THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES SAUL: A DRAMATIC SKETCH. JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON; WITH OTHER POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. Hoec quoque, quod facio, judex mirabitur asquus, Scriptaque cum vcnia qualiacunquc leget ? Ovid. Trist. LONDON: B. KIMPTON, HAND COURT, HOLBORN. 1844. X CD { ' CONTENTS. SAUL ...... PAGE 1 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON . . 61 POLAND ..... . 80 THE BALL ..... 91 STANZAS SUGGESTED BY A LADY'S SEAL . 95 THE SHIPWRECK ..... . 99 THE BUGLE-HORN .... 104 FOR ASCENSION-DAY .... 108 PSALM CXXXVII. .... 111 THE FUNERAL ..... 113 CATULLI CARM. XXXI. AD SIR5HONEM PENINSULAM . 118 FROM THE CARMEN NUPTIALE OF CATULLUS . 1 20 CATULLI CARM. LXI. JULLE ET MANLII EPITHALAMUM 122 CATULLI CARM. C. INFEULE AD FRATEIS TUMULUM 133 OVH)'s METAMORPHOSES. BOOK XIII. 134 AD LYDIAM ...... 111 VERS A L'AURORE . 148 EPIGRAM ...... 150 ENIGMA .... 152 ■ ^f, UHtJ B— * 4 4 S A U L. ACT I. Saul alone in his tent. — Night. How heavily the hours creep on : but now, I heard the warders' challenge, as they set The midnight watch. These, faithful to their trust, Securely guard us from all outward harm — Oh ! had they power as well to keep away Thick coming cares, which ever thus of late Disturb my pillow with inquietude, When most exhausted nature needs repose ! There is a fearful sadness at my heart — A heaviness within my breast, that weighs The spirits down ; this restlessness of mind SAUL. Preys on itself, and but the further drives That which it longs for : silence and the dark, Those friends of sleep, have only waked in me Distemp ered fancies : then I sought the aid Of soothing strains to lull them ; but the harp Retained its charm no longer ; and in vain, The lute's low cadence died upon the ear, Soft as an infant's breathing. There was one Could quell the passions in their angriest mood, And calm my troubled spirit ; for his harp Was strung in Heaven, and the rapt seraphim, Who hymn their choral hallelujahs there, Taught his right hand its cunning : but on this I must not longer dwell nor think of him. He gave me peace, — 'twas to destroy my peace ; — He chased one evil spirit, but to fill My breast with thousands more to torture it — Envy, and jealousies, and hatred — thoughts Which war with Heaven, and make the heart a hell, For fiends to sport with. I have brooded o'er them, And evils yet more present from the foe SAUL. 3 Whose watch-fires light the valley, till my pulses Beat with a quickened play, and every thought Keeps sentinel within me. List, without, To the low murmurs of the wind, as now Just risen, it stirs the tall and branching cedars, Through which it wantons ; with its gentle wings Fanning the drowsy night — I'll step abroad, And taste awhile its freshness. (He comes out to the entrance of the tent.) Mother's kiss Was ne'er more weclome to the waking child, After a dream of horrors, than the breeze Upon my feverish brow. I breathe anew, And the heart rises with a lighter play, As if the dews of Heaven were shed on it. The night is overcast, and yet the moon Has lit her lamp on high, and round her shine The stars, as ministers about their queen. The clouds, that cross her path, may hide awhile Her light from earth's inhabitants, but nought b 2 SAUL. Diminish from her glory. Even now, The deep shades of the mountain forest stand More prominent, in their moon-lit majesty, As bursting through the cloudy veil, she sheds Upon the subject valley, her full flood Of light — a sea of silver. Over me, O'er all my pomp and glory, o'er my pride, A darker cloud is hanging ; will it pass, As flits this airy vapour, to restore My regal splendour ? On Gilboa's mount My final hopes are centered : on this spot, Where thousands lie to night in slumber, whom The next may fold in that yet deeper sleep, Which knows no morrow — on this spot is set The fate of empire : for the mighty prize, Soon shall the desperate deadly struggle join ; When fame and fortune, crown and life, may hang Upon the breath of battle. God of hosts ! Who lcd'st thy people once to conquest, then Be present — nerve the warrior's arm — inspire His soul with courage; and in that dread hour, SAIL. 5 Shield with thy favour thy own chosen race ! Think of thy love for it — and pardon me ! abner [advancing). Who speaks there ? SAUL. Abner ! ABNER. Live, my Lord the King ! As I approached the royal tent, I heard The voice of one in sorrow : it was thine. SAUL. And in the bitterness of grief I spoke : Amid the gloomy presages of ill Which throng around me, I am sick at heart ; Sick of my life itself — and life and I May soon be parted. ABNER. Long may Heaven preserve it ! Our safety and our hope, the sword and shield Of Israel's armies ! Let my Lord dismiss Such ominous thoughts ; this ovcrwatchfulness SAUL. Excites the mind's distemper ; like the body, It needs its hours of rest ; food and refreshment Are ministered in slumber. SAUL. But in vain I woo its brief oblivion of my cares, While round us hang the countless hosts of Gath, Like wolves about the sheep-fold, thirsting for The coming carnage. ABNER. And we'll quench their thirst, As thou wert wont to teach them : they have found The couching lion — who shall dare arouse him ? SAUL. Would it were come, that morrow of our fate ! The last to many lives, if not to mine ; — Would it were now the trumpet's startling sound Call'd to the battle ! 'Tis the fearful pause — The expectation of the unknown future, Which awes my spirit. SAUL. ABNER. It wall rise again With prouder feelings, as the mountain echoes Prolong that martial summons, and is heard The answering shout of Judah's bold defiance ! When like the rushing of the thunder storm, Fearful in strength and vengeance, they descend Sweeping their foes before them. SAUL. I have oft Led on the van of battle, with a heart And step, as light and free, as when I held The timorous roe in chase, which bounded o'er The hills before me: now like it I seem, And those, the hunters whom I cannot fly; — There is a sad foreboding voice within, Which says the coming fight shall be my last. ABNER. If conquest can insure it, be your words Prophetic, as I deem them. Thou shalt live, 8 SAUL. To see the blood-stained banners of your foes Borne by in triumph: — live, to hear the songs, And harp's high swell of Judah's minstrelsy, Tuned to their monarch's glory. SAUL. It is set ; The star of my renown is dim before Another's, and a brighter. Even now, While pipe and tabret mingle with the song To my success, they hymn their monarch's downfall, And raise a hated rival. ABNER. Can the throne Which Heaven itself established be cast down — The septre wrested from the hand of him, Chosen of God, for his peculiar people? SAUL. Chosen of God! — for what end was I chosen? — Unknown to power and greatness, I aspired not Unto the perilous honour, nor could shun it : It found me peaceful, happy: youth had not SAUL. 9 Withdrawn its flush of pride, whilst manhood knit My nerves for action — health — content — my riches. I left them, seized the proffered diadem, And bound my temples with a crown of cares. Gave health and strength — the easy toils of day, And night's sweet slumbers which repaid them — gave Youth, and its spring of pleasures, innocence — Mirth unalloyed with sorrow, and a heart Sinless as yet, for it had not been tempted — For mental toils, which no repose could claim, And cares that watched for others. I exchanged My happiness for greatness ; to be thought That which I was not ; envied and admired By those who gaze on the external pomp Of Majesty, nor see beneath it lurk Sorrow of heart and sickness of the soul. Chosen of God ! — in his displeasure, which I since have largely tasted, I was made King of an infant empire, left to struggle With wars abroad, and secret foes at home ; When peace, if won, its blessings brought to all, 10 SAUL. But me : I only ruled to serve my subjects ; Gave all my days to them — my nights to them ; Fed them, as doth the pelican her young, With my own blood : and what was my reward ? Denounced at last — rejected ! ABNEft. When ? — by whom ? SAUL. By whom and when ! — Why in the very hour When fresh from slaughter, wearied with pursuit, Panting and faint, and bleeding, in his cause Whose high behests had sent me ; when I met His messenger, with every hope, which zeal And faithful service wakened ; eagerly And sure of warmest greeting, as I sprung To his embraces, he recoiled as though An adder crossed him — tore disdainfully His mantle from my hold ; and as it parted, In wrath, the indignant Prophet spoke: — "E'en thus Thy kingdom is rent from thee ; to another Thy sceptre given." SAUL. I 1 ABNER. And wrath, not prophecy, Gave utterance to the threatning. Hast thou not Since led us on to conquest, won its spoils, And, when beset by dangers, sought and found The guardianship of Heaven, and lived to prove it, Whilst death hath called the Prophet to his home ? SAUL. Would it had spared him ! ABNER. Wherefore — was he not Thy foe, and deemed a stern one ? SAUL. From that hour When we in anger parted, to his death, He ever shunned my presence ; nor did this So much displease me : while he lived, he reigned ; I was but second,, ever subject to His sharp reproof; and by his death, I felt Freed from a master-spirit, whose control Awed every action. 12 SAUL. ABNER. And you wish to bear The yoke of such a bondage ? SAUL. I have learnt My wants and weakness; once my kingdom flourished, When God revealed his councils, lent his wisdom To govern mine, and every action prospered, For he approved them. Then my spirit held High communings with him, who now forsakes me. The Ephod of the Priest has lost its virtue ; The Prophets of the Lord are fled from me ; The mystic dreams no longer visit me ; But helpless in my greatness, I may now Call, but none hears me ; question, but from none Receive the wished-for answer. ABNER. Israel once Was justly famed for science : has she now No gifted Seer, or wise Diviner left ? SAUL. 13 SAUL. The sacred lips of Prophecy are sealed ; And others, by my own decree, proscribed, — Who dare with rites unholy to invoke Familiar spirits, and in secret use Forbidden arts of magic. ABNER. They who hold Mysterious intercourse with other worlds, And beings not of earth, might well, methinks, Laugh at a monarch's threatning. SAUL. Dost thou know If any such exist ? ABNER. And should there be, What further ? SAUL. What? — despair knows no restraint, And I am desperate : I will see and ask 14 SAUL. Of those, since of no others I may learn, The worst, if worst must follow ; and obtain The means perhaps by which I may avoid it. Where is the powerful wizard, by whose aid I may be answered ? ABNER. Not far hence there lives, At Endor, from the world retired, and shunning The intercourse alike of friends and strangers, Who might betray her, one whose skill may match Your utmost wishes ; as they tell who hold Far more in awe her potent witchery, Than thy commands against it. Such at least The story of the garrulous knaves, who cheat The dulness of the camp, with tales of wonder, Which fright them in the telling ; making pale The cheek of the stoutest soldiers : who with breath Deep-drawn, and low, long pause, and stolen glance, As if even then they feared the very subject, Which tilled their thoughts, were present, listen to The midnight legends of her magic spells, SAIL. 15 At which all nature trembles : at whose voice, The marble sepulchres unlock their gates, Moss grown with time ; and from their tenements The uncoffined dead of every age come forth, To wait her awful bidding. If we may Give ear to but a tithe of what report Thus vouches, she has wrought those deeds which well May move our wonder. SAUL. As it does in me, To hear of them. Mysterious being ! whence Were such unbounded power, if not from God, Or one who equals or divides with him The attributes of Godhead. Can it be Unlawful then, to practise what a God Permits and sanctions ? Why should I forbear To seek the source of knowledge, which his will Has opened for instruction ; it may be For help and safety. How far said'st thou, Abner ? ABNER. But some few furlongs. 16 SAIL. SAUL. At a time so pressing, And she so near at hand ! — why we might mount Our nimble steeds, and ere the night withdrew Her favouring shades, that veiled our enterprise, It were well ended — hah ! what thinkest thou ? ABNER. Ere we are missed — before the morning watch, We may regain the camp. SAUL. It shall be so : Haste then, good Abner, for the night advances, And little need have we of preparation : Some slight disguise — a guide— a trusty one: We want no more attendants, to betray Us or our purpose. We are strangers, mark you !