^E^^tnUaii^B dSliK THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES i.WM|LUj^^ Jviv, bmith POEMS LADY FLORA HASTINGS EDITED BY HER SISTER. SECOND EDITION. WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH AND LONDON. M.DCCC.XLn. EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLaNTYNE AND HUGHES, PAUL'S WOBK, CANONGATE. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND EDITION. It had been my intention to have placed a likeness of Lady Flora Hastings at the commencement of this volume, on its first appearance ; but there being no portrait of her which I considered had much resem- blance, I was obliged to forego my wish, as I could no longer delay the publication, in the uncertainty of suc- cess attending the attempt. To the talent of Kenneth M'Leay, Esq., I am indebted for the accompanying likeness, which has been painted under my directions? from various portraits. S. F. C. H. Loudoun Castle, November 1841. 81( )S:^? PREFACE. Altiiougii any introductory remarks to the present volume may appear superfluous, I feel anxious to ex- jilaiii the reasons Avhich prompted me to its publication. I have been told by many, whose rank in the literary world entitles their opinions to attention, that the intrinsic merits of the poems of Lady Flora Hastings would justify my laying them before the public : yet I must disclaim, as my object, the ambition of acquii'ing for my sister any degree of literary celebrity ; and although I may confess that I do feel a thankful con- fidence, that when these compositions are read they will excite respect, if not admiration, for the mind whence they emanated — still it needed a higher motive than either of these to impel me to the undertaking ; and I have driven them to the world from a fervent desire to Vm PREFACE. fulfil the wishes of a beloved sister — wishes which death has hallowed. Lady Flora had for many years been repeatedly urged to publish her poems ; but she refused to listen to the solicitations of partial friends, as she shrank alike from anonymous authorship, and from the notoriety attendant on being a professed poetess. In writing to me, how- ever, in April 1839, she mentioned that she had been seriously and deeply considering the subject, and that she had "almost decided" on employing herself, "when she returned home," in their arrangement and publica- tion — with the view of dedicating whatever profits might be derived from them to the service of God, in the parish where her mother's family have long resided. She died without, I believe, ever finally deciding ; and she never gave me any reason to think that she expected me to fulfil tlie intention, which the merciful wisdom of the Omnipotent decreed she should not live to carry into effect herself ; but as, a few days before her death, she confided to my solo care the whole of her papers — (a trust which a memorandum, subsequently found, more strongly imposes on me) — I was thus left the unques- tionable power of acting according to my sense of duty. PREFACE. IX And wlicn I recall all that occurred -while I was in attendance on her death-bed, there is that which makes me feel myself solemnly bound in the sight of God to fulfil her wish, and to lay the ofiering of her poetical talents on the altar of her Maker, as she would perhaps herself have done. It is under the influence of this feel- ing that I now send forth to the public this volume — the profits of which will be applied to aid in the erection of a chapel or school in the parish of Loudoun, as an evidence of her gi-atitude to Almighty God, and her good-will to her fellow-creatures. I had earnestly desired to have published these poems before now ; but circumstances rendered it impossible, although I have been kindly and ably assisted in the arrangement of them by D. M. Moir, Esq., of Mussel- burgh, to whom I wish thus publicly to express my deep and grateful sense of the obligation. With the exception of three pieces, which were printed some years since, none were prepared for pub- lication ; and as there existed several copies of many of them, each varying in some particulars, I finally judged it best to prefer, in general, the version in my own possession. In the translation of " The Lay of the Bell," X PREFACE. Lady Flora had herself informed me that she believed she had occasionally mistaken the sense of the technical phrases ; and I therefore deemed it but justice to the German text, and to the public taste, to place it in the hands of a competent judge, and to adopt the amend- ments kindly suggested to me, especially as they were few, and neither affected the originality of my sister's translation, nor interfered with its beauty as an English poem. Beyond this I did not feel that I had any right to touch the original manuscripts, and I preferred rather to trust to the lenient judgment of those who might peruse them. Had my sister lived to correct these poems herself, they Avould probably have been more critically finished, and thus rendered more worthy of the accept- ance of the public. SOPHIA F. C. HASTINGS. Loudoun Castle, November 1840. CONTENTS. PAGE FRAGMENTS FROM FIESCO . . .... 1 STANZAS FOR MrSIC 12 STANZAS FOR WELSH AIR .14 TO THE OMNIPRESENT OOD 16 FAITH AND HOPE .21 THANK-OFFERING 23 THE DYING STBII. .25 SONNET FROM THE ITALIAN 37 A VISION OF THE SUN .38 THE RAINBOW 4') THE APOLLO OF BELVIDERE .47 A MAIDEN LOVED A STAR ... . . .50 STREET OF THE TOMBS AT POMPEII ..... .52 FRAGMENT 55 TRANSLATION FROM HORACE .56 EVENING 58 LINES WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING IN AN ALDUM . 59 Xll CONTENTS. PAGE COMPOSED TO AN INDIAN AIR 61 TO JIY FATHEKS SPIRIT 63 SONNET 66 FOR MUSIC C7 A SISTER'S COUNSEL 69 INSCRIPTION FOR A SUNDIAL .71 LORD RODERICKS RETURN . 72 FRAGMENT FOR MUSIC ..•..., .74 WORDS TO THE MALTESE EVENING SONG 70 THE DYING MAGICIAN .79 SONNET— UGO FOSCOLO 81 THE VESPER HOUR .82 TO MY BROTHER 84 SIR OSRIC .85 HOME! CHILDHOODS HOME! 95 THE SWAN SONG 96 THE CROSS OF VASCO DA GAM A 98 KING DEATH . . . 100 INEZ DE CASTRO 103 LIFE . . . 105 HOPE 106 FROM THE SPANISH 103 SCENES FROM JOANNA OF NAPLES .109 FROM THE GERMAN 137 TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUCHESS OF KENT . . 139 LIGHT IN DARKNESS . 141 "EXACTLY SO" .142 THE DIVISION OF THE EARTH 145 THE LAY OF THE I5ELL 147 TO THE EARL OF RAWDON 169 CONTENTS. Xm PAGE INFANTILE POEMS 173 ITALY ,177 THE FAinr KINO . . • 180 SONG .183 THE SONG OF EUDORA 183 THE SPIRIT'S GREETING .185 THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING BEAUTY 187 ASHBY DE LA ZOCCU .192 THE IDEALIST . . • 203 FAREWELL, MY HOME ! .207 LA NOTTE ED IL GIORNO 211 I THINK OF THEE .213 FREDERIC AND GELA 215 SONG .219 SONG 221 SONG .223 THE CROSS OF CONSTANTINE 225 SUNSHINE AND CLOUD .228 LINES ADAPTED TO THE NORWEGIAN NATIONAL SONG . . 232 THE LEGEND OF THE HEART OF BRUCE .... . 234 TO MISS CONROY 243 VERSES .245 APPENDIX. NO. I. FRAGMENTS FROM EURYDICE 249 NO. II. TO THE MOON 258 NO. III. TO HOPE 2G0 KO. IV. ISABELLA .202 XIV CONTENTS. PAGE NO. V. FRAGMENTS OF VEESE 264 NO. VI. TASSO INCOKONATO 269 NO. VII. LINES ON THE NIGHT-BLOWING CEREUS . . . 277 NO. VIII. NOTE ON "ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH" .... 278 NO. IX. NOTE ON "FREDERIC AND GELA" 280 NO. X. NOTE ON "LEGEND OF THE HEART OF BRUCE" . . 281 POEMS. FRAGMENTS OF A TRAGEDY, ENTITLED FIESCO. WRITTEN' WHEN ABOUT FOURTEEN. [It is not known how tlie scenes followed, and they are unconnected.] Ant07iio. Consider Avhat you venture, weigh discreetly The dangers of your project. Ask yourself If you are steel'd and proof against its perils ; D.auntless and daring ; if thou fear'st not death ! Fiesco. Let slaves fear death ; fear is the curse of slavery : Freemen are fearless ; their unshackled minds Then rise superior to the grave, and speak This truth to the bold sons of liberty — To live in thraldom is the worst of deaths ! Z FIESCO. Scene — A Terrace overlooking the Bay of Genoa — In the distance a Banqueting-House in the Garden — Moonlight. Countess Vittoria — Lorenza. Vittoria. Peace, little flatterer — I pray thee peace ; 'Tis an old tale — oft utter'd; and hath now Ceased to delight me. Lorenza. If thou chidest me thus, And look'st thus sadly, surely I must cease. But 'twas not always thus: — there was a time When I might tell thee, and thou did'st not frown — Nay, nay, thou smiledst to hear it — how the voice Of fame pronounced thee peerless ; now I may not Whisper, " Vittoria's is a witching smile." Thou art much alter'd! Vittoria. Oft in youth, Lorenza, The happy heart will drink of flattery's cup. Nor taste the poison'd dregs. Lorenga (smiling). Art thou so old ? So very old ? — Three years have not yet pass'd FIESCO. 3 Since Count Fiesco woo'cl thee for his bride At Belriposo. Dost thou not remember How blithely we were wont to twine the roses ? — There, clear Vittoria, there, amongst the vines, See'st thou not where the villa stands ? The moonbeam Strikes on the granite columns, and the mountains Rise sheltering round it. Vittoria. Yes ! I love to gaze on't : Three years have pass'd since there we stray'd together, Culling the wild-flowers from the mountain side. Three years ! — bride — mother — childless ! — I am now Not old in years, but old in sufferings. Lorenza. Nay, gentle one, weep not — why should'st thou weep ? Doth not Fiesco Vittoria. Yes ! ah, yes, he loves me ! Montano. Fiesco's bride I My lovely one, my child, I cannot brook ^ FIESCO. To see thee with er'd by the cold neglect Of him who loved thee once. Fiesco's bride — The peerless flower of Genoa — the descendant Of a long line of heroes, was not born To meet the cold glance of indifference, Or the offensive pity of the crowd. Vittoria. Nor meets she it, nor needs it : my loved father, Fiesco's wife needs not the vulgar meed Of pity, or degrading sympathy, Were she despised; but while the faithful heart Of him she loves is hers immutably — Wliile every glance, and every word of his Comes breathing fond fidelity and hope — When every zephyr on his do\\niy wings Bears the celestial and entrancing sweets Of odours from Love's Araby, is't strange That tears of ecstasy will sometimes gush From the fuU fountains of her eyes ? Montano. Away ! Thy tears are not of ecstasy. They fall Here in the silence of thy lonely bower ; FIESCO. While the wild shouts of loud and dissolute mirth Ring through the halls of Count Fiesco's palace, I find thee prostrate at our Lady's shrine, Thy liair dishevell'd, thy cheek j)ale and wan — Thy lips, so rosy once Antonio. Lorenza ! Lorensa. Yes ! 