly may'st thou pity seek. For misspent days which pale thy cheek ; To buoy with hope thy few short years, Allay thy grief, assuage thy tears ; From other, than, whom few can find A judge by self, of all mankind. Rome. % SlD0nIi0ljt ITanirsritpt. The pallid evening twines its beaming hair In duskier braids around the languid eyes of day. Shelley. "pAIR Cynthia is high in the dark vault of heaven. And cool Zephyrs are wafted o'er mountain and dale ; The Sauterelles twitt'ring long silenced by even, Spread a glow of tranquillity over the vale. The nightingale's song to the scene gives enchantment. As its last lullaby on winged Echo floats near ; The flowerets which bloomed but this morn are now drooping. And the dew as in pity to each lends a tear. A MOONLIGHT LANDSCAPE. 57 The ivy grown walls of the little church tower In whose branches the owlet and bat build their home, Undisturbed in their peacefulness, save when the hour Chiming, ripples the air in the far distant gloam, By the moon's pale reflection in modest relief. Stand glistening beneath its bright silvery rays, Casting shadows, whose beauty, like life's is but brief, Asa cloud floating over wraps all in a haze. Here the pedestaled tomb, and the sombre yew tree. Are the villagers' love-bower when day's toils are o'er ; Here the Youth and the Maiden with hearts blithe and free Hanging hopes on the morrow, with ecstasy soar. ^8 A MOONLIGHT LANDSCAPE. Lying there by yon stile is an ancient stone seat, Where the spectacled Matrons at even retire, To recount unto each, some old love-tale or feat, Which the light heart of youthfulness seemed to inspire. O'er the brook now nigh parched by the midsummer's sun, Doth a time-coloured bridge very gracefully span. Here collected at sunset, their day's task being done. Are the village debaters ; their subject is man. In the neat whitewashed schoolhouse hard by the church-gate. With its jessamine climbing the green trellised porch. Sits the aged schoolmaster each evening in state. Shedding wisdom to llst'ners, as light from a torch. A MOONLIGHT LANDSCAPE. 59 Here the soul seeking peace and contentment may linger, To sip of the beauties that hallow the scene, Contemplating how tenderly Nature's fair finger Has tinted her Earth with a delicate green. 'Tis here I would dream, the green sod as my pillow, Of friends bound by nature and love to my heart. And grieving see over life's turbulent billow, That sooner or later, we from each must depart. Florence. KntXUQO. The following Lay — translated from the Spanish — was written on the fearful catastrophe in Santiago, South America ; when the Church de la Compania was destroyed by fire, and two thousand Virgins, mostly between the ages of fifteen and twenty years ; became victims to the flames ; on the feast of the Immaculate Conception, December the 8th, 1863. TN Santiago city, The month of Mary ended ; SANTIAGO. 6r In church de la Compania Fair devotees were bended, And their prayers like incense, To God in heaven ascended. 11. The brilliant lights within that church Shone like the midday sun, Spreading a halo round the face Of every lovely one. When lo ! the tapestry caught fire. That round the altar hung : Oh ! then what shrieks proceeded from Amongst that virgin throng. 62 SANTIAGO. III. Both young and old with one accord Made straight to gain the door ; Through which, — ten moments scarce elapsed- They hopeful passed before ; What wild despair then filled each breast, As the fire thro' them ploughed ; The gaze of each, to each foretold. That flame should be their shroud. IV. How little proud Ugarte thought, When on that morn he swore. In pomp to rival mighty Rome, And in a blaze light up the dome. SANTIAGO. 63 As ne'er had been before ; That spectral Death as sentinel. Stood watching at the door ? 'Tis true, the world ne'er saw the like, Nor e'er again shall see. The anguish and the livid look That flame upon each face had struck. Of every devotee. V. Oh ! what a dismal night was that. What mourning rent the air I How many homes untenanted ? Once habited by fair ; 64 SANTIAGO. And many parents cliildless left, Are driven to dire despair. How solemnly the bells ring out Their funereal knell ? As all rush wild unto the spot, To look a last farewell. VI. How will ye sons of Chili, E'er have your spirits roused ? Since ye have lost your lovers. Your daughters, some your 'spoused ; Lo ! heaped amidst the ruins. That direful night there lay SANTIAGO. 