UC-NRLF 
 
 *B 111 & 1E 
 
/^•IIKILIY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 I UNIVERSITY OF 
 V^CALIFORNIA 
 
WZ^O-z-c^ /ft*- *S r-i^'rsi^vt^ 
 
 THE FAIR EYANTHE 
 
 IN FIVE CANTOS : 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 REV. JOHN PEAT, M.A. 
 
 of st. peter's college, Cambridge ; 
 
 ttlsrfb^L MINISTER OF THE WEALD, SEVENOAKS, KENT. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RIVINGTONS, WATERLOO PLACE. 
 
 1858. 
 
10AN STACK 
 
 ntof ■ 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 gilbert and rivington, prlhtrks, 
 st. John's square. 
 
Pl.«F3 
 
 TO THE RIGHT HON. 
 
 ROBERT, LORD EBURY, 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 THE FOLLOWING PAGES 
 
 ARE, BY PERMISSION, 
 
 INSCRIBED, 
 
 AS A SLIGHT TOKEN OF KIND REMEMBRANCE, 
 
 AND OF RESPECT FOR HIS LORDSHIP'S ESTIMABLE CHARACTER 
 
 IN ALL THE SOCIAL RELATIONS OF LIFE, 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 A 2 
 
 230 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 Microsoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/fairevanthepoemiOOpeatrich 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE FAIR EVANTHE : a Poem. page 
 
 Canto 1 1 
 
 Canto II 17 
 
 Canto III 35 
 
 Canto IV 53 
 
 Canto V 73 
 
 EGYPT: a Poem 91 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE :— Lines presented to Miss Florence 
 
 Nightingale 109 
 
 THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH:— Lines presented to the 
 
 Directors of the Atlantic Telegraph, August, 1858 . . Ill 
 
 A 3 
 
THE FAIR EVANTHE 
 
 IN FIVE CANTOS. 
 
 44 O let me love thee ! thou hast pass'd 
 
 Into my inmost heart ; 
 A dweller on the hallow 'd ground 
 
 Of its least worldly part ; 
 Where feelings and where memories dwell, 
 Like hidden music in the shell." 
 
 L. E. L. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 In the following Poem, it has been the Author's 
 aim to describe much that is beautiful, graceful, 
 excellent, and holy in woman. In fact, he has 
 wished to depict " the fair Evanthe " as only " a 
 little lower than the angels ;" while, in Henry 
 de Crichton, he has aimed at exhibiting " a model 
 man." How far he has succeeded in doing so, 
 it is not (of course) for him to determine. Should 
 he have fallen short in his undertaking, he hopes 
 the " gentle " Reader will be disposed to make 
 every reasonable allowance, considering the scope 
 and difficulty of the design. 
 
 As the name of the heroine is uncommon, the 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 same gentle Reader will perhaps be inquisitive 
 to know where the Author picked it up. In re- 
 ply, the Author begs to say that there is good 
 authority for the name ; and that he found it in 
 one of the works of our great Dramatists, — but 
 whether in those of Ben Jonson, or of Beaumont 
 and Fletcher, he cannot, at this moment, say ; but 
 certainly in one of them. 
 
 Some of the minor " Songs " in the following 
 Poem have appeared in a small collection of the 
 Author's verses ; which was published several 
 years ago, and which has long been out of print. 
 The Poem itself is original, and is now appearing 
 for the first time. 
 
 Weald Parsonage, Sevenoaks, 
 Dec. 9th, 1858. 
 
 %* It is, perhaps, due to the Reader to state 
 why the Poem of "Evanthe the Fair" is de- 
 signedly written in irregular measures : — The 
 
PREFACE. XI 
 
 Author is a great admirer of Sir Walter Scott's 
 " Lay of the Last Minstrel" which he generally 
 reads once a year, with a feeling (due modifica- 
 tions being made for the difference of objects) 
 somewhat resembling the reverence of an early 
 devotee when on a pilgrimage. He has often 
 thought that if a Poem were written, combining 
 the irregular style of the " Lay " with the easy 
 versification of the " Ingoldsby Legends" there 
 would be an absence of monotony which might 
 charm, or at least refresh, the flagging reader. 
 
THE FAIR EVANTHE 
 
 9 ^oem. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 EVANTHE'S SONGS. 
 
 " The lovely lady, Christabel, 
 Whom her father loves so well, 
 What makes her in the wood so late, 
 A furlong from her father's gate ? " 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
CONTENTS OF CANTO I. 
 
 Evanthe " the fair" roams, at evening, among the ruins which 
 surround her father's mansion, and, finding them deserted, raises 
 the admiration (hut not the envy) of Echo, by the sweetness of her 
 solitary songs. 
 
CANTO I 
 
 I sing of Evanthe, — Evanthe u tlie fair," — 
 
 With the lustrous eyes and the raven hair, — 
 
 Hair, which though bound with riband, was still 
 
 Free to flow, twine, or curl at will ; — 
 
 Which, glossy and silken, play'd its part 
 
 As much as the face, or as much as the heart ; 
 
 And eyes through which the light did gleam 
 
 In one pellucid — resistless beam, — 
 
 So soft ! — it might draw an infant's gaze ; 
 
 So thoughtful! — it might a warrior daze ! 
 
 She seem'd like an angel in maiden guise, 
 
 With her gentle mien, and her wondrous eyes ; 
 
 There seem'd to her a something given 
 
 Which lifted your thoughts far away — tow'rds 
 
 Heaven ; 
 While you gaz'd on a mortal— Evanthe "the fair/' 
 Your mind travelTd off through the regions of air ; 
 b 2 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 And when, with sweet music, her pensive tone 
 Fell, note by note, on your ear — alone, 
 Or ascended, with tuneful power, on high, — 
 You thought of some chorus that swells through 
 
 the sky ; — 
 You thought of " the music of the spheres," — 
 Of music an angel makes or hears ; — 
 You thought that Evanthe, so sweet and fair, 
 Was created to teach, by endowments rare, 
 That 'twixt mortals, and angels who dwell on 
 
 high, 
 There is, after all, an affinity : — 
 In the lower rank, 'tis an instinct of Love, 
 But 'tis Pity — sweet Pity — in angels above : — 
 Love and Pity — for ever combining, — 
 Like sweet flowers of earth all intertwining ! 
 
 Then, her pleasant laugh if once you had heard, — 
 Like a silver-ton'd bell, or the song of a bird, — 
 ! it would ring in your ear ever after, 
 So joyous and glad ! — that merry laughter ! 
 
 Such was Evanthe — Evanthe " the fair " — 
 "With her lustrous eyes and her flowing hair. 
 
EVANTHE S SONGS. 
 
 She sat by a Ruin — a picturesque scene — 
 Whose walls scarcely told what once it had been ; 
 But the moss and the lichens those walls still em- 
 brace, 
 And green ivy adorns them with marvellous 
 
 grace : — 
 She sat by a Ruin, beneath an old arch, 
 Shaded in part by a tall weeping-larch ; 
 Through the span of the arch, there was over her 
 The gushing glare of the sun-light red. [shed 
 
 ('Twas Evening ; and Softness reign'd in the sky ; 
 The scene was a clear transparency !) 
 You gaz'd in doubt whether it might be 
 Her picture stereoscop'd, or she. 
 But she it was, — fair flesh and blood, 
 With her pensive mien, and her pious mood ; 
 Yes, she it was, — as she sat alone, 
 With her lofty thoughts, and her holy tone ; 
 A tone with which the old Ruin rang 
 As thus the fair Evanthe sang ; 
 Whilst Echo faint would fain prolong 
 The exquisite notes of that simple song, — 
 (That whimsical Echo, which mocks us, when lone, 
 Seem'd now only bent on retarding the tone !) 
 b 3 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 EVANTHE'S SONG. (No. 1.) 
 
 THOUGHTS OF HEAVEN. 
 1. 
 
 Much to that mind — ! much is given, 
 Whose gaze is fixt alone on Heaven ; 
 Much that is pure and deep and bright, — 
 Visions of glory and of light ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Sweet are the dreams of holy souls ! 
 Their bliss no tyrant force controuls ; 
 Their view no outward veil restrains, 
 Their prospect lasts, their joy remains. 
 
 3. 
 
 Happy they are in what is given ; 
 Happy, because 'tis full of Heaven ; 
 Happy, because 'tis free from sin, — 
 When hearts are pure, joy reigns within. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The tones were subdued : the cadence sank 
 Downwards beneath the river's bank ; 
 
EVANTHE S SONGS. 
 
 Then, with the last gleam of declining day, 
 Grently dissolv'd, and melted away. 
 Such I have heard floating, oft, in the distance ; 
 To which the wind offer'd a fitful resistance 
 In so gentle a way, and in such degree, 
 That I knew not if music had ceas'd to be, 
 Or whether my ear, desiring it there, 
 Imagined it still to be floating in air. 
 
 Now, this was a picture of peace and content 
 Which our much-troubled earth does not always 
 
 present ; 
 ! this was a scene, which, at Nature's calm 
 
 hour, 
 "Was grand in its influence, sovereign in power, — 
 More charming, and more universal in sway, 
 Than the most dazzling hours of a sunshiny day ! 
 I love the soft Twilight, possessing that grace 
 Which a talented painter loves ever to trace ; 
 When, in Ocean, fierce Sol is seeking his bed, 
 Whose curtains — the clouds — are still ting'd with 
 
 red ; — 
 When fair Luna, the Virgin, preparing to rise, 
 First hallows our minds, — predisposing our eyes 
 b 4 
 
CANTO I. 
 
 By emitting such pearly tokens of light, 
 That our souls are prepared for a silvery Mght. 
 When such a fair scene, entranc'd, I behold, 
 I prefer its pure silver to earth's drossy gold ; — 
 " I feel," I exclaim, " it is good to be here," 
 And I long for the presence of some Van der 
 
 Neer \ 
 Who, whilst roaming a terrace with me, might 
 
 enjoy 
 Those high pleasures of earth which, though rich, 
 
 never cloy. 
 Dream on, ye rapt star-gazers ! grand is your sight ! 
 And holy to you is imperial Mght : 
 Gaze on with rapture at the silent scene, 
 (Silent to us ; yet busy 2 , too, I ween !) 
 Gaze on ; — for, God's clock-work tells every eye 
 How Time and how Seasons are flitting by ; 
 
 1 A celebrated painter who has been happily styled " painter in 
 ordinary to the Queen of Night ;" because he painted moonlight 
 scenes so exquisitely. 
 
 2 " And stars are kindling in the firmament, 
 
 To us how silent ; yet, like ours, perchance, 
 Busy, and full of life and circumstance." 
 
 Rogers's " Human Life." 
 
EVANTHE S SONGS. 
 
 Obey, like those orbs, your Creator's commands, 
 Whilst you dream of "the mansions not made 
 
 with hands." 
 Holy Night ! — sweet Luna ! — to each there belongs 
 A floweret fresh culFd from Evanthe's songs ; — 
 Preceded by chimes of that witching hour 
 Which proclaims to all, fair Sunset's power. 
 
 EVANTHE'S SONG. (No. 2.) 
 
 SUNSET. 
 1. 
 
 'Tis Sunset, and the mimic power 
 
 Of old romance revives ; 
 The magic of the witching hour 
 
 To cloudy forms lends lives. 
 
 2. 
 
 'Tis Sunset, and I think of those 
 Who think, perhaps, of me ; — 
 
 And wish them all the sweet repose 
 Of Nature's scenery ! 
 b 5 
 
10 CANTO I. 
 
 3. 
 
 'Tis Sunset ; — as I view that orb 
 Plunge in the golden wave, 
 
 Triumphant thoughts my mind absorb 
 I look beyond the grave. 
 
 To-morrow's glorious sun shall shine, 
 
 Fair Nature's eldest born ; — 
 May such a bright career be mine 
 
 In Heaven's eternal morn. 
 
 Evanthe had paus'd ; and, impress'd with the 
 
 scene, 
 Fell into sweet musings on things that had been, — 
 On things which might be, and on things that 
 
 are, 
 Till her eye caught, by chance, the Evening star ; 
 When, looking aloft, she beheld Night's fair 
 
 Queen — 
 Sweet Luna resplendent — reign over the scene. 
 And she lifted her voice, as she rais'd her eye, 
 To that beauteous Moon which roams through 
 
 the sky. 
 
11 
 
 EVANTHE'S SONG. (No. 3.) 
 
 TO LUNA. 
 1. 
 