'tis she. Mark me, Antonio ! I had not thus exchanged the bashfulness, The coy retiring decency of woman," Aye flying from the very voice she loves, Without a weighty reason. There were times. Nor very long ago, nor yet forgotten, This heart would thrill to hear thy name — thy treatl Made exquisite music to my listening ears. You loved me too, Antonio ! Antonio. My Lorenza ! Lorenza. Peace, peace ! — I do not come to wake again The memory of past love — I well believe 6 FIESCO. I might have said of now deceased love, Cold slumbering in the dark grave of oblivion. Let us look calmly on the past. — Enough ! My youthful heart was yours, my early vows Were given, in my fond simplicity, To him I loved alone. He also vow'd — Our fathers smiled on us ; they bless'd their children ; Good, good old men, they trusted that those vows Stood register'd above. Antonio. In Heaven's court Those vows are seal'd, Lorenza, nor on earth Can they be cancell'd. Lorenza. They are cancell'd — aJl ! The festal cup, the banquet, and the dance, The smiles of those who loved not, reck'd not, scorn'd Perhaps, or sought to blast thee — these had power To wile thy love from me. The very vows You proftor'd me were sigh'd a hundred times. And at a hundred different beauties' feet : — That heart, Antonio, roved from mo ; those eyes Drank light and life from other's smiles ; those ears Found other tones more musical than mine. FIESCO. And I was loft forgotten and despised. I do not, did not blame thy changefvd mind ; I murmur not, I never murmur'd once : My hopes had been too earthly ; my soul's wings Were clogg'd by earth-born happiness, and Heaven In mercy call'd the erring spirit home. Now it is pass'd ; yet could I not behold thee Run sightless on destruction all unwarn'd, Without one desperate struggle to arrest thee — Without one last sad word to stay thy steps. I am no longer thy betrothed wife ; I feel for thee a hapless sister's love : I do not ask thy gratitude. Nay, nay, Bestow no kisses on my trembling hand ; Kneel not — alas ! I dare not love thee now, I will but say one word of parting caution — Beware Fiesco's venturous emprize ! There's not a stone in Genoa but has ears. The very earth we tread on has a tongue ; The younger Doria plots Fiesco's ruin : Be wise, Antonio — and forget Lorenza ! 8 FIESCO. Andrea Doria. Come liither, boy ; the annals of this day- Read us an awful lesson ; and, methinks, 'Twere well from summer clouds to draw instruction, Ere the hoarse thunder burst above our heads. Ay, we may grasp the sceptre and the sword ; Hosts may surround us, to obey our will ; But, arm'd with majesty or sheath'd in steel, The tyrant stands upon the brink of ruin ! The power of princes is the people's love : Nephew ! this day hath precious blood been shed, High hearts have burst, and civil discord raged ; And wherefore ? — I can read the riddle to you : — Our house hath borne too proud a front, our name Hath been too much proclaim'd above its peers, And we — yes ! it is so, Giannettino — Have ruled as Genoa's princes, not her subjects. Go to, proud youth ! even from old Andrea's lips Thou shrink'st to hear this truth — but it is truth. And now, shall thine old uncle forth alone, Unbonnetod, to meet his brother citizens ? — Wilt thou not follow me, my brother's son ? Have I outlived thy love, and Genoa's love ? Then I am old indeed ! FIESCO. Criannettino. Nay, kinsman, nay. For I will foUow thee. Andrea. Then come, my boy ; And once again, or I mistake me much. As in my youth, the hiUs shall echo back llie shout which rang so blithely through the land — *' HaU! for St George, Genoa, and Doria!" — My peerless Genoa ! my Ocean Queen ! Land of my earliest and my fondest love ! Oh, it is bliss, after long wand'rings past, After long years of travail and of pain, To tread again thy soil, to hail thy skies, To feel that thy maternal arms enfold me ! That earth, air, sky, and sea — all, all is Genoa ! Could but the spirit of my younger days Retui-n with me — that welling spring of gladness. Which water'd aU the arid scenes of life. And made the desert bloom a paradise — That fragrant incense which, unseen, and known But by the bliss it scatter'd, gave tlie breeze 10 FIESCO. A fresher odour, and dispensed around A charm to the whole atmosphere. Alas ! The radiancy of life outlives not youth ; The visionary bliss in which I moved Has pass'd away, and even my loved Genoa Is but the phantom of her former self. A sad, a dim reality surrounds me : Still in her port proudly the galleys throng, Their white sails gleaming in the sunny ray, And their broad pemiants dancing on the breeze ; Still o'er her blue wave flits, before the wind. Her mimic fleet of butterfly-wing'd boats ; Still rise her palaces as fair, or fairer Than when I view'd them last ; and, on the hills, Her dazzling villas, with their terraced gardens. From granite columns, o'er the trellis'd walks. There hangs the vino, bending beneath its load ; The roses bloom as brightly, and the gale. Lovesick, bears on its mingling store of riches — Odours from flowers that sigh themselves away, Melting in sweetness — voices that, afar, Or join the busy haunt of social men. Or pour the chanted prayer and swelling hymn. The distant tolling of the convent bell, FIESCO. 11 The nearer tinkling of the gay guitar — All to my heart speak of my early days. The Alps as loftily their crested heads Raise in the distance, as when last I view'd them, Though many a lapsing year hath intervened ; — All is the same : I only — I am changed ! * • Tliougli " Fiesco" was begun about 1820, it is believed that parts were written later; and from the handwriting, the last two fragments appear to have been so. Some of the letters are formed in a manner Lady F. did not use till 1825; and the last seems to have been composed after she had seen Genoa. The first time she was there was in 1823. STANZAS WRITTEN FOR MUSIC. I. Thou speakest in the thunders, and thy throne Is girt with seraph legions, on whose wings Thou flyest, Lord, opening the secret springs Of the vast ocean, whUe thy red right hand Launches the storm ; the pestUence goes forth. Wasting the nations ; and at thy command, The astonisli'd Earth trembles from zone to zone ; The treasuries of the everlasting North Cast forth the ice of ages : — Mighty God ! Who may abide the chastening of thy rod ? O Tliou Most Holy ! II. Thou speakest. Father, to the contrite soul In the still night ; and, like soft-falling dew, STA^'ZAS. 1 3 The voice of pardon sinks upon the ear ; For thou didst once, to ransom and renew Tlie spirits sunk beneath tlie fiend's control, Leave thy bless'd seat above tlie starry sphere, O Thou Most Merciful ! , III. Lord ! thou shalt come — the nations shall adore thee,! Triumjihant Victim, Victor Sacrifice ! Sin and the glutted Grave shall bend before thee ; The dead shall hear — thy people shall arise ! Wlien thou shalt bind thy sheaves in that thy day, Cast not, O Lord I our trembling souls away. Thou hast sustain'd our faith through every ill ; In thine own hour be thou our refuge still, O Thou Most Faithful! STANZAS COMPOSED FOR A WELSH AIR. I. The daylight hath faded on mountain and tower, And the light faintly streams from lady's bower : Then strike the wild harp, and awaken the lay, Let it tell of the hopes that have vanish'd away ; For the dim gray shades of the years that are past, Come crowding around on the wings of the blast ! II. Let it tell of the bards who are cold in the grave, Let it tell of the mighty, now powerless to save : Those heroes of Cambria, at Cambria's cries, Who once to defend her would conqu'ring arise. Oh ! vain the bright visions around me that play — Like the mist on the mountains they fleefc fast away, STANZAS. 15 III, Oh ! the dreams that were softest are faded and flown, And the hopes that were brightest are vanish'd and gone ; And the friends wlio were dearest, the friends of our youth — The chosen, the fondest, the matchless in truth, Unchanging, unchill'd, though each other bliss fled — Are cold in the last narrow home of the dead ! 1824. TO THE OMNIPRESENT GOD. UNFINISHED TRANSLATION OF AN ODE FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK. Thou who with death hast wrestled — who didst strive So mightily, that from thy throbbing brow The sweat and blood, in dark commingling stream, Ran to the purpling earth : In that dread hour Tliou didst a solemn truth reveal, whose force Shall last while dust th' imprison'd soul confines. Thou stood'st, and spakest to the slumberers : " The soul is willing, but the flesh is weak!" This law of mortal life, this load of earth Presses upon my spirit, when it strives To rise to the uncircimiscribcd God. Father ! I sink before Thee in the dust, Fervently praying : — hear a mortal's voice, TO THE OMNIPRESENT GOD. 17 And breathe into my soul thy vital life, That it may lift itself to Thee— to Thee ! O Omnipresent Father ! in tliy circle Thou dost encompass me ! Fond heart be still, And rise, O holy meditation ! heavenward. To grasp the wond'rous thought. What must it be to contemplate thy glory, O Omnipresent ! when the feeble earth Has scarcely power to raise a thought to Thee ! To contemplate thy glory, O Eternal ! Eye hath not seen, nor list'ning ear hath heard. Nor was it given to the panting hart. Though it have yearn'd with an unslaked thirst, To know the secret things of God. It enters not into the heart of man, Of him who is a sinner — sprung from earth. And soon to earth returning — to conceive Wliat God prepareth for their souls who love him. For few, ah ! few are they whose gifted eyes In the Creation trace the great Creator ! And few whose ear can hear His voice of love In the wild rushing of the stormy wind. In the loud rolling thunder, in the sound Of lisping brook, few hear thee, Uncreated ! B 18 TO THE OMNIPRESENT GOD. God's Omnipresence fills the hearts of few With reverential fear and holy awe ! But oh ! to me, to seek Thee and to find, Even in thy sanctuary, be it given ; And be this thought, which fills Eternity, To me unveil' d — let my deep fervent prayers, My tears of rapture, caU it down to me From the bless'd choir of sinless seraphim ; That I may meetly sanctify myself, And fit me in the Holiest of Holies To contemplate Thee in thy majesty ! Lo ! I lift up my eyes and look around, And see — the Lord is over all ! — Thou Earth, Thou from whose dust the first of men was shapen ; Thou on whose surface my first life I live, Thou in whose bosom I shall shortly moulder. Thou, from whose depths I shall arise again ! God glorifies thee — He is present with thee. With holy awe I cull the opening flower ; The hand of God liath made it, and wliere'er The flow'rot blooms, there God is present also. With holy awe I feel the breezes sigh, I hear the winds rush. He 'tAvas call'd them forth ; TO THE 0MNIPREi5ENT GOD. 19 The Eternal is, both where they -whisper low, Anil where tlie thunder-storm uproots the pines. Triumphant even in death, O flesh rejoice ! Where'er thou moulderest the Eternal is ! Rejoice, O flesh ! The winds may scatter forth Thy ashes from the heights unto the depths ; But know, thou moulder'd form, where'er they east Thy scatter'd particles, the Eternal is ! The mountains shall bow down, the depths shall bend, Wlien from the dust the Omnipresent God Shall raise again this mortal frame, immortal. Come, O ye blessed ! — Casting down your palms And crowns before Him, Avake the hymn of praise. Unto God the Creator, hallelujah ! Unto God the Destroyer, hallelujah ! Unto God the Restorer, hallelujah ! I raise my eyes and see — lo ! over all The Lord presides ! Ye suns, ye circling worlds. Ye moons of those far Avorlds, around, above me. His everlasting presence fills ye all ! Night of worlds ! Here stand I on the earth ! What is my flesh Weigh'd 'gainst those worlds which angels cannot number ? 