6$ Two thousand Chilian maidens. Fanaticism's prey. VII. Oh ! what an awful change on all That ruthless fire had wrought ; So hideous now, those lovely forms. That love, to lovers taught. Then thou wast pale O Luna, Wrapt in a watery haze, As if thou wert inclined to weep. Or hide from mortals' gaze. VIII. Ah Death ! o'er that festive city, Thou'st spread a fearful gloom ; K. 66 SANTIAGO. Thou hast changed a gorgeous temple Into a ghastly tomb. It was pride, ay ! vaunting pride. Has laid thy glory low, And has throughout thy city spread Dejection, pain, and woe. Long shall that anniversary In Santiago be, By ev'ry worthy citizen Of dreaded memory. IX. Up ! stout hearts of Chili, Up ! Dash from each eye its tear ; SANTIAGO. 67 And o'er the ashes of your loves A mausoleum rear. When in a future age. This doleful tale is told ; The aged shall sigh, the young will weep. Pitying the fate of those that sleep Within that tomb so drear. X. Weep ! Santiago city, Weep ! Mary's month has ended ; In the church de la Compania None in prayer are bended ; For ruthless fire hath laid thee low. And has throughout thy city spread Dejection, pain, and woe. % Btxtnu^L T DREAM of thee my fairest one. Through midnight's loneliest hours ; When other spirits hie to heaven, Alone on earth is ours. Nor rustling leaf disturbs our peace, Nor bat in circling flight ; The stars like diamonds stud the heavens, The Zephyr's breath is light. A SERENADE. 69 And shall the joys that thus we take So stealthily from life ; Attend on us till we in death End all our mortal strife ? Rome. ®0 |5ja. 'TpHE echo of that loved name lingers still Within the precincts of my heart and will ; My soul doth yearn to love thee more and more. Till both our hearts entwined with rapture soar. Cool blew the breeze, perfumed the gentle air, And waters from sweet fountains trickled there. As both our spirits fluttering raised each wing To hail with joy their first love's opening spring. TO ID J. 71 'Twas thus, when others seemed on pleasure bent, Heaven unto our hearts rich unguents sent. And bound us fast to each, unknown to both ; To pledge In feeling, what we would in troth. Ida ! thy dreamlike name doth haunt my thoughts, Thy Spirit seems to check impulsive faults ; Yea, and thy form doth hover in the air To guard my feet from many a hidden snare. Adieu ! and may within thy memory reign, He who indites to thee this simple strain ; Mayest thou when thinking of fair Naples' shore, Lend him a kindly thought ; he asks no more. Naples. A BALLAD. Va per la selva bruna Solinsfo il Trovator, Domato dal rigor Delia fortuna. La faccia sua, si bella Or la sfiorisce un fior. La voce del Cantor Non e piu quella. I. NE day as walking on the pier, I heard a distant sound, Where, when I reached the end thereof, I saw a crowd around. THE TROUBADOUR. 73 Around a youthful minstrel boy Of lovely face, but pale ; The song he sang upon that day, Seemed but a doleful wail. II. His face I never shall forget. It wore a lordly mien, His brow was haggard, tho' he scarce Had twenty summers seen ; Life's tempestuous hurricane Had worn him to a shred. And he stood before his list'ners As a book unoped, unread. 74 THE TROUBADOUR. III. O'er his Guitar his snow-white hand He swept with graceful care, And rich melodious chords arose To ripple in the air. Methought that when his song was o'er, Tears glistened in his eyes. And that each bar of his rich song Composed of deep drawn sighs. IV. Let not the Stoic sneer or boast, Nor proudly raise his head. The fickle Fates weave as they list, A smooth, or rugged thread ; THE TROUBADOUR. 75 What man is he would change his place With any of his kind, Seek out a life of misery, To gain a nobler mind. Few years ago thou'dst many friends. Till all thy wealth they'd taken. But now they leave thee here alone. Forgotten, and forsaken. " Oh ! let the flood-gates of my soul. Give vent unto my grief, Or let me find the cold cold grave, Where I shall have relief." 76 THE TROUBADOUR. VI. These words he groaned with anguish deep, His soul within him burned ; For now, a wreck he friendless stood. An outcast, scorned and spurned ; Again his song swelled with the breeze, Anon, rich chords arose ; And as to Heaven he lifts his eyes. Each cheek with fervour glows ; VII. For as his maid with Tambourine, Goes round to take each mite, THE TROUBADOUR. 