 When the Sun hath sought rest from his toil and 
 his labours, 
 And sunk in the arms of old Ocean once more ; 
 When the rustic sits chatting at ease with his 
 neighbours, 
 And views the sweet cherubs that play round 
 his door ; 
 When the world is all still, and when Nature's 
 soft beauty- 
 Is sweetly refresh' d by the twilight's calm 
 hour ; 
 When each star is perceiv'd, like a soldier on duty, 
 Displaying its Maker's astonishing power ; 
 
 Then thou risest, fair Luna ! thou risest in glory, 
 Then first thy pure lamp sheds its silvery glow ; 
 
 Made illustrious alike in psalm, song, and story, — 
 Thou shinest with brightness on mortal below ; 
 b 6 
 
12 CANTO I. 
 
 And, like myriads of others, for ever revolving, 
 
 Thou movest on nothing, divine work of God ! 
 Who ordain'd thee to shine, — night's black dark- 
 ness dissolving, 
 And form'd thee, and finish' d thee both, by His 
 nod! 
 
 3. 
 
 As for me, when at night I behold thee unclouded, 
 
 So sweet is thy aspect, so pure are thy rays, 
 "When I look at the earth in dark shadows en- 
 shrouded, 
 I feel a sweet transport all o'er, as I gaze ; — 
 And I think of the hand that appointed thy 
 station, — 
 That fix'd thee thy limits, that set thee a 
 bound, 
 And whose mercy, extending alike to each 
 nation, 
 Is so condescending, so vast, so profound ! 
 
 4. 
 
 And I think of the bliss of that sanctified choir, 
 Who dwell in those heavenly regions of light, 
 
e vantage' s songs. 13 
 
 And who, purg'd from earth's dross by celestial fire, 
 Enjoy the reward of their virtuous fight 3 . 
 
 ! then, let me, Great Father of all things, have 
 power 
 To rule those vain passions inherent in man, 
 
 And to follow and copy, till life's latest hour, 
 The order and concord observ'd in Thy plan. 
 
 She ceas'd ; and lo ! a murmuring breeze 
 Stirr'd gently all the neighbouring trees ; 
 As if material Nature lov'd 
 T' applaud the music she approved. 
 Enthusiasts, rapt, would higher rise, 
 And waft approval to the skies ; 
 And when each leaf its plaudit brings, 
 Would say, " An angel claps his wings ! " 
 But fair Evanthe scarce would heed 
 Men's praises, — though her proper meed ; 
 But, lifting heart and soul to Heaven, 
 As noble thoughts to her were given, 
 She, though herself a thing of light, 
 Sweetly apostrophiz'd the Night : — 
 
 3 Vide Ephesians vi. 13 et seg. 
 
14 CANTO I. 
 
 EVANTHE'S SONG. (No. 4.) 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 I love the silent, sober Night, — 
 The softness of the Moon's pale light ; 
 To me it seems more fair, more sweet, 
 Than e'en the Sun's enlivening heat. 
 
 Night is the season when the soul, 
 
 Freed from the thoughtless world's controul, 
 
 With swelling love, though mix'd with fear, 
 
 Admires yon beauteous, starry sphere ; 
 
 And, as it views those orbs so bright, 
 
 It grows enraptur'd at the sight, 
 
 And longs to fly in liquid air, 
 
 And join the kindred spirits there. 
 
 The world sinks into nothing then ; — 
 
 The vain pursuits of fickle men 
 
 Delight no more ; — a purer joy 
 
 Doth then the fleeting hours employ. 
 
 silent Night ! when all is still 
 Except some gently flowing rill ; 
 
evanthe's songs. 15 
 
 When busy, anxious cares are o'er, 
 And bustling noise is beard no more ; 
 When all tbe stars their forms disclose, 
 And Nature seeks her soft repose ; 
 Then let me wander in some vale, 
 And hear the tuneful nightingale ; 
 Or listen to the mournful breeze 
 Which sighs among the lofty trees ; — 
 Then let me feel the soul's soft balm 
 Experienc'd in the midnight calm ; 
 Or hear the Great Jehovah ride 
 Upon the tempest's windy tide ; 
 In every way, — whate'er the form, — 
 Or in the fiercely raging storm, 
 Or in the cool, refreshing shower, 
 I see, — I feel, His boundless power ! 
 
 And ! when my last hour draws nigh, 
 When the loud summons sounds on high, 
 When gloomy death appears in sight, 
 May I resemble thee, soft Night ! 
 Smooth, placid, Summer-night ! like thee, 
 May I meet dread Eternity. 
 
16 CANTO I. 
 
 She ceas'd ; and lo ! the stars combine 
 With light unwonted forth to shine ; — 
 Some fond enthusiast would have said, 
 They shed their blessing on her head. 
 But human praise she heeded not ; 
 Or if she heard, 'twas soon forgot. 
 So, thus, her evening songs were ended, 
 And — " like a fairy " — home she wended. 
 
 END OF CANTO I. 
 
THE FAIR EVANTHE. 
 
 & Poem. 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 1 Ah ! Love was never yet without 
 The pang, the agony, the doubt." 
 
 Byron. 
 
CONTENTS OF CANTO II. 
 
 The loves of the fair Evanthe and Henry de Crichton. 
 
CANTO II. 
 
 But why should Evanthe — Evanthe " trie fair," — 
 
 With, her wondrous eyes and her beauteous hair, 
 
 ! why should Evanthe sit alone 
 
 And waste her songs, and her holy tone, 
 
 And her pious mood, beyond compare ? — 
 
 Why should she waste them on " desert air ? " 
 
 Why should she seek that silent hour 
 
 In which to display her magnificent power ? 
 
 Why, ah ! why should she, lonely, seek 
 
 Thus to conceal her talents unique 
 
 From admiring neighbours who fain would hear 
 
 That vocalist sweet, and without a compeer ? 
 
 But, gentle reader ! were her talents wasted 
 
 When to the old Ruin she silently hasted, — 
 
 When to God she devoted each holy tone 
 
 'Mid the echoing arch of that Ruin lone, — 
 
20 CANTO II. 
 
 Each noble thought, and each lofty flight 
 Which made charming the grandeur of sable 
 
 Night ? 
 ! if in God we truly rejoice, 
 Then talents and tones and heart and voice, — 
 Body and soul, and all our powers 
 Are devoted to Him in religious hours ; — 
 To Him, on earth, with zeal are given, — 
 Some faint foreshadowing of Heaven ! 
 ! if indeed to Gfod we give all, 
 Nothing is left our hearts to enthrall ! 
 Pale grow tyrant Sin and Desire 
 Before the bright flame of a holier fire ; 
 Hateful grows Sin, and hideous is Yice 
 Whilst we think of the Saviour's sacrifice, — 
 That Saviour, so kind, so pure, and so mild, 
 Who invites each to come — like " a little child ;" — 
 That Holy Saviour, so meek and so blest, 
 Who says, " Come ! and I will give thee rest !" 
 Who says, with His beautiful feet on the moun- 
 tain \ 
 " I am the ever-living Fountain ;" — 
 
 1 " How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of Him that 
 bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace." — Isaiah hi. 7. 
 
LOVE. 21 
 
 Who says to the thirsty, that throng round its 
 
 brink, 
 " Come, weary ones, all ! yea, come and drink ; 
 The sweet water gushes, the Fount ne'er is dry, 
 Drink, belov'd ones ! yea, drink 2 abundantly !" 
 But why should Evanthe ramble alone 
 And waste each song and each musical tone 
 And each eloquent talent — beyond compare ? — 
 Why waste them all upon " desert air ?" 
 
 Gentle Reader ! methinks I hear thee ask 
 This considerate question to shorten my task ; 
 I hear thee " come to the point ," I confess, 
 And I own I am apt — very apt — to digress, — 
 To roam at large among earth's pretty flowers, 
 (Whether real or poetical/ — both are ours !) 
 And cull those sweet blossoms which suit my taste, 
 And perhaps, like Evanthe, my talents waste. 
 
 Well, then, Reader! if "truth severe" must be 
 
 told, 
 Evanthe affected that Ruin old 
 
 2 " Drink, yea, drink abundantly, O beloved !" — Solomon's 
 Song, v. 1. 
 
22 CANTO IT. 
 
 For private reasons that pleas'd her own mind, 
 Which in earth's "gay haunts" she never could 
 
 find; 
 It brought with it soothing associations, 
 And it brought solicitous contemplations ; 
 For, there she had rambled, from hour to hour, 
 And there had convers'd, in " rustic bower," 
 With Henry de Cbjchton, whose simple name 
 Would arouse a silent (but tell-tale) flame. 
 Allude to him, when you pleas'd, any day, 
 And each truant pulse would come into play, 
 Would dance, and would branch all over her 
 
 face, 
 Adding beauty to each indescribable grace ; 
 Thus, basely betraying the maid, I confess, 
 But proclaiming to all, her tenderness. 
 Yet, though she might blush whene'er he was 
 
 nam'd, — 
 In her inmost soul, she was not asham'd ! 
 
 And who was this Crichton, who caus'd such con- 
 fusion, 
 
 Such throbs, and such blushes, — such crimson 
 intrusion, — 
 
LOVE. 23 
 
 Such numberless beauties, such infinite grace, 
 To so discompose Evanthe's fair face ? 
 
 De Crichton was one whom Nature had stamp'd 
 As a dear son, whose bravery nothing e'er 
 
 damp'd, — 
 "Whose courage was shown in Adversity's day, — 
 Not in marring God's image, or " fighting one's 
 
 way," 
 Not in spitefully seeking occasion of strife, — 
 But in manfully fighting " the battle of Life." 
 
 Henry Crichton was one, whose majestic brow 
 Was stor'd with high thoughts. God oft loves to 
 
 endow 
 His choice ones with shining and splendid parts, 
 Which soon win their way to unprejudiced hearts ; 
 Though such brilliant talents the wicked distress, 
 And fill them with envy no words can express ! 
 How malignant is Envy ! how hateful to all ! 
 How spiteful its malice ! how baleful its gall ! 
 Envy tortures itself, — it never can rest 
 When it views the calm peace with which wise 
 
 men are blest ; 
 
24 CANTO II. 
 
 Like " the troubled sea," dirt and mire it casts up, 
 While it drinks the dire potion of Life's bitter 
 
 cup. 
 E'en Crichton's great namesake 3 , admir'd by all, 
 Trapp'd by envious malice, escap'd not a fall ! 
 
 Henry Crichton was one, on whom Nature had 
 
 pour'd 
 Those gifts which in some favour'd few seem all 
 
 stor'd ; — 
 You may style it " good fortune," — you may call 
 
 it her " whim," 
 But she emptied her Cornucopia on him ; — 
 She emptied her Cornucopia, and then 
 Crichton shone, like a star, 'mong the sons of 
 
 men; — 
 Like a comet's, his track was brilliant and bright, 
 Dispelling the darkness and deadness of Night ; 
 Like a planet, receiving its light from the Sun, 
 He reflected his light ; — thus his duty was done. 
 The stamp of Nobility burnish'd his brow, 
 Gentle — noble he was, — and grand any how ! 
 
LOVE. 25 
 
 He was one of Nature's " gentlemen," whom all 
 
 men must confess, — 
 But whom, alas ! the wicked oft are combining to 
 
 oppress ! 
 No "patent" of nobility — none legal could he show, 
 And therefore to his claim, I ween, the heralds 
 
 would say "No." 
 "Poor," he own'd, "he was;" and proud, too, he 
 
 was thought, 
 Because he was one who (all men knew) could 
 
 ne'er be bought 
 High-soul' d, yet kind; he humbly walk'd with 
 
 God; 
 Beceiv'd his Maker's chastisements, and meekly 
 
 "kiss'd the rod." 
 He was one of Nature's "gentlemen," whom all 
 
 men must confess, 
 But whom, alas ! too often, bad men join to oppress. 
 
 The Muse would do him justice : he was a man of 
 
 mark, 
 Whose soul was full of honour, — touch'd with 
 
 Poesy's bright spark ; 
 
 c 
 
26 CANTO II. 
 
 He was a keen musician, and emphatically 
 
 found 
 The pleasure which arises from the poetry of 
 
 sound ; — 
 An artist true, he felt the power which painting 
 
 ever gives, 
 For, let him touch a canvas blank, and lo ! that 
 
 canvas lives ! 
 He had a ready wit, which rul'd with cheerful 
 
 reign, 
 And most brilliant conversation with ease he could 
 
 sustain ; 
 His pity was most generous; his heart was free 
 
 and kind, 
 For, it oft outran his purse, and left his pocket far 
 
 behind ! 
 Superior to " the common herd," as the lord is 
 
 to his groom, 
 He was gay without low levity, and serious with- 
 out gloom. 
 He lov'd Christ's pure Religion ;—lov'd it with 
 
 ardent zeal, 
 But he never deign'd to express a word, which, at 
 
 heart, he did not feel : 
 
LOVE. 27 
 
 He was no canting hypocrite ; — true charity he 
 
 had, 
 He lov'd the good man's company ; and he dar'd 
 
 to shun the bad ; 
 He was a sterling character, — not much in fashion 
 
 now, — 
 Integrity adorn'd his heart, as talent lit his brow ! 
 Avoiding all deceit, and eschewing false pretence, 
 He was an English " gentleman," in that word's 
 
 highest sense. 
 