- Travellers, or warriors hastening to the camp, Benighted by the way, and craving shelter. Admitted once, some well-invented tale, A bold request, will draw forth the display Of her enchantments. — But we waste our time, SAIL. 17 When moments are most precious : we should haste Our secret journey : ere the shades of night Melt from the mountains, we must reach the camp ; Lest morn, which dawns upon our tardy steps, See deeper blushes overspread our cheeks, Than those which lighten up the waking East. ABNER. All shall be ready : in a few short minutes Expect me here. (He goes out.) SAUL. I shall. Oh ! how impatience Doth on the wings of thought o'ershoot the present, To grasp at what is distant ! I shall then Resolve at length the doubts with which my soul, O'erburthened, shrinks from this approaching struggle, As if it drew from some mysterious instinct, Presage of ill impending. But beyond The issue of the battle, other fears Remain to be encountered. Should I win, For what shall I achieve it ? or with whom Shall rest the fruits of conquest ? Have I not c l.S SAUL. Beheld a rival's hand, already stretched To grasp my crown, ere I have ceased to wear it ? And some perhaps who smile and fawn upon me, May be the treacherous instruments through which He would secure the prize. They shall be known. Better at once to read my destiny, Than thus endure the torture of suspense, And live, mistrusting all, a life of fear. Yet there is something like a warning voice Which cries " Beware !" — and sets again at strife My reason and my will. Away ! away ! Ye busy thoughts, which fright, but cannot change My settled purpose ! Be she more than mortal, I'll see her ! — aye, though fiends themselves should be Companions of her orgies, I will face them ; And wrest, whate'er the hazard of the attempt, The secrets of the future from their keeping ! (He goes into the tent.) SAUL. ly ACT II. At Endor. — Night. Saul. Abner. Witch. witch. A Captain of a thousand, dicFst thou say ? SAUL. And this the Levite of our Teraphim — ABNER. Whose warning sends us hither. WITCH. And ye promise Never to mortal to reveal the things Which ye may witness ? SAUL. On a warrior's word, And for its truth, his honour be the pawn, Which never falsehood nor deceit have sullied, And shall not. Do not doubt us ! — we will be Faithful as Heaven, and silent as the grave. c 2 20 ' SAUL. WITCH. But swear to this ! SAUL. By whom ? — prescribe the oath Thou deeui'st most awful : tell the dreaded sanction Most binding on the soul — the impending wrath Which follows perjured vows, and that which man Most shudders to endure, and most would shun ; And I do here invoke it on our heads, If we in ought betray thee. By the Gods Thou worshippest, I swear to thee — do thou But name them to us ! WITCH. Nay, it matters not ; Swear rather by thy own. SAUL. Then hear: — that power Invisible, Almighty, whom I serve, Or should, — whose sway extends o'er all, whate'er Their creed or lip confession — I attest To this our solemn compact. So may He SAUL. 21 Deal with us both in mercv or in woe, As we in this are faithful. WITCH. I will trust The pledge ye offer ; what my spells may reach, Shall be essayed. The grave shall hear my voice, And open, and restore its prisoned dead ; Whose parted spirit shall reanimate The bones, which moulder in their charnel-house, To thy perception. Ask for whom thou wilt, Whatever age or country claimed his birth, Monarch or subject — Patriarch or Priest, — The earliest, or the last who walked the earth ; Call any son of Adam — aye, himself, Father of all his race, he shall obey. Beings of this, and the invisible world, Ye shall stand face to face ! Come, quick and dead ! And if this dust dare question, it shall hear The voice which death had silenced. — Are ye well Resolved to try the adventure — have ye nerve To brave its terrors ? 22 SAUL. SAUL. Open thou the gates, Which part us from the unseen world of spirits, And bid them to our presence, in what shape It listeth you or them ; and see if fear Do blanch our cheeks. — But mock us not with words; Rather essay thy art, and let us see Its power, than hear thee tell it. WITCH. You shall have This night your wish. SAUL. This night! — I tell thee, woman ! Earth cannot give that bribe, which should detain me Until its close. WITCH. Enough ! you shall not need To tarry long. SAUL. Be quick ! call up — awaken The mighty Seer. SAUL. 23 WITCH. Whom would you? — name him. SAUL. Whom ? Samuel ! — dost start ? — the Prophet Samuel ! He Could pierce, when living, through the veil of time, And read the future : who so lit to rise From the dark dwellings of the unknown world, To tell its secrets. Samuel, ho ! I call thee ! Prophet of good or evil — messenger Of joy or woe to me, of life or death — Awaken ! If my voice, once known, can reach The grave's cold ear, awake and answer me ! WITCH. What do I hear ? ABNER. Impetuous soldier — peace ! WITCH. His words are bold and haughty, as of one Familiar with command : but they are weak Where spirits must obey. 24 SAUL. SAUL. Are thine more potent ? — 9 Then to thy incantations ! WITCH. In brief space, And you shall witness. Listen ! but in silence : And while I step without upon the terrace, Uest ye the while here, at this open lattice, Fronting the space of Heaven, through which the moon Holds her descending way ; and fix your eyes On yon lone star, which shines upon her left, Amid the deep clear blue, and scarce less bright, Braving thus near her lustre, yet undimmed ; Though now, like her, about to hide its light Behind the distant top of Mount Gilboa. There — mark it well ! and as it sinks below The wood-crown'd summit, nerve your inmost soul, And summon all your courage for the trial. (She goes out.) SAUL. Think you, that all she boasts will be achieved ? SAUL. 25 Or is it but the wont of those, who sport With man's credulity, to make his fears Subservient to their purpose : mastering thus His reason, weakly yielded up ; and cheating His very senses of their own belief ? ABNER. The issue will determine. SAUL. Hark I — she speaks. witch [from without). Spirits of air and fire ! or whate'er else Your nature — ye intelligencies, who Are subjected to me, and to my power ; — Ye who, beneath the high-arch'd canopy Of Heaven, do wander through the spacious fields Of ether, seen alone of those whose eye Can track the shadowy shapes, that flit along The moonbeams, as in sport ye revel on The viewless winds, whose hollow moans ye make ; — Ye forms impalpable, who hang the night With its dark curtains, and above them maki 26 SAUL. The stars your dwelling-place ; to which ye give A motion and existence : and who keep The keys of death, and mysteries of the grave — Who can unbar the hidden cell, where lies The disembodied spirit — to become Hereafter like yourselves, when purified From earthly matter — I do summon you, Who read untold the secrets of my thoughts, Be present, and fulfil them ! Do ye linger — Then by their dreaded names, I do command you ! Whose ministers ye are, and mine through them : By Ashtaroth, whose mighty power, the earth, And air, and waters — the invisible world — The living, and the dead, and the immortals, Alike do worship — I do summon you ! Now while that glorious orb, whose chariot wheels She guides, is resting on the extremest verge Of yon horizon, while she yet doth look Upon my spells and you — I charge you, come ! And by that God, whose sovereign right I claim SAUL. 27 To your obedience, purchased with a price, Flesh of my flesh — the blood, more dear than mine, Of my own offspring — first-fruit of my body — The sinless sacrifice, to Moloch offered In the devouring flame — fit emblem of His deity — by him, again I call you ! Hah ! do ye tremble now at my command, And veil your coming with a thicker night ! SAUL. Can this be mortal's doing ? — what a change Is wrought in the high Heaven : every star, Which shone but now like radiant gems in it, rich With light and beauty, vanish from our gaze ; As if the hand that formed, had quenched their orbs, From the overhanging firmament : the night Hath wrapt her in a deeper shade — a darkness Like that of Egypt. ABNER. Silence too hath hushed The very air, that it breathes not : I can scarce 28 SAUL. Hear my own voice amid the noiseless stillness, Without a tremor. SAUL. Nature seems to pause In deep and motionless expectance, for Some great event. ABNER. A prelude, so portentous, Must have a fearful sequel. SAUL. And whatever It be, must be abided. I have sought And will not shrink from it. ABNER. Methought I heard Some sound in the distance. SAUL. 'Twas the dying roll Of the far-off thunder. ABNER. So it seemed. SAUL. 29 SAUL. And look ! — That giddy-forked flash, intense and dazzling, Athwart the Heaven's whole cope. ABNER. Again ! — it sounds Near and more awful. SAUL. What a burst ! — great God ! It was thy voice that spoke in it. Earth and Heaven — Ye elements of the world, do ye once more Sink at his word to nothing ? peal on peal, One deep continuous crash — above — below — Unnerves the firm-fixed globe — reverberating Even to its centre, which beneath my footing, Reels to and fro convulsed. ABNER. The sorceress — see ! With wild and phrensied eye, and livid lip, And brow of marble, whereon hang the dews Of agonizing horror. 30 SAUL. witch {rushing in). God of mercy ! It follows close upon me — spare me ! — save me ! SAUL. What spectre hast thou wakened, that the sight Hath so congealed thee with its terrors, fixed Thy glassy eyeballs thus, and well nigh dried The power of utterance on thy clammy lips ? WITCH. Hah ! who art thou ? — more powerful in her art, Than she whom thou employest : who alone Canst thus command and sway the universe ; Call down the sheeted fires from Heaven — disturb The worlds that roll above, and this beneath ! Mighty magician ! who, in mockery Of my weak spells, hast tried thine own, and proved Thy triumph o'er the world of spirits, by A call to me forbidden — who art thou ? SAUL. Has thine own work appall'd thee, that thou crouchest SAUL. 31 Thus terror- stricken even to me ? — look up ! Know'st not who stand before thee ? or have sight And sense forgot their office ? WITCH. Aye ! I know thee — Monarch of Israel ! — now at last I know Thy kingly bearing and majestic form. Fool ! that I was not sooner undeceived ! Why hast thou tempted me in this disguise ? And with a feigned tale, and borrowed name, Betrayed me to my ruin ! SAUL. Fear thee not ; — Have I not pledged my oath ? I have the power, And will protect thee. Speak ! — what hast thou seen ? WITCH. I saw the earth cleft open to its centre ; And steps on steps, ten thousand fold, unite The yawning gulf with Heaven; whereon appeared, Amid the shadows, which the dazzled eye 32 SAUL. Could not endure to look on, one who wore The likeness of mortality, and yet Seemed less of earth than Heaven ! SAUL. And what his form ? WITCH. As of an aged man, apparelled in A mantle, shining as the light ; whose folds Inwrapt him from the shoulders to the feet. His beard and hair as of the snowy fleece ; His mein and aspect like a God's ; his brow Lowered like the night ; and under it his eye Flashed like its lightning : and I quailed and tied Its terrible threatnings — lo ! he stands before thee ! The Spirit of Samuel appears. SAUL. It is himself! SPIRIT. Who calls on Samuel ? — who With impious summons hath disquieted My spirit, and profaned its hallowed rest ? SAUL. 33 SAUL. Prophet of God — SPIRIT. By what unearthly spells, Presumptuous Monarch, hath the grave to thee Been subjected, that at thy guilty bidding It should unfold its doors, and yield the dead Already mingling with its kindred clay, To clothe itself with life, and minister To thy dark purpose ? — Thou hast brought me up — What wouldst thou with me ? SAUL. Compassed round with fears, And sore distressed, I sought the aid of Heaven ; But found myself deserted : God had closed His oracles ; nor prophecy, nor dreams Returned me answer. What the living gave not, I sought for from the dead. SPIRIT. Aye, and hast dared, Abandoned unto evil, — dared to seek D 34 SAIL. Forbidden knowledge, by forbidden means, And found thy own destruction : thou hast tempted Thy God with these idolatries ; for this His wrath already kindled, shall consume thee, As flame devours the stubble. Haste — depart — Back to thy tents. Behold the marshalled host Wait anxious for their leader! — ere thou reach them, The battle has begun : I see the field Red with the blood of slaughter — horse and horseman, Chariot and foot, together crushed, and fear Bear down thy banners ! Lo ! before my sight The dying and the dead, and the pursued, But without refuge! Hark ! from Israel rise The mingled groans of terror and despair : — Hark to the answering sounds — the wilder cry, — The shout of victory, and the bloody yell, Of those dark deeds which follow ! Who is he, That bears the likeness of thy early manhood, Worthy a crown, had not his father lost it, — Worthy, but not to wear one ? It is he, Thy loved, thy first-born — now the first fruits of SAUL. 35 Thy disobedience. See — he falls ! and near him, One after one, the remnant of thy house — Thy gallant offspring. Nor shalt thou survive, Unhappy King ! of every child bereft ; Happy in this, that death shall not divide you. To-morrow they and thou shall be with me. (The Spirit disappears.) WITCH. The King ! look to him : he hath fallen to the earth ! ABNER. Alas ! his eyes are fixed ; his teeth are clenched ; An icy dampness covers his pale brow; And the convulsed and quivering limbs denote How strong the inward struggle : in that groan The bitterness of anguish was poured out, As if the soul with it would burst its prison. Oh, God ! — if it should be so ! WITCH. He but swoons : Fatigue and fear have overcome his strength ; — It will not last : already, see ! he moves. d2 ;x; Saul. SAUL. To horse! to horse! — away! speed! spur! — Oh shame, And grief of heart, and base dishonour ! blot Foul and indelible on my fair fame, That in the hour of peril, I alone Were wanting, while my gallant people called In vain upon their King. It must not be ! Though death awaits me, in the thickest onset — Aye, there Pll meet him ! — Said he not to-morrow ? Well, then, to-morrow ! If 'tis so decreed That I should perish, why should fate and I Maintain a useless struggle ? WTTCH. My good Lord ! As I to thee have hearkened, and have placed My life by my obedience in thy hands, Let me in turn intreat thee : weak and faint Already as thou art, and overcome Yet more