1 1 He sees a lady stretch her hand, And raise her eyes so bright ; And down her youthful ruddy cheeks, Steals a diamond tear. Which sparkles as it falls to earth, To make cold earth its bier. VIII. Farewell sweet youth, sweet youth farewell ! My heart's nigh cleft in twain. But ere I leave this sea-side town, I'll look on thee again ; I'll hear thee sing thy mournful dirge. For a dirge it is to me ; 78 THE TROUBADOUR. And hear thee bring from thy guitar Rich strains of harmony : Thy graceful form I'll ne'er forget. Forget, I never shall, The lordly look, and noble mien Of that youth of Proven9al. ixx tuxolu. T SEEMED to steal on the Moonbeams' track. As my frail bark glided o'er Lightly and swift on the deep blue lake. Till I gained the far off shore ; Lightly and swift like a tim'rous dove, Did I make the trysting place, There to dream on the bosom of love, Enrapt in its fond embrace. So BARCAROL/L II. Bound by the spell of a love so light, Fired by two sparkling eyes Bright as the glow-worm on sand at night, Or stars in the dark blue skies ; And pillowed on breasts as soft as down, With heaven our only bower, I lay, till chimes from the distant town Had tolled forth the parting hour. III. Then on the lips of my Lady fair, I bade her a short Adieu ! BARCAROLA. 8i And with a soul as light as the air, I sped through the water blue. Lightly and swift o'er the tranquil lake I made for the homeward shore. Secure in a faith, which nought could break. That my Lady loved none more. Geneva. M ^0 i,Ira. ]^T YMPH of an unknown lover's dreams. Whose youthful heart with ardour teems Whene'er thy bright eye on him gleams, My Ada. Dear to thy heart I fain would be ; Rebuke me not for loving thee. Thou reign'st with uncurbed sov'reignty, My Ada. rO ADA. 83 Those virgin blushes on each cheek Far more than love's Hsped accents speak. ; Yet hearts without its voice are bleak ; My Ada. Rome. ^0 M.nlxL 'VT'EA ! still do I dream on that sweet loving face. That glows with the blushes awaken'd by Thought, And those smiles that a Grief can scarcely erase. And eyes whose bright radiance from Sunbeams was caught. If thou'dst give me thy love, then fain would I part With the fondest attachments that bind me to earth ; And leave in thy keeping my poor barren heart. To taste of the Joys gushing forth from thy mirth. TO JULIE. 85 Ah ! then could It live, by inhaling the sighs That steal from the fountains bereft of its tear ; And make thy pure mind my fond soul's Paradise, Till in Time's deep abyss Love and Hope disappear. Methinks that a magic love leaps from thine eyes To rekindle the hope well nigh lost in despair. And tells me within thy fair bosom there lies A long cherished love for me habitant there. On those lips whereon hang the essence of Joy, I would leave the chaste impress of holiest bliss ; And grasp but a moment of life sans alloy. To receive from thee, Julie, an amorous kiss. %n firbt §0i| TO HIS MOTHEE'S CORPSE. XI7HY sleepest thou. Mother ? Why sleep you so long ? Three nights have I heard The nightingale's song ; For shame, Mother, shame ! It's wrong to be sleeping Whilst the men are out mowing, And the women are reaping. AN IDIOT BOY TO HIS MOTHER'S CORPSE. 87 II. Ah ! Mother, you're lazy, The sun is on high ; Three morns have I heard The cuckoo's shrill cry ; Dearest Mother, get up ! It's wrong to be sleeping Whilst the men are out mowing. And the women are reaping. III. Ah ! speak to your Jemmy Who never was bold ; Three meals on each day Three times have got cold. 88 AN IDIOT BOY TO HIS MOTHER'S CORPSE. Ah ! Mother, I'm hungry, It's wrong to be sleeping Whilst your Jemmy is starving, And the neighbours are reaping. Sure, Mother, I love you, But since you won't speak, I'll steal a sweet kiss From off your pale cheek. IV. You feel. Mother, chilly ! And hold in your breath. And, Darling, you're stiff. Is this what's called — Death ^ AN IDIOT BOY TO HIS MOTHERS CORPSE. 89 You won't leave me, Mother, In this place all alone ? You're making me feel As cold as a stone ; Oh ! Mother, I'm going, I think I am dying : For the neighbours are weeping, And the Banshee is crying. N ®Ij^ P;je^txn0. Roma, Roma, Roma non e piu come era prima. T^RINK from the streams, and gushing floods that flow From love's sweet well, and dreamy hopes below ! Tune the light lutes of heaven's empyreal choir. Till passion's strains waste all the soul in fire ! "Twas in the springtime of the year. When youthful hearts o'erflow with mirth ; My heart first shed its true love-tear Upon Hope's desolated bier. Till grief parched life with ashey dearth. And choked the joys fair faith brought forth. THE MEETING. I loved a maid with hazel eyes. With face of luscious olive tint ; Whose heart's delights waked chaste surprise With soft