 That Crichton's brilliant fancy 
 Should centre in Evanthe, 
 
 Readers, with ease, may see ; 
 It doubtless was a thing which all 
 Could plainly tell would soon befall — 
 
 A fixt thing, which must be. 
 
 Their love was, then, no wonder, — 
 Their forms were far asunder, — 
 
 Their souls were join' d; — 'twas done! 
 God form'd them for each other, 
 Their love they could not smother ; 
 
 Their hearts and souls were one. 
 c 2 
 
28 CANTO IT. 
 
 Wise was the man who said, forsooth, 
 
 " The course of true love ne'er ran smooth," 
 
 In any land or place ; — 
 Evanthe sadly liv'd apart 
 From him who thus possess'd her heart : 
 
 So, reader ! hear the case : — 
 
 Evanthe was noble in lineage of earth, — 
 She was noble by nature, and noble by birth, — 
 She had lost her sweet mother — O long, long ago ! 
 Ere well she could measure the depth of her woe : 
 (Bright Angels of mercy ! my sympathy send 
 To all without a mother, — a Mother, — that sweet 
 
 friend !) 
 Thus, her lordly sire was left alone, 
 And Evanthe was all he could call his own. 
 (For, houses and lands and all such trash 
 To call " ours," would be indescribably rash ; 
 Because, in Adversity's difficult day, 
 They oft nap their wings, and they oft fly away !) 
 A Mac Donald he was, — for "a prince" he went, — 
 And too well he remember'd his proud descent : 
 E'en a casual observer might soon discern 
 That Mac Donald was rul'd by Ambition stern. 
 
LOVE. 29 
 
 And so, alas ! 
 
 It came to pass, 
 That the love of fair Evanthe, 
 And Crichton's darling fancy, — 
 
 That love so pure, 
 
 Which must endure, 
 Was frown'd on by her father ; — 
 But it only flam'd the rather ! 
 For, woman's will, or woman's love, 
 Ascendeth still, all arts above, 
 It burneth ever, — it dieth never ! 
 And he is clever, who could sever 
 
 The stedfast union, 
 
 The sweet communion 
 Of two such honest, holy hearts, 
 Or cut one * soul into two separate parts ! 
 
 As for Crichton, indeed, nought could turn his 
 
 affection 
 Into any new channel, or other direction ; 
 
 4 " So these lives that had run thus far in separate channels, 
 
 Rush'd together at last, and one was lost in the other." 
 Longfellow's " Miles Standish." 
 
 c 3 
 
30 CANTO II. 
 
 He chang'd not ever, nor did he know fear, 
 But his pride would not let him persevere ; 
 So he sought the soothing advice of another, 
 For, " he was the only son of his mother, 
 And she was a widow ;" — indeed and in truth 
 A widow almost from the years of youth ; 
 And he wept on her bosom, and told her his grief, 
 And found, in her sympathy, sweet relief. 
 
 What sweet relief can a " Mother " afford ! 
 
 What holiness dwells in that sacred word ! 
 
 ! what can hinder (witness, saints above !) 
 
 What can check or withstand a mother's love ? 
 
 Who can count all her watchings and perseverance ? 
 
 Who can tell all her counsel, and sweet inter- 
 ference ? 
 
 Who can paint her soft patience, — her sorrowful 
 grace, 
 
 Her tear-bedew'd eyes, and her anxious face ? 
 
 What tongue can rehearse the amount of each 
 trial ?— 
 
 Her unwearied endurance, her vast self-denial ? 
 
 No tongue can tell it ! "Tis for the heart to feel ; — 
 
 The heart that notes it not, is made of steel : 
 
LOVE. 31 
 
 Like Jacob s of old, who wrestled all night, 
 And prevaiPd, by a trope, o'er an Angel of might ; 
 She would climb up to Heaven, by the angels' stair, 
 She would wrestle, all night, with Jehovah in 
 
 prayer ; 
 She would say to her Gtad, " Though my child 
 
 may distress me, 
 I will not let Thee go, unless Thou bless me!" 
 And when she prevails with her merciful Grod, 
 Who consents to her prayer, and withdraws His 
 
 rod, 
 The Angels take up their ethereal strain ; — 
 In celestial courts, sweet rejoicings reign ; — 
 Life to another repentant child is given, 
 And joy and pure gladness reign in Heaven. 
 And the way Crichton found relief was this ; — 
 To tear him away from the scene of his bliss 1 
 His mother advis'd him, though loving him 
 
 well, 
 O'er wide seas to go ; — in strange lands to dwell ; — 
 There, like a pilgrim sad, to tarry, — 
 Till homeward he might come, — and marry. 
 
 5 Genesis xxxii. 24 et seg. 
 
 c 4 
 
32 CANTO IT. 
 
 He determined to go : lie prepared to set sail ; 
 Nought Evanthe could say, was of any avail : 
 They met in the Ruin — that Ruin so old, 
 With its beautiful arch, and its Sunset of 
 
 gold ;— 
 They met in the Ruin — those lovers so true — 
 There they held, in their bower, their last inter- 
 view. 
 They were not speechless, but their souls were 
 
 dull, 
 So scarcely they spake ; for, their hearts were too 
 
 full. 
 She gaz'd on his features, — those excellent fea- 
 tures 
 Which sometimes adorn Grod's intelligent crea- 
 tures ; 
 He dar'd not send one furtive glance 
 On her sweet, suffering countenance. 
 She gaz'd on him : — he gaz'd on " the distance ;" — 
 She knew she must offer no resistance, — 
 She knew he must go to distant lands, 
 And pine away on foreign strands : — 
 Should she not sadly pine away too ? — 
 She knew it beforehand; — she knew 'twas too true ! 
 
LOVE. 33 
 
 Sick at heart 6 , she sat silent ; and at him gaz'd 
 
 Like one entranc'd, and sore amaz'd. 
 
 Oh, reader ! with what most painful surprise 
 
 Wouldst thou have regarded Evanthe's fine eyes ! 
 
 She sat — a fine statue — a statue of grief, 
 
 With her sorrowful face in bold relief ; 
 
 She sat, and was silent 7 , — still gazing on him, 
 
 With tearful eyes not o'erflowing the brim : — 
 
 Oh ! thou wouldst have ask'd, as she sat there, 1 
 
 " Can this be Evanthe — Evanthe ' the fair ' — > 
 
 With the lustrous eyes and the flowing hair P" J 
 
 Ah, reader ! times of trouble come 
 To men of each degree ; 
 
 Evanthe's moan was not alone, — 
 Those times shall come to thee. 
 
 G " A frantic feeling when we know 
 
 That what we love, shall ne'er be so." 
 
 Byron. 
 r " When we two parted 
 
 In silence and tears ; 
 Half-broken hearted 
 To sever for years." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 c 5 
 
34 CANTO II- 
 
 But Crichton arous'd him from his musing, 
 
 And, with the hope of joy infusing, 
 
 Propos'd to sing some new-made songs, 
 
 Whose burden to our Next belongs : 
 
 In this poor Canto, could I tell "] 
 
 The magic of his tuneful swell ? 
 
 Or how he sang, — how sweet, — how well ? J 
 
 END OF CANTO II- 
 
THE FAIR EVANTHE. 
 
 & $oem. 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 DE CRICHTON'S SONGS. 
 
 " Most musical, most melancholy." 
 
 Milton's " // Penseroso. 
 
 c 6 
 
CONTENTS OF CANTO III. 
 
 Henry de Crichton endeavours to cheer the fair Evanthe, by 
 singing his own newly made songs to her, during his last interview 
 with her, previously to his sailing for India. 
 
CANTO III. 
 
 Some say that love is the " old, — old story," 
 
 That however new-drest, it is ancient and hoary ! 
 
 " Each love-tale," say they, " is a tale of old, 
 
 An ancient history — thrice told I" — 
 
 Why, it is an old-fashion' d thing, I confess, 
 
 However fresh and stylish its dress ; 
 
 Old as the world/, yet ever new, 
 
 Because to Nature ever true ! 
 
 The blood which in our veins doth flow 
 
 Bubbled and boil'd, many years ago, 
 
 In all our ancestors' blue veins, 
 
 Yielding some pleasures, and many pains ! 
 
 " Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful always, 
 Love immortal and young in the endless succession of lovers." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
38 CANTO III. 
 
 Yet, love is a holy thing 2 , after all ; 
 
 It sweetens life in cottage and hall ; 
 
 It softens man's labours ; it warms him when cold ; 
 
 It tinges his humble horizon with gold ; 
 
 It cheers his hearth ; and, with other graces, 
 
 Brings little knee-climbers with coaxing faces ; 
 
 It peoples the palace, it comforts the cot, 
 
 And often adds happiness to man's lot. 
 
 Henry Crichton thus mus'd, as he reach'd his 
 
 guitar, 
 Whilst his eye still gaz'd on " the distance" afar ; — 
 If he look'd at Evanthe, his eye would glisten, — 
 Chords he struck ! — and Evanthe began to listen : 
 Tender the tune, though sad and wild, 
 To which was join'd a chorus mild. 
 A dreamy prelude oft affords 
 Some clue whereby to guess the words : — 
 However this may be, Evanthe 
 Knew well what strain would be his fancy : 
 Love rul'd his heart ; Love tun'd his voice ; 
 A love-song was his natural choice : — 
 
 2 The Author here alludes to such a picture of wedded love, as 
 Thomson has so well painted in his " Seasons." 
 
39 
 
 DE CRICHTON'S SOTO. (No. 1. 
 
 Sweet lady ! I will love thee 
 
 For ever and for aye ; 
 None rules my heart above thee, 
 
 And yet I am not gay : 
 I am a pilgrim weary, 
 
 Life's road is rough and bare, 
 And all is dark and dreary — 
 
 Except when thou art there. 
 
 Sweet lady ! I will love thee 
 For ever and for aye. 
 
 2. 
 
 ! give, from 'midst thy tresses, 
 One beauteous lock to me ; 
 
 I'll nourish with caresses 
 This memory of thee ; 
 
40 CANTO III. 
 
 I'll nurse it with the beatings 
 
 Upspringing from my heart ; 
 I'll welcome it with greetings — 
 From lips that know their part. 
 Sweet lady ! I will love thee 
 For ever and for aye. 
 
 Sweet lady ! I do love thee, 
 
 My love no words can tell ; 
 That little star above thee 
 
 My truth doth witness well. 
 Now, lady, I must leave thee 
 
 For staff and scallop-shell ; 
 But oh ! i" love ! believe me, — 
 
 Ere yet I say Farewell. 
 
 Yes, lady, I will love thee 
 For ever and for aye. 
 
 De Crichton ceas'd ; and as he ended, 
 With voice and music richly blended, 
 His fingers still continued moving, — 
 As if the strings they still were loving ! 
 
de crichton's songs. 41 
 
 Over and over did he play 
 
 That softly sentimental lay : — 
 
 He struck the music o'er again, 
 
 As if he would repeat the strain, 
 
 And make each verse the more emphatic ; — 
 
 The fair Evanthe seem'd ecstatic ! 
 
 But quiet and compos'd withal, 
 
 Drinking the notes in, as they fall. 
 
 A pleasant silence then ensued, — 
 
 A silence-— as of Solitude ; 
 
 For they, though seated side by side, 
 
 With their own thoughts were occupied ; 
 
 And, as they sat, the sky, less red, 
 
 Prov'd that the Sun had sought his bed. 
 
 Crichton now tried, though half afraid, 
 
 To rouse and move the musing maid ; 
 
 And soon he struck a brilliant chord 
 
 Which something cheerful might afford : — 
 
 A joyous tune, or merry round, 
 
 Sent forth a buoyant, brilliant sound ; 
 
 And pleasant music floated by, 
 
 Or upward sought the Evening sky, 
 
 As if to tell those placid orbs 
 
 That grief not akcays man absorbs ! 
 
42 CANTO III. 
 
 'Twas gay, 'twas racy, and 'twas rare, — 
 Reader ! I would thou hadst been there ! 
 Then, if with such soft beauty smitten, 
 Far better thou this tale hadst written ! 
 No matter : — on the music ran, 
 As Crichton thus his song began : — 
 
 DE CRICHTOST'S SONG. (Kb. 2.) 
 
 A WOODLAND SONG. 
 
 1. 
 
 Fair Evanthe, 
 
 Child of Fancy, 
 Sweet Evanthe, come away ! 
 
 By pure fountains, 
 
 O'er high mountains, 
 Let us forth together stray. 
 
 2. 
 
 Echo follows 
 
 Through deep hollows ; 
 Echo loves to follow thee : 
 
 Fair Evanthe, 
 
 Child of Fancy, 
 Come with Echo, and with me. 
 
de crichton's songs. 43 
 
 3. 
 
 Fair Evanthe, 
 
 My sweet fancy ! 
 Come with me, and catch, the breeze ; 
 
 Hear the verses 
 
 Love rehearses 
 When he sighs among the trees. 
 
 4. 
 
 All the Naiads, 
 
 All the Dryads, 
 Leave, for thee, their green retreats ; 
 
 All the Graces 
 
 Show their faces 
 When thy pulse with freedom beats. 
 
 5. 
 
 All the Muses — 
 
 (None refuses !) 
 All attend thy woodland songs ; 
 
 Led by Clio, 
 
 (Lov'd in Scio 3 ,) 
 Echo still thy strain prolongs. 
 
 3 The modern name for the ancient Chios. 
 
44 CANTO III. 
 
 6. 
 
 Rustic ever ! 
 
 Vulgar never ! 
 Echo makes thee known to fame ! 
 
 Crying Echo ! 
 
 Dying Echo ! 
 Joyous, sad, — 'tis all the same ! 
 
 Fair Evanthe, 
 Child of Fancy, 
 Come with me, and come away ! 
 Light and shadow, — 
 Stream and meadow, — 
 All invite thee forth to stray 4 . 
 
 4 Since writing the above " Woodland Song," the Author's 
 attention has been called to some beautiful lines, somewhat similar 
 (though far better), by Sir Walter Scott, commencing thus : — 
 
 u Hie away, hie away, 
 O'er bank and o'er brae, 
 Where the copse-wood is greenest, 
 Where the fountain glistens sheenest," &c. &c. 
 
45 
 
 The brilliant sounds ascended high, 
 
 And swell'd in tuneful symphony ; 
 
 Then sank in cadence soft and slow, 
 
 Till by degrees— more faint and low — 
 
 Their cheerfulness at length they drop ; — 
 
 The artist's languid fingers stop. 
 
 For, thoughts of leaving friends behind, 
 
 Came rushing o'er his anxious mind ; 
 
 And thoughts of distant countries prov'd 
 
 How much his native land he lov'd ! 
 
 Domestic ties must sever'd be 
 
 By the restless waves of the rolling sea ; 
 
 (No marvellous Atlantic cable 
 
 To waft a message then was able ;) 
 
 Friends must be left, and who could say 
 
 Would such friends meet another day ? 
 
 Alas ! it has been clearly shown 
 
 " We cannot call a day our own ! " 
 
 Besides, one's native land to leave, 
 
 Must cause the stoutest heart to grieve ; — 
 
 Our native land demands our love 
 
 All other countries far above ! 
 
 Who would not bleed, who would not die,- 
 
 Endure the last extremity, — 
 
46 CANTO III. 
 
 Die 5 like a hero, — die or bleed 
 
 To help one's country in her need ? 
 
 Such patriotic thoughts as these 
 At times, with force, will all men seize ; 
 They stole, of course, with tenfold power, 
 O'er Crichton at this solemn hour. 
 He was about from bliss to fly, — 
 To bid his native land " good bye ;" 
 To suffer exile ! — yet, o'er all 
 (Where'er his earthly lot should fall) 
 His country still should rank the first ; — 
 Loud into singing thus he burst : — 
 
 DE CEICHTON'S SOJN T G. (No. 3.) 
 
 A LOYAL BALLAD. 
 1. 
 
 Long may she thrive — Britannia ! 
 
 And never want a man 
 Duteous and wise to help her, 
 
 In every act and plan. 
 
DE CKICHTON's SONGS. 
 
 2. 
 Long may she thrive — our Country ! 
 
 Pride of the sea and land ! 
 May none, with dire effront'ry, 
 
 'Gainst her e'er lift his brand. 
 
 3. 
 
 Around us clash the Nations ! 
 
 Princes have felt the shock ! 
 Whilst, free from emulations, 
 
 We dwell — as on a Rock. 
 
 4. 
 
 Long may she thrive — fair England ! 
 
 In Commerce, Church, and State ; — 
 Her nobles kind, her poor content, — 
 
 A kingdom richly great. 
 
 He ceased ; and gave at Evanthe a look, 
 
 Who scarce e'en a glance of his eye could then 
 
 brook : — 
 Attempting a smile, she gaz'd in his eyes, 
 (That poor smile was a tear's most flimsy dis- 
 guise !) 
 
48 CANTO III. 
 
 " Dear Henry ! " she said, " to-morrow thou wilt 
 
 be 
 On the fickle waters of the deep, deep Sea ! " 
 " Love ! fear not ! " said Crichton, " when I'm 
 
 far away, 
 I rejoice in the Deep, — I glory in its spray." 
 And he struck his guitar with hurried motion, 
 While he briskly apostrophiz'd the Ocean : — 
 
 DE CEICHTON'S SONG. (No. 4.) 
 
 AN OCEAN SONG. 
 1. 
 
 (The Storm.) 
 
 Thou roaring, foaming Ocean ! 
 
 I love thy wild commotion, 
 When thy white spray dances aloft in air, — 
 As if chasing, unseen, some Sea-nymph fair ; 
 
 ! I love thee, thou Ocean ! 
 
 1 love thy wild motion 
 
de crichton's songs. 49 
 
 When thy billows are heaving, and panting, and 
 
 dashing, — 
 When thy surges are raging, and beating, and 
 crashing, — 
 
 O ! I love thee then 
 In thy " vasty 6 " den,— 
 E'en then, in thy wrath, with thee would I dwell, 
 Thou thing of might ! Thou untameable ! 
 Or when the winds frolic amongst thy waves, 
 Like spectral blasts howling o'er dead men's 
 
 graves, — 
 E'en then, in thy wrath, with thee would I dwell, 
 For I love thee, thou Ocean untameable ! 
 
 2. 
 
 {The Gale.) 
 Like a sea-fowl wild, I would love to glide 
 With ease and with grace o'er thy graceful tide ; 
 Like a sea-bird tir'd, would I love to rest 
 All listless, at ease, on thy liquid breast ; 
 And, whilst rock'd by thy fluctuations, 
 Would laugh at the buzz of nations ; — 
 
 6 " The vasty deep." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 D 
 
50 CANTO III. 
 
 Would shun stern Ambition's wrinkling 
 cares 
 . Which turn man's dark locks to hoary 
 hairs ; — 
 And " Peace" my sole motto, — 
 Sea-shells for my grotto, — 
 I would wing, with an airy flight, my course 
 O'er thy current smooth, or thy billows hoarse, 
 To some lonely shore, — some fanciful spot, 
 Where all the low cares of earth are not ! 
 
 {The wide Waste of Waters.) 
 
 Capricious, restless Sea ! 
 
 Still near thee let me be ; 
 Or at evening soft, or at rosy morn, 
 Still let me o'er thy waves be borne ; — 
 Thy changing waves of green and of blue, 
 Eeflecting clouds of varying hue, 
 Shall waft me, on bark grotesque and rude, 
 To Nature's profoundest solitude ; 
 And buried there, — in sweet amaze 
 I would woo thee for ever with ardent gaze ; 
 
de crichton's songs. 51 
 
 My lonely fate I still would bless 
 In the midst of Ocean's loneliness. 
 
 ! to me, there is much that is solemn and grave, 
 
 In riding alone on the Ocean- wave ! 
 
 4. 
 
 {The Calm.) 
 Thou placid, smiling Ocean ! 
 I love thee void of motion, 
 When thy gentle bosom, with softest grace, 
 All-glistening, invites to a pure embrace ; 
 'Neath thy surface of glass, how little we know 
 "What depth, and what mystery lurk below ! 
 What treasures, what bones, or what merchandise 
 Lurk darkly, — lock'd up from mortal eyes ! 
 ! how I could wish 
 To ask each tiny fish 
 Which steers its free course through thy azure 
 
 domain, 
 Thy wonders, damp charnel-house ! once to ex- 
 plain: — 
 Bui these are seal'd up : — nought living may tell, 
 Then Ocean, thou dear but dark Ocean, farewell ! 
 
 d 2 
 
52 CANTO III. 
 
 Mute his guitar ! — lie ceas'd again ; 
 And Silence held her mournful reign : — 
 At length, exclaim'd Evanthe, musing, 
 (Whilst every struggling effort using,) 
 " May watchful Providence — may He, 
 Whose eye is on the boundless sea, — 
 Who * in great waters has His path' — 
 Which never mark or footprint hath ; — 
 May He, whose footsteps are not known, 
 Watch o'er thee, dearest, when alone ; 
 May He be with thee, Henry, still, 
 And guide thee by His holy will, — 
 Guide thee for ever — ever — ever ! 
 And may He leave thee never — never ! " 
 
 They gaz'd into each other's eyes 
 
 In sorrow and in pain ; 
 And, through Love's doubtful agonies, 
 
 Ne'er hop'd to meet again. 
 
 They sadly gaz'd at one another 
 
 In sorrow and in pain ; — 
 At last she flew to Crichton's mother,— 
 
 He — to the azure main. 
 
 end of canto iti. 
 
THE FAIR EYANTHE 
 
 a $oem. 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 "PINING AWAY." 
 
 She pin'd in thought ; 
 
 ***** 
 
 She sat like patience on a monument, 
 
 Smiling at grief." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 D 3 
 
CONTENTS OF CANTO IV. 
 
 Evanthe sings " Dirges " in a melancholy manner, and begins to 
 pine away. Sometimes she is cheered by a gay letter from Crich- 
 ton ; at other times, old Allan Ivor, her father's piper, attempts to 
 divert her with his minstrelsy. But she still frequents " the Ruin " 
 when she is able to do so ; and, when unable, sits at a window re- 
 garding the distant sea, and blessing the ships returning home. 
 
CANTO IV. 
 
 Who hath not felt his spirit bend, 
 When death or absence takes a friend ? 
 When that dear face, we lov'd, is clay ? 
 Or when that friend is far away ? 
 The Christian, in that time of trial, 
 Uses restraint and self-denial ; 
 But ! he mounts on wings of hope, — 
 He gives his aspirations scope, — 
 Thinks of a future joyful meeting, 
 Thinks of a future happy greeting, 
 Where sin no more succeeds to sorrow, 
 Where no one seeks, or dreads, the morrow : 
 
 Where all look up to God's right hand, 
 Where all are fully blest ; 
 
 " Where the wicked cease from troubling, and 
 The weary are at rest ! " 
 d4 
 
56 CANTO IV. 
 
 This sort of feeling came across 
 
 Evanthe's mind ; who bore her loss 
 
 At first with vigour, though with grief; — 
 
 She found, indeed, a great relief 
 
 In looking for that happy end — 
 
 The glad return of her dear friend. 
 
 But, still, she strove, if he should never 
 
 Return to her, who lov'd him ever, 
 
 Forward to look, to holy union 
 
 And everlasting sweet communion 
 
 With that dear lost one, whose true heart, 
 
 Of hers — was just the counterpart. 
 
 Piously great, at times like this, 
 
 She felt a near approach to bliss ; 
 
 And then could lift her loving voice 
 
 To him — the object of her choice, — 
 
 Could thus address him ', as if he 
 
 Were not upon the rolling sea : — 
 
 i << .. 
 
 Within her heart was his image, 
 
 Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she beheld 
 him." 
 
 Longfellow's " Evangeline?' 
 
57 
 
 EVANTHE'S DIRGE. (No. 1.) 
 
 ABSENCE. 
 1. 
 
 Absent dear one ! absent lover ! 
 
 Present still with me — for ever ! 
 Doth thy spirit o'er me hover ? 
 
 Wilt thou, love, forget me — never ? 
 
 2. 
 
 Oh ! if thou shouldst die, dear lover ? — 
 Better so, than to forget me : 
 
 Heaven some path would then discover, — 
 I would come, when God would let me. 
 
 3. 
 
 Death is a long absence merely, 
 Death can for a time but spite us ; 
 
 Heaven will restore us clearly ! 
 Heaven will again unite us ! 
 
 This was her happiest effort, — this 
 Her sweet memorial of bliss ; 
 Philosophy could but support 
 A something cheering of this sort. 
 d5 
 
58 CANTO IV. 
 
 At other times, when musing long, 
 A change came o'er her tender song ; 
 And then, through weariness and woe, 
 She felt a sad, unusual throe ; — 
 A pang of deep and sore distress 
 "Would then her gentle heart oppress ; 
 And then her soul would vent its grief 
 In sounds, which gave her no relief: — 
 
 EVANTHE'S DIRGE. (No. 2.) 
 