in mind and spirit, rest awhile, And spare some moments for a little food To aid exhausted nature, and restore SAUL. Thy wasted vigour : made more equal thus, To bear whatever extreme of toil and peril Remains to be endured. ABNEK. She counsels well, And should be followed : be advised, my Lord. SAUL. Why, as you will — do with me as you will; For I am grown a craven, quell'd in spirit, Weak as a stripling, frightened at the sight Of shadows. — This was none ! for doth not yet That fearful spectre glare before my sight ; Whose dooming curse still rings within my ears, And smites upon my heart, with icy touch, Even to its inmost core ? My Son ! my Son ! And have I purchased too thy death, the downfall Of all thy glorious hopes, thy proud achievements, And high renown ; which, sated to the full, Left for ambition nothing in reserve, To wish or win ? My brave — my warrior — My pride and boast — the boast and pride of all 38 SAUL. Who knew thee — where was he who knew thee not, Of friend or foe ? in tenderness and love Unequalled — in the deadly strife unmatched. My soul's dear offspring ! — how my stricken heart Doth yearn to thee ; my Son, and more than Son ! If there may be a holier tie than this. And have I severed it, and dashed thee from The promise of a throne — the brilliant path To future conquest ; and the well- won meed, That should have crown' d thy glory ? — it is well That I should die, nor see thee, and my joy, Within a grave, which I have dug for thee. (He is led out. — The scene closes.) SAUL. 39 ACT III. The Camp at Gilboa. A group of Officers. Doeg. Abijah. Heber. abijah. But which way went the King ? DOEG. Aye, marry, Sir, Solve us that riddle, or interpret why He left the camp, and name what price you will, Your wisdomship shall have it — which way went he! Whither the wind goes, just as well demand, Which stirs at times our heavy-hanging pennons. HEBER. But says conjecture nothing ? DOEG. Was it ever Without a ready tale ? — it tells a thousand : Creations of the fancy, air-blown bubbles, Thrown off as 'twere in sport, to cheat the idle, Who catch, as each dissolves, the next which passes, 40 SAUL. With like success. Conjecture ! — 'tis as false And fleeting, as the desert's mimic fountain : None but the gaping fool, athirst for news, Would be deceived by such a semblance ; weighed With but a grain of reason, they are light As shadows against substance. ABIJAH. Abner too Is with him, as 'tis rumoured. DOEG. He was seen Last night in secret conference with the King, And has not since been heard of. ABIJAH. Strange indeed, At such a time, that either should be absent ; When hostile camps are frowning at each other, With scarce more space between, than might suffice To try the issue of that fearful strife, To which each sound seems prelude : it was not Their wont to steal away, and play the trnant. SAUL. 41 DOEG. Nor mean they now to do so, trust me, Sirs ; Mysterious as it seems, and such I grant it, They will find reasons to approve their absence. HEBER. Heaven send the event be prosperous to us all ! As much we need it : for meanwhile the news Has spread from mouth to mouth, enlarged as usual With every new relation ; fact with fiction So blended and confused, that what was truth, Has grown a monstrous fable ; where 'twill end, I almost dread to think. ABIJAH. How bears the Prince This strange occurrence ? DOEG. As a man long trained In Wisdom's school, experience. He has left Nothing undone which foresight can provide. E'en now he goes amid the ranks, which hang Upon the mountain's crest, with spears whose points 42 SAUL. Flash back the light of morning — everywhere With glance as bright, his eagle-eye, which speaks Proud thoughts, and lofty deeds, and high designs, Looks on their dense array ; and as he passes, With brief but quickening words, as fits the soldier, To each in turn addressed, he animates Their drooping courage — until fears give place To confidence, and every bosom, catching The aspiration of his burning spirit, Waits with impatience for the trumpet's call, Whose doom is death or glory. ABIJAH. Noble Prince ! Now Heaven be praised indeed that we lack not His guidance and example. DOEG. This way — see ! He comes ! — stand back and let us note him. Enter Jonathan, Othniee, fyc. with Attendants. JONATHAN. Friends ! SAUL. 43 Who share our clangers, as ye shall our triumph ! It glads me much to see our soldiers wear Those looks again, which best become their brows, Till crown' d with lam-el wreaths; of which they give The happy promise, and sure augury. A moment's doubt, 'tis true, may overshade The lofty spirit — as a breath may dim The polished weapon which it passes over, And then 'tis bright again. This sudden cause, A just one be assured, that hath withdrawn The King at such a time, will not detain His eager longing from a field, o'er which Victory and fame, like sister spirits, hover, And bid him to their banquet. — Enter an Officer. AVhence art thou — And what thy tidings? for that such thou bringest Thy haste denotes, which scarce hath left thee breath To tell us of its import. — From the King? OFFICER. No, my good Lord! 44 SAUL. JONATHAN. The worse. OFFICER. The Prince, your brother, Hath bid me speed for aid. The Philistine, His movements hid behind the heavy mist, Which, like a curtain on the mountain's side, Hung between us and them, hath secretly Assailed our right — the scouts being thence removed By Abner's order, as last night that way He left the camp. Our foremost posts have been Surprised and slaughtered: and the tide of battle Rolls on so fiercely, that our wavering troops Will scarce sustain the onset, if fresh aid Haste not to their support. JONATHAN. Why, this is sudden! — It shall be sent! return with this assurance — Thou wilt not long precede it. Othniel! see That this is done. Why, this is news indeed, To stir the blood, and interrupt our parley, SAUL. 45 Too long already: deeds become us now, Hereafter to be talked of. My brave friends ! Ye men of Israel ! — valiant sons of Judah, Behold tlie foe before you ! — that same foe, Who, oft defeated, comes once more to try If ye retain your courage, and to claim For their own brows the laurels which ye gathered From their defeat. Oh ! rather be they bathed — So shall they bloom more freshly — in their blood. On, then ! sound trumpets ! — on to victory ! [Exeunt. Scene II. — Enter Jonathan, Othniel, Doeg, ; SAUL. The mountain's peaks: the heavens are smiling on us, Hanging above our heads, like purple vestments, Prepared for conquerors. And now all glorious Gilboa's heights have in those robes of light Arrayed themselves exultingly, like men Who, when the fight is done, divide the spoil. Be ours the hearts, whose high resolve shall give Fulfilment to the omen — for, my friends, 'Tis not enough to keep the vantage ground Of our success. Nor, like the hunted stag, Let us stand listening to the baying hounds, Till toils of death enclose us ! rather, like The lion of our Judah, turn and rend The rash pursuer, trampling in the dust, His pride and power ! The mingled din of battl< Has surely reached the King. — Have messengers Been sent again to meet him ? OTHXIEL. Even now They course each other's steps — but yet no tidings. (A shout i.\ lieard without.) SAIL. 17 JONATHAN. What startling sound was that ? — again ! The foe Hath not renewed his daring ! OTHNIEL. Tis the King !— I hear them call his name. JONATHAN. Even so — and hark ! W ith what a universal shout, the soldiers Welcome him back ; the very mountain speaks Its joy in the echo. OTHNIEL. There ! — he breasts the hill, Urging, with spur of fire, his labouring horse The upward pathway : had he eagle's wings To aid his speed, its utmost stretch could not Match his impatient rider — now, overspent With heat and travel, soiled with dust, he reels, Sprinkling his heaving flanks with drops of foam, Flung from his panting mouth ; like the sea wave, When lash'd by winds to madness. 48 SAIL. JONATHAN. Oh ! my heart ! I never knew the love it treasured there ; Nor half the anxious fears with which it throb'd For his return ; till now, that from my breast Its load is lifted. OTHNIEL. He is here ! Enter Saul. SAUL. My son JONATHAN. My father ! — oh ! my father ! — my swollen heart Is full to overflowing : words are weak, To tell the giddy tumult of my joy, With which it welcomes thee, where expectation Never desired thee with a keener longing ; Nor had more cause : — how fares it with my Lord ? SAUL. Say rather here, how fares it ; for my ear, SAUL. I'J Caught in the distance, as I journeyed hither, Those sounds, which told too surely of a field Where slaughter surfeited. JONATHAN. At dawn, by stealth, The impetuous Philistine assailed us, fought With desperate com*age ; which, as desperately, We rendered back to him ; who, at the last, With heavy loss, in which we both have shared, Slowly retired — and now brief space between Divides our forces. SAUL. Prophet of the tomb ! Too true were thy predictions, which begin Already their accomplishment : and I — Oh ! I most guilty — miserable — doomed Of Heaven, and madly cursed, by my own choice, With the fore-knowledge of its bitter sentence ! JONATHAN. What says my father ? E 50 SAUL. SAUL. Nothing — it was nothing : (Or what to thee at least must be as nothing ; A secret hid within my breast, on which 'Tis knawing like a viper — it shall eat My heart out, ere I make it known, to mar, Son of my once fond hopes, thy joy — alas ! Already shortlived. Fate itself, too soon Will bring to light its issue.) — Heed it not. I did but mutter words that well may pass Without observance. (Oh ! 'tis cruel thus, To live a breathing corpse — for such I am — And see thee treading on the slippery brink Of this great gulf which yawns beneath ; as though I saw not death sit crouching at its base, Waiting our fall.) JONATHAN. My father ! speak — oh speak ! Whatever be in thy half-uttered thoughts Concealed, impart it — share it with thy sou, As thou wert wont : for thine is not the phrase SAUL. ,1 Which carelessness lets fall, indifferent whether 'Tis gathered up or lost : a hidden meaning Of fearful import mingles with thy words — Some dreadful thing, which the distracted mind Would fain disclose, but dare not. SAUL. Be content — The tree of knowledge heretofore was found To yield but bitter fruit. JONATHAN. Nay, do not fear To trust to me, my father : have I not Up to this hour, in sorrow and in joy, Held closest union with thee ? — throughout all life's dangers known one fortune — drank with thee Its cup of happiness — with thee partaken The bread of thy affliction ? Has my soul Not wept o'er thine, when sadness vexed thy spirit, And sickness plucked the roses from thy cheek ; And gladdened, when they bloomed there ? Oh ! then, s;i\ What cloud of anguish crosses thus thy brow, e2 52 SAUL. Robbing of its true light that glorious front, Where majesty sat throned ? Thou answerest not — Oh ! by that sympathetic tie which knits Our hearts and souls, I do conjure you, tell Where hast thou been! — what seen, or heard — whose power Hath closed the passage of thy speech, denying That fellowship of ill, no less than good, Which strong affection claims ! Oh ! tell me all — Thy late adventure — whither led it — what It gave or threatened ! Wilt thou not, my father ? SAUL. Oblivion, thicker than night's darkness, shroud it In endless silence ! — hide it in a grave, Lower than hell, that never may to man Reveal my madness ! JONATHAN. This indeed is dreadful ! Reality itself can bring no danger So terrible, as that which my dark thoughts Shape from this silence. SAUL. 53 SAUL. Let it pass — account it A dream of the night, that pictures forth strange things, And fades away at waking : (would it were one.) There — think of it no longer ; let your lips Be sealed to further question. JONATHAN. Your good pleasure Has ever been a sacred law, to which My duty paid obedience ; and herein My will must wait on yours. I may hereafter Know more of this ? SAUL. Too soon — alas ! too soon. Enter an Officer. OFFICER. Arm ! — arm with speed, my gracious Lord ! the foe Is seen again in motion. SAUL. Fate demands 54 SAUL. Its victims for the sacrifice. Should we Survive the limits of the day, the past Shall be revealed : if not — why death itself Will solve the mystery. JONATHAN. You name it fitly ; It is to me a dark one — but enough, We linger, and the battle calls us — hark ! The swelling trumpet gives its second summons. Bring forth the royal armour — shield and spear : There — fit the helmet on his lofty brows, Long may it guard them ; good — see how it shines ! Conspicuous with its nodding plume of black, Like some majestic palm-tree's waving top, Where winds and sunshine meet in sport, and light And shade alternate. See you not he chafes, Impatient for the fight? — a moment longer — Quick round his manly bosom clasp the mail : Beneath its jointed scales, a truer heart Did never beat : oh ! you shall see him tower, Clad in the blazing panoply <»!' war, SAUL. 55 Glorious to all beholders, like the star Of great Orion. Enter a second Officer. OFFICER. Oh, my Lord ! I bring- Ill news, of which I grieve to be the bearer. We are surrounded — lost — the pitfall holds Its prey, not more securely. JONATHAN. Let your fears Find language fitter to interpret them : I understand thee not. OFFICER. Around the mountain, Far to the left of our extremest wing, A host of flashing spears is just descried, Pressing with haste : the narrow pass which guards The rearward of our strength, already seized, Cuts off the hope of flight. JONATHAN. Why, trembling fool ! 