impression, such as lies On rose as dew, when Zephyr sighs Translucent tears ; soft eve's imprint. Lips brightly blooming ripe and blushing. Pouting love-like, fresh and gushing With the fancied flecks of pleasure ; Tingling with o'erbrimming measure Such as I could press till death Blent with heavenly airs my breath. Love mine ; met hers at 'wakening day Upon life's journey half the way ; In tender trust we hoped, and prayed 92 THE MEETING. Our love-joy cup would be arrayed With bays of verdant earthly bliss. Tinged with future's shadowy kiss ; Mingled in dappled shades of love. And fraught with rays stolen from above. No fairer draught seemed ever given For man to taste from bounteous heaven. In silence warms love's first fresh fires In nuptial souls of fond desires, In hearts with mellow fancy rife ; On tongues of peacefulness or strife. Our souls thus mated ; doubts were one. As flooding favours burst upon Our aeriel natures, and expent The double part that heaven had lent. THE MEETING. 93 Then sang we with delirious will The fervorous song that angels sing ; Till love did every thought instil With passioned sense on fluttering wing. We loved with such delicious love, That Time with lissome feet tripped by ; While all the mystic choirs above Blent in our souls their melody. Thee blest ; in rapture dreamed and sang. And sang and dreamed of days to come ; When we would nurture phantom blisses With smiles of peace and sweets of kisses. But Fate forbade it ! its decree Sighed on our heartstrings mournfully. 'Twas in the lovely sunny south 94 THE MEETING. Where all sweet things teach hearts to love ; When first I drank from her fair mouth The draught that now doth poison prove. Not thine the fault ! mine angel star, 'Twas jealous tongues our hopes did mar, I doubt thee not, though years may flood To blur the moment when we stood With lips to lips in ardour pressed. When on my bosom I caressed Thee, as each vowed we each would be Faithful unto eternity. |mpr0mptit 01T P^lamlj0l2* /^H ! what a pressure weighs upon my breast ; The Spirit fluttering to escape its grasp, That it may speed its way to some behest ; Or cool its fervid languor 'neath the shade Of some angelic maid's benignant eye, Bright as the morn or eve-star in the sky. Or slumbering in a cool sequestered glade Bound by the milk-white bands of Love's fond clasp ; Or, let thy thoughts be holy ; But spurn not the world solely. Taste of its sweets, and if you will its folly ; Commingling both of these, cure Melancholy. life phvutfs fate A SCHERZO. T70R my love I've waited long while, As often I've done before ; He's behind his appointed time, A minute, or two, or more. It's a shame to be treated so, I don't think he loves me well. At least not as much as he ought- ' Such an elegant-looking belle.' FIFE MINUTES LATE ! 97 It's not of myself I say it ; I only echo the words Of those charming-looking fellows Who danced with me at the Byrds. I'll up and see if he's coming, O'er the garden wall I'll peep ; If I sit any longer here, I'll dream myself to sleep. He's coming ! I see him ! heigh ho ! I dote on being in love. One feels so consequential When called an ' angel ' or ' dove,' o 98 FIFE MINUTES LATE! And that too, by handsome fellows With beards and mustachios long ; Well worth the trouble of wooing With eyes, or sighing, or song. Oh ! doesn't he seem in a flutter. As he hastes across the field : Now, he stops to look at his watch- My heart's beginning to yield. No ! my brows I'll knit in anger. Though I've ne'er done so before ; But I'll do it this time — I will, He's five minutes late, or more. FIFE MINUTES LATE! 99 Perchance, the fault of delaying May not be a fault of thine ; I'll change my mindj and wear a smile. And with it my face shall shine. As long as Vincent has known me. Clouds have ne'er hung on my brow, And what he never has seen there He shall not see there now. We've sworn to be true to each other, And vowed to love till we die ; He sees me now — I know he does By the smile that's in his eye. 100 FIVE MINUTES LATE Well ! he is a charming lover. And the best I ever knew, He says, in his socks he measures A little o'er six feet two. 1 think I will run and meet him, But, am I not in a mess ? Oh heavens ! that horrible briar Has destroyed my new silk dress. I've no time to be scolding now, I'll go and open the gate. And will whisper in Vincent's ear, ' Five minutes, or more, you're late !' FIVE MINUTES LATE ! JOI When he hears me say so, he'll blush, He Is so gentle and meek : By way