20 TO THE OMNIPRESENT GOD. And what those worlds, to angels numberless, When measured 'gamst my soul?* * This unfinished translation was found partly amongst Lady Flora's papers in London, and jiartlyin the copy of "Klopstock" at Loudon Castle. FAITH AND HOPE. O Thou ! who for our fallen race Didst lay thy crown of glory by, And quit thy heavenly dwelling-place, To clothe Thee in mortality ; By whom our \esture of decay, Its frailty and its pains, were Avorn ; Who, sinless, of our sinful clay The bui-deu and the griefs hast borne ; Who, stainless, bore our guilty doom. Upon the Cross to save us bled. And who, triumphant from the tomb. Captivity hast captive led — Oh ! teach thy ransom'd ones to know Thy love, who diedst to set them free. And bid their torpid spirits glow With love, which centres all in Thee. 22 FAITH AND HOPE. And come, triumphant Victim ! come I' the brightness of thy holy love, And make this earth, our purchased home, The image of thy courts above. Dimly, O Lord ! our feeble eyes The duAvning rays of glory see ; But brightly shall the morning rise Which bids creation bend to Thee. Rise, Sun of Righteousness ! and shed Thy beams of searching light abroad ; That earth may know (her darkness fled) Her King in thee, Incarnate God ! And oh ! while yet thy mercy speaks, So may the words of love prevail. That when the morn of judgment breaks, 3Iany may thine appearing hail. THANK-OFFERING. In every place, in every hour, Whate'er my wayward lot may be ; In joy or grief, in sun or shower, Father and Lord ! I turn to Thee. Thee, when the incense-breathing flowers Pour forth the worship of the spring. With the glad tenants of the bowers My trembling accents strive to sing. Thee, when upon the frozen strand Winter, begirt with storms, descends ; Thee, Lord ! I hail, whose gracious hand O'er all a guardian care extends. 24 THANK-OFFERING. Thee, when the golden harvests yield Their treasures to increase our store ; Thee, when through ether's gloomy field The lightnings flash, the thunders roar. Thee, when athwart the azure sky Thy starry hosts their mazes lead. And when Thou sheddest from on high Thy dewdrops on the flowery mead. Thee, wnen my cup of bliss o'erflows — Thee, when my heart's best joys are fled ; Thee, when my breast exulting glows — Thee, whUe I bend beside the dead. Alike in joy and in distress, Oh ! let me trace thy hand Divine ; Righteous in chast'ning, prompt to bless, Still, Father ! may Thy will be mine. THE DYING SYBIL. I. Life fleets — my course is run — the orb of day Shall never more arise for me ; and fast My yet remaining moments ebb away. The toils and sorrows of my Ufe are past ! The silent grave now welcomes me at last Into her still and peaceful sanctuary ; The voice of Death is whisp'ring on the blast ; Light fades before my dim and closing eye : Yes ! — It is past, and now I must prepare to die. II. I am not now as I was once : my cheek GloAving with the sweet rose's deepest dye ; No longer (though they say that when I speak An inspiration kindles up mine eye) Hath it, as in my youth, such brilliancy. 26 THE DYING SYBIL. Time sprinkles o'er my raven hair with snow ; But all unchanged by years, unharm'd by care, Proudly superior to all earth-born woe. Nought of mutation doth the phoenix spirit know. III. thou, last, dearest boon of bounteous Heaven, Sole comforter to soothe my dying bed — Hope ! — thou who to the suff'ring soul wast given. Thou lingerest stUl, though all beside is fled. 1 have no friend to raise my sinking head — I am deserted in this hour ; and thou. And Memory's fading visions faintly shed. Like the pale gleaming on a spirit's brow, Are all — all that are left to be my solace now. IV. I was alone, even from my childhood : none Held converse with me, and in sympathy None might to mine a heart congenial own ; But as they fear'd the quick glance of my eye. They pass'd me ever — aU unsmiled on — by, I never knew the spirit's lightness, when She loves to sun her 'neath joy's summer sky THE DYING SYBIL. 27 But bound to Earth, though scarce Earth's denizen, 1 look'd for vision'd scenes, far from the haunts of men. V. Yet, deem not (though my footsteps I withdrew From the broad pathway of the busy crowd) I felt or scorn, or hate. Oh, no ! I knew I was sprung of their race — that tlie same blood Throughout their veins and mine congenial flow'd ; And though they loved me not, I could not blame. I drank of ecstasy the living flood, Tliey thirsted for the glories of a name. And forward boldly press'd towards the field of fame. XI. Theirs was the crown of victory, the hour Of triumph, and the applause of distant lands : I might have envied — but I knew the gore Of murder'd kindred dyed the victor's hands ; He sway'd the sceptre o'er a thousand strands — Nations were fascinated while he spoke — The multitude invited his commands : At last, above their heads the tempest broke, And freemen crouch'd, and bent beneath a tyrant's yoke. 28 THE DYING SYBIL. VII. I could not bend — I would not forge the chain ; ' Twas mine a loftier destiny to dare : I communed with the billows of the main, I claim'd affiance with the powers of air. Natiu"e ! thy works, so exquisitely fair. To me were kindred — and thy deepest glade To me a nobler portion than to share The meteor glory, whose false radiance shed A baneful brightness o'er the ruthless despot's head. VIII. The child of rapture, all was bliss to me. I loved to watch the brooding thunder-cloud Casting its dark hues o'er the scenery. And hear its voice, so awful and so loud. Proudly I gazed and smiled while all the crowd. With craven brow and eyes averted, turn'd ; And every trembling knee was lowly boVd, While I — the dastard fear indignant spurn'd, And bless'd the levin brand, even when it fiercest burn'd. IX. And at the midnight hour I could descry Fair forms, invisible to vulgar ken, THE DYING SYBIL. 29 Moving athwart the star-bespangled sky — Each form some bright orb's brighter denizen ; And I have listen'd, till methought again I heard the music of their silver lyres Breathe through the woods, and wake the silent glen ; While yon blue vault, glowing with liquid fires, Eeho'd the music of those bright celestial choirs. X. And I have stood on the projecting rock Tliat beetles o'er the foaming waterfall — Stood fearless — watch'd the elemental shock Of winds, and waves, and fire — and dared them all. Nor might their strife my steadfast soul appal ; Nor did my voice in coward agony For mortal aid, on mortal beings call : No ! for I loved, in thy dread majesty, Lord of the thunderbolt, to know and worship Thee ! XI. To mark the Spirit wlio directs the storm, And flies upon the mirk wings of the cloud ; Scanning each light and visionary form. Hid from the feebler vision of the crowd — 30 THE DYING SYBIL. And Him whose power the wond'rous boon bestow'd : To view with eagle ken the things unseen, To the mind's eye a wider prospect show'd, Grasping the glories of the present scene — The future and the past — the shall be, and hath been ! XII. I have drunk deeply of the stream of fate, And sounded the profounds of prophecy ; And I can read unto the embryo state The secret of man's doom and destiny. Ay, even in his helpless infancy I can behold how proudly he will soar ; How great by virtue, genius, liberty, Claim homage from all nature — and once more Sink back into the gloom that shrouded him before. XIII. And it was mine to read the human heart. To scan the secret fire that lurk'd below The smiling countenance of guileful art. Like Etna kindling 'neath her wreath of snow. The wild resolve, the kiss of hate, to know — And jealous wrath, and love that madd'ning bum'd — Was mine. I knew who drain'd that cup of woe THE DYING SYBIL. 31 No balm could soothe ; but soon these scenes I spurn'd, And to the brighter world of blooming nature turn'd. XIV. For not alone I heard Thee in the blast, Nor saw Thee riding on the trackless wind ; Borne on the lurid tempest's red wing past, Leaving the lightning's forky flash behind. But there thy smile, beneficent and kind, Shed myriad blessings on the peaceful vale. All-gracious Father — all-pervading Mind ! Spreading a flowery mantle o'er the dale, Speaking in murmuring rUls, and breathing in the gale. XV. All, all is beauty ! fi'om the smiling glade. Or harvest, prompting the glad reaper's hymn, To Scythian woods* inhospitable shade, Or Thracian mountain with dank vapours dim. For every scene alike, or gay or grim, Reveals a tender Parent's guardian care : Wood, mountain, vale, and river speak of Him ; All climes, all nations in his bounty share ; His ear is bent alike to every suppliant's prayer. 32 THE DYING SYBIL. XVI. Is it not bliss, where'er the eye can rove, To feel the hand of Heaven ? — to find no spot, No desert region, no sequester'd grove, Where the Divinity inhabits not ? To feel, whate'er has been our wayward lot. That stUl we hold communion with the Power Whose word is fate ? — whose goodness ne'er forgot The meanest insect of the summer hour, Whose hand directs the sun, and paints the meadow's flower ? XVII. And it was mine — mine was the lot assign'd, Thus to expatiate in creation's field ; Tracing in all the immaterial Mind, By these His works to human sight roveal'd. Glorious display ! — how gladly would I yield Myself thy majesty to contemplate, Thou Great Supreme ! — how often have I kneel'd, Entranced in awe, yet with a heart elate, In conscious faith, to Thee, O Lord, the good and great ! THE DYING SYBIL. 33 XVIII. Would it might last for ever — that my soul Might never pause in her aspiring flight I — Vain wish ! for Earth asserts her strong control, And calls the spirit from its airy height ; Sullies \nth mortal shadows the pure light That plays around us from a cloudless sky ; And twines with amaranthine chaplets bright, Those earthly flowerets, born to bloom and die. The fair, frail children of this dim mortality. XIX. Yes ! ye must wane before me — ye, my best, My holiest, purest, fondest fantasies ! Ye, who have soothed my mind so oft, and blest, With your fair, traceless forms, my wond'ring eyes — Heaven's dew rests on no flower that never dies — Ye too must perish : yc but go before Myself — my meted span so swiftly flies ; — A day, a little day, it is no more. And I shall vanish hence, life's transient fever o'er. 34 THE DYING SYBIL. XX. Why art thou fear'd, O gentle Death ? Thy wing, Unheard, now soars above, and fans my brow. Was it to chide me for my lingering, I heard thy voice so sUver-toned e'en now ? I will not linger — farewell Earth ! I go, Fearlessly following on, as led by thee, Mysterious angel ! — yet, fain would I know If I must perish all ? — all ? — ay, and be The thing which once I was — Insensibility. XXI, Fadest thou for aye, thou light so crystalline, So all untainted ? Must my spirit chill Its every faculty, and to death resign The hopes which even in death it clings to still ? Unconscious from this hour of good or ill. Supinely must I slumber in the tomb ? No fairy dream my vacant brain to fill, No blissful visions round my head to bloom, But silent all, and dark — an everlasting gloom ? THE DYING SYBIL. 