56 SAUL. Lies not our way in front ? we'll teach the foe 'Twere wisdom to have left a golden passage, To tempt retreat. What forces may they bring ? OFFICER. The forest leaves which wave above their head, Were easier numbered. JONATHAN. We will scatter them, As doth the wind of autumn. — But, my father, Thou lackest still thy breast-plate. SAUL. 1 shall need No longer its defence. The lightest arrow Which destiny may wing, will find its way As easy through the vaunted mail of proof, As to the naked bosom — let me meet it. {He goes out.) JONATHAN. His actions, as his language, have more meaning Than my poor thoughts can compass : I must follow, And watch him through the perils which surround us. (Exeunt.) SAUL. 57 Scene III. — Another part of the field. — Alarms. Enter Saul, wounded, and Othniel. SAUL. All ; s lost ! — the rout is general ! — everywhere They fiy like timid women. OTHNIEL. Death overtake them ! Or slavery be their lot — degenerate cowards ! Who seek to gain the prize of life by flight, And will not face the strife, as man should meet His foe, and win it nobly. SAUL. Fear hath robb'd them Of that which only can secure their safety — Arms — which the warrior trusts to. Know they not, Fools, that the deer in heart, should also have The fleetness of the deer. If terror lends Speed to their flight, revenge hath wings to follow. OTHNIEL. The foe hath passed us in his hot pursuit, And we may yet escape him unobserved. 58 SAUL. SAUL. I cannot fly — and would not : in my side The door of death is opened, through which life- Is ebbing fast away. And should I live ! Even though the golden coronet might still Adorn my brows without, and sear the brain Within, as it was used : yet live ! — for what, Or whom ? for I am now a barren trunk, Lopt of its goodly branches by the storm, Which sweeps in ruin round us — left to stand Alone and blasted— marked by Heaven's displeasure- Scathed by its lightnings. Never yet my limbs Learned the ignoble office — nor shall now — Of speed in battle, save for the pursuit Myself was leading ; but they fail me here. Weak with the loss of blood I scarce endure The shock of the feeblest soldier : and they come To prove me; but I shall escape them. — Aye, 1 hear you, blood-hounds! and your savage shouts, Who, sated with the meaner prey, yet thirst For nobler game — a King your victim ! 'Twerc SAUL. 59 A glorious spoil — a triumph worth the cost Of such a battle : greater boast to show him. Caged, as a monster of the burning desert, Or slimy Nile, to be the gaze of women Amid the streets of Askalon ; or serve Within the temples of your idol Gods. By him that liveth — never ! As he made me King, I will live and die one : nor shall Saul Give to a foe the triumph of his death. My trusty follower, thou hast served me long, And oft thy sword hath done good service ; let it Afford me this the latest, and protect me From insult worse than death — they come! — dispatch — Here thrust it through my heart ! OTHNIEL. I dare not do This sacrilege, to raise my hand against The Lord's anointed : bid me rather turn it Upon myself, and I will prove the love I bear to thee, in dying. SAUL. Faithful still, 60 SAUL. Even unto death. I thank thee, my best friend, And latest ; thou hast shown the only way By which I shall escape the captive's chain — The conqueror's triumph. By a King alone 'Tis fit a King should perish. (He falls on his sword.) Samuel ! Thou art obeyed — Prophet! I come to thee. (Dies.) OTHNIEL. My royal master, hast thou died before me ? — I will not long survive you. [He fulls on his sword. — The enemy are seen approaching.) Men of Gath ! Ye come too late — or but to witness how The sons of Israel show their love and duty. Aye, come and gaze upon his breathless corse — A Monarch, who could conquer death itself, And triumph o'er defeat. — Ye come too late — He is beyond your reach — we do defy you. (Dies as the enemy rush in. — The scene closes.) 61 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. At length 'tis o'er — the wild tumultuous flood Of mingled passions, warring in my blood, Which rushed like molten fire through every vein, And poured its fever on my dizzied brain, More calmy flows : the tempest of the soul Subsides once more in Reason's mild control ; Pride stoops its haughty spirit — bends to thee ; Even love itself submits to thy decree. Ah ! twined for ever round my bleeding heart, Which clings to thine the closer ere we part ; To thee, with true devotedness, I give Life, and the love for which alone I live : To thee my hopes and happiness resign ; And count it cheap, so I may purchase thine. 62 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. Here then behold, I pluck from out my breast, The dear delights which long had made it blest ; Tear, though it rend my heart, and from me ning The cherished images that round it spring : — The fond endearing thoughts of other days, — Thy looks of love, — thy gentle voice of praise, — The warm caress, with which impassioned youth Sealed on my lips the whispered vows of truth ; — Thy cheering words at parting — thy embrace, Which stayed the coursing tear upon my face, When glory called thee, and thou heard'st the call, Flew to the battle field, and vanquished all ; — The anxious hopes which for thy glory burned, The fame, the triumphs shared with me when carned- When I forgot in thy return my fears, And joys too deep for smiles shone out in tears ; — All my fond heart had treasured up with care, Memories of love, now food for my despair •— Too truly faithful, sec at thy command, For ever I resign ; — release thy hand — JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 63 Part with thy love — with all thy glory part, — Abjure thy name, and abdicate thy heart, — Renounce my title — all my share in thee, And dare to speak the word which sets thee free, And gives another partner to thy throne, And to that heart, where once I reigned alone. Yet long, and fierce, and doubtful was the strife, Which pride with passion held, and death with life ; For stung with sorrow, frantic with its grief, My stubborn spirit long refused relief; Shrunk from the comfort which to grief belongs, And mute and tearless brooded o'er its wrongs ; Resolved the worst to bear, with all contend ; And though the heart might break, it should not bend. Ah ! weak as rash, in what did I confide ? — Vain was my threat, and foolish was my pride ; Anger and jealousy, and proud disdain, By turns aroused, opposed themselves in vain : 64 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. Love, like a torrent, which amid its course, Checked for a time, rolls on with mightier force, Broke through the gloomy barrier of despair, To fill the heart, and reign for ever there : — Love ! subtle spirit of ethereal birth, Freed from the grosser taints, once more, of earth, Breathes of that peace above, from whence 'twas given, And calm delight, the sweet foretaste of Heaven. By sorrows tried, as gold refined by fire, It flies all sensual thoughts, each low desire ; No baser passion shares with it the soul ; Almighty Lord and Sovereign of the whole, — Meek, gentle, much enduring, suffering long The grief that speaks not and the secret wrong, Of self regardless, and for others born, — It braves neglect, and triumphs over scorn ; And Hope outliving, desolate and lone, Seeks in another's happiness its own. 'Twas Heaven itself that first pronounced my doom, Who cursed my nuptials with a barren womb; JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 05 While France, impatient, murmured for a son, Heir to the throne, his father's glory won. Too well, though long suppressed, the truth I knew, Year after year as hope the weaker grew : And vainly struggling with my secret fears, I wept the unknown ills of coming years. Mysterious presage of my soul ! 'twas this Which crushed my heart, and every source of bliss ; And left affection mourning over all, Like the green ivy on the ruined wall. When rumours circled round the courtly crowd, And looks grew cold, and malice whispered loud, I tasked my heart, and thought myself prepared To yield the happiness I long had shared. But when thy fatal mandate was received, Foreboded long, though scarcely then believed, Which at one blow for ever smote away From lingering hope its last and feeble stay ; Then, wretched abject ! where was then thy pride ? I shed no tears — alas ! their source was dried ; F 66 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. But o'er me crept a chill like that of death, — My bosom panted, and I gasped for breath ; Through my dark brain my senses seemed to swim, Convulsive quiverings seized on every limb, And horrors round me closed no tongue can tell, Till sense and motion failed me — and I fell. Oh ! spare him, God ! that he may never know, In life or death, that agony of woe — The desolation on my heart, which broke Like hell's despair, when reason next awoke. My very heart was breaking ; till at last The fountain of my grief burst forth ; and fast And freely flowed the pent-up tears, which gave Their kind relief — a respite from the grave. I wept and blessed thee, called thee o'er and o'er By that dear name, which I must use no more ; And kissed with passionate lips the empty air, As if thy image stood before me there ; And then again I blessed thee, and again The tears gushed frequent down my cheeks like rain, JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 67 « In that last struggle, till I knelt and prayed — Not for myself — for thee my prayer was made ; That Heaven with choicest gifts would crown thy life, And make thee happier with a fruitful wife, Who with a father's joy thy bed might bless, Deserve thee more than I — nor love thee less. And how I loved thee — dearly, fondly love, — Let this last act of deep devotion prove ; Such as before on earth was never shown,* And such as woman's love could give alone. And let the pain it costs, the pangs I feel, The bitter sorrows time can never heal, With which I sever now these tender ties, Tell what for thee has been my sacrifice ; This be my pledge, the faithful witness be, Of all, Napoleon — all I give to thee. Not holy martyrs at the burning stake, So prove their truth, who perish for its sake. See Note 1. F 2 G8 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. Eternal joys their failing souls sustain, And strong in faith, they triumph over pain ; Count death as life, now only to begin, The grave the gate by which they enter in : See heavenly visions dawn before their eyes, And angels wait to waft them to the skies. But what support remains for me to cheer My trembling soul, where all is dark and drear ; Its peace, and joy, and hope, for ever flown, For I am wedded now to grief alone : Who more than life itself for thee have given, And in the love I lose, have lost a Heaven . Ah ! wretched Josephine ! the favoured child, Once deemed of fortune, how wert thou beguiled : Who looked, deluded one, her smiles should prove True as her heart, and lasting as its love : Nor saw the sword suspended by a thread, Above the board where thou hadst banqueted. Ah ! how did then thy whole existence seem Joyous and bright, as some ecstatic dream ; JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 09 Thy path of life when scattered roses strewed, By pomps surrounded and by pleasures woo'd. For thee it seemed enchantment decked her bowers, And laughing gladness led the vacant hours : To thee, assembled Peers their homage paid ; Before thy feet the world's rich spoils were laid ; And sage and warrior for thy praises vied, And Princes swelled thy train and fed thy pride. Then all that art could fashion, all that power Or wealth command — a kingdom for thy dower — Were thine, so thou didst wish them : earth and sea Their costly tribute yielded up to thee; And earth's great master was thy bosom lord, Shrined in thy heart, in very soul adored, Loved with a passion bounds coidd not confine, And almost served and worshipped as divine. Such seemed thy right, Napoleon ! blessed and praised, Whose grace sustained me, as thy bounty raised. A widowed mother sunk in grief and gloom, Just 'scaped the captive's cell, a tyrant's doom ; You soothed my sorrows, dried the tears I shed, And shared thy fortunes, with me shared thy bed ; 70 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. Thy fame, thy triumphs, all thenceforth my own: And placed me next beside thee on the throne. Brief day of glory ! bright its closing hour, AVith gorgeous hues of majesty and power ! Still can those visions charm me — oh not yet, Though mad the thought, can I the day forget, That proud auspicious day of France and thine, When thou, first monarch of a royal line, Greatest of earth, and may it still descend Glorious and great to time's remotest end ; Amid thy plumed warriors didst advance, Victorious chiefs, the titled flower of France, Named from her fields of fight ; a gallant train Rivalling the Paladins of Charlemagne : As was his glory dim before thy own, The mightier master of his ancient throne, "Whose crown that day thy brows majestic graced, There, by the hand alone which won it, placed : Yet didst thou deign thyself on me to set — Ah ! soon to fall — the royal coronet. Then as the aged Pontiff, on our head The holy unction poured, his blessing said, JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 71 With glad acclaim the people rent the skies, To thousand voices answered thousand cries, The trumpet's peal and cannon's roar between, "God save Napoleon" — "God save Josephine." Why, frantic, why forbidden thoughts recall, Scenes of past pomp, when thou hast lost them all ! Some few short months within