of a payment for time, He'll plant a kiss on each cheek. It's the last time we'll meet to woo ; And it's not worth while to chide. To-morrow he'll sure be in time. To-morrow, I'll be his bride. gXXQL BIANCA'S SONG. T'LL lie on the cold, cold grave. And in my tears I'll lave ; For my heart it is seared. And my form it is weird. So forlorn I will die 'Neath the same blue sky. As sheds tears o'er my loved one's grave. Oh ! the morning's early dew, And the wild thyme and rue ; A DIRGE. J 03 O'er his deep narrow bed Doth a winding-sheet spread. To guard the cold clay Now mould'ring away ; Leaving nought of my love for me. %n Imitatbn of Spcnscrmrr llljntljm:. /^H ! how I'd wish in Spenser's verse to write A poem fraught with fancies rich and rare ; Or, that the Muses would the spark ignite That dormant Hes within a mazy lair Of brains confused, bone, and dark brown hair; Or if I might with Poets be enrolled. Drink the same springs, and breathe their fancied air ; Spurred by ambition, I would fain be bold. And prove myself a Champion of their sacred fold. Clje ^uitnBl Alas ! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun ! T. Hood. T 1ST ! to my mournful lay, — The same tale's told every day, — Of a poor maiden, Dejected, forlorn ; From her beloved home. Through this wide world to roam, By her false lover Ruthlessly torn. ,o6 THE OUTCAST. Happy when first they met, Dancing a minuet ; In the small village Upon the green sward, She then was innocent. Love's ready ear she bent. Whilst he did falsely Plight her his word. All then was bright sunshine To her so feminine ; Nought dreamed she then of But a true lover ; Ah ! how the times are changed, She to herself estranged, THE OUTCAST. 107. And to destruction Madness doth drive her. Driven from home at last. She's now a poor outcast Seeking for comfort, But none can she find. Hungry, and destitute, Sealed as a prostitute ; All, to her anguish And sorrow seem blind. Her heart's always aching. Well nicrh unto bieakine, io8 THE OUTCAST. Dreary, and dismal. Life's days pass o'er her : She sighs for her father, She weeps for her brother, She prays for her sister, But alas ! of her mother ? Her spirit from grieving, Hath winged for ever. It was such a pity. In that mighty city, No one soothed the tears In which she did lave ; She now saw 'twas too late To retrieve her sad state ; THE OUTCAST. 109 Her sorrows she lulled By sighs for the grave. In sad thoughts she revelled, With hair all dishevelled, She sought how to still Her soul-raging ire ; Down to the Bridge she went, On a dread act intent ; The last spark to quench Of life's flick'ring fire. Hid in the nook of it, Aw'd by the look of it. jio THE OUTCAST. Grim was the shadow The lamp o'er her cast ; She, long dead to affection, Worn out by dejection, To avoid foul detection From worldly inspection ; Dashed into the stream As it rapidly passed. m tijt Moxb, but not maxMu. T ET'S hasten away to the dance, Away to the gay lighted hall Where pleasure doth chase away care ; And heaven sits smiling on all. II. Where the young and old both unite. As tho' linking a former age ; Each meeting the scenes as they shift. On this, our life's transient stage. 112 OF THE IVORLD, HI. Can there be in this revellous throng A soul that would fain be away ; One of the world, but not worldly ; Who's seeming, must seem to be gay ? IV. And may there not be here a spirit Which hath for the charmer no ear ? E'en charmed he never so wisely, Or hath never so tried to cheer. V. Yea, methought in the floral hall I had heard as I passed thereby, BUT NOT WORLDLY. T13 A maid in the midst of the flowers, Most bitterly heaving a sigh ; VI. And there hung on her heavenly brow. The cloud of a soul-oppressed care : Her eyes seemed to gaze on the future As she plucked a floweret there ; VII. And on it a dew-drop there hung. Which fell, as her hand drew it near ; As grieved at its peace being disturbed, It drooping, let fall its last tear. 1,4 OF THE JFORLD, VIII. Her soul for a solitude yearned, As the dying doth yearn for breath ; But she alone sought for that peace In the darkened valley of Death ; ■ IX. In the lowly valley of shadows, Where the young and the aged meet ; Where the grave and gay all unite ; But each clothed in their winding-sheet. X. Thou Maiden ! with spirit so pure ; Oh 1 had I the wings of a dove, BUT NOT JFORLDLY. n^ I'd fly with thy spirit to heaven ; And live in communion above. XI. Again, the gay music swells high, And floats on the rich perfumed air ; Again that sweet