 SORROW. 
 1. 
 
 O'er the sea, thou art gone far away, — 
 
 Far away ! 
 All is gloomy, like clouds of dark grey, — 
 
 Well-a-day ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Oh ! to me there is nothing more, — bright ! 
 
 Ah, poor me ! 
 Oh ! to me, life is one dreary night, — 
 
 Nought to see ! 
 
59 
 
 3. 
 
 Oh ! to me is there nothing but sorrow 
 
 Black with grief? 
 Oh ! to me will there no bright to-morrow 
 
 Bring relief? 
 
 Evanthe, though still passing " fair," 
 
 Lost her bewitching, joyous air ; 
 
 As Shakspeare says 2 , " She pin'd in thought :" 
 
 No fresh amusement now she sought ; — 
 
 No joy accrued from new friends' faces, 
 
 She lov'd the old, familiar places. 
 
 The " Ruin " still enjoy'd her love 
 
 All other places far above ; — 
 
 The Ruin, with its arch so bold, 
 
 Through which the Sun-set stole of old, — 
 
 That Ruin, with its " rustic bower," 
 
 Exerted, still, a soothing power. 
 
 She lov'd to muse, in that dear spot, 
 
 On him whom never she forgot. 
 
 2 Shakspeare's " Twelfth Night." Act II. Scene 4. 
 D 6 
 
60 CANTO IV. 
 
 At " Evening red and morning grey," 
 
 She lov'd to pass the time away 
 
 In thoughts — all innocent and good, 
 
 In that dear Ruin's neighbourhood, — 
 
 In thoughts of Crichton, — thoughts of Heaven; 
 
 Sweet thoughts, no doubt, to her were given ! 
 
 For, God doth all true Christians bless 
 
 With thoughts no tongue can e'er express ! 
 
 Evanthe, now, was much alone ; 
 
 For, Crichton's mother " home " had gone : — 
 
 Her spirit mounted to the skies, 
 
 Longing for holier destinies ! 
 
 Evanthe, as I said before, 
 
 Lost that bright look she had of yore ; — 
 
 Evanthe, though still passing " fair," 
 
 Lost that bewitching, joyous air, — 
 
 That look of bright and happy pleasure 
 
 Of which there is no mortal measure ; — 
 
 That look — so beautiful and airy — 
 
 Which might become a Shakspeare's " fairy ! " 
 
 Her look of joyful, sweet content, 
 
 By slow degrees, both wan'd and went ! 
 
61 
 
 And, in its place, looks — worn and wan, — 
 
 Which pain'd the eye to gaze upon, 
 
 Came, and infus'd a paleness cold, 
 
 In mode that cannot well be told : 
 
 Her looks were, still, soft looks of beauty ; 
 
 She follow'd, still, each holy duty ; 
 
 But there was gone that wondrous grace 
 
 Which lighted up, of old, her face ; — 
 
 Commanding all, who saw, to say, 
 
 (In manner kind, and brisk, and gay,) 
 
 " Why, this is Evanthe— Evanthe ' the fair/ — 
 
 With her lustrous eyes, and her flowing hair ! " 
 
 Anon, there came a passing gleam 
 
 Of sunshine o'er her gloomy dream ; — 
 
 Glad letters came from foreign land, 
 
 Written by Crichton's own dear hand, — 
 
 Written so lovingly, that she 
 
 Felt, for a time, both blithe and free. 
 
 (How soft the balm which springs from letters 
 
 To nobles, dames, or those 3 in fetters ! 
 
 3 " Heaven first sent letters to some wretch's aid, — 
 Some pining captive, or some love-sick maid." 
 
 Pope. 
 
82 CANTO IV. 
 
 How freely do we act and think, 
 
 And joke and talk, in pen and ink !) — 
 
 In one of these communications, 
 
 Replete with old associations, 
 
 There came, to while the time away, 
 
 A bright Charade, a riddle gay, 
 
 Written in style of early day, 
 
 When " Cceur de Lion 9i held proud sway ! 
 
 "A Troubadour," it thus began, — 
 
 (This was its style, and thus it ran) : — 
 
 A Troubadour, from foreign lands, 
 To a lady bright came singing ; — 
 
 " ! lady bright, from thine own true knight 
 A message I am bringing : 
 
 * It may be proper just to mention that the Author published 
 this "Charade" in the year 1849, in " The Lady's and Gentle- 
 man's Diary," under the signature of " Cantab." 
 
63 
 
 He lies in the mountains near my first, 
 He dares not come to thee ; 
 
 The foe accurst would on him burst, 
 He therefore sendeth me : 
 
 "And he biddeth me tell thee to seek my next. 
 
 Where he will surely meet thee ; 
 ! be not vex'd, nor with fear perplex'd, 
 
 For, thine own true love shall greet thee." 
 Like a timid fawn, at early dawn, 
 
 To my second the lady hied ; 
 And, at his word, she met her lord, 
 
 Who had my whole supplied. 
 
 Evanthe was a " thing of light," — 
 The lady-love of her true knight, — 
 She, therefore, (sad thoughts to beguile,) 
 Took interest in the ballad-style ; 
 And soon found out, without much aid, 
 The "passport " to the dark Charade : 
 Then, told her correspondent-lover, 
 The key was easy to discover ! 
 
64 CANTO IV. 
 
 (For, she, of old, was full of wit, 
 
 Oft making many a ready-hit ; — 
 
 And never sullen, nor morose ; 
 
 But gay, and cheerful, and jocose !) — 
 
 She thank'd him for his riddle pretty, 
 
 'Twas flowing, charming, good, and witty ! 
 
 She lik'd his wit's poetic savour, — 
 
 It was a "passport " to her favour ! 
 
 Moments, like these, were bright, but M few 
 And far between," if Fame speaks true ; — 
 Too like the Sun behind the clouds 
 When Gloom the smiling earth enshrouds ; 
 And yet, the bright and sunny spot, 
 Tho' scarce, — what reader loveth not ? — 
 I love the eagle, which doth fly 
 Tow'rds the bright Sun with steady eye : 
 I love the Sunshine bright and glaring, 
 I love the Sunshine when but sparing, 
 I love the Sun, — I love the day, 
 I love the Light in every way ! 
 I love to see the eagle fly; — 
 He loves the Sun, and so do I ! 
 
PINING AWAY." 65 
 
 At other times, the fair Evanthe 
 
 Was charm'd from many a grievous fancy 
 
 By Allan Ivor's minstrel fire ; — 
 
 He was the piper to her sire, 
 
 And lov'd to sing, 'mid the ruin'd aisles, 
 
 The glory and fame of " the Lords of the Isles." 
 
 'Twas thus to cheer " the fair Evanthe " 
 
 From many a pining grief and fancy, 
 
 He sang (with music) the following story, — 
 
 Warlike and fierce, and red and gory : — 
 
 ALLAN IVOR'S TALE. 
 
 THE DEATH OF A HIGHLAND CHIEFTAIN. 
 
 I saw Mac Donald in the morn, 
 By a shrill blast upon his horn, 
 Instant assemble every man 
 Of his redoubted, gallant clan ; 
 Until the plain, so green before, 
 With tartan plaids was cover'd o'er, 
 And till the heath from sight withdrew 
 For claymore bright, and bonnet blue. 
 
66 CANTO IV. 
 
 A finer clan than his, I ween, 
 
 Had Caledonia seldom seen ; 
 
 A clan of full two thousand men, 
 
 Brought up in Donald's native glen ; — 
 
 Of giant frame, of sinew tough, 
 
 With noble minds, tho' wild and rough ; 
 
 And hearts as solid, firm, and good, 
 
 As e'en the ground on which they stood. 
 
 " Sons of the mountains ! " Donald cried, 
 
 " This day your valour shall be tried ; 
 
 This day I march to Kinloch's strand, 
 
 To meet Dark Murdoch's hostile band ; 
 
 And curst be he who mercy shows 
 
 To them — our deadly feudal foes." 
 
 ******* 
 
 I saw him at the fall of night, 
 
 But oh ! how sad, how chang'd the sight ! 
 
 He lay quite silent, as if dead, 
 The lustre of his eye was fled ; 
 The dignified and haughty grace 
 Which mark'd his wild, peculiar race, 
 No longer on his forehead glow'd ! 
 No more its potent fire bestow'd ! 
 
PINING AWAY." 67 
 
 His limbs — so strong, so firm, before, 
 Lay powerless, — stain'd with human gore ; 
 His pallid cheek, his clotted hair, 
 His breast — all bloody, gash'd, and bare, — 
 His plaid— all torn, and dyed with red, — 
 Prov'd that with countless wounds he bled. 
 
 But soon he mov'd ; — a radiant glow 
 Of dazzling light beam'd o'er his brow ; 
 " Son of my father ! " then he said, 
 " For victory alone thou'st bled ; 
 Not unreveng'd doth Donald die, 
 For, twenty foes now breathless lie, 
 Yes, twenty of Dark Murdoch's band 
 Lie breathless, slain by Donald's hand ; 
 And him, their chief, my blade hath found,- 
 E'en now Dark Murdoch bites the ground ; 
 Then Donald's soul is henceforth free 
 To sleep the sleep of victory ! " 
 
 He ended with a sudden gasp, 
 His sword again he tried to grasp ; — 
 I caught the wildness of his eye, — 
 The glassy look of vacancy, — 
 
68 CANTO IV. 
 
 The marble cheek, the quivering breath, — 
 I caught the look, — I knew 'twas death ! 
 
 ******* 
 
 Evanthe rewarded the bard with a smile. 
 
 And seem'd cheer'd and amus'd with his strains 
 
 for awhile. 
 But soon her silent look of grief 
 Show'd how poor, and how short, was the music's 
 
 relief ! 
 O'er the far distance pass'd her eye, — 
 O'er hill and tree, and cloud and sky ; 
 She look'd by habit tow'rds the sea, 
 She lov'd each harbour, port, and quay ; 
 She watch'd each distant ship's return, — 
 And how her little heart did burn 
 To think it might bring notes from one, 
 Whom her true soul ever doted on. 
 She, too, would search the map of India, 
 Could trace the lands of Rajah Scindiah : — 
 Would note each ridge in Hooker's Book 5 , — 
 In plans and charts would deign to look ! 
 
 5 Dr. Hooker's interesting Volumes on the Himalayan Moun- 
 tains. 
 
69 
 
 It was, indeed, her only whim, 
 To occupy herself with him ; 
 In short, she was of ease bereft, 
 Since Crichton home and her had left. 
 
 So, hour by hour, and day by day, 
 
 The "fair" Evanthe pin'd away ; 
 
 And, month by month, began to feel 
 
 That treacherous foe, Consumption, steal 
 
 "With furtive step, — obscure and slow — 
 
 O'er her fair form, and daily groic. 
 
 If, on her " damask cheek," 'twould feed 6 , 
 
 A hectic came to hide the deed ! 
 
 It first reduc'd her form rotund, 
 
 It pal'd her colour rubicund ; 
 
 It shortened then her balmy breath : — 
 
 Precursor sure of early death ! 
 
 I do not say she knew her foe, — 
 
 How deadly it stole on, — though slow ; 
 
 I do not say she ever spoke 
 
 Of this most fell Disease's stroke ; 
 
 6 " Like a worm i' the bud." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
70 CANTO IV. 
 
 But yet, I think that well she knew it, — 
 
 Though scarcely trying to eschew it. 
 
 However that may be, her illness 
 
 Requir'd much care, and warmth, and stillness ; 
 
 And, gradual, came by fits increasing, 
 
 Until it made attacks unceasing. 
 
 But, still, " the Ruin old " she sought, — 
 
 And thither in a chair was brought ; 
 
 And when the weather hinder' d that, 
 
 She at a pleasant window sat ; 
 
 And, still, quite free from all commotion, 
 
 Look'd outward to the distant Ocean, 
 
 Took interest in all the ships, 
 
 And bless'd them with her holy lips ; 
 
 And wish'd them safe at their voyage' end, 
 
 And prais'd all those who letters send ! 
 
 Evanthe, thus, in quiet way, 
 
 For Crichton's health began to pray ; 
 
 And though she much desir'd to greet him, 
 
 Pray 'd God to help him and to keep him, — 
 
 Lest she herself should not survive 
 
 To meet her own true love alive. 
 
71 
 
 EVANTHE'S EVENING HYMN. 
 
 1. 
 
 Let me commune, Lord ! with Thee, 
 Though " a thing of earth " I be. 
 Holy Shepherd ! safely keep 
 In Thy fold each weary sheep. 
 