that sacred fane, Once more perhaps shall pass the royal train, W r hen jewelled Dames shall bow, and on the knee Peers yield the homage, once they paid to me, To one more happy, who to kings allied, Crowned with my crown, and in my place thy Bride, Shall hear the shouts which greeted Josephine ; "God save Napoleon" — "save his second Queen." Ah ! me, dethroned Empress, widowed wife ! Ah ! might I first lay down my weary life, Or with its wings could dark oblivion shade This wretched mind, and memory wholly fade, Ere I that last and worst of ills must know, And drink the bitterest cup of woman's woe. 72 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. And yet be Heaven my witness, in that hour Of giddy triumph, on the height of power, When joy's delirium rushed upon my brain, What dark forebodings filled my mind with pain ! High on the slippery summit round my head Its flood of splendour though thy glory shed ; My anxious soul with gloomy prescience, threw Far on the future its prophetic view, And saw already in the distant skies, The gathering clouds and threatening tempest rise, Whose force one day might dash me from that throne, And, may I speak it, shake perhaps thy own ! Thou too canst tell, when timid, e'en to tears, How warm affection murmured out its fears ; Lest in thy mind the uncontrolled desire Of boundless sway, should quench love's gentler lire; And thou shouldst barter in an evil hour, For pride, affection — happiness, for power ; And offer up, a victim at the shrine Of cold ambition, such ;t heart as mine. JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON 73 Oh ! then when trembling like the affrighted dove, Which sees the eagle sailing high above, And seeks the shelter of its mate, I press' d, Panting and pale, the closer to thy breast : In those dark moments shouldst thou take, I said, Some high-born Princess, partner of thy bed ; Though she may bring, the child of pomp and power, A costlier bridal and a royal dower ; — Will boasted ancestry, a lofty race, — Or pride thence sprung, supply affection's place, Knit hearts in union like our own, which grew From fitness first, and years the closer drew ;* And give the tried attachment of my soul, Its whole devotion — aye, thou hadst the whole, And thine it is for ever : even now, Though sad reverse is stamped upon my brow, And hope's bright visions melted into air ; Pride changed to mourning — pleasure to despair ; My bread as ashes, and my drink my tears, And beauty wasted, more by grief than years ; — * See Note 2. 74 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. Spurned from thy bed, an exile from thy throne, Thy heart's lone outcast — still thou hast my own. For thee its secret hopes and prayers arise, — For thee in sorrow still it breathes its sighs ; Glows with as fervent but a holier lire, A chastened passion, and subdued desire. Though thy own hand has dealt the cruel blow, Whose fatal wound ere long shall lay me low, Yet shall the flame endure which love once lit, For grief shall tend, and friendship nourish it, Unquenched, unquenchable, till life resign Its latest wish — the latest shall be thine. But thou wert born for empire ; and thy soul Bounded impetuous onward to the goal, Where glory beckoned, and ambition led, While earth in terror shook beneath the tread Of thy armed legions. Yet oh ! more than great, Say, can no bounds thy ardent spirit sate ? — I last thou not drunk already to thy till The cup of glory, that thou thirstest still ? JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 75 Ah ! wise in time, be gentle peace thy care, And spare thyself, thy bleeding country spare ; Tempt not thy fortune further, nor too far Trust to the influence of thy ruling star : Behold my own has set in endless night, Twin orb with thine, and once which shone as bright. And have no doubts, no dark suspicions stole, Whispering their fearful secret, to thy soul ; That Heaven, which ere our birth had joined our hands And linked our hearts in such mysterious bands, Our destinies indissolubly wove, And made our fates dependent on our love ? So have I thought, while mingled with my fears, The wakened memory of forgotten years : For when in childhood's thoughtless hours of glee, In the far island of the Carib sea, AVith young companions of my sports I played, Beneath the orange-tree's refreshing shade ; Where, Spring and Autumn met together, grew Blossoms at once and fruit of golden hue : 76 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. A swarthy Sybil, who with curious eye, Traced in my palm the lines of destiny ; Foretold what changes should my life attend, — Bright in its youth, but mournful at its end : For fate would give, her strange prediction said, In second spousal to my widowed bed, A mighty warrior, whose unmatched renown Should win the way to Europe's fairest crown ; And I, his titled Queen, myself should wear The royal diadem, — his honors share, — And share with him the homage of the world : But from this height of transient splendour hurled, Within a hospital my days consume, And end their sorrows only in the tomb. Blind that I was, and madly self-deceived, Who heard the; warning, yet but half believed ; And hoped that Heaven more partial would fulfil The good it promised, and withhold the ill. But true, alas ! too truly fatal all ! — Glory and love, their triumph and their fall : JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 77 And I most wretched, who before me see The end and issue of this dark decree, — The grave ! — the grave ! Oh ! soon may I descend To its calm rest, — the mourner's only friend, — Sole cure for ills unreached by human art, A wounded spirit, and a broken heart. There, wronged affection shall no longer weep ; No more its vigils painful memory keep ; No bitter anguish there the bosom wring ; Grief be forgot, and sorrow lose its sting. — There, passion wakes not ; every sense is still ; And the last thought of thee shall cease to thrill. And wilt thou not, when earth within her breast, As a fond mother folds her child to rest, Shall give her shelter to my lifeless form, And I become the sister of the worm, — When every failing which the evil eye Of base detraction haply could espy, And all my love, which none could know, are hid, Shrouded with me, beneath the coffin lid, 78 JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. Say ! — led by past remembrance, wilt thou not, Napoleon, sometimes wander near the spot, And read upon the monumental stone My name inscribed ? — it needs but this alone : For linked with thine its mournful tale shall live, The sad prerogative which thou must give. Then should a struggling tear, unbidden, start From the warm impulse of thy generous heart, Oh ! let it flow, and consecrate to love, What even a rival shall not disapprove, And give the feelings of thy soul their way; — Let sorrow speak, — it thus, perchauce, will say : — " Farewell ! thou true of heart, — of tender mind,— Devoted faith, — and gentleness resigned ! Whose warm affections with thy fortunes grew, And tried severely, wrongs could not subdue ! Thou dearest wife, — sincerest friend, — farewell ! — If ever truth in woman's breast did dwell, — If constant love on earth was ever seen, — Their home was in thy heart, my Josephine !" •JOSEPHINE TO NAPOLEON. 79 NOTES. 1. "By the permission of our dear and august Consort, I ought to declare, that not preserving any hope of having children, which may fulfil the wants of his policy, and the interests of France, I am pleased to give him the greatest proof of attach- ment and devotion which has ever been given on earth. 1 possess all from his bounty ; it was his hand which crowned me ; and from the height of this throne, I have received nothing but proofs of affection and love from the French people." Speech of Josephine before the Senate when the Act of Divorce took place, 15th December, 1809. 2. "Will not the throne inspire you with the wish to con- tract new alliances ? — Will you not seek to support your power by new family connections ? Alas ! whatever those connections may be, will they compensate for those which were first knit by corresponding fitness, and which affection promised to perpetuate? My thoughts linger on the picture which fear, may 1 not say, love, traces in the future. Your ambitious project has excited my alarm; console me by the assurance ofyour moderation." JOSEI'HTNE TO BONAPARTE. Nil POLAND. For hapless Poland mourn, ye brave, who love the brave and free, Who boast the birthright for your own of sacred liberty ; Think! (would ye dared avenge her!) — think with sorrow on her fall, And with her wrongs the memory of her former fame recall. Aye, Europe, mourn, as thou hast cause, for her, who tried and true, When o'er the cross the crescent rose, her heart's blood gave for you ; "Twas Poland to thy rescue came; — 'twas generous Poland freed Thy kingdoms from the invader, and thy faith from Mecca's creed. POLAND. 81 Yet in her hour of peril, when she burst oppression's chain, That would have bound her free-born limbs, and sprang to arms again ; With her blest blood once more withstood the despot and his slave, And bartered life for liberty, — did none step forth to save? In bitterness of deep distress, she turned for aid around To all the nations — turned in vain — for not a friend was found. They saw her wage the unequal strife, when faint with wounds and toil, And coldly and unmoved looked on, or revelled in her spoil. Round fated Warsaw pressed the foe; her champions gathered there ; They nerved them then, resolved like men to die, but not despair ; And falling where their father's blood had dyed before the sod, They left their spirit to the free, and their revenge to God. G 82 POLAND. Oh ! England ! prompt to aid the weak, and battle for the right, Say, had thy sons degenerate grown, or palsied was thy might ? What spell upon thy spirit hung, from which thou could'st not break ? Why slept thy thunders — slept the voice, which could those thunders wake ? And Austria thou, bethink thee now, the debt that on thee lay, And blush with shame and grief to name how thou didst it repay : Their gallant monarch, call to mind, who fought when thine did flee, When "God for Poland" was the cry, and Poland struck for thee. Two months before Vienna's walls encamped the Grand Vizier ; Devoted city ! tremble now, for thy destruction '& near : POLAND. 83 And vain all help, should he once more the fierce assault renew, His force two hundred thousand strong, and thine but faint and few. Already tower and battlement are tottering to their fall ; What mercy from the Infidel, if he should storm thy wall ? Thy sons to bloody slaughter doomed — who dies not, lives a slave; Thy daughters — from those fiends of hell, now God in pity save. Rose then from fervent lips to Heaven the oft-repeated prayer; Oft to the plain they turned their eyes, and shut them in despair. For Sobieski's promised aid, with fainting heart they wait; Haste! gallant King! thy succour bring, ere succour come too late. g2 8 1 POLAND. He knew their need, — he pressed with speed, — the Danube he hath passed ; And through the mountain's deep defiles he won his way at last. The sun went down upon the town, when from the nearest hill The hero gazed — "now God be praised, the Christians hold it still !" There floated still the banner of the holy Cross, and there The Austrian eagle, yet untamed, outspread his wings in air. And through the sulphury smoke beneath, the cannon's frequent flash, Gleamed as the lightning from a cloud precedes the thunder crash. His well-known signal soon was seen ; and loud and wild the cry, In rapture rung from every tongue — " the King ! the King is nigh ! " POLAND. 85 And hands were grasped : — the mother clasped her child in her embrace — The heart was then too full for words — and wept upon her face. The Pole all night upon that height, in silence watched the foe, Unnumbered as the stars above, whose camp-fires blazed below ; — All night impatient waited for that day of Poland's fame, When his good blade, and God to aid, the Turkish pride should tame. Pealed with the morn from trump and horn, the spirit- stirring call ; And on their side the foe replied with drum and atabal : Great was the stake, and bloody must that field of battle be, Where Asia's champions met the pride of Europe's chivalry. 86 POLAND. What checks their march upon the hill ? — why pause they in their course? Before the line the King advanced — a moment reined his horse ; His plumed helmet doffed, and as he made the holy sign, " Not unto us, oh God \" he cried, " the praise alone be thine." Loud at his close, responsive rose their battle cry to Heaven ; And scarce the impetuous squadrons stayed until the word was given : When from the hill resistless down, with spur and loosened rein, As the mighty Danube rushes, clown they swept upon the plain. Where'er his pennoned lances flashed, resplendent at their head, 'flic monarch shone, and through the field the tidings quickly spread : POLAND. 