spirit of peace Must commingle with worldlings there. XII. Again must she join in the dance. Her longings for solitude quaff. Join with the voluptuous throng, To raise high the echoing laugh. ii6 OF THE IFORLD. XIII. Lo ! once more to the hall of flowers She goes with a grief-surcharged heart ; And she sits and weeps to herself. In a lonely corner apart. XIV. Her life is a life of trouble : Amid the bright sunshine of health She moves through this world with worldlings ; With the careful footstep of stealth. XV. Now I know, 'midst the rout of that ball. There's a soul would fain be away ; One of the world but not worldly, Who's seeming, doth seem to be gay. xntB an IoIjit "^mts. TT'EATS, thou sweet minstrel of Arcadian joys ; Transcendant in pastoral song ; The Pan of lonely shepherd boys, The palm crowned sovereign of each rural throng ; Bright be thy name as dazzling Southern sun, And cloudless as the Italian sky, Which o'er thy mouldered body now is hung A spotless blue-stretched canopy : ii8 LINES ON JOHN KEATS. And where each breeze that's wafted seems to sigh O'er where in peace you lowly lie. Poetic Spirit ! look from heaven and smile, For thou'rt in song the Orpheus of our isle. dempsgcljia: A SPECIMEN. c 1 1 m p s IT 1 1^ i n:. CANTO THE FIRST. T? ACH visionary beauty born in dreams, Begotten in fancy ; shadows and gleams E'en in our waking thoughts, and makes us feel, As tho' we from the Future fain would steal An hour of bliss, or gaze with straining eyes Into that Realm so far beyond the skies. Upon whose unknown joys all hopes are cast. To live in rest when weary life is past : Unto that land where discord lives no more, Hie then my Soul and ope the sacred door. METE MPS YCHIA. 1 2 1 Here lives my Psyche ; here her Eros too ; Loving, as tho' their love was ever new. No longer doubting, she in fond embrace E'er communes with the purest of his race. Who art thou Psyche ? Whence cam'st thou to earth ? Art thou eternal ? or, Of whence thy birth ? Vapours around thy form for ever live. Concealing thee from those who long to shrive Before thy aerial shrine of hallowed light ; Tell me ! O tell me ! Whence fleest thou at night ? When sleep enwraps thy tabernacle here ; Wing'st thou to heaven ? thy natural sphere. Or slumberest thou too ? — No ! — 'tis in that flight The body sees through thee all visions bright, Foretasting in cold death's twin brother — Sleep, K 122 METEMPSYCHIA. Veiled joys at which no mortal eye can peep. Art thou but One, assuming many forms ; Eternal, restless as the cradled storms ? Dost thou when Life departs the human breast Within the new-born babe take temporal rest ? And thus keep ever changing on with time ; Unchanged thou, e'er in youth's blossomed prime. '' Seraphic being ! illumined by heaven's light, Too dazzling to behold by Mortal sight : If thou art different in each new made form. Where restest thou till Heaven's last alarm Unites thee ever with thy earthly guest ? Is there a Hades where thou takest rest. And art insensible to joy or pain ? METEMPSYCHIA. 123 Or, art thou a creation of the brain ? Thought thy Elysium ; Mind thy Paradise ; Fancy thy offspring ; and pure Love thy spouse. Fining each work of GOD'S with part of thee : Thus joyous revelHng in Eternity. Think'st thou there is a Hell to damn the Soul ? I tell thee, that on me in dreams there stole The truth ; methought in visions bright I saw A Saved Soul reading the book of law Which holds the rules and lives of Souls when death They've combated, and doth first draw their breath From the pure air which filleth Paradise : 1 24 METE MPS YCHIA. Hold up itself majestic in surprise, That Mortals of every tongue and nation, Know not how worketh they their own salvation. I asked the Spirit that thus read, to tell An anxious Body if there lived in hell Any of God's most holiest creation ? If, that after death hope of a salvation, Was for ever lost ? " Man, in this book I read The earthly lives of Souls" said he, " who've freed Themselves from pains eternal, and have grown Thro' numerous bodies like thine own, Ere they have reached this goal of endless rest ; Heaven the kingdom of the soul that's blest." " Tell me " said I, " if in changed bodies live The veritable self-same Soul, to give METEMPSYCHIA. 