35 XXII. There is a voice, soft-breathing — still it floats — In tones most musical it meets my ear : List, ardent spirit, list ! — those airy notes Are whispering that a brighter world is near. Where does there aught remain to waken fear ? Chaotic darkness shall not be my fate — Annihilation shall not be my share : Angels of Hope and Peace ! I see ye wait On me, the white-robed heralds of a loftier state. XXIII. Oh, yes ! I felt it was not made for Earth This chaiidess essence — this unfathom'd soul ; Oh, yes ! I know some future second birth Will bid it rise and soar beyond control. Roll on, ye circling spheres ! exulting roll — Yet know ye have a period, — ye must shroud Your brightness, and desert the starry pole ; Wliile I, unbound — by mortal thrall unbow'd — Shall find a home — my home — ecstatically proud ! 36 THE DYING SYBIL. XXIV. My home ! — no more an exile — oh, how blest Beyond conception — day that knows no night — Land of pure rapture — world of endless rest ! I come — a heavenward voice directs my flight — Vanish, terrestrial visions, from my sight ! Burst, earthly bonds, that hold me from the sky ! Merge, heaven-born spirit, in the flood of light, Furling thy pinions there, while He on high, Thy God, shall crown thy brows with immortality ! SONNET FROM THE ITALIAN. As the poor lamb, forgetful of the fold. Strays in the wild — my truant soul hath trod A devious path, while time hath onward roU'd, Wandering from Thee, her Shepherd and her God. Where tlowery vale or gliding riU she view'd, She turn'd in young desire's illusive dream ; But phantom joys the self-betray'd pursued, The flowerets droop'd, and turbid roU'd the stream. Now, Lord, bewailing all her errors late, That wayward spirit humbly turns to Thee, And seeks again thy sheltering fold to see. Thou wilt not spurn her — Thou who didst descend Even from the glories of thy high estate, From the infernal wolf his prey to rend. A VISION OF THE SUN. Borne on the summer zephjT's balmy sigh, My spirit seeks the regions of the sky ; For silent night she quits the twilight grey, And dim through space directs her doubtful way. Hark ! 'midst the gloom, what voice melodious floats ? From what blest sphere are breathed those airy notes ? What daAvning rays the drear abyss iUume ? What dayspring brightens the chaotic gloom ? She knows the beam — aspires with bolder flight, The Sun refulgent bursts upon her sight ! World of the happy ! she attains thy shore — Earth is forgotten, chaos is no more ! Bright as when starting from primeval sleep, To run his course exulting through the deep ; Young as when first, at the Supreme decree. He rose from nothing — glorious, pure, and free — A VISION OF THE SUN. 39 To hymn his Maker's praise, and bid liis ray Direct and cheer, and rule the new-born day — First-born of light, eye of the starry frame, The Sun appears, the unsullied world of ilame ! Around the shores a golden ocean flows, With liquid fire the circling ether glows. High spread, the woods outstretch their giant shade, And emerald beauty carpets every glade ; Wliile whispering breezes through the bloomy bowers Shed mingling odours from undying flowers. Here, free to rove, companion of the spring. Floats the blithe buttei-fly on fairy wing : Not like his earthly kindred, doom'd to wear A reptile form, and perish with the year ; Fresh bursting into life, his colours bright. Instant he spreads to meet the genial light ; No icy chill, no wintry storm to doom Thine emblem, Psyche ! to the cheerless tomb. And that undying bird, whose fragrant nest Perfumes the groves of Araby the blest, 40 A VISION OF THE SUN. Wlien changing seasons and revolving years Complete his exile in the world of tears, Triumphant lights the incense-breathing pyre, And vanishes in elemental fire ; While a young brother of celestial race Springs from the ashes to supply his place ; Unseen, his spirit mounts the winged wind. And leaves the cloudy scenes of earth behind— Merges exulting in the realms of light, And flaps his pinions, glorying in the flight. Here through unceasing ages to prolong The Heaven-taught music of his blissful song. And ye ! whose wings the mists of lower air Have never sullied — ye unearthly, fair. And unknown denizens of that pure sphere. Your mingling voices rise united here. Amid these groves, by gales ambrosial fann'd. Doth the Archangel's bright pavilion stand ; On topaz columns rests the golden dome, Resplendent more than genii's fabled home. Or ancient Tadmor, which the poets tell, Charm'd into grandeur by unearthly spell, A VISION' OF THE SUN. 41 llear'd in an instant, 'midst the desert's waste, Those fallen fanes whit'li niatehless sculpture graced. A thousand urns of diamond bright dispense Their mingling odours to the ravish'd sense ; A thousand voices raise the choral song, And thousand echoes the rich notes prolong. Here Uriel holds his state, to whom 'tis given — Lord of the Sun and delegate of Heaven — To rule the circling seasons as they fly, And guide the wand'ring children of the sky. Ethereal being I shall an earthly lyre, To sing thy praise, presumptuously aspire ? Thy golden sceptre, and thy flaming throne. The matchless radiance of thy starry zone — I shrink from themes like these ; my feeble strain To paint them as they ought should strive in vain. A glittering myriad the high throne surround Of heavenly youths, with laurel chaplets crown'd ; Imperishably bright, in manhood's prime. They dare the fury of all-conquering Time ; And, as he speeds his course, the patriarch sheds His treasured years innoxious on their heads. 42 A VISION OF THE SUN. *Tis theirs fi'om sphere to sphere to urge their flight, And dart the unerring arrowy shafts of light ; To bid with meteor flames the zenith glow, And bend the arch of the aerial bow ; Or launch the levin-bolt, avenging hurl'd. To shake the pUlars wliich support the world. The bright-hair'd maidens in a flower-lLnk'd band — The lovely daughters of that blissful land — Hymning the golden day, a beauteous choir. In measured cadence seek the fount of fire. 'Tis theirs, deep bending o'er the hallow'd stream, To fill their crystal vases in its beam. And through the fields of ether bear afar The dew of light, and brighten every star ; Or gem the flowers, whoso stainless colours glow With lustre all unknown in worlds below, And teach the unfading violets to shine Like the pure sappliires of the Indian mine. Chrysanthe ! thine it was with them to move. The fairest, loveliest, in the laurel grove ; With fiiiry hand to wake the golden string, And with a silver voice thy strains of rapture sing. A VISION OF THE SUN. 43 Such still 'twere thine to move — Ah ! thine no more, A pensive exile from thy native shore. Say, wherefore, lingering in terrestrial bowers. To twine thee wreaths of perishable flowers ; Charm'cl with the brightness of her fleeting spring, Why didst thou earthward droop thy snowy wing — Thy prouder destiny, thy loftier lot, For such a world neglected and forgot ? Too long a truant from the world on high. She drank the waters of mortality. Till winter chill'd the glories of the year. And drove the wanderer to her native sphere. With burning brow and unaspiring wing She sought the regions of immortal spring : Around the nymph the light ethereal plays — She shrinks bewilder'd from the eternal blaze. For such unfitted by the realms of gloom ; And thus the bright Archangel speaks her doom : — " Thrice happy daughter of the golden Sun, Destined on high a cloudless course to run ; To bathe exultmg in the sea of light, 44 A VISION OF THE SUN, And wing from orb to orb thy blissful flight ; Why didst thou rove, forgetful of thy home ? Thy doom is fix'd — for centuries to roam An exile from thy glorious dwelling-place, Through the immeasurable void of space, And urge, through many a sad revohing year. Thy fiery dragons in their dread career/' He spoke ; — the attendant ministers prepare The car, to bear Chrysanthe through the air — The harness'd dragons and the flaming car Swift bore the wretched wanderer afar, Launch'd on the unfathom'd ether, without bourne, To drift before the blast, nor hope return ; — Yes ! thus to wander, tiU the trump shall call The pardon'd virgin to bright Uriel's hall. And bid the marvel of the drear abyss Resume her birthright in the realms of bliss ! • The foregoing poem was written after Lady Flora liad been attending a course of lectures on astronomy. When the obscurity of the subject was objected to by one of my sisters, who said that, as it might bo incompre- hensible to most people, she ought to style it " The Birth of the Comet," or some such thing, she good-naturedly replied, " Well, you may either do so, or add at the end, — ' For fear, j»cntle reader, your genius should fail, The maid grew a comet, and wore a long tail 1 '" THE RAINBOW. I. Soft glowing in uncertain birth 'Twixt Nature's smiles and tears, The Bow, O Lord ! which Thou hast bent, Bright in the cloud appears. The portal of thy dwelling-place That pure arch seems to be, And, as I bless its mystic light, My spirit turns to Thee. n. Thus, gleaming o'er a guilty world, We hail the ray of love ; — Thus dawns upon the contrite soul Thy Mercy from above ; 46 THE RAINBOW. And as Thy faithful promise speaks Repentant sin forgiven, In humble hope we bless the beam That points the way to Heaven. 1825. THE APOLLO OF BELVIDERE. I. AxD blamest thou me, because my aching sight Is fix'd enraptured on that form of light ? Because the colour varying on my cheek Reveals delight I have not words to speak ? Because, perchance, my wond'ring eyes grow dim With tears of ecstasy, while fix'd on hiin ? n. Godlike, behold the god of Delphi's shrine ! His fonu majestic, and his grace divine ; Behold the glory hov'ring round his brow ! — ' Tis he ! the master of th' unerring bow — He, to whose hand the steeds of day wore given, The Lord of Light, the Charioteer of Heaven ; 48 THE APOLLO OF BELVIDERE. He who was wont, in Delphi's deep recess, To inspire of old th' enraptured Pythoness ; The god whose magic could all hearts beguile — In his tread ecstasy, and heaven his smile ! III. When night's still shades along the landscape creep, And weary nature seeks the calm of sleep ; When the freed spirit, soaring far away, Bursts on glad pinion to the realms of day — Expatiates in the tields of azure light, And roves through scenes unmark'd by mortal sight — No fairer form can fancy's pencil trace, More proudly peerless in luirivall'd grace ; No step more godlike meets the wond'ring eye. No brow of more celestial majesty, IV. Bless'd be his art, who gave that form divine, Thus, thus reveal'd to mortal ken, to shine ; Whose soaring genius from the golden ray Of yon bright orb drank floods of purer day ; Seized the fair vision — bade the Parian stone Arise, the image of Latona's son. THE APOLLO OF BELVIDEUE. 