 Led by Christ, I trembling come 
 To that "better land" — my Home ; 
 Where shall cease the sounds of strife 
 Which distract this mortal life. 
 
 Whilst the shades of Night are stealing, 
 Let Thy Spirit work my healing ; 
 Till I join the Angels' choir — 
 Eull of zeal and sacred fire. 
 
72 CANTO IV. 
 
 4. 
 
 Then there will be " rest " in Heaven !« 
 Holy peace to mortals given ! 
 Sever' d saints again shall meet, 
 Interchanging thoughts most sweet. 
 
 END OF CANTO IV. 
 
THE FAIR EVANTHE. 
 
 a IDoem. 
 
 CANTO Y. 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 ' He stood apart from all the vulgar herd, 
 In his own holy world of separate thought ; 
 And they, too, kept aloof from him, and said 
 He was a Puritan, whose serious ways 
 Made discord with their fellowship." 
 
 R. M. Beverley's " Redan," a Poem. 
 
CONTENTS OF CANTO V. 
 
 Henry de Crichton, wrapped up in a cloak, like a pilgrim, is 
 seen striding towards Mac Donald's house, having heard of Evanthe's 
 illness and approaching death. The meeting of him and the fair 
 Evanthe. Evanthe's death. Her epitaph by Crichton. Henry 
 de Crichton spends the rest of his days near " the old Ruin," in a 
 picturesque cottage. His company is much sought after, but he 
 lives retired. His " Dirge " on the death of the fair Evanthe. 
 V Envoi contains an after-account of Crichton's own death. 
 
CANTO V. 
 
 Who cometh from yonder distant ship ? 
 
 Who, in his cloak, doth himself equip ? 
 
 Looking much like, as he hurries along, 
 
 A pilgrim describ'd in crusader's old song ? 
 
 Who hastens, with impetuous stridings, 
 
 As if he had just receiv'd bad tidings ? 
 
 Who is it that comes from beyond the sea ? 
 
 'Tis like Henry Crichton ; — but can it be ?— 
 
 reader ! is it — can it be he 
 
 Who wearily comes from beyond the sea ?— 
 
 If so, one languid eye would lighten ! 
 
 If so, one pallid cheek would brighten ! 
 ! is it, —can it be he ? — 
 That yoyager, from the sea ? — 
 
 If so, there awaits him overmuch sorrow, — 
 
 If so, there awaits him a dark to-morrow ! 
 e 2 
 
76 CANTO V 
 
 There awaits him the painfulest sight under 
 
 Heaven ! 
 For, to him hath the purest heart been given ! 
 There awaits him the sight of Besignation, 
 There awaits him much true consolation, 
 But ah ! there awaits him a sorrowful parting, 
 From which there is no backward swerving or 
 
 starting ; — 
 A parting which makes the lover's soul tingle, 
 And awfully tells him, that he is " single." 
 
 Yes ; 'tis Henry de Crichton who hastens that way, 
 With his mariner's cloak, like a palmer grey ; 
 It is Henry de Crichton, with care-worn face, 
 Who hastes like a man that is running a race : 
 For, he has received mournful letters and news, 
 Which grief and despair o'er his person diffuse ; 
 Instructing him well, that Evanthe's fair form 
 Of besieging Consumption was braving the 
 
 storm, 
 But was braving it ill ! for, that that fell 
 
 disease 
 Would win the dire battle, and conquer with 
 
 ease! 
 
THE PILGRIM. 77 
 
 Yes ; 'tis Henry de Crichton, who was told, on the 
 
 shore, 
 By Evanthe's own maid, (who could tell him no 
 
 more 
 Because she found, to her sad surprise, 
 Her choking voice drown' d by tearful eyes,) 
 That Evanthe was sinking, — quite surely, though 
 
 slowly; — 
 That she lay on her couch, resign'd and lowly ;— 
 That she pray'd to behold her Henry again 
 Before she should quit this life of pain ; 
 Then, body and soul she would meekly resign 
 To her Holy God, and her Saviour Divine ! 
 
 De Crichton rush'd to Mac Donald's door, 
 And there he stay'd for an hour and more ; 
 For, Evanthe's sire, though with grief astounded, 
 And by friends and domestics in sorrow sur- 
 rounded, 
 Could not be persuaded, through overmuch pride, 
 To invite, as his guest, — in his house to abide, — 
 One whom before, for a son, he'd refus'd, 
 And whom, as the cause of this grief, he 
 abus'd. 
 
 e 3 
 
78 CANTO V. 
 
 Whilst De Crichton remain'd without the 
 door, 
 
 There rush'd on his mind the sweet days of 
 yore ;— 
 
 The Kuin belov'd, with its arch of beauty, — 
 
 The piper devoted and true to his duty, — 
 
 The songs he had sung, — and Evanthe's dis- 
 course, — 
 
 All these now occurr'd to his mind with great 
 force ; 
 
 And he took up the burden, (once thought so 
 pretty,) 
 
 And chanted a verse of his old love-ditty ; — 
 
 " I am a pilgrim weary, 
 
 Life's road is rough and bare, 
 And all is dark and dreary — 
 Except when thou art there. 
 
 Sweet lady ! I will love thee 
 For ever and for aye ! " 
 
 Hadst thou been, gentle reader ! in that sick 
 
 room, — 
 So holy, and yet so oppress'd with gloom, — 
 
THE PTLGRTM. 
 
 79 
 
 Hadst thou stood with awe near Evanthe's bed, • 
 Round whom a saintly lustre was shed, 
 You, no doubt, would have gaz'd in utter amaze- 
 ment, 
 (For, De Crichton was standing under her case- 
 ment,) 
 At the sudden change which overspread 
 The pale features reposing on that sick bed, 
 When the well-known sound of his much-lov'd 
 
 voice 
 Caus'd Evanthe's heart and soul to rejoice ! 
 You doubtless would, with surprise, have surveyed 
 The colour that came on the cheek of the maid; — 
 Perhaps it might be but a hectic flush, — 
 Perhaps it was only a maiden's blush, — 
 But, whatever it was, it adorn'd her pale face 
 With ineffable beauty, and matchless grace. 
 
 And now the hard father no more could withstand 
 The appeal of those who around the bed stand, — 
 Or, perhaps 'twas the light of Evanthe's eye, — 
 Or, perhaps 'twas the verse of minstrelsy, — 
 Which stole on his heart in that sad hour 
 With an undefined and resistless power ; — 
 e 4 
 
80 CANTO V. 
 
 But orders lie gave to introduce 
 
 De Crichton, and place fit rooms for his use ! 
 
 So Henry de Crichton, with noiseless tread, 
 Approach'd in silence the invalid's bed ; — 
 So silently, so wistfully, so eagerly he came, 
 That none had time to mention, or whisper forth 
 his name. 
 
 But he is in the room, — 'tis done ! 
 
 None heard his stealthy step, — save One ! 
 
 He was like a holy prophet 
 
 When, awe-struck, he came in ; — 
 
 And she was like a seraph 
 Amidst a world of sin. 
 
 They gaz'd into each other's eyes 
 
 With a solemn, eager air ; 
 They warmly grasp'd each other's hands, — 
 
 That all-but-wedded pair ! 
 
 Deliciously, the moist'ning tears 
 
 Suffuse Evanthe's eyes ; 
 And presently her voice is heard 
 
 In low and plaintive cries : — 
 
THE PILGRIM. 81 
 
 "It is enough ! — And now, Lord ! 
 
 Let me depart in peace ! " — 
 No mortal heard another word ; — 
 
 Her gentle accents cease. 
 
 Slowly her feeble hands let go 
 
 Their true and earnest grasp ; 
 As a bracelet opens, when a girl 
 
 Touches the spring of the clasp. 
 
 Most slowly in her lustrous eyes 
 
 A fixedness you trace ; 
 But Henry Crichton still descries 
 
 Them, — fix'd upon his face. 
 
 And now 'tis o'er ! — 
 
 No more ! No more ! — 
 She is sleeping her last long sleep ! — 
 Leave Crichton alone to weep. 
 
 ****** 
 
 They left him ; — that father so proudly majestic, 
 Follow'd by many a weeping domestic ; 
 (For, Evanthe was lov'd in cottage and hall, 
 By prince and by peasant — by great ones and 
 small ;) 
 
 e 5 
 
82 CANTO V. 
 
 They left him; — and then the Highlanders 1 said, 
 " They heard Angels' wings rustling o'er the bed." 
 
 They left him alone — 
 
 To muse and to cry, 
 With many a groan 
 
 And many a sigh. 
 
 They left him alone — 
 
 To weep and to pray ;— 
 In prayer he must groan 
 
 For many a day. 
 
 He is " a pilgrim weary," 
 
 Life's road is rough and bare ; 
 
 And all is dark and dreary, — 
 For, Evanthe is not there ! 
 
 ****** 
 
 Evanthe was plac'd in holy ground, — 
 Not where her ancestors' bones are found, 
 But in an old grave-yard, now not us'd, — 
 In sight of the Ruin which joy infus'd 
 
 1 The Highlanders were, as is well attested, singularly subject to 
 superstition. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 83 
 
 "With its beautiful arch, and its " rustic bower/" — 
 Thrice beautiful at Sunset hour ! 
 Thither follow'd her sire, on the funeral-day, 
 And De Crichton, wrapp'd up in his cloak of grey. 
 Also faithful domestics and loving poor 
 Follow'd the corpse from Mac Donald's door ; 
 And little children, who whisper 'd and cried, 
 And wonder' d why Evanthe had died, 
 And who, hand in hand, told one another, 
 That " they had now lost their second mother." 
 And 'tis said the meek priest caus'd checks and 
 
 fears, 
 Through stammering his prayers with so many 
 
 tears ; — 
 Sad were the griefs of that priest, good and mild ; "j 
 For, though Evanthe his " sister 2 " he styl'd, 
 He felt as though he had lost a dear child. J 
 
 But there was a mourner, unseen at first, 
 Till through the sad crowd into notice he burst, 
 And that was a dog which his mistress did prize, 
 Majestic in form, and unrivall'd in size ; 
 
 2 In the Burial Service. 
 E 6 
 
84 CANTO V. 
 
 A deer-hound immense ! — for sagacity fam'd, 
 
 So huge, that "Lion" at once he was nam'd ; 
 
 To all others fierce ; — to his enemies brave ; 
 
 To Evanthe alone, a most fawning slave. 
 
 How poor "Lion" did scratch, and whine, and 
 bark, 
 
 And remaned with poor Crichton till long after 
 dark ! 
 
 Then those two bereav'd ones became firmest 
 friends, 
 
 For Friendship's the goal to which sympathy- 
 tends ; 
 
 And from the sad moment they left that grave, 
 
 De Crichton was track' d by the deer-hound brave. 
 
 So De Crichton was left alone, with the hound, 
 And a sweet humble resting-place soon he found ; 
 For, a cottage there stood, near Evanthe's grave, 
 Which Mac Donald to Crichton with courtesy 
 
 gave; 
 (For, Pride's film had been drawn from the 
 
 father's eye, 
 And fair Truth, through the mist, he began to 
 
 descry ;) 
 
THE PILGRIM. 85 
 
 There, too, a young clansman he told to remain, — 
 The son of his henchman, one Donald Mc Blain ; 
 Who would rather have follow'd his father tousrh, 
 But remain'd with fidelity — true but rough. 
 
 Mc Blain and the dog are now Crichton's fast 
 
 friends ; 
 And in calm meditation his life he now spends ; 
 Allan Ivor, the piper, oft visits him there, 
 And reminds him (too well!) of "Evanthe the 
 
 fair :"— 
 A pure marble slab he has had erected 
 To her, for whom he was so much dejected ; 
 And, on it, the following inscription he wrote, 
 (For, to her he lov'd, still, his hours to devote) : — 
 
 THE FAIR EVANTHE'S EPITAPH. 
 
 M Here sweetly sleeps, beneath this sod, 
 The fair Evanthe,— child of God :— 
 A shining star in grace and beauty, 
 A shining star in faith and duty. 
 The daughter of Mac Donald brave 
 Lies lowly in this humble grave : — 
 In every trial, pain, and loss, 
 She meekly bore her Saviour's cross ; — 
 And trod the rugged path to glory 
 As Christ show'd how, in Sacred Story." 
 
86 CANTO V. 
 
 At Evening, alone, — alone, save the hound, — 
 Near " the Ruin old," Crichton ever was found ; 
 He lov'd to go there at Sunset hour, — 
 But he never sat, now, in " the rustic bower ;" 
 He lay down near the span of the beautiful arch, 
 Beneath the soft shade of the tall weeping- 
 larch ; — 
 There, in the red twilight of Summer he linger'd, 
 Whilst to psalms and to hymns his guitar he 
 
 finger'd. 
 Thus, with holy thoughts his mind he strengthen^, 
 Till the shadows of him and his dog were 
 
 lengthen'd, — 
 Were lengthen'd most lovingly ; for, to his fancy, 
 The hound was the legacy of Evanthe ! 
 Thus, Crichton pass'd each fine evening away, 
 Free from the cares which oppress the " gay :" — 
 A pilgrim he was, sad and mournful, but sage ; 
 For, Life is itself but a pilgrimage 
 To brighter scenes, and to a holier life, 
 Free from temptation, envy, wrath, and strife : 
 And better, thus, he was prepar'd for Heaven, 
 Than those to whom more earthly bliss was given. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 87 
 
 De Crichton was sought for, by parties of state, — 
 His alliance was sought by the wealthy and great ; 
 But " single " he resolv'd to die, — 
 True to Evanthe's memory ! 
 
 De Crichton was offer'd posts of high station, 
 Where well he might hope to serve his nation ; 
 But near her tomb he resolv'd to lie, — 
 True to Evanthe's memory ! 
 
 Had he been wedded, he, I ween, 
 
 A strict monogamist would have been ; 
 
 For, once, a gay party, who knew of his fame, 
 
 Invited him there, but he never came : 
 
 He sent them a song : — one to play it they 
 
 urge ;— 
 It was play'd ; and lo ! 'twas the following 
 
 Dirge : — 
 
88 CANTO V. 
 
 DE CRICHTON'S DIRGE 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE FAIR EVANTHE. 
 1. 
 
 Gone from earth, and gone for ever, — 
 Never to return ; — no, never ! 
 What is earth when thou art gone ? 
 I am here alone — alone ! 
 
 All — all alone ! 
 
 2. 
 Gone from earth, and gone to Heaven ! 
 Joyful shouts to God 3 are given ! — 
 Like Evanthe, sweet and fair, 
 I must strive to journey there, 
 
 Where all is fair ! 
 
 3. 
 Gone to Heaven, and gone from earth, 
 Old things die, and new have birth ; 
 Heaven I seek ; and earth I leave, 
 Where I pine away, and grieve : — 
 Earth I must leave. 
 
 3 " The morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God 
 shouted for joy." — Job xxxviii. 7. 
 
THE PILGRIM. 89 
 
 Fair Evanthe ! thou art gone ! 
 I remain alone — alone ! 
 Why, then, longer should I stay ? 
 God will call me soon away : — 
 I wait that day ! 
 
 I/ENVOI. 
 
 " That day " was not distant ; for, once at eve, 
 The hound was heard to howl and grieve 
 With such a piteous whine and moan, 
 As drew a crowd to his master lone. 
 The dog ne'er ceas'd his mournful cry ; 
 They knew not, at first, the reason why ; — 
 But the " riddle " was quickly " read ;" — 
 When they came, " the pilgrim " was dead ! 
 And now two tombs the stranger espies, 
 One beside that where fair Evanthe lies ! 
 
 END OF CANTO V. 
 
EGYPT. 
 
 n $oem. 
 
 Quis nescit, Volusi Bithynice, qualia demens 
 iEgyptus portenta colat ? Crocodilon adorat 
 Pars heec ; ilia pavet saturam serpentibus ibim." 
 
 JUVEXAL, XV. 1 — 3. 
 
EGYPT. 
 
 Boll, mighty Nilus ! roll thy turbid waves 
 'Mid Egypt's ancient tombs and mystic graves ; 
 Roll on in glory : — they shall all decay, 
 And, like a garment, crumbling waste away ; — 
 The moth, — the worm, — Time's sure-decaying 
 
 rust 
 Shall turn them all to ashes and to dust ; 
 But Thou, like some strong giant, wild with glee, 
 Shalt woo the graceful smiles 1 that deck the sea; — 
 Shalt still extend thine arms, in playful mood, 
 And pour thy riches in the boundless flood : — 
 There, on the heaving bosom of the deep, 
 Like some tired pilgrim gently fall asleep ; — 
 
 avripiOfiov ykXaafia. 
 
 ^Eschylus, Prom. Vinct. 
 
94 EGYPT. 
 
 There, in the swelling waters, hide thy face, 
 Whilst "the Great Sea 2 " receives thy warm 
 embrace. 
 
 Roll on, dark Nile ! beneath the bright blue sky, 
 Roll on : — all Nature cheers thee with its cry ; 
 For thee the wild fowl lengthen out their 
 
 train, — 
 The gay flamingo, and the beauteous crane, 
 The hoarse-mouth'd pelican, the egret fair, 
 Whirl their appointed courses in mid air. 
 For joy of thee, the river-horses snort, 
 The wild birds scream, the crocodiles disport. 
 Blest fount of gladness ! joy attends thy course ; 
 E'en from the distant wilds, whence springs thy 
 
 Source, 
 (Those far-off wilds, where dog-faced 3 beings 
 
 dwell, — 
 So old traditions love at large to tell,) 
 
 2 Though the Levant was sometimes styled " Mare Parthe- 
 nium," yet, in Scripture, the Mediterranean is called " the Great 
 Sea." 
 
 3 The Cynocephali. " The Kiashef, in reply to our question 
 where the sources of the Nile were, said they were not very distant, 
 
EGYPT. 95 
 
 Down to the currents of the tideless * Sea, 
 All — all is busy life, instinct with glee ; 
 Bright are the glories which begem thy stream, — 
 Fierce Sol's resplendent rays, fair Luna's beam, 
 The lovely palm-tree yielding gracious shade, 
 The sleepless grandeur of the hoarse cascade ! 
 The howling desert, at thy advent mild, 
 Smiles with bright verdure, and no more looks 
 
 wild. 
 A beauteous border marks thy genial track, — 
 As if glad Nature would invite thee back ; 
 A palm-tree margin dots thy watery way, — 
 As though "hand join'd in hand" to beg thee 
 
 stay. 
 And when, at length, thy Inundation pours 
 O'er Egypt's land its fertilizing stores, 
 
 but that the barbarous tribes and fierce animals, with which the 
 intermediate country abounds, rendered them difficult of approach 
 One of these tribes, he told us, is a nation of dogs with women 
 wives ! — the old tradition, then, of the Cynocephali, or dog-headed 
 men, is still current here." — Lord Lindsay's " Letters on Egypt, 
 $e." 
 
 4 It has often been said, (though perhaps erroneously,) that the 
 Mediterranean has no tides. 
 
96] EGYPT. 
 
 The simple folk, with, touching cry, complain — 
 " 'Tis Isis weeping for Osiris slain 5 ! " 
 How the dark race who round about thee dwell, 
 Love 6 their own Sihor 7 , words can never tell ! 
 
 Roll on, dark Nile ! beneath the bright blue sky, 
 Roll, and reflect the glorious orbs on high ; 
 Eoll on ! roll on !— it is a gladsome tale 
 Thy rippling waters tell th' opposing 8 gale; — 
 Cheer' d by their dewy whispers, on it hastes 
 Urging the struggling barks through dreary 
 
 wastes : — 
 Let them toil on ; or, when delay'd by calms, 
 Seek pleasant shelter 'neath some group of palms ; 
 (Sweetly the graceful palm-branch waves in air, 
 Like angels' fans o'er drooping mortals fair !) 
 
 5 In allusion to the myth, that Osiris was murdered by Typhon 
 
 6 " The Nile is the river which the Egyptians worshipped, and 
 the Arabs loved, and ' which/ as the Mussulmans say, \ if Mo- 
 hammed had tasted, he would have prayed Heaven for terrestrial 
 immortality, that he might continue to enjoy it for ever.' " — Ste- 
 phens's " Incidents of Travel." 
 
 7 The word Sihor means " blackness ;" and is used in Scripture 
 for the Nile. Vide Isaiah xxiii. 3, and Jeremiah ii. 18. 
 
 8 The Etesian wind ; which, for several months, blows in a direc- 
 tion opposite to the course of the Nile River. 
 
EGYPT. 97 
 
 Let them toil on ; but roll, thou, swiftly down, 
 Past each old Temple, and each ancient town ; 
 Roll on, dark Nile ! beneath the bright blue sky, 
 Roll swiftly on, and spread fertility; 
 While the glad Delta, offspring of thy wealth, 
 Appropriates thy stores with robber stealth. 
 Then, like a seven-arm'd wrestler, stain'd with 
 
 soil, 
 Plunge in the Ocean, after all thy toil. 
 
 Egypt, thou land of Summer ! calm and blest, 
 With Time's artistic relics richly drest, 
 ! what delight to pass dread Winter by, 
 Beneath the splendours of thy cloudless sky 9 ! 
 Thy arid ! climate makes e'en Winter gay, 
 Chasing, with blandest smile, stark cold away. 
 Egypt ! to thee I turn with curious eye, 
 To thee, thou Monument of mystery ! 
 
 9 " A cloudless sky, — known only in Egypt." — Stephens's "In- 
 cidents of Travel." 
 
 1 Burckhardt says that " the climate of Nubia, though intensely 
 hot in summer, particularly in the narrow, rocky parts of the 
 country, is very healthy, owing perhaps to the extreme aridity of 
 the atmosphere." — Burckhardt's " Nubia.*' 
 
 F 
 
98 EGYPT. 
 
 Proud, stern, and ! mysteriously calm, 
 
 On thee Antiquity bestows its palm, — 
 
 Bestows its honour'd palm on thee alone, 
 
 For, thou wast old, ere other lands were known 2 ! 
 
 To thee I turn, (let other poets praise 
 
 The brighter glories of more modern days,) 
 
 To thee I turn with meditative eye, 
 
 Thou Monument of dim Antiquity ! 
 
 And, as I gaze upon each ancient pile, 
 
 Flash on my mind the fables of the Nile, — 
 
 The folded mummy, — huge sarcophagus 
 
 With pictur'd meaning fraught, — once dark to 
 
 us, 
 (Whose stores Champollion 3 from the realms of 
 
 night 
 By penetrating skill dragg'd forth to light), — 
 The mystic ibis, and the lengthy train 
 Of sculptur'd deities begin their reign : — 
 
 2 " Antiquity appears to have begun 
 
 Long after thy primeval race was run." 
 
 Campbell's " Address to a Mummy" 
 
 3 Though Dr. Young found out the key to the Rosetta-stone, 
 Champollion discovered the phonetic alphabet. 
 
EGYPT. 99 
 
 Yeird in a robe, — adorn'd with beards of corn, 
 Crown' d with the chaste Diana's crescent horn, 
 Sistrum in hand, — in state first Isis 4 goes ; 
 Osiris next his two-horn' d mitre shows ; 
 From his high pedestal Anubis barks, 
 And the pied Bull is recognized by marks, — 
 Marks which th' Egyptian dames with joy revere, 
 And call on Apis — more from love, than fear. 
 The melancholy Sphinx here crouching sat, 
 There reign'd on high Bubastis' sacred Cat : 
 The Asp mortiferous was worshipp'd here, — 
 That dire embodiment of hate and fear, 
 The Asp mortiferous, — that " adder deaf 5 ," 
 The wise " familiar " of the genius Cneph 6 , 
 
 4 This has been eloquently described by Ovid, 
 
 " Inerant lunaria fronti 
 
 Cornua, cum spicis nitido flaventibus auro, 
 Et regale decus ; cum qua, latrator Anubis, 
 Sanctaque Bubastis, variusque coloribus Apis ; 
 Quique premit vocem, digitoque silentia suadet ; 
 Sistraque erant, nunquamque satis qusesitus Osiris, 
 Plenaque somniferi serpens peregrina veneni." 
 
 Metam. ix. 687 et seq. 
 
 5 " The original of the word, in Psalm lviii. 4, signifies an asp." 
 — Dr. Harris. 
 
 6 " Sometimes we find Cnouphis (Cnuphis, or Cneph), as the 
 
 F 2 
 
100 EGYPT. 
 
 Graven on Pharaoh's tomb, — a royal sign — 
 The constant symbol 7 of the kingly line. 
 Lo ! Horus 8 beckons with his hawk-head wand, 
 Ruling the times and seasons through the land : 
 But hist ! 'tis now the Silent god 9 that comes, 
 All tongues grow mute, and silent all the drums ! 
 He seems to hush us from his lotus-flower, 
 Silent, but keen. Ah ! Silence oft is power ! 
 With finger rais'd, and mitred head, he stands, 
 And, ere about to go, respect commands, — 
 A clever figment, teaching all the crowd 
 To think and act, instead of talking loud. 
 And now, in lake l replenished from the Nile, 
 Reigns, tame and fat, the sacred Crocodile : — 
 All these and hundreds more, in various ways, 
 Display the arts and modes of by-gone days ! — 
 
 good genius, represented by a serpent, which the Greeks called 
 AgathodEemon." — Marquis Spineto. 
 
 7 " Every Pharaoh," says Gliddon, " bears the asp on his crown : 
 it is an emblem of royalty, as its Greek name basilisk implies." — 
 Gliddon's "Ancient Egypt." 
 
 8 Horus or Orus. 
 
 9 Harpocrates, the Egyptian god of silence. 
 
 1 At Arsinoe, near the lake Moeris, the crocodile was held in 
 especial veneration. 
 
EGYPT. 101 
 
 Display the follies, crudities, and crimes, 
 
 Of men — untaught of God — in ancient times ! 
 
 These were thy gods, Egypt! — wood and 
 
 stone; 
 Dark land of idols ! thou couldst not have known, 
 Whilst crime and cruelty 2 bedimm'd thine eye, 
 Th' Eternal God of gods, who reigns on high ; 
 Who dwells in every place — around, above ! 
 Alas ! thou couldst not know that " God is 
 
 love :"— 
 Sublime the truth, and simple as sublime, 
 Yet, dark to all till God's appointed time. 
 
 With thoughtful eye, — with souls too full to 
 
 speak, 
 Students of Time ! who love each dim antique, 
 Come, muse with me o'er many an ancient pile 
 Which still, though dead, enlivens all the Nile ; — 
 Which, beckoning, lingers still ; — as if to say, 
 " Behold a history writ in stone or clay ! " — 
 
 2 " Moeotide saevior ara 
 
 iEgyptus." 
 
 Juv. xv. 115. 
 
 F 3 
 
102 EGYPT. 
 
 Which, broken, lingers still, — as if to show 
 A poem written on a portico ! 
 Students of Time ! who love the mystic page — 
 The mouldering record of each by- gone age, 
 And know, while gazing on each arch or wall, 
 The frail papyrus shall outlast them all, 
 With living pictures fraught, of ancient days, 
 Whose colours 3 freshen as admirers gaze! — 
 Students of ancient times, and mystic things, 
 Enjoy with me the sweets such dreaming brings ; 
 And thou, bright Muse ! come with me and 
 
 climb 
 Where Gizeh's pyramids still mock at Time ; 
 Ascend the tomb where Cheops' ashes lie — 
 That mystic tomb which tapers tow'rds the sky, — 
 That mound of art, which views with calm dis- 
 dain 
 The pigmy efforts of each modern reign ; — 
 There Royal dust ignobly strews the soil 
 Trampled by Arabs, — riflers seeking spoil ; — 
 
 3 Speaking of the tomb of Sesostris, Lord Lindsay says, " Every 
 wall, every column in Egyptian architecture was painted ; the 
 colours often remain as brilliant as if they had only been laid on 
 vesterdav." 
 
EGYPT. 103 
 
 No skill mechanical, no art could save 
 
 The earthy treasures of that kingly grave ; 
 
 Man's care and foresight were of slight avail, — 
 
 The empty coffin tells a moving tale ! 
 
 But come ! no jarring thoughts must intervene, 
 
 Belzoni's spirit hovers o'er the scene : 
 
 Some master-spirit ever haunts around, — 
 
 Mystic each scene, and solemn every sound ! 
 
 Some Genius loci 4 ever lingers near, 
 
 Like Memnon 5 vocal, or like Echo clear ! 
 
 Some fond enthusiast ever hangs about, 
 
 No priest of Isis e'er was more devout ! 
 
 Come, let us climb with speed that mystic stair, 
 
 And Burckhardt's kindred soul will join us 
 
 there, 
 (Burckhardt! who lov'd 'mid Nubia's sands to 
 
 stray ; — 
 Probing the past, he toil'd his life away !) 
 
 4 The Genius loci, during Lord Lindsay's visit, was Caviglia, — 
 a famous, but mysterious Italian. He appears to have been the 
 counterpart of Belzoni. 
 
 6 It was (rather poetically) feigned, that " unseen melody " 
 occasionally issued from the gigantic statue of Memnon in the 
 Memnonium. 
 
104 EGYPT. 
 
 Then let us gaze, beneath the bright blue sky, 
 On all around, with meditative eye ; — 
 There flows the Nile, as it hath ever flow'd, 
 And sails are spread, and struggling barks are 
 
 row'd, 
 Still bends the palm-tree, with its graceful frond, 
 Still scream the wild fowl in the sky beyond ; 
 But where is Memphis — once beyond compare ? 
 "We gaze, — we search; and Echo answers — 
 
 Where ? 
 Noph is a desolation ! Look around, — 
 Show, ye who can, one ancient mark or bound ! 
 The lofty city is laid low, and gone, 
 Whilst Time, with stealthy scythe, keeps creeping 
 
 on ! 
 All is dissolv'd through Time's corroding rust, 
 And each gigantic statue 6 bites the dust. 
 
 Look now to On, the city of the Sun, 
 Where Joseph found a bride ; and let us run 
 
 6 The Colossus of Rameses the Great. This statue and a smaller 
 one were all that was to be found, when Lord Lindsay visited the 
 ruins of Memphis. So true are the words of prophecy, — " I will 
 destroy the idols, and will cause the images to cease out of Noph." 
 
EGYPT. 105 
 
 With, eye discursive o'er the glorious plain 
 "Where Egypt's mystic lore once held its reign ; 
 Hath that proud Temple, too, receiv'd its fall ? — 
 Lo ! a few shiver' d Sphinxes now are all ! 
 But still the pilgrim's meditative eye 
 Mataria's ancient fig-tree can descry ; 
 And still with faith can see, beneath the shade 7 , 
 The Chtld of Her— "the Mother and the Maid! " 
 Rest, Holy Wanderers ! lo ! your toil is done 
 Till " out of Egypt God hath called His Son ! " 
 Ascend the river ; visit ancient states, 
 View Thebes, the glorious ! with her hundred 
 
 gates ; 
 And Carnac's palaces, and Luxor's walls, 
 And Philaa's temple, which each heart enthralls ; 
 Ebsamboul's tombs invite thy feet to stray 
 'Mid curious treasures of a by-gone day, 
 And Beni-Hassan's pictures teem with life, — 
 With vivid scenes of home, and war, and strife. 
 
 Trophies of ancient times ! 'Tis living all 
 That classic taste, or mem'ry can recall ; 
 
 7 According to a legend of the land. 
 
106 EGYPT. 
 
 Impress of art ! the wonderful, the vast — 
 Tested by Time, bears witness to the past ; 
 Revives, in living stone, each warrior sage, 
 Illumes with mystic oil th' historic page, 
 And opes wide fields where fancy loves to 
 
 roam, 
 Lost in discursive mazes, yet at home ! 
 Trophies of ancient times ! 'tis living all ! — 
 Osiris lives, with Isis, on each wall ; 
 Ages roll back, and to the mind display 
 When Israel groan'd 'neath Egypt's cruel sway. 
 But ! at length their meek Deliverer came — 
 The man who saw, and spake to, God in flame ; 
 In every heart was sung a secret song 
 As Moses led his captive band along : 
 " Farewell, dark Egypt ! on thy hostile soil 
 No more shall Israel's sons, as menials, toil ! 
 Farewell, proud Egypt ! never more shall rise 
 The lofty obelisk, which nears the sides, 
 Rear'd by the sweat of Israel's fainting sons, 
 Whilst down their skins the lash's red stream 
 
 runs I 
 
 >>i 
 
 On — out of Egypt, through the billowy sea ;- 
 Ye chosen ones of God, — on— on! be free ! 
 
EGYPT. 107 
 
 The crested waves are check'd, and still'd the 
 
 tide, — 
 Through walls of water rang'd on either side, 
 The Israelites have walk'd as on dry land ; 
 The sea is pass'd, and gain'd the Arabian strand ! 
 Not so, proud Egypt ; — 'mid the billows tost, 
 Lives, armour, horses, chariots — all are lost ! 
 Then swells the chorus of the glorious song, — 
 Moses and Miriam their glad strains prolong ; — 
 " The Lord hath triumph' d : He hath check'd the 
 
 speed 
 Of the fierce rider and his prancing steed ! " 
 "Waft, ye glad winds, the cadence of their glee 
 O'er the Red waters of the dancing Sea : — 
 " The Lord hath triumph'd : He hath check'd the 
 
 speed 
 Of the fierce rider and the prancing steed ! " 
 Loud on the ear triumphant music floats, 
 And stern Arabia 8 echoes Miriam's notes. 
 Farewell, dark Egypt ! — hear the mournful close, — 
 The sad recital of thy bitter woes ; — 
 
 8 Arabia Petrsea. 
 
108 EGYPT. 
 
 Thy lot is fix'd — for better or for worse ; 
 "Writhe on, for ever : — God hath said His curse ; 
 Full thrice ten busy centuries have rolTd 
 Since first thy bitter destiny was told ; — 
 The Greek, the Turk, in turn have trod thee down, 
 And thou hast felt the stern Assyrian's frown ; 
 The Persian, too, hath lent his cruel hate 
 To fill the measure of thy hapless fate ; — 
 Full thirty centuries the stranger's tread 
 Hath crushed thy neck, and trampled on thy head ; 
 And thou art now, — as once foretold to be, — 
 What every Bible-student soon may see, 
 "Basest of Kingdoms 9 " patent to all eyes, 
 Deep in the mire, — and never more to rise ! 
 
 9 " It shall be the basest of the kingdoms ; neither shall it 
 exalt itself any more above the nations." — Ezekiel xxix. 15. 
 
 For a fine reflection on this subject, vide Stephens's " Inci- 
 dents of Travel in Egypt, <$*c." 
 
THE 
 
 NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 (LINES PRESENTED TO MISS FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.) 
 
 1. 
 
 How sweet the charm of solemn thought 
 
 That comes with midnight holy, 
 When souls, with earth's excitements fraught, 
 
 Court pensive Melancholy : 
 How sweet, with gaze uplifted high, 
 
 From perfume-breathing casement, 
 To commune with the spangled sky 
 
 In dreamy joy's amazement. 
 
 2. 
 
 How sweet to hear, at that still hour, 
 
 Sad Philomel's song gushing ; 
 Which whelms the listener with its power, 
 
 O'er all his senses rushing ; — 
 
 G 
 
110 THE NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Fit melody for holiest scene, 
 Suggesting loftiest story ;. 
 
 Raising the worldling — base and mean- 
 To purest thoughts of glory. 
 
 E'en so, when War's hoarse trumpet filTd 
 
 Crimean lands with clangour, 
 And many a wounded wretch, half kill'd, 
 
 Groan' d forth with pain and languor ; 
 A Nightingale, in richest tones, 
 
 Assuag'd the cry of sorrow, 
 And, soothing grief and broken bones, 
 
 Cheer'd up the dark to-morrow. 
 
THE 
 
 ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH. 
 
 (LINES PRESENTED TO THE DIRECTORS OF THE ATLANTIC 
 TELEGRAPH, AUGUST, 1858.) 
 
 Thou loving link of Nations ! fraught with skill, — 
 Advancing hitherto, — advancing still, — 
 Distance and space are nothing in thy hands : 
 Thy grasp the wide Atlantic now commands ! 
 Deep in the mire of Ocean's depths profound, — 
 Spite of huge inequalities of ground, — 
 Thy proud results both skill and power combine, 
 And the glad message " lives along the line \" — 
 Flashes o'er earth, and glistens throu gh the sea, 
 All undiminished in its bright degree. 
 Like living fire, it glows through regions dark, 
 And finny monsters quiver at the spark. 
 
 1 Pope. 
 
112 THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH. 
 
 Sweet was it ever, — sweeter soon 'twill be, 
 In spite of rugged land or raging sea, 
 To meet responsive souls, and ever find, 
 In flashing interchange, some genial mind. 
 
 Fair Science ! how I love thee ! — in my heart 
 Thou hast an humble home ; — ne'er let us part ! 
 Progressive Science, — noble, patient, true ! 
 Advancing onwards with ulterior view, 
 'Tis thine to teach, — 'tis thine to cheer mankind 
 With the bright efforts of each Master-mind ; 
 'Tis thine to teach, by each impulsive move, 
 What brighter things are realiz'd above ! 
 Knowledge, below, her flag has now unfurl'd, 
 But pure Perfection loves a better world. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN'S SQUARE, CONDON. 
 
Lately published, by the same Author, 
 
 THOUGHTS, 
 
 IN VERSE, 
 
 ON A PLURALITY OF WORLDS, 
 
 (DEDICATED TO SIR DAVID BREWSTEK.) 
 
 Second Edition, enlarged. 
 Price Is. 
 
 RIVINGTONS, WATERLOO PLACE. 
 
YC i 1 2063