87 And well the terror of that name, did Turk and Tartar know; Before him quailed their chief, who deemed he was no mortal foe. " Brave Khan \" the Pacha called, " dost thou desert me at my need ?" In vain he prayed to him for aid, he spured his flying steed: " 'Tis Sobieski leads them on, now Mustapha, beware." " Allah \" the astonished Turk exclaimed, " the Wizard ! is he there V Who knows not of that glorious field — its trophies : witness Rome, Which saw the Prophet's standard borne to holy Peter's dome. Let Europe's acclamations tell that triumph was her own : Though thou, ill-fated Poland! paid its price of blood alone. Vienna's gates were open flung: her warriors worn and pale, Through every street rushed forth to meet, and their deliverer hail. 88 POLAND. And grateful maidens round him pressed; and children clasped his knee ; "Blessings and honour to the brave, who set Vienna free !" And Poland, generous thus and great! thou mother of the brave ! Their freedom who for others won — must thou become a slave ? This then the guerdon of thy deeds — the blood which thou hast shed ! And they, thy spoilers — they for whom thy sons so freely bled ! Thou deeply wronged! who can the tale of thy oppression tell; Nor feel — the blush upon his brow — his breast indignant swell ? Yet theirs alone the foul disgrace, by whom thou wast betrayed : And can thy mighty be forgot — thy bygone glory fade? POLAND. 89 Oh! honoured in thy fall; though bowed beneath the iron yoke, O'erpowered and crushed, but not subdued — thy spirit is not broke. No chains can bind the freeman's soul; the flame of freedom glows Unquenched within the sunless cell — amid Siberia's snows. If the title of a hero were ever merited, it may, with justice, be applied to John Sobieski, King of Poland — " the Wizard King" — as, from his extraordinary successes, the Turks in t&eir fear were accustomed to call him. The memorable battle of Vienna was fought on the 12th September 1683. "When the Turks," says Vattel, "had laid siege to Vienna, the brave Sobieski, with an army, came and saved the House of Austria, and possibly, by the same glorious action, all Germany and his own kingdom." We cannot indeed tell what all Europe may not owe to this monarch : and though the debt has been strangely recompensed, his conduct can never cease to command our admiration. Beyond the reach of those meaner passions, which might have tempted and prevailed over an inferior mind, he displayed on this occasion a generous magnanimity, equalled only by the skill and courage with which his daring attempt 90 POLAND. was executed : and he reaped his reward in a signal victory, whose glory was without a shade. But the Turk is not the power whose ascendancy the other nations of Europe have now to fear ; and they may one day regret, that Poland is no longer left to form the vanguard of their battles, with the descendants of those gallant Hussars, of whom it was said, that "if the Heavens should fall, they would support it on their lances." By the way, Russia woidd now appropriate this saying to herself: as if in the ruin of her victim, even the records of its fame were not beyond the reach of pillage. General Williaminoff lately, (28th May, 1837,) addressing his threats to the Circassians, who are presumptuous enough to defend then- country, tells them, that "his is the most powerful of nations. Are you not aware, that if the heavens should fall, Russia would prop them with her bayonets ?" We may, at present, smile at this arrogance ; but it will be well, if the future historian, as he dwells with a mournful interest on the downfall of Poland, has not to devote a darker page to its yet unknown consequences. 91 THE BALL. Rioiis jouons dansons nous ; le plaisir est la grande affaire." Moliere. Ho ! the Ball ! — the merry measure Sends its summons to the gay ; Beauty robed in smiles of pleasure, Keeps her holyday. Here bright lamps are shining — brighter Are the eyes which sparkling meet : Light the footsteps — hearts still lighter. Which responsive beat. Blooming maids — maturer graces ; Sober fifty — gay fifteen ; Lovely forms, and sweetest faces, Grouped around are seen. 92 THE BALL. Art thou there, my laughter-loving, Blue-eyed, marble-browed, and wan ; Graceful through the mazes moving Like Cayster's swan ? Who yon gipsey, with dark lashes, Fringing eyes as dark, and bright As the lightning's playful flashes, Through the sultry night ? Mark what fair to her opposes Charms which well may rival those ; Cheeks, that shame the summer roses, Neck — the winter snows. Why beneath those auburn tresses Kindle up such looks of bliss ? " Palm to palm" her partner presses, Not " the palmer's kiss." Now those vows are breathed in whispers, Which the melting looks betray : Think you, were devotion's vespers As sincere as they? THE BALL. 93 Hark ! the Waltz — delicious numbers Sweetly thrilling music make ; Though it seal discretion's slumbers, Love is wide awake. Strike a quicker measure — faster — Closer press the yielding waist : Soft — though ripe the fruit, my master, Pluck before you taste ! With what undefined emotion Heaves that bosom and subsides ; Like the ebb and flow of Ocean In alternate tides. Fluttering, panting, trembling, sinking In the warm voluptuous whirl ; There 's no harm in that I'm thinking — None, my pretty girl ! Well the Sybarite might wonder, — Well might envy such delight ; Could he raise his head from under The cold ground to-night. 94 THE BALL. Paphian, queen of love and pleasure, Goddess of the wreathed smile, Is not this the mystic measure Of thy favoured Isle ? By those conscious glowing blushes, With " the purple light of love," As the warm blood madly rushes To the cheeks above ; — By the heart's wild palpitation, And the almost bursting zone : Ah ! the giddy recreation, Goddess, is thy own. 95 STANZAS SUGGESTED BY A LADY'S SEAL. Weary of shooting hearts, one day Cupid laid by his bow and arrow ; And started with his spoils away, To hawk them in his little barrow. Here turn your eyes, the urchin cries, " Ripe hearts — sweet hearts — who buys, who buys ?" I've every kind: the simple — sly — The rake, the prude, — the grave, the witty, — In this one rapture's pulse beats high, This throbs with mirth, and that with pity j I've young, and old — the coy, the bold, — And some which seem, but are not, cold. 96 STANZAS. See this poor little fluttering thing, With the first touch of love 'tis throbbing ; Alas ! the bee has left its sting, While she the honey-bag was robbing : But wisdom's nought, unless 'tis bought ; Nor this the first whom love has taught. To pretty Kate belongs this heart, The veriest weather-cock of fashion : And this to Rose, a flirt by art, Whom nature only meant for passion : Capricious both, yet nothing loath — To marry I would risk an oath. This held me many a weary day In chase, before I overcame it ; It was so light, so full of play, The merry elf, no love could tame it : So archly wild the maiden smiled, • I thought it was my mother's child. STANZAS. 97 Here's love enough : first, love of self, Then love of dress — of rank and station ; With some slight love for worldly pelf, Some little too for admiration ; Beshrew my art, this loving heart Had almost turned my sharpest dart. Placid as if its passions slept, And all its pulses calm and even, You scarce would think in this was kept One valve for earth, as well as Heaven : Nay, have a care, forewarned, beware ! You'll wake a lurking devil there. Ah ! here's a heart of hearts, in sooth, Whose happy spirits never vary ; Mirth, innocence, affection, truth, Unite in thine, my guileless Mary ; And were I free, I 'd make of thee, For love, another deity. \)S STANZAS. Thus through the streets the urchin rolled His wares, still crying, " Will you buy them V Till every heart he had, was sold ; Nor staid to see who purchased try them. But at his craft he slyly laughed, And then resumed his bow and shaft. 99 THE SHIPWRECK. Day closed ; and round the gallant bark The shades of night descended ; In softened beauty, bright and dark, Above the waves together blended : And fresh and fair the rising gale Breathed in the bosom of the sail The evening's plaintive numbers : Sweet to the sea-boy's ear it seems ; The music mingles with his dreams, As lulled by it, he slumbers. h 2 100 THE SHIPWRECK. Day closed : the purple streaks of light Had faded from the Heaven, And shone amid the clouds of night The milder planet of the even. Bright in the vaulted blue on high, The countless watch-fires of the sky Unveiled their twinkling motion ; Bright in the azure depths below, The rolling orbs reflected, show A second sky in Ocean. The wind now freshened with the night ; The sea flashed round them foaming: While thus they sung, whose hearts were light, The homeward-bound, and tired of roaming ; " Strength to the breeze ! to-morrow's sun Shall see the long-sought harbour won. Then hail to England's daughters ! — Hail to the bright-eyed maids ! whose smile Shall welcome to their native Isle The warriors of the waters." THE SHIPWRECK. KH The sounds of mirth had died away Upon the distant billow : His toils forgot, the seaman lay In slumbers on his sea-rocked pillow. 'Twas past the midnight watch, a cloud Wrapt all beneath its swarthy shroud, The moon and stars concealing ; And shrill and moaningly the blast Sung through the cordage as it passed, The coming storm revealing. Dark and more dark, the lowering sky Hung like a death-pall o'er them ; And raging wildly, fearfully, The mountain billows rose before them : The lightning's momentary glare, Gave deeper horror to the air : And to the thunder's rattle Its deafning roar the Ocean seut ; As if each warring element Had shouted to the battle. ],,_> THE SHIPWRECK. Then ropes were rent ; from spar and mast The tattered sails were riven, And onward by the tempest's blast, With rudder broke, the ship was driven. Wearied and faint, the struggling crew The fearful signs of danger knew, — But silent was their sorrow ; And silence only told their fright, Though endless seemed to them the night, And longed for was the morrow. It came at last — a sickly red Along the orient gleaming : The scattered clouds before it fled, Like pennons to the tempest streaming. It came — but hope came not ; for day Showed, where within the land-locked bay The labouring bark contended Against the storm ; but short the strife, And all in vain ; for death and life Were on a wave suspended. THE SHIPWRECK. 103 Resistless, on it rolled — it passed — The helpless vessel bringing ; Where round the shore the wave and blast Their mingled knell of death were ringing. Foaming it broke — the jutting rock Flung back the surge ; but with the shock The gaping timbers sever : A cry — one long loud shriek of woe Rose from the boiling deep below ; And all was hushed for ever. 104 THE BUGLE-HORN. The bugle-horn, the bugle ! How merrily and shrill. With swelling notes its music floats, Re-echoed from the hill. But not " to arms ! " with rude alarms, That martial blast is blown ; Though wild and high, the battle cry Once mingled with its own. Then started from his slumbers The soldier at its call ; And as it rung, he lightly sprung, To conquer or to fall. THE BUGLE-HORN. 105 Of courage tried, a warrior's pride In his gallant bearing shone, From man to man, as whispers ran, The foe is coming on. Along the line, the rifle Sharp — quick — was heard at first ; More near it told the battle rolled — And the fiery tempest burst. Rode forward then before his men Their chief, and briefly spoke, For well he knew that all were true, " Now, steady, hearts of oak." Up rose the shout for England, To England only known ; The loud hurrah that claims the day Already for its own. When Scotland round her banners frowned, And Erin by her side, On field and flood, the three have stood, And all the world defied. 106 THE BUGLE-HORN. The musketry in vollies, Showered fast as summer's rain ; And cannons loud their columns ploughed In murderous gaps in vain. Firm closed each rank, as down they sank, And on with quicker tread, Unwavering rushed the living, flushed With vengeance for the dead. The bugle-horn, the bugle, Right merrily did sound, When at the last its joyous blast For victory was wound. The fight was done, the day was won, The hot pursuit was o'er ; Though many at morn had heard that horn, Whose hearts would thrill no more. They sleep the sleep of heroes, They died as die the brave : And honoured be their memory, And glorj deck their grave ! THE BUGLE-HORN. 107 For us they fought, for us they bought The charms which peace adorn : For them a tear — for them a cheer, When we hark to the bugle-horn. 108 FOR ASCENSION-DAY. Lift up your heads, ye Heavenly gates ! Prophetic flowed the royal strain ; Lift up! — the King of Glory waits — Receive your absent God again. And nations which had not their birth, And tongues which knew not then a name, Repeat the song, and through the earth The triumph of their God proclaim. Hail ! King of Glory — Saviour — Lord ! Eternal champion ! who alone Conquest hast won without the sword, Bought with no blood except thine own. -* FOR ASCENSION-DAY. 109 Victor of victors — o'er the grave Triumphant — thine the glory be ; Who died from death our race to save, And won our immortality. For thou didst burst the gates of hell, Captivity hast captive led ; Before thee sin and Satan fell, And death subdued restored its dead. Oh ! God of unexampled love, Redeemer, Mediator ! now Enthroned in highest Heaven above, Before thy mercy-seat we bow. To thee beyond what lips can tell, Our hearts and souls their offering raise ; And while the pealing organ's swell Is mingled with our song of praise, s//r/ r r //fssr/s ///_ y^r ? AryA f / 77 in FOR ASCENSION-DAY. High may the homage of our zeal, Like incense of the morning rise ; And be the anthem's solemn peal Our well-accepted sacrifice. 