49 V. Ages have past : still it is young and fair. Though silent now the votary's whisper'd pray'r — Though the full chorus swells to heaven no more, Tliough all the temple's pride and pomp are o'er — Though now no more the altar's flames ascend. In Delphi's courts though now no millions bend — Though mute the oracle, and fall'n the fane. And ceased in captive Greece Apollo's reign ; — Yet, while a spirit lives of kindred mind To him whose hand that wondrous form design'd ; While yet creative genius charms our sight, And the proud spirit loves her daring flight ; While taste corrects, imagination warms, Or grace enchants, or mem'ry's day-dream charms, — Where is the soul that shall not bow to thee — Magician of the heart — bright god of Poesy ! 1824. A MAIDEN LOVED A STAR. I. A MAIDEN loved a star — Brightly it wandcr'd on its trackless way ; And, as it circled round the silent pole, It was her joy to mark that pure orb roll. And from her lowly dwelling-place afar, To gaze upon the heavens, and bless its ray. n. And she was wont to twine The blushing flowerets of her native \n\e, The rose, the violet, her fair hand wreathed ; — But best she loved the flower whose fragrance breathed Like evening incense shed at vesper time, Tlie " Lady of the Night," so sweet, so pale. A MAIDEN LOVED A STAR. 51 III. And she would stand at niglit, Pouring her descant forth upon the blast, Dreaming bright dreams, such as earth knoweth not. Of man's high destiny and future lot ; And wilder visions came, e'en how she might Rise to her own loved planet's sphere at last. IV. But gloomy winter came, Veiling the firmament with dusky wing ; Meekly in death the pensive Votaress bow'd, And deem'st thou not beyond the fleecy cloud, Iler spirit sought, amidst the starry frame In her own orb, a never-dying spring ? The " I)ama doUa Noce," or " Lady of the Night," is a most beautiful • hriib of Spain, and only smells after the sun is set. This must have been written after 1826, or in the summer of that year, as the plant was given to her then, at Malta. STREET OF THE TOMBS, AT POMPEII. [In an annotation prefixed to the following stanzas, Lady Flora says, " I was much struck with a basso-relievo on one of the sarcophagi in that part, as containing the most beautiful allegory imaginable. A vessel has finished lier voyage ; the passenger seated in the stern relinquishes the helm ; the attendant genii are busied in going aloft to furl tlie sail, as a bird at tlie masthead expands her wings to fly away. The following lines were written in consequence of seeing this monument."] I. My course is o'er — the day is gone, My bark has reach'd the destined shore ; Her sails are furl'd — ^lier voyage done, She braves the stormy surge no more. STREET OF THE TOMBS. 53 II. Bright was the morn, when to the breeze I spread her snowy-bosom'd sail ; As, speeding o'er the azure seas, She flew before the fav'ring gale. III. In those young hours of early spring, No atom dimm'd the eye of day, Save the small bird, whose dusky wing A moment cross'd the golden ray. IV. I will not tell how time has blighted The promise of those sunny years ; I will not tell that hope but lighted Her beacon, to be quench'd by tears. V. I will not tell that pain and sorrow, And anguish, round my heart have prest ; Enough — 'tis done ! The rising morrow Shall find me and my bark at rest. 54 STREET OF THE TOMBS. VI. The summer gale, the wintry blast, Are now alike — and shade and sun ; My sails are furl'd, my toils are past, The haven's gain'd — my course is run ! These verses are copied, as written by the author, in my aunt I^ady C. Fitzgerald's book. FRAGMENT. ' My slunib'ring lyre," &c. My slumb'ring lyi-e awakes from long repose, Once more my breast with wonted ardour glows ; Radiance long dimm'd around my path is cast, The spell is broken, and the trance is past. Unearthly voices now salute mine ear, I haU the echoes of a brighter sphere : On soai'ing pinions to the realms of light. My proud soul pants to wing her daring flight — To pour again her rapture-prompted strain. Feelings that long have slept awake again : Lo ! hurrying past, bright visions round me throng. And wake again the cliarniod stream of song. Supposed to have been composed in 1827; a considerable interval liavinp occurred after lier father's death, durhi^' which Lady l''lura wrote no poetry. TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. " Ad Leuconoen." — Od. XI. Lib. 1. Seek'st thou, Leuconoe, rashly to unfold Thy fate — thy future destinies behold ? To know the good or ill which Heaven's decree Has fix'd immutably on me and thee ? Cast by thy numbers — will the ills foreseen Affi-ight thy soul with less portentous mien ? Whether no further must our race extend, And this last winter all our projects end ; Or whether Jove ordains us to descry, By the fierce tempests roused to mutiny, Tlie ceaseless strife of the Tyrrhenian wa\'e With bootless wrath the unyielding sea-rocks lave. Bo wise, be wise — drain deep the flowing bowl ; lianish hope's distant visions from thy soul ; TRANSLATION FROM HORACE. 57 Sei/.e the brief present, for, witli ceaseless pace, In\ idious Time pursues his silent race : Wliile \Gt we speak he speeds him on his way — This hour enjoy, nor trust a future day. This is copied from two scraps of paper, on which it is written in pencU. It is certainly a translation made at Naples iJi 1824. EVENING. COMPOSED AS SHE WALKED UP AND DOWN IN MY ROOM, OCT. 2, 1825.— S. II. This is the hour when ftmey loves to mourn O'er vanish'd joys which never can return — O'er dreams of ecstasy, now turn'd to pain — O'er blighted hopes that ne'er can bloom again. This is the hour when to the soul appears, The joy, the hope, the love of other years ; Each former smile, each well-remember'd face, Returns, all glowing with undying grace. I think she had seen some lines on the same suhject about this time, so that I do not reckon these very original. LINES WRITTEN UNDER A DRAWING IN AN ALBUM. " TO SOPHIA." Light gliding o'er the silver sea, Yon little vessel mark — How blithely and how gallantly Sails on the fairy bark I Flying before the winged gale, She steers her watery way ; And gaily, through each swelling sail, The gladsome zephp-s play. Before her beams that little star That never wont to roam ; The steersman hails it from afar, It guides him to his home. 60 LINES. Oil ! such for ever be thy way, So bright thy fortune's beam ; And oh, for aye may Mercy's ray Sleep on thy life's calm stream ! And when thou seek'st, with untried sail, A distant unknown realm, May'st thou the changeless pole-star hail, And Faith direct thy helm! COMPOSED TO AN INDIAN AIR. I. Speak not of the past, for its sunny hopes have faded ; Speak not of my youth, for its visions are no more ! Sad thoughts have blighted it, and early griefs have shaded Scenes so joyous once, and their gladness is no more. II. See yon tranquil rill from its mossy fountain gushing, How its glassy wave gives heaven its bright smile back ; Rut yon turbid toiTcnt from troubled soxircewild rushing, Wanders 'neath that smile, with darkness on its track. III. Thus all vainly beam the brightest smiles around me, Still my wintry heart will be like that dark stream ; 62 COMPOSED TO AN INDIAN AIR. Lonely in my anguish, though my youth's loved friends surround me, Vain, vain e'en thy voice, to call back mem'ry's dream. TO MY FATHER'S SPIRIT. On, thou to whom my thoughts unceasing tend, My Father, my Instructor, and my Friend ! Best loved on earth, while still to mortals given. And now, oh ! more than loved, adored in heaven ; Parted — not sunder'd from us, though the cloud Of earth-born being may thy presence shroud — Still, father, be it still our bliss to prove Death cannot burst the links of holy love. Thy spirit still o'er all our thoughts presides. Soothes us in sorrow, and in trouble guides ; The delegate of Heaven, thine eye surveys Our falt'ring footsteps with paternal gaze ; Thy hand wipes off the grief-extorted tear. And thy voice whispers lis that heaven is near. Nor only thus. — When bending o'er the page Of gifted poet or of hoary sage, 64 TO MY father's spirit. With throbbing heart, as fleet the hours along, I drink enraptured of the stream of song, And, tranced, bless the wisdom-prompted line — Father ! I feel thy spirit blend with mine. And when, my book thrown by, 'midst busy men, I move almost this vain world's denizen ; While through the mazy round my footsteps rove. If music wakes some tone that leads above This passing scene ; — ^lier wealth, if genius pours And charms away the slow and lagging hours — If pure, high thought in chosen accent flows. Or guileless wit, irradiating, glows — Transported by the flash of mind, I see All I admire — and fondly turn to thee ! And when, in the stUl calm of summer even, I gaze upon the deep blue vault of heaven, And view those countless orbs of living light. Leading their mystic measure through the night ; Methinks I trace thee in thy bright career, Urging thy ceaseless flight from sphere to sphere, And bearing on thy seraph wings abroad The mandates of the mercy of thy God. TO .MY father's SPIRIT. 