125 To it, its life and being ; How shall they Each claim its Spirit on the Judgment day ?" " O Thou who thus the simple things of heaven Maketh abstruse, know, unto me is given The revelation of those hidden things. The Soul which e'er is pure, for ever clings Unto the flesh, whose passions, thoughts, and sin Pollutes it, and unfits it, to dwell in Halls of Paradise. Think'st thou at Judgment day, That Soul would claim that sinful piece of clay ? I tell thee. No. Why from its eternal spell Awake it to be cast into the pains of hell ? The body to whose Soul redemption'' s given Alone awakens with that Soul in heaven. 126 METEMPSYCHIA. Come with me," said he, " and some mysteries see Which ne'er hath mortal seen ;" then leading me Through jasper halls, I stood before the souls Of our first parents, to whose- birth Time rolls Backward upon the mystic wings of mind, As 'twere some long oblivious thought to find. Lo ! mother Eve was welcoming each soul As Angels bore it to the eternal goal. As when upon the placid face of sleep The visions of the soul do sadly creep. And shadowy sighs are melted into tears. So seemed the memory of sin's first years To lend a tear to her, man's primal woe, Blended in rapt delight's empyreal glow. I, dazzled by the splendour of the sight, MET EM PS YCHIA. i a 7 Paused spell -bound on that precipice where night Assumes the glittering sheen of endless day. And death In ululatlons fades away. There I beheld the souls that once on earth Had lived, awaiting new incarnate birth. Mingling In silence ; they as ether seemed ; Of form, as those bright floating atomies That dance before the wearied brain's closed eyes. I asked the Soul that guided me If these Had long been doomed by God to ease The burthen of their sins by life on earth ? To which he answer made, " Time has grown dearth Of these that nearest are to yonder gate ; They the signal of salvation's trumps await." Scarce had he made response, when loud the song , 178 ■ METEMPSYCHIA. From angel-throats did through heaven's halls prolong Its thrilling harmonies, as Michael's trump proclaimed The eternal rest of those whom Christ hath named. Then flew apart the portals, and amid the din Of joyous merriment. Eve welcomed in Her offspring, as in dazzling robes bedight They joined the van of the Celestial Light. Then did I shrink in terror and wax pale, As all those outer sprights in a faint wail Resumed their antenatal state of dream. Till through those adamantine gates should beam The ray of their redemption, worked by fears And tremblings, in the fires of earthly years. My Soul-guide seeing my perturbed state. Me bade be of good cheer, for sights more great METE MPS YCHIA. 1 29 And terrible, with these my Body's eyes Should I behold ere reaching Paradise. Whereon he led me by a gentle slope Unto the vale of Spiritual Hope, That I might hold some converse with that sect Who after Life's last spell shall join the elect. %n "^.tbm. INSCRIBED TO H. E. L. M. Tj^AIR maiden, wilt thou say adieu In cold and formal words of speech ? Wilt freeze the love that thawed for you. And 'tween us make a spanless breach : If thou couldst read mine inmost soul Where love's pure springs alone do live ; Thou'dst weep that artifice hath stole The ingenuous grace their sweets did give. AU RE VOIR. 131 Oh ! that my tongue could tell the tales Of rapt delights my heart could speak ! But no ; chill breaths do fill the sails That bear my bark to certain wreck. Think'st thou I love not ? Ah ! sweet heart. No tenderer plight was ever given To mortal, than I did impart To thee beneath the vault of heaven. To thee, dear love ! — Wilt thou aspire To rear a bright pavilion here Of earthly joys, and soft desire. Upon a heart long dried and sere ? 132 AU REVOIR. Thou wouldst not frown or scorn my love. If I dare tell thee my life's woes ; But take it to thy bosom as a dove That bleeding gasps in death's dread throes. E'en too, perchance thy tears would flow ; Could I but clasp thee to my breast, And whisper a soul's bitter woe That hath my heart in false robes drest. The world's devices have destroyed The buoyancy of blooming youth ; Its treacherous wiles love's draughts decoyed As I the bowl placed to my mouth. AU REVOIR. 133 Of all that Time hath from me ta'en, I ask back but a guileless heart ; 'Twere more than worlds to me a gain, Could I but compromise in part. So ere we separate to meet ; Where ? Fate, the bourne alone can tell. Let's twine our loves around Time's feet, As both our lips give each farewell. And should we never meet on earth, Ne'er press our lips in fervid bliss ; Our souls awakening to new birth Shall blend in one eternal kiss. K ^pxmxiK. T?OR ingenuous days, And sunshine of hours ; For seed-time and harvest. And blooming of flowers ; For the sweets of conceit. And smiles of true loves. The faint lispings of leaves. And cooing of doves. For the beautiful lays LA SPERANZA. i3«; Sung with angels' breath, Which are tuned on the rays That halloweth death ; For the shadows that gild ; The purple that fades ; For the bowl of soul's bliss That's wreathed with green bays, And the chalice that's filled With virginal shades ! For the holy delights That sorrows inthrall ; The bitters that sweeten When mingled with gall ; The years that entwine us With gathering of spoil. ],36 LA SPERANZA. 'Mid the foaming of must. And flowing of oil. For the airs that are sweet With odorous sighs, And joys that are fleet On lightning of eyes ; For the honey of lips, And palming of hands ; The sad moment that slips As gliding of sands. For the ways that are bright With the lustrous light. That dazzles with shadows The black eyes of night. For the asphodel meadows LA SPERANZA. 137 That nourish the dead, The vow of the bridegroom That heaven hath wed, The p^ans that thunder The welcome of souls, As death's rent in sunder. And Time's billow rolls. For the trilling of lutes' Mellifluous strains. By the breathings of joy When Life's lamplet wanes. For those sweet lullabies That murmur the song That is caught from the sighs Of the penitent throng. ,38 L/1 SPERANZJ. For the land of the lotus * And violet groves. For the nectareous draught That feedeth our loves ; For the entangling of feet With raven-black hair, And the smiles that are sweet When mingled with prayer. The bursting the trammels That bind us to earth ; The awakening anew * This tree is said by the Mohammedans to flourish on the right hand of the throne of Jehovah. It is called Sedrat : its leaves are like the ears of an elephant ; among its branches myriads of the immortal birds of Paradise disport themselves, chanting the sublime verses of the Koran. Its fruits are of the most delicious nature, milder than milk and sweeter than honey, each seed of vv^hich contains one of the Hur al Oyfm, or black- eyed virgins of heaven, vi^hose beauty is undying and virginity renewable throughout the endless ages of eternity. Twenty-two of these delights is tlie portion of each true believer. LA SPERANZA. 139 To regenerate birth ; For the ether of laughter, And potion of kisses, The joyous hereafter Out-blissing earth's blisses. For the crown that awaits The redeemed in blood, The song that not satiates. The praise of our God. For the babbling of brooks That flow by the bowers. Wreathed with cherubim wings And sunshine and flowers. For the skies of tourquoise. And glittering sheen (40 LA SPERANZA. From the out-spreading fields Of diaphanous green. For the opiate that lulls The rose-buds to sleep ; And the fair hand that culls The flowerets that weep ; For the translucent springs Of amorous tears O'erbrimming the fountains Of sorrowless years. For the liquiscent notes That swell with the morn From the silvery throats Of sky-larks wing-borne. For the wafting of airs LA SPERANZA. 141 Of fragrance intenser, Than sweet-smelling prayers From heart's hidden censer ; For my loved one that hies My soul to her star. Far beyond paradise Where the angels are. For the sweet living waters, And pastures of grace ; A kiss of fair daughters. In wisdom's embrace ; For the pomegranate fruits, And clustering of vines, The mingling of honey With rich spiced wines ; 142 LA SPERANZA. For abundance of peace Beneath hanging palms, The first-fruits of increase, And bleating of lambs. For the valley of lilies Where amaranths bloom, And the phantom of hope That stands in the gloom ; For the hymn of the souls That daily await. With their tear-brimming bowls At heaven's golden gate. ^^M^S^^^' % tSisIj. /^H ! for a Poet's soul and mind. To grasp in thought each scene ; A Poet's pen, to paint in words The beauties of Life's dream. A Poet's heart, to feel each throb Re-echoed on the soul ; A Spirit, bounding as a hart, To reach its longed-for goal. 144 A WISH. How into each of Nature's scenes. Then could I breathe a power Of wisdom scarce else than divine. Refreshing every hour. THE END. THE LIBRARY TTMT^^RSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELSS IN PREPARATION. Book IL of Ambrosia Amoris, ENTITLED Daughters of joy. Also a Prose Work by the same Author, THE HISTORT OF HEROD THE GREAT, THE KING OF THE JEIVS. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-25m-8,'46(9852)444 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY -BR. Prennan - hl6l Bianca, B537b AA 000 366 621 i iUMjii ;:it|