1 1 1 PSALM CXXXVII. By Babel's streams we sat us down dejected, On Sion thought, and wept in our despair : As for our harps, untuned and long neglected, We hung them up upon the willows there. The proud oppressors of our captive nation Bade us be merry then, and strike the string : They mocked our woes, who caused our desolation, And sing, they said, a song of Sion sing ! Oft have our voices hymned those lofty numbers In God's own temple — shall we lift them here ? Think they the memory of our country slumbers • Dear in her glory — in her ruin dear. 112 PSALM CXXXVIT. Let my right hand, if I forget thee ever, Forget its cunning, palsied be my tongue ; Jerusalem! Jerusalem! — oh! never, Unless for thee, shall harp of mine be strung. Remember, Lord, that day of her disaster, Which saw our city — tower and temple — fall ; How Edoin's sons, exulting, shouted " Cast her Down to the ground, her glories — down with all \" Daughter of Babylon, in dust and ashes, Doomed soon to yield requital for our groans ; Blest our Avenger, blest be he who dashes With ruthless hands thy sucklings on the stones. THE FUNERAL. •• Funus interim Procedit; sequimur; ad sepulchram venimus; Fletar." Tee. — Andria. Mournfully the passing bell Strikes its deep and solemn knell : Death proclaims his triumph, giving Fearful warning to the living : As is borne in slow array, To the charnel-house, its prey. Entering now its gates, they tread O'er the dwellings of the dead ; Side by side, where peaceful lie Age and guiltless infancy; 1 1 i THE FUNERAL. Child, .and half heart-broken mother, Mourned and mourner ; sister, brother, Friends — with those who wept them sleep ; And who left no friend to weep. Here life's fitful fever o'er, Passion wakes its storm no more : Courage, which scarce death could tame ; Youth, with all its thirst of fame ; Ardent hopes and winged desire, And the Poet's flame of fire, And the loved and lovely one, Who could kindle it, arc gone. All — the weak, the mighty — all, Death have bowed them at thy call. And who now his victim — whom Bear they onward to the tomb — Clad in scarfs of purest white, Emblems, ere her soul took flight, THE FUNERAL. 115 Of her spotless innocence ? And could this be no defence ? Youth and beauty, could ye not Longer 'scape the common lot ? Out alas ! the revelling worm Soon that beauty shall deform, And upon that cheek repose, Where youth spread his richest rose. On the stillness of the air, Floats to Heaven the solemn prayer ; As the virgin corpse they lay, In its narrow bed of clay : While with almost vacant stare, Some dim eyes are gazing there So intent, as if they never From that spot their gaze could sever. Ah ! upon that name — the brief Record of their love and grief, They are looking through their tears ; Read it — "Aged Seventeen Years." i 2 11( ; THE FUNERAL. Fragile flower ! thy sweets are flown, Ere thy bud was fully blown. " Earth to earth "—the sullen drop Grates upon the coffin's top ; And the father's throbbing heart Answers with convulsive start, As he bends distracted — wild — O'er the ashes of his child ; Wakened from his trance of woe, All its bitterness to know. Mourner, thy deep grief control ; Calm thine agony of soul ! She for whom thy tears are shed, Slumbers only, is not dead : She shall wake again ; with thee Live in immortality. Yet awhile those tears must flow ; 'Tis the luxury of woe : THE FUNERAL. 117 Nature's tribute these, and due, Young affection's ties, to you. The o'erladen heart's relief, Hallowed be the tear of grief; For it fell o'er friendship's grave, From the God who came to save — From the Lord of life and light, Who did burst the grave's dark night, And arose to lead the way, To those realms of endless day ; Where all pains and sorrows cease, Where the mourners are at peace ; Where his friendly hand shall dry Every tear from every eye. 118 CATULLI CARM. XXXI. AD SIRMIONEM PENINSULAM. Sirmio, of fair Isles the fairest, Of Peninsulas the rarest, Which the Ocean's wide domain, Or which inland seas contain : Ah ! how pleased, how joyfully Do I now revisit thee ! Scarce I trust my sight, it seems One of life's illusive dreams, That escaped Bithynia's plain, 1 do gaze on thee again. Day of happiness and bliss, What in life can match with this ? When with lightened heart, the mind (are and sorrow leaves behind, AD SIRMIONEM PENINSULAM. 119 And our weary wanderings o'er, We have reached our own loved door, And no more abroad to roam, Taste the dear delights of home. This, and this alone, repays All the toils of former days. Haste then, Sirmio, lovely seat ! Haste thy lord's return to greet ; Bid thy lake its waters swell, Mine and its delight to tell ; While within the roof replies To our mirth and melodies. 120 FROM THE CABMEN NUPTIALE OF CATULLUS. " UT FLOS IN SEPTIS, &C." As blooms the rose within the gay parterre, Fenced from the flock, uninjured by the share ; Reared by soft airs that breathe around the flower, Fed by the sun, and nurtured by the shower : And many a youth has marked with longing eves, And many a maiden sought the lovely prize. But soon as gathered from the stem, it fades, Admireo 1 and sought no more by youths and maids. The spotless virgin such, so dear is she ; But plucked her fairer ilower of chastity, Her faded charms the youths no longer prize, And modest maids the fallen fair despise. PROM THE CARMEN NUPTIALE OF CATULLUS. 121 As the lone vine amid the naked fields, Without support, no purple cluster yields, But bending to the ground its feeble shoot, Twines its young tendrils round its parent root ; Unnoticed there it droops, unheeded lies ; No labourer's hand its kindly aid supplies : But soon as round the faithful elm it clings, The labourer's hand its ready succour brings. Such is the maid who singly wanes through life, Too coldly chaste : — but once a blooming wife, Her happy spousals sung, alike she shares A parent's love, a husband's tender cares. 122 CATULLI CAM. LXI. JULEZE ET MANLII EPITHALAMIUM. Sprung from Heaven, Urania's son, Thou that dwell' st on Helicon ; Thou that to the bridegroom's arms Dost resign the virgin's charms ; Hymen, Hymen ! hasten thou Guardian of the nuptial vow. Wreaths about thy temples bind, Of sweet marjoram entwined : Hither on propitious wing, Haste, the bridal veil to bring ; While the golden sandals glow On thy whiter feet than snow. EPITHALAMIUM. L23 List our call — away, away ! Rouse thee, 'tis thy holyday; Wake the nuptial song, — awake Loud and full its chorus ; shake In thy hand the torch, with feet Earth in measured cadence beat. For by happiest omens led, Julia is to Manlius wed : Such as was Idalia's queen, By the Phrygian shepherd seen, When before the youth she came, Beauty's golden prize to claim. As the Myrtle blossoming In the warmth of Eastern spring, Shooting forth its branches fail-, Nurtured by the wood-nymph's care, Who the plant she loves uprears, Feuding it with morning's tears. 124 EPITHALAMIUM. Haste thee then, our call obey, Hither bend thy winged way ; Leave Aonia's caverns made In the rocks which Thcspise shade ; Where from out its fount of snows, Cooling Aganippe flows. To the new made Bridegroom's home Bid its willing mistress come : Love possessing all her mind, Love with every thought entwined ; Round the Elm trees wandering, As the clasping ivies cling. Ye too, spotless virgins — ye Pair and lovely who shall see ^1 our own bridal day ere long, Join with us the measured song ; Hymen hasten, Hymen, thou Guardian of the nuptial vow. EPITHALAMIUM. 125 Pleased your summons to attend, Hither He, his course shall bend; He who heart to heart unites, Source of purest love's delights ; He whose smiles alone can shed Blessings on the nuptial bed. Mighty God of wedded love, To what other power above, Should so oft the lover raise Votive prayer, and song of praise : Half so frequent at whose shrine Bends the votary, as at thine. Thee, the Sire with tremulous tone, For his child invokes ; her zone From her virgin breast untied, Yields to thee the blushing bride : Thee, the anxious husband thee, Supplicates, on bended knee. 126 EPITIIALAMIUM. Hanging on her mother's face, Clasped within her warm embrace, Hymen, Hymen, thon dost tear, Hymen, thou — the blooming fair, Giving her in all her charms To the eager bridegroom's arms. Vain unless thou dost approve, Vain are beauty's charms and love ; Without thee, their pleasures pall, Profitless and guilty all : 'Tis thy smile alone can bless Wedded vows and chaste caress. Ancient house, and honoured name, Without thee no Heir can claim ; Nor delighted Parent see Infants climbing on his knee ; Thou dost give them — who shall dare, Mighty God, with thee compare? EPITHALAMIUM. 127 Is there nation which doth slight Thine, the spousal's sacred rite ; Never shall that Country boast Hardy champions of its coast : Blessings these which spring from thee, All-unequalled Deity. Quick, the portals wide unfold ! Forth the virgin comes ; behold How the flickering torches blaze, Splendid with their streaming rays ! Linger not, fair Bride, the light Fast is waning into night. Deepest blushes now express All thy timid bashfulness ; And the trembling tears, which fall At our oft-repeated call. But approach — the fading day Chides thee for thy long delay. 128 EPITHALAMIUM. Be supprest thy virgin fear, Dried be every truant tear ! Crimsoning the Eastern skies, ^lien the morning sun shall rise, Happy bride, he shall not shine, On a lovelier face than thine. Thus in some sweet garden, where Flowers abound of beauty rare, In its richly purple pride Stands the Hyacinth. Fair bride, Yet too long you linger ; day In the twilight fades away. Hasten forth — oh haste to claim, New-made bride, — that honoured name !- Hear our song, His sung for thee. Dost thou not already see How they toss their torches high — How the golden sparkles fly? — EPITHALAMIUM. 129 Thou no fickle youth dost wed, False and faithless to thy bed : Him shall fire no lawless love, — Him no wanton charmer move : Constant he shall ever rest, Pillowed on thy gentle breast. Round thy neck his arms shall twine; Closely as the pliant vine Folds around its wedded tree, Close shall his embraces be. But approach — already daj In the West has died away. Who the raptures can express, Joys unbounded — measureless, From the hours of night which spring Which returning day shall bring ? Then delay not, lovely one ! Day's expiring light is gone. K !3o EPITHALAMIUM. Now your flaming torches raise, Wave, ye youths, on high the blaze ; See where sweeps the veil along, Louder swell the choral song. Hymen, Hymen, Io ! — thou Guardian of the nuptial vow. * * * Wedded fair, good luck betide thee ! Heaven's auspicious omens guide thee, Till thy golden footsteps fall On the polished bridal-hall. Hymen, Io, Hymen, thou Guardian of the nuptial vow. * * Welcome young and joyous groom, Enter now thy bridal-room ; EPITHALAMIUM l.Jl See, in all her charms arrayed, Waits for thee the lovely maid, With her blushes overspread, As the poppy hangs its head. All delights be yours ; may love Fruitful to thy wishes prove, Crown thy bed with blessings, give This thy honoured name to live ; That remotest times may be Blest in thy posterity. Soon the pledge of nuptial joy, May a little rosy boy, Lapt upon his mother's knee, Stretch his infant hands to thee ; And his lips half open, while He returns his father's smile. Be he image of his sire ; That e'en strangers may admire, K 132 EPITHALAMIUM. As his father's looks they trace In each feature of his face ; And the living likeness well Shall his mother's virtue tell. Blossom of so fair a bough, Heir of all this virtue, thou, Like Telemachus, shalt claim From thy mother borrowed fame ; Whose high boast it was, to be Son of chaste Penelope. But, fair maidens, close the door ! Time it is our song were o'er : And ye, happy pair, adieu ! Blest with youth and health, may you Loyal votaries ever prove At the shrine of wedded love. 133 CATULLI CAM. C. INFERLE AD FRATRIS TUMULUM. Through many a land, o'er many a sea I come, To sacrifice, dear brother, at thy tomb : With these last rites to drop the unheeded tear, And call that name thou canst no longer hear. But oh ! my brother, since by fate's decree, Alas ! too early, thou wast torn from me, Accept this offering to thy honoured shade, By custom sanctioned — by affection paid : And while these frequent tears my sorrow tell, Take, dearest brother, this my last farewell. 134 OVID'S METAMOEPHOSES. BOOK XIII. The Chiefs were seated, and short space from those The troops stood clustering round; when Ajax rose, Lord of the seven-fold shield, his haughty breast Struggling with angry passions ill suppressed : Back on the shore and ships he turned his eyes Clouting and fierce : — and is it here, he cries, With arms outstretched, Almighty Jove, that I Must plead my cause, and with Ulysses vie ? Yet he, when Hector tossed amid the fleet His burning brands, sought safety in retreat, And left to me the peril and the fame, To guard yon navy from the Trojan flame. More safe in words he finds it to engage, Than hand to hand the deadly combat wage. OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 13 Unused am I to speak, as lie to dare ; But mine the glorious battle-field to share, — Mine the renown from deeds of daring sprung ; His from smooth speeches and a glozing tongue. Nor need I, Greeks, methinks, recount to you Those deeds, who know them and beheld them too : Let, if he can, Ulysses vaunt his own, Unseen, or witnessed by the night alone. Though great I own the prize before us laid, With such a rival half its honours fade ; Nor much can Ajax boast, if he attain That which Ulysses could aspire to gain : Whilst his the glory, vanquished though he be, That he contended for this prize with me. And were my merits doubtful, yet the fame Of high descent would well support my claim. My sire was Telamon, of high renown, Who with Alcides captured yonder town ; Who ranked among the chosen chiefs of Greece, — Dared the adventure of the golden fleece. 1 36 0V1 D'S METAMORPHOSES. From iEacus he sprung, — whose righteous law The silent shades below receive with awe : "Where Sisyphus condemned his guilt to moan, Toils at his task, the ever-rolling stone. From Jove was iEacus ; thus, Greeks, I prove My lofty race, myself the third from Jove. Nor should I urge it, — but an equal fame Rests on my own and great Achilles' name : He too descends from iEacus like me ; A kinsman then, I seek from your decree A kinsman's right ; — what would the spurious son Of Sisyphus, and with his father one In fraud and theft, would he of lineage base, With such a name pollute this Heaven-bom race ? When Greece her warriors called, with mail and shield [ armed the first, and hastened to the field. And shall these arms be now to me denied? To him adjudged, who sought at home to hide ; And feigned a madness when his courage failed ; Till Palamedes' deeper art prevailed ; OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 137 "Which, fatal to himself, the trick revealed, And dragged the unwilling hero to the held. And shall he now, who shunn'd all arms before, Lay claim to those which once Achilles wore ? Shall such dishonour, Greeks, on me be cast, Who shared your toils, the earliest as the last ? Oh ! had indeed that madness been but true, Or never questioned — been believed by you ; Freed from this plotter, we should not deplore A hero exiled on the Lemnian shore ! Where Philoctetes, whose despairing groans By man unpitied move the very stones, Invokes the gods, — and may they hear his prayer, For ample vengeance on Laertes' heir. That noble chief, whom once we hailed with pride, In arms our equal, to our cause allied ; On whom great Hercules his shafts bestowed, Dipt in the blood which from the Hydra flowed ; By pain and famine wasted, lingers there ; Sustained and covered by the birds of air ; 138 OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. Compelled on such mean objects to employ Those arrows, destined for the fate of Troy. He lives, because beyond Ulysses' power : Lost Palamedes, in some happy hour Hadst thou been left, thou hadst not ere thy prime Died — or at least died unaspersed by crime ! Bent on revenge, his fears and fraud exposed, This man his victim in his toils enclosed : With treason charged, and bade the hosts behold The proof conclusive — the prehidden gold. Thus wars the brave Ulysses ! thus each day, By death or exile, wastes your strength away ! And in the field, how dreaded by his foes, To friends how faithful, Nestor can disclose ; Though had he Nestor's eloquence, 'twere vain To clear his courage from so foul a stain. Aged and faint, and closely pressed in fight, His wounded courser stayed the warrior's flight; Ulysses near, he called to him for aid ; Ulysses heard, but slunk away afraid ; OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. 139 This well Tydides knows, who on his head Heaped loud reproaches, as the craven fled. The Gods above are just, who next decreed That succour he denied, himself should need. He too invokes his comrades — on the crowd For aid and rescue, calling long and loud ; Pale, panting, trembling, just about to fall, I saw his danger, and I heard his call, My massive shield threw o'er him in the strife, And, least of all my merits, saved his life. Now, will you not this rash dispute give o'er ? Come then, that battle-field, the flight restore, The pressing foe, — come, wounded, trembling, bend Behind my shield, and there with me contend ! Yet he thus hurt and prostrate on the ground, Leaps up, when saved, and flies without a wound. When Hector conquering led his ranks to war, And Gods propitious crowded round his car, When not your heart alone, Ulysses, failed ; Fear grew infectious, and the boldest quailed : 140 OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. Flushed with his triumph, I opposed the foe, Hurled a huge stone, and felled him with the blow. And when this Chief, exulting in his might, Championed aloud your bravest to the fight, And all addressed their anxious prayers to Heaven, " Oh ! may this lot to Ajax now be given \" Their prayers prevailed ; I met him shield to shield, And Hector bore no laurels from that field. Lo ! round our navy shout the hosts of Troy, With sword and fire, and eager to destroy ; Lo ! from high Heaven the thuuderer takes their part; Where now this man of eloquence and art ? My arm the failing cause of Greece upheld, Mine from the ships the fierce attack repelled, And saved the hope of your return from flame ; For which, as justly due, these arms I claim. Nay — let me speak what truth itself declares, Not for myself, the honor sought is theirs ; So well our glories match : and hear me, Greeks, It is not Ajax now the arms who seeks; OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. It The arms themselves demand from your decree One worthy of their fame, and ask for me. Compare, Ulysses, now your deeds, and tell How Rhesus died, and timid Dolon fell : What cunning arts could Helenus decoy, Or what the famed Palladium steal from Troy. These boasted actions, done beneath the shade Of friendly night, with Dionied to aid — If deeds so worthless claim reward so rare, Then give to Diomed the greater share. Nor suit they Ithacus, who only knows, Unarmed in secret, to surprise his foes ; Radiant with gold, that casque would but betray His cunning plots — the ambush where he lay. Not his the brow, Pelides' helm to bear, Not his the strength to poise that spear in air ; Too vast, too ponderous for his arm to wield, That glorious orb — the great Vulcanian shield. And why, rash man, this fatal gift desire ; Clad in those arms no fears canst thou inspire, 142 OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. But marked for spoil, conspicuous in the fight, How wilt thou curse what then impedes thy flight. Nor other buckler canst thou want — thy own Sound as at first, in fight so seldom shown. Mine claims renewal — see, how it appears Worn out and opened by a thousand spears. But vain are words our merits to decide ; Now for the proof — by deeds let each be tried ! Cast in the thickest fight these arms, and there Bid us contest the prize, and let who wins them wear. AD L YD I AM. 14 1 AD LYDIAM. Lydia, bella puella, Candida, Qua? bene superas lac et lilium, Albamque simul rosam rubidam, Aut expolitum ebur indicum : Pande, puella, pande capillulos Flavos, lucentes ut aurum nitidum. Pande, puella, collum candidum, Productum bene candidis humeri s. Pande, puella, stellatos oculos, Flexaque super nigra cilia. Pande, puella, genas roseas, Perfusas rubro purpura! Tyrise. Porrige labra, labra corallina ; Da columbatim mitia basia ; Sugis amentis partem animi ; Cor milii penetrant hsec tua basia — Quid miln sugis vivum sanguinem ? Condc papillas, conde gemipomas, Compresso lacte quae modo pullulant. Sinus cxpensa profert cinnama : 145 TO LYDIA. Lydia, fair girl, whose milk-white skin Might o'er the lily triumph win : Whose cheeks the rival roses wear, And more than polished ivory fair : Unveil, my girl, those ringlets rolled Down thy soft neck in threads of gold. Unveil that snowy neck, and all Thy snow-white shoulders graceful fall : Those eyes like stars that beam with love, The dark-arch' d brows that bend above. Unveil those rosy cheeks o'erspread With blushes of the Tyrian red : And pout those coral lips of thine ; And breathe the Turtle's kiss on mine. Deep on my heart you print that kiss, You melt my wildered soul in bliss : Ah ! softly, girl, thy amorous play Has sucked my very blood away. Hide thy twin bosom fruit, just shown Milk-ripe above thy bursting zone : Such sweets, as India's summer gale Wafts from her spice-beds, they exhale. [46 AD LYDIAM. Undique surgunt ex tc dclicise. Conde papillas, que me sauciant Candorc, et luxu nivci pectoris. Sffiva, non ceruis quod ego langueo ? Sic me distituis jam semimortuum ? TO LYDIA. 147 Loves and delights around thee swim, And fondly circle every limb. Hide, love, that bosom's snowy white, Which too luxurious wounds my sight. My rolling eyes grow dim, I feel A languid lightness o'er me steal : I faint — ah ! cruel, dost thou fly, And leave me sinking thus, to die ? Note. — These beautiful hendecasyllabics are to be found in the Latin Anthology; by whom written is not known; though they have been attributed to no less a poet than Gallus — neget quis carmina Gallo ? They appear, however, to be the production of a much later age than that of this author, whose works are all supposed to have perished ; and we learn from Ovid, that the lady-love of his song bore a different name from the fair one to whom the above lines are addressed : " Nee fuit opprobrio celebrasse Lycorida Gallo." The verses of Shakspeare, " Hide, oh hide those hills of snow, Which thy frosen bosom bears," &c. &c. have some resemblance to the "Conde papillas, conde gemipomas" of the above. And similar conceits and allusions are by no means uncommon among modern writers of Latin verse. The following may be given as an example : — " Galla, tibi totus sua munera dedicat annus. Ver roseas malas, el, labra rubidine pinxit ; Mille oculis ignes radientibus imprimat aestas ; Autumnus dan puma sinu, duo fraga recondit ; Quod reliqunm est, aspergit hyems candore nivali." Galla, to thee the Seasons bring Their tributary gifts: the Spring Upon thy cheek and lip of red, The blushes of his rose has spread : Within those sparkling eyes of thine The brilliant fires of Summer shine: Autumn, thy bosom fruit supplies, Twin apples and twin strawberries: Whilst over all the Winter throws The unsullied whiteness of the snows. 148 VERS A L'AURORE. Viens Aurore, Jc t'emplore, Jc suis gai quand je te vois : Et In bergere Qui m'est chere, Est vermeille comme toi. Elle est blonde, Sans seconde, Elle a la taille a la main : Sa pruncllc Etincelle Comme l'astre du matin. De rosee Arrosee, La rose a moms de fraichcur ; Unc hermine Est moins line, Le lys a moins de blaneheur. D'ambrosie Bicn choisie Hebe la nourrit a part ; Et sa bouche, Quand j'y touchc. Me parfume de nectar. 149 TRANSLATION. Aurora, rise ! I love the skies At the rosy birth of day ; For such soft streaks, On my fair one's cheeks, In living blushes play. Oil ! she is fair, Beyond compare, Her shape would Courts adorn Her eye is bright As the star of light Which heralds in the morn. Less lovely blows The damask rose When bathed in early dew : Soft as ermine, More white her skin Than the lily's spotless hue. Ambrosial sweets Apart she eats, By her sister Hebe given : And from her lip, I kissing sip The nectar-cup of Heaven. 150 E PI GUAM. Quelqu'un dcsirant etre Pretre, A l'Eveque sc presenta ; Lc quel lui dit, si tu vcux Petre, Quot sunt septem sacramenta ? Puis, il (lit Trcs. L'Eveque, quas ? Sunt Fides, Spes et Caritas — Parblieu ! tu as bicu rcpoudu : Sus clcrc qu'ou depeehe son cas : 11 merite d'etre tondu. 151 ETI GRAM. A learned Wight, whose parts, at least, would, He thought, commend him for the Priesthood, Call'd on his Bishop — told his wishes — When he, who of the loaves and fishes Had in that See the dispensation, Began his grave examination. Of the Seven Sacraments, the number Canst tell ? Amid his Attic's lumber Hodge searched, and soon replied, " There 's throe." " Their names ?" « Faith, Hope, and Charity." " Wondrous ! " the worthy Prelate cried, " Right well, my son, hast thou replied. " Such talents for the tonsure fit him ; — " Here, Master Clerk, make haste — admit him." 152 ENIGMA. I'm reckoned only fifty — yet for centuries have been In every place, in every clime, among the living seen. Mute, though incessantly in talk, I give to silence sound, And single 'tis my fate to be, whilst fast in wedlock bound. The learned place me at their head, although unknown to fame, And eloquence itself delights to sound abroad my name. Though plunged in guilt, the tenant of a prison's gloomy cell ; Yet twice invoked, my potent aid concludes the Wizard's spell : I ride upon the whirlwind — point the lightning through the storm, And mine the power, with but a word, another world to form. I, too, alone can kindle fume, and what, indeed, is odd, The verriest miser can prevent from making gold his God. ENIGMA. 153 I usher in the morning light, yet shun the face of day ; A stranger to the voice of mirth, yet join in every play. The fabled liquid I, with which poor Tantalus was curs' d, For in the prof erred goblet seen, I mock the wretch's thirst. The rich secure me for their wealth, the cunning for their wiles ! And reft of me, ah ! changed how soon were beauty's sweetest smiles. I lurk within the brilliant glance that flashes from her eye- Rest on her ruby lip — and in her laughing dimples lie — I breathe the first soft sound of love in the maiden's willing ear, And mingle in the rising blush which tells that love is dear. I lead the laugh, I swell the glee amid the festal-hall, But a truant from the banquet, and a laggard in the ball. M 154 ENIGM L First in the martial lists I rode, with mail, aud lance, and shield ; And foremost of the line I charge upon the battle-field ; And yet, though ranked among the bold, I scarcely join the fight, When, foul disgrace to knighthood's race, I turn at once to flight. From greatness thus removed, I make companionship with evil; And, in your ear a word, maintain alliance with the devil. THE END. LONDON : PRINTED BY W. BLANCHARD AND SONS, Warwick Lane, St. Paul's. Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-10m-6,'52(A1855)444 ^77 7^ A1S35 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FAC AA 000 372 654 PR 3991 A1S35 I ss ^ SS ! !