65 \Vhen 'ncatli the flo"wery limes, with murm'ring bees Cluster'd, and sighing to the summer breeze, I walk — or when a wider range I tread, Thine own old oaks high branching o'er my head ; Or when from Avooded cliff a glance I throw On thy loved Trent, which brightly rolls below, Art thou not near me ? — Yes ! I hear thee, yes ! Thou still art near to counsel me and bless. And as Creation, to its Maker's name. Pours forth its mingled praise with loud acclaim ; When bird and flower, and incense-breathing hill, And rock, and mossy fount, and murm'ring rill ; When all that breathes, or is, seems to rejoice, And loudest swells the hymn, I hear thi/ voice ! SONNET. • I ask no storied urn," &c. I ASK no storied urn, nor sculptured stone, To mark the spot where my cold ashes sleep. Calm be that bed of rest ; — to all unknown, Save to the kindi-ed few who round it weep. Wide o'er the hillock wave the linden-tree, And round it bloom the flowerets of the spring ; While from the sod, exulting to be free. Bursts the blithe lark on heaven-aspiring wing : Still on my grave may summer-sunbeams play, Still on the turf may nightly dews descend ; Still tremble over it the paly ray I love so well, and whisp'ring night-flowers bend. Grieve not — in peace and humble faith I rest, Waiting the morn that wakens for the blest. FOR MUSIC. " Oh no ! I better love," &c. I. Oh no ! I better love to rove \yhere the fragrant flowers are springing, Where the western breeze from the blooming grove Its freight of scent is bringing. Here let me wander, liere let me stray, Here let me sigh my life away ; Why should I court the false world's smile, Wnbich brightens only to beguile ? ir. Oil no ! I better love to dwell Where the mountain-stream is rushincr, 68 FOR MUSIC. Or where, deep in some haunted cell, The crystal fount is gushing. There let me wander, there let me stray, There let me sigh my life away ; Why should I court the false world's smile, Which brightens only to beguile ? III. Oh no ! I feel it is better, far To mark the day's declining, And gaze upon the dewy star Of eve, in ether shining. Thus would I wander, thus would I stray, Thus would I sigh my life away ; Why should I court the false world's smile, Which brightens only to beguile ? A SISTER'S COUNSEL. Bid the bright hours their ehoicest gifts dispense, Eternal summer crown the smiling year, Sabajan odours lull the ra\-ish'd sense. And music's softest strains entrance thine ear. Or ask a nobler boon — bid genius shed Her deathless radiance on thy lofty brow, Triumph's unsullied laurels crown thy head, And thy proud breast with conscious virtue glow. Thine be the friend sincere, the true, the tried. May no false tongue thine honest fame assail, Serene and cahn thy life's pure current glide, And grateful realms their trusted patriot hail. Yet, ah ! young pilgrim to a world unknown. Deem not this spell hath power thy soul to bless ; 70 A sister's counsel. Though peace and innocence thy being crown, Thou wilt not, canst not, taste true happiness. For the caged spirit, prison'd in its clay, Pants for a nobler flight with fond desire ; Nor can life's dearest blessings charm away The soul's sublime ambition to aspire. Those strains are echoes from a brighter clime. That genius whispers of a loftier scene ; That virtue points beyond the bounds of time, To worlds more pure, to rapture more serene. Ask then, fond youth, the blest, the promised land — Treading in faith the path of earth beneath ; And hmnbly bow beneath thy Maker's hand. That bounteous hand which crowns its boons with death. The foregoing stanzas were found in pencil in a sketch-book ; and were, I believe, addressed to my brother in 1828. INSCRIPTION FOR A SUN-DIAL. As o'er the dial flits tlie rapid shade, So speed the hours of life's eventful day ; As from the plate thou see'st the shadows fade, Time unimproved fleets tracelessly away. Let thy bright hours, like sunbeams, call forth flowers Truth, Mercy, Justice, Holiness, and Love ; Here they may (h'oop beneath aflHiction's showers — Doubt not, their fragrance shall ascend above. LORD RODEEIC'S RETURN. Again ! again ! 'tis a bugle's note ! On the wing of the wild wind borne ; Hark, hark, hark ! I hear it float — It is Lord Roderic's horn ! He hath come from the land of Palestine, From the wars of the Paynim foe ; And Edith's hand the wreath must twine. To grace her true knight's brow. Mark ! oh, mark ! in the sunbeam bright, How flash his followers' spears ; And the knight's own crest, of fleecy white, Like the drifted snow ajipears. LORD RODERIC'S RETURX. 73 He rides with a goodly company, His penuons dance in air : Oh ! blithesome may the baron be Wlio loves our lady fair ! Hark ! 'tis the tramp of his noble steed In the court of the castle rings ; The knight from his saddle leaps with speed — The reins to his squire he flings. Shout, warders, shout from the castle tower, To welcome the warrior home ; And haste, Lady Edith, from thy bower, For thine own true knight is come ! FRAGMENT. Oh, that I were a sprite ! ' FOR MUSIC. Oh, tliat I were a sprite, A blest unfallen one — One of those, day and night, Who stand around Thy throne ! So might my strains aspire a bolder flight Than my exiled and prison'd soul hath known. And praise Thee better. Lord ! Oh, that a seraph's love Glow'd ever in my breast ! So might I seek above ^ My home of peace and rest ; And, even as the Ark-emitted Dove, Turn from the wand'rings of this dim world, blest In Thee, and near Thee, Lord ! FRAGMENT. 75 Oh, that I were a flower, Whose bright and sinless doom, ' Tis, through a summer hour. Briefly and pure to bloom ! So might my spirit its thanksgivings pour, Even as that floweret breathes forth her perfume In liomage to Thee, Lord ! Oh, that I were a star — Still joyfully to roll In ether's realms afar, And circle round the pole ! So ever might I WORBS TO THE MALTESE EVENING SONG. I. When the day and all its labours, All its hojies and fears, are o'er — Dearest land ! Then I think upon the waters Dashing on thy rugged shore. Ah ! the rocks those waves encircle I may never gaze on more — Dearest land ! dearest land ! Fare-thee-well ! II. When I hoar the voice of even Whispering through the leafy trees- Dearest land ! WORDS TO THE MALTESE EVENING SONG. 77 Then I think liow soft tlio zephyrs Sporting o'er thy gemlikc seas — Far from thee, from spring I wander, Ne'er again to hail that breeze — Dearest land ! dearest land ! Fare-thee-well. III. Wlien the shades of night descending, Spread stUl sUence o'er the plain — Dearest land ! Then I think how oft I listen'd To the wildly breathing strain — Still from voice to voice repeated, Ne'er to swell for me again — Dearest land ! dearest land ! Fare-thee-well ! IV. Dearest island ! Ocean's treasure ! Darling of the lonely sea ! Dearest land ! Bright thy shores, and fresh thy breezes, 78 WORDS TO THE MALTESE EVENING SONG. Fragrant may thy blossoms be ! Still thine evening strains breathe wildly, Though, alas ! unheard by me — Dearest land ! dearest land ! Fare-thee-well. The above stanzas are adapted to the Maltese national air, always sung by the peasants when returning at evening from their labour. They gene- . rally impromte — the words being suited to the circumstances and events of the day. THE DYING MAGICIAN. They tell me, that my span of life With sorrow and with sin is rife ; They tell me, that yon setting sun WiU rise agaui, ere I have done My tale of misery unknown. Heard ye with what a thrilling tone A voice, as from yon aged oak, Upon the sUence slowly broke — Whispering to my wondering ears As if the voice of other yeai-s ? Fleeting, flying seems the light. Fading fi'om my faiKng sight ; Now the pain-wrung tear is starting ; Now the trembling soul is parting ; Now dimly sinking from my gaze. Behold the day-star's golden rays ; 80 THE DYING MAGICIAN. Now the shades of night arc falling ; Now are unseen spirits calling, Summoning my soul away, But not to realms of brighter day ! There is a dark abyss, and there Dwell sorrow, darkness, guilt, despair. ' Tis there my charmed wand I view — My spells accursed and untrue ; There, amid kindred friends, my mind Must dwell, imprison'd and confined — The genius, that to Heaven would soar, Must slumber there, to rise no more. A living death shall be my lot, Alike forgetting and forgot ; My deeds, my form, my very name Razed from the chronicles of fame ; And to one dire oblivion cast The present, future, and the past. SONNET. TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF UGO FOSCOLO. Perch.vnce, one day, should my sad fate allow, A wretched wanderer from clime to clime. My loved, lost brother ! I may weeping bow My head, where thou sleep'st blighted in thy prime. Our mother lonely in her sorrow stands, And communes of the exile with thy clay ; While fond to thee I seem to stretch my hands, And hail my native home, now far away. Mine now the adverse fates which wrung thy breast. And mine the anxious cares that peace bereft ; Oh ! may I share with tliee thy bed of rest I This last, dear, ling'ring liope alone is left. Some friendly stranger then my bones bestow, A pious tribute to my mother's woe. THE VESPER HOUR. I. When vesper hour, with stilly spell, Shall lead thee to her liermit cell. Chasing from round thy path away The varied visions of the day — When no vain di-eams thy thoughts may share, No lowly hope, no earth-born care ; What time thou bend'st the suppliant knee. And pour'st thy fervid soul in prayer — Think of me — pray for me — for me. II. Too garish glows the golden day — Blend not my memory with its ray, The tissue of its hopes and fears. Its promises of other years ; THE VESPER HOUR. 83 But wlien the chasten'd hour is come That bids thy fancy cease to roam, And when thy soul, from trammels free, Is soaring to the spirit's home, Think of me — pray for me — for me. TO MY BROTHER." Keep thy heart pure, seek not the world's applause, But heav'nward lift thou thine aspii-ing soul ; Be true, be just — defend the widow's cause, And spurn of vanity the soft control. And oh ! walk ever humbly with thy God, Counting tliine own best vii-tues as but dross ; And looking forward to Heaven's blest abode, Through Him who bore thy sins upon the cross ! sm osRic. A PRIZE POEM. TO TUAT TiRAXMCAI. AXD VXREASONABLE LADY, WHO OBLIGED ME TO EARN THE PLEASCRE OF READING LILLIAN, BY THE PAIN OF WHITIKG A TALE ON THE SAJIE THESIS, I INSCRIBE THIS VERITABLE LEGEND OF BORDER CHIVALRY. F. E. H. ' A dragon's tail is flay 'd to warm A headless maiden's heart." SIR OSRIC. Sir Osric, Sir Oric, a baron of might, And a man of mettle was he ; He would harry the marches, and galloj^ to fight, And swear like a trooper, and joust like a knight. And drain a health to a lady bright ; And he dwelt in the North Countrie. He has buckled his harness and belted his sword, And, with lance in liis good right hand, He hath sallied forth, that turbulent lord, To visit the Southron's land. He rode over moor, and he rode over mountain. He rode through valley and dell ; He water'd his steed at the Fairy Fountain, 88 SIR OSRIC. He ambled through woodland, and glen, and fell, Till he slackened his pace near a fair casteUe. The massive portals were open wide, The tapers were burning brightly, Nor warder, nor page, Sir Osric espied, So he enter'd the building lightly, With a graceful bend, and an elegant bow. Such as you may loarn from Mr Michau. He enter'd a hall where aloft wore hung The arms of the lords of the realm ; With his mailed tread when the pavement rung, Flames gleam' d from e\ery helm — Through barr'd vizors the lightning glared, Sword clash'd on sword, and Sir Osric stared. He mounted the stairs, and in silken fold Banners waved over his head ; And he knew, by the blazons he saw unroU'd, They had waved o'er the mighty dead : And a bugle-blast came sweeping by, Faint as the echo of hope's last sigh. SIR OSRIC. 89 But he stay'd not for banner or bugle-blast, And with stalwart tread right onward pass'd, Till he reach'd a room where tapers pale A radiance dim were flinging ; Where 'neath a dais, in slumber laid, Appear'd the form of a veiled maid, And unseen spirits to the gale A wondrous chant were singing. Thus flow'd the strain — " Old Time flies fast. Their course the hours are winging ; The fair Islanda's woes are past, And fate relief is bringing. Let not heart faint, nor courage fail, But onward. Sir Osric, and lift the veil ! " He lifted the veil, and his wond'ring sight Ik'hcld the form of a lady bright, With a hand and foot which might suit, I ween, The form tliat in lover's dream is seen — (Jr heroine of old romance — Or fay beheld m poet's trance. But he gazed with awe on that lifeless fair, For — would you believe it ? — no head was there ! 90 SIR OSRIC. Now Sir Osric he had no ladye-love, And he deem'd it was not comme ilfaut, That a knight, unqualified thus, should rove, And in search of adventures go ; And he thought the lady of fairy hand Might stand him in very good stead : " For," quoth ho, " there is more than one dame in the land Who is rather deficient in head." So he stole one glove, and kissing her hand, Placed the relic in his helm : And, said he, " There is not a knight in the land, Nor paladin in the realm. Who shall unscathed dare despise The light of my headless lady's eyes." Sir Osric he rode through thicket and fell, He rode o'er mountain and plain ; And the knight sang loudly, and sang so well. That the screech-owls sang again : " I vaunt not my lady's golden hair, Nor her eyes of chilly blue ; SIR OSRIC. 91 'Tis nje ne sais qnoi in my lady's air That has won my heart" " To-whoo I" The sun was sinking in the west, When he met the Knight of the Dragon-crest. A proud and a stalwart knight was he, The flower of the Border chivalry. " Come hither, Sir Knight," Sir Osric cried ; And, on thy bended knee. Confess there is none in the country wide. So bright as my fair ladye." " Now, pr'ytheo, peace," quoth the Border knight, " A truce to the charms of thy ladye bright ; For he sadly must lack a ladye-love, \Vlio would wear the headless maiden's glove." " Recreant, thou tliest ! " Now, lance in rest, Thou Border knight, do thou thy best ; For Sir Osric unsheathes his vengeful blade In defence of the charms of the spell-bound maid. Long and dubious was the fight, It did not end till morning light ; 92 SIR OSRIC. But when the sun began to rise, Streaking with purple light the skies, The dragon knight, Avith burning brow. Before Sir Osric was bending low : — " Take thou thy life," quoth Sir Osric the brave ; " I am ready to grant what thou scorn' st not to crave." The unseen voices that sang to the gale. In the enchanted hall, 'mid the tapers pale, In airy chorus fill'd the air : — " Sir Osric ! haste to thy lady fair ; Half thy toil is past and done ; Take the ruby ring from the vanquish' d's hand, And a wizard's spell shall direct thy brand. A dragon lies at thy lady's gate — He hath headless made her through spite and hate ; Flay his tail and the spell shall break ; She will gam her head, and to life will wake. Sir Osric ! hence — begone ! " Sir Osric hath taken the dragon knight's ring, And hath hasted back to his lady's bower ; And a dragon, fanning his face with his wing, ('Twas a very hot day,) sat before the tower. SIR OSRIC. 93 The dragon, wlicn he saw the knight, Darted flames from his eyes. And seem'd addressing himself for fight ; But he started back in great surprise, When he caught a glimpse of the ruby bright. For it fairly bother'd and dazzled his sight. So Sir Osric dismounted and cut ofl' his tail, And all across the plain The dragon ran (ostrich-like) looldng so pale. That Sir Osric gazed on it with pain. And the tail was flay'd, and Sir Osric raised The veil with some feelings of dread, For fear the lady very ugly might be ; But his saint and the dragon he gratefully praised, WTien he found she had " really an elegant" head — Oh, who then so happy as he ! Soon on her cheek the mantling blush appear 'd. And azure veins shone through her neck of snow ; And gently from the couch her head she rear'd, And lier dark eyes with life and light did glow. 94 SIR OSRIC. Thus hast thou seen when, o'er the snowy waste, The first soft breath of summer's zephyrs stealing Rekindles life, and winter's rigour past. All nature wakes to joy, and love, and feeling. Now, reader, by thy courtesy, I'll finish mth this simile. And leave to other bards to teU If Sir Osric's suit prosper'd iU or well ; If he won the maid and her wide domains, Or was scorn'd by tlie lady, and lost his pains. For my tale is told, and my task is done. And, methinks, my guerdon fairly won. "HOME! CHILDHOOD'S HOME!" Home ! Childhood's home ! though sever'd fer, How oft in fancy's dreams I greet thee ; How oft beneath night's dewy star, Thy cherish'd forms arise to meet me ! Too transient l)liss ! from dreams alone The exile can his solace borrow ; The morning breaks — the spcU is gone — Ho wakes, and to a world of sorrow. Tlieso stanzas, written in 1834, were arranged for tlic Spunisli guitar l>y Sigiior Verini. THE SWAN SONG. Grieve not that I die young. — Is it not well To pass away ere life hatli lost its brightness ? Bind me no longer, sisters, with the spell Of love and your kind words. List ye to me : Here I am bless' d — but I would be more free; I would go forth in all my spirit's lightness. Let me depart ! Ah ! who would linger till bright eyes grow dim, Kind voices mute, and faithful bosoms cold ? Till carking care, and coil, and anguish grim. Cast their dark shadows o'er this ftiery world ; Till fancy's many-colour'd wings are furl'd, And all, save the proud spirit, waxeth old ? I would depart ! THE SWAN SOXG. 97 Thus would I pass away — yielding my soul A joyous thank-oftering to Him who gave That soul to be, those starry orbs to roll. Thus — thus oxultingly would I depart, Song on my lips, ecstasy in my heart. Sistei's — sweet sisters, bear me to my grave — Let me dej)art ! THE CROSS OF VASCO DA GAMA. We have breasted the surge, we have furrow'd the wave, We have spread the white sail to the favouring breeze ; We have sped from the land of the fair and the brave, Widely to wander o'er untried seas. There is hope in our hearts, there is joy on our brow, For the bright cross is beaming before us now ! Sadly we swept through the sounding deep, Sadly we thought of our distant home — Of the land where our fathers' ashes sleep. Of the land where our fairy children roam. Brothers ! our sad tears must cease to flow. For the bright cross is beaming before us now ! Spread we the sail to the winged wind — Hail to the waves of the southern sea ! THE CROSS OF VASCO DA GAMA. 99 Deep is the furrow we leave behind, As we dash through the waters merrily ; And snowy the spray round our lofty prow. For the bright cross is beaming before us now I Cross of the south, in the deep blue heaven — Herald of mercy, thy form hath shone ! Gladly we welcome the presage given — The land, the fair land of the south is our own : And mildly the light of true faith shall glow, For the bright cross is beaming before. us now ! KING DEATH. FOR MUSIC. I. I WILL WOO thee, wayward maiden, In the storm-blast's fitful fall, In the thunder's roar, in the whisp'ring wind Come to thy true love's hall ! In the silence of the still midnight, Wlien none save thee may hear, My voice, like the echo of faded years, Shall rest on thy sleeping ear. Love ! Shall rest on thy sleeping ear. ,11. Many a lover has woo'd thee, maid ! Thou hast scorn'd his bride to be ; KING DEATH. 101 Maiden I / never sued in vain ; Ladye-love, smile on me ! My icy lips on thy burning cheek Shall print an eternal kiss ; I am the king of the dreamless dead — Come to my bower of bliss, Love ! Come to my bower of bliss. III. Earth's brightest joys are doom'd to fade, Earth's fondest hearts will range ; But the world to which I will lead thee Shall know nor chance nor change. The earthly bridegroom's heart may cliill. And his beaming eyes grow dim ; But while time shall last, King Death shall reign — 'Twere better to wed with him, Love ! 'Twere better to wed with him. IV. The meteors shall light up our royal halls, And the grave-damps nurse our flowers ; 102 KING DEATH. And the voiceless bat, on his leathern wing, Shall flit through our silent bowers ; And many a stalwart and noble ghost Shall stand by thy ebon throne ; And the grisly Lord of the phantom world Shall smile for thee alone, Love ! Shall smile for thee alone. This was writton on hearing the Chevalier Neukomm's song, composed to the words of Barry Cornwall, with the same title — " King Death." INEZ DE CASTRO. They thought that they had reft thee For ever from my side ; But the gi-ave sliall not withhold thee now, My beautiful ! — my bride ! Unbar yon dark vault's massive valves, Bear thence my loved one's bier : For — even in death Don Pedro's queen — She shall be crowiaed here ! How brightly will the golden crown Shine on her placid brow ! Inez ! I might have loved those gauds Iladst thou been li\in Officers of the Garrison cfthe Ipi'olito, ) I Hungarian. Raocl or Raymond, Baldwin, ^ Provenqal Knights. Berangeu, Fra AeosTiNO. Fishermen — Soldiers. ACT I. Castel Nuovo. Guard-room — Flock of ptx)ple to the gates — Council-room — Agnes of Durazzo — Council — Retrospect ACT n. Fisherman's hut — Storm — Durazzo's camp — Otho of Brunswick. ACT m. Castel Nuovo. News of Otho's capture — Sunset — Surrender ACT IV. Entry of Charles of Durazzo — Interview — Provencal vassals — Interview with the Provencals— Beranger and Costanza. ACT V. Castle of Mluo. Joanna and Confessor— Chapel— Murder — Berangcr's return. JOANNA OF NAPLES. ACT I. SCENE I. (Juard-room in the Castel Ntinvo. — Ippolito and Tebai-do discovered playing draughts. Enter Bernardo. Teh. How wears the day ? Ber. Towards the hour of noon, Tlie lazy sun hatli elimb'd the steep of heaven. I left Anselmo on the battlements Watching the dwindled shadows as they fleeted : There will he stand, I ween, with arms across, 114 JOANNA OF NAPLES. And brow of most important vacancy, Waiting till eve shall bring them back again. Teh. Apt emblem ho of man's deluded race. Our morn we spend in giving chase to shadows, Whose vanish'd charms our riper manhood mourns And, as we look towards our closing days, ' Tis with a lurking and a ling' ring hope. That shadows of the past may bless us still. Ipp. Most philosophic comrade ! in good sooth, I marvel not that good Anselmo seeks Amusement from the shadows as they pass ; For sure, the dull realities of things Bring little mirth to cheat the heavy liours. Would I were rather in the open field, Where Otho's band of trusty followers Share the free air, the genial sun, the burst Of sudden war, the clang of steel on steel. The brief and broken slumber, and the morn Welcomed by the reveillee — than mew'd up Thus in the circuit of these gloomy walls. While yet our leaguer'd fortress bore the brunt Of rude assault, and we were free to fling JOANNA OF NAPLES. 115 Back our defiance to the hated foe, 'Twas well — but now, inert and unemploy'd, Our life-blood stagnates and our weapons rust. Ber. The lagging day moves heavily along. Teb. 'Tis the last day of truce — it speeds too swiftly. ACT I. SCENE II. Teb. Thou ask'st a tale, comrade ? I'll tell thee one : — Tliere Avas a youth, 'tis many years ago. Who was born heir to nature's keenest feelings. •He was the nursling of that golden sun Which pours a flood of glory on the waves That bathe Sicilia's shores. He was from childhood Nurtured amid the relies of the past, The traces of the mighty days of old. Fair flowers were round him, soft airs fium'd liis brow. Wild music haunted him in every breeze ; The spirits of the luiforgotten past, 116 JO.VXXA OF NAPLES. The memoiy of his country's early days, Came crowding round his nightly couch, and steep'd His being in romance. Within his soul Sprang up a deep sense of the beautiful. The holy, the exalted, and a love Embracing in its circle all creation. He look'd upon the golden lamps of light, And felt his soul enlarging as he gazed ; He felt akin to them, and every ray That trembled from their orbs, -writ on his heart The unutter'd truths which none can clothe in speech. Yet was he lonely, for those placid stars Smiled with unchanging lustre when his heart O'erflow'd with grief, as when it throbb'd with joy. He sought a kindred heart on Avhich to pour The affection of his own, but he found none ; The moonstruck di-eamer found no Idndred spu'it How, boy, thou smilest ! Doth my tale please thee not ? fyp. Go to, good visionary ; 'tis thine own, Teb. ' Tis even so : yet 'tis not thence less true. — Well, I was weary of a life of visions. And sought for service at Joanna's court. JO.V>."X.V OF NAPLES. 117 Faith, 'twas a glorious court ! Around her throne Stood all tho master-spunts of the age. Petrarca — he whoso magic numbers woke The murmuring echoes of the deep Vaucluse, Making the name of her he mourn'd immortal ; And gay Boccaccio, of the lighter strain ; And some who trod a sterner path to fame, And gather'd laurels from their nightly toils — More hardly earn'd, and haply less unfading — Grave jurisconsults and philosophers ; And there was beauty with her witcliing smile, And cliivalry with all its com-teous bearing ; Brave hearts, bright eyes, and names embalm'd in song, And voices — such as may not breathe again — To charm mine age-duU'd ear with Kquid tones. Among her court the }'t)ung Joanna stood, A sunbeam lighting up the gay pai'terre, The fairest, gentlest, purest, best of all ; Wearing tho same glad smile with which she cheer'd Her aged grandsire, good King Robert's heart ; And winning, by her playful guilelessness, Her moody lord to an unfrequent smile. I saw her oft, at distance, when she roved, Twining the flow'rets into thoridess crowns ; 118 JOANKA OF NAPLES. And ever by her side the young Giralda, The daughter of Filippa Catanese. Ipp. Books ! — out upon them — faithless chroniclers, Mere wordy counsellors — cold comforters r the hour of sorrow. I can tell thee, comrade, Thy bootless learning hath been waste of life. Why, thou hast blanch'd thy cheek, and dimm'd thine eye, Furrow'd thy brow with most untimely wrinkles, By these same vigils o'er the treacherous pages ; And they have left thee ago, doubt, poverty, A care-worn frame, and a care-cumber'd spirit. The sole rewards of thy devoted years. Teh. Blame not my voiceless friends ; their silent speech Hath spoken much of comfort to my need. They have been true when other friends proved false, Have welcomed me back to my lonely cell With an unvaried kindness ; they have not SmUod on my hopes only to mock their downfall, Nor changed their greeting when my fortunes alter'd. JOANNA OF NAPLES. 119 They ha\o not led me to the fabled fount, Where man may drink the draught of second youth ; But they have soothed the peevish ills of age With many a soft appliance. Tliey have not Led me to the everlasting throne of truth, But they have pointed to that stariy seat. They have not till'd my cofters with red gold, But they have made me rich in blessed thoughts, I have been young, and known the manly pride Of arms even from my childhood. I have rein'd The fiery courser — I have felt the joy Of cleaving with strong arm the curling wave, Jireasting its foaming might ; and yet I toll thee, I would not barter, for those bygone triumphs, My patient studies and my midnight lamp. ACT II. OR III. Teh. Nay, mourn hiiu not— why should'st thou weep for one Whose dav of life hath closed without a cloud — 120 JOjVNNA of NAPLES. Wlioso life was lived in aU its vernal glory — Whose joyous spirit never knew a blight ? He hath not seen this world grow dim for him, Hath not outlived the lo\ing trust of youth : Clinging to the ideal, he hath gone down Unsullied to the calm and peaceful grave ; And 'twere a happier lot for us who moui-n liim, Perchance, had we too died in early youth. Ber. Comrade, thou may'st speak well ; I doubt it not, But my poor heart bleeds, and I cannot think. I can but feel that I am desolate — A gray old man, without a stay on earth. 1 press my hand upon my aching eyes. That I may not behold his bleeding corse. And o'er the darken'd orbs a vision creeps. I see myself an aged man and lonely. Sitting beside my childless hearth — and where My fair young son stood, blessing my solitude, I see his fav'rite hound crouch mournfully, Looking with sad unquiet eye around him, Or creeping to the door with fitful whine. To look towards the mountain path, and watch For my Anselmo's coming — till at length JO.VNNA OF NAPLES. 121 I question if the blessed past were true, And I am fain to look upon the clay — AU that is left me of my son — my son ! Teh. Lift up thy spirit in its strength, Bernardo. We have together breasted many a fight, Wrench'd hard-carn'd laurels from the foeman's grasp : Thou wast the bravest in our band of heroes : We have together watch'd the night away, Have coped with cold, hunger, and broken rest : Our silent watch beneath the countless stars, Our weary hours of toil within the trenches, Famine and doubt — ay, ay, and worse — defeat Shook not the patient courage of Bernardo, The firm endurance of mine early friend. Then rouse thee — brush away those tears, and prove Thyself in sorrow, as in war, unshaken. Ber. Nay, nay, good comrade, let me weep, I pray thee. Tebaldo, thou hast never been a father. He was so like his mother, and his voice Had the low music of her pleading tones ! It seems, when I shall lav him in the grave, 122 JOANNA OP NAPLES. As if the link that binds the present liour Unto my earlier life were snapp'd for ever, ACT III. SCENE II. Joan. Weary me not with prayers. I will sit here, Straming mine aching eyes till their strings crack. Can they too fondly gaze upon that sun, The last that sees me an enthroned queen ? Sorrento's rosy shores are growing darker. Agnes — Costanza, see ye nothing — nothing ? The dark motes flit before my cheated sight, A filmy diuuicss clouds the visual ray. JO.VNXA OF NAPLES. 123 ACT IV. JOAXXA and the Provencals. Joan. Yet love is swifter than tlio winged wind ; Love's pinions can outride the whirlwind's blast. Was not the dove the first of all the birds Loosed by the patriarch from the stranded ark, (When the dark waves of the receding flood IloU'd back into the cavernous abyss, From whose unfathoiu'd depths God's ire had call'd them,) A\niich roved not idly o'er the new-boi'n world. But backward turn'd — though winds were whistling past, Though palmy grove and flowery mead allured — And bore the olive branch to glad Jiis sight, Wliose hand had smooth'd so oft its rufiled plumes ? Oh ! gentle sirs, had your love been more deep, Your faith more true — had they been born to dare The winter's storm as well as summer's smiles — Were loyalty a tree of deejjer root. Then had I stood secure beneath its Ijranches ; 124 JOANNA OF N.^PLES. Then had the tempest's wi-ath in vain assail'd me, Though it had rifted the eternal rocks. Strong in my jieople's love, my people's valour, I had not fallen, nor Durazzo triumph'd. Bald. If to the throne of grace the voice of prayer Ascend — as it is wi'itten — 'twill return Back in the dew of blessing on Joanna. Ber. If curses blast, bans wither, blights will cleave Like leprosy unto the false Durazzo. Joan. Let it pass, gentlemen — the strife is over ; We bow to Heaven's will, not to Durazzo. Yet ere we part for aye — you to return To the fair scenes where, round the social board. The eyes are beaming in whose light you live ; Where love hallows the hearth, and the dear chime Of childhood's merry laughter, and wild songs, And fairy footfalls bless the sacred home : — / to go forth in my deep wretchedness. Childless and crownless to the drear abode, The dark asylum of my sinking years — Hear me, ye sons of Provence — hear your Queen ! ■TOA>'XA OF NAPLES. 125 By all the love your fothcrs bore my house, By your ovni truth to me in other years, By the dear love you bear your native land, By the best joys of earth and hopes of heaven. Listen, I charge ye, to my last behest : — There was a moment — an unvrorthy moment, When woman's weakness paralysed my soul. If ye should hear it told in coming time. That tliis right hand from mine anointed brow Pluek'd off the crown of the Two Sicilies, That this false heart cower'd 'neath Dui-azzo's steel. This craven hand sign'd my own abdication — To that unworthy, that extorted deed. Lords of Provence, I charge ye, yield ye not ! Disown my name, my signature, myself ; Say grief hath crazed my brain, and tamed my spirit ; And clinging to my son, Louis of Anjou, Yow an eternal hatred to Durazzo. Bald. In that dread hour when our unclothed spirits Shall stand before the judgment-scat of Heaven, So mercy's voice speak our eternal doom As we obey Joanna's last behests. 126 JO.VNXA OF X.\PLES. Joan. Farewell, farewell — a last, sad, kind farewell ! Much faithful service, priceless loyalty. Have ye devoted to me ; and your Queen, Though in the anguish of a troubled spu'it, The waywardness of an o'erburden'd heart, She chid your tardy sails, was not ungrateful. Go ! be God's blessing on your homeward steps — Homeward ! / have no home except the grave ! ACT IV. SCENE II. Charles of Duragzo. Madam and mothor- Joan. Charles Durazzo, peace ! That name fi'om thy false lips falls meaningless ; Time was the name of mother would have cheer'd me, Who watch'd so oft thy childhood's cradled slumbers, Who sooth'd thy infant sorrows, dried thy tears, Parted the ringlets on thy cherub brow — That brow which wears the demon's stamp to-day ! JOANXA OF NAPLES. 127 ACT IV. BeRxVKGEU and Cost.\xza. Ber. Sadly our task hath sped, gentle Costanza, And sad these moments of farewell. Forgive, If deeper thoughts o'erstep the measured pace Of courteous seeming. In the fi'esh'ning gale Our sails are swelling, and the morrow morn Must see our fleet beyond yon rocky isle. Scorn not, Costanza, the unpolish'd youth, More school'd to martial deeds than coiu-tly bearing ; Few are our number'd minutes : let me ask, Must we, so long divided, part so soon. And part for ever ? I could tell thee, lady. How oft thy memory hath hover'd round me. Almost in semblance of a guardian saint. In the hot battle, on the toilsome march. In the deep stillness of the midnight camp, I have beheld thee, like a guiding star, Chasing the darkness from my path, and shedding Celestial peace around mo. Thou hast been 128 JOAXXA OF NAPLES. The refuge of my worn and flagging spirit ; And it hath turn'd from war to rest upon The bright, the holy hope of thy kind thoughts. Cost. Peace, peace, I pray thee. Is an hour like this Meet season for a tale of love ? Ber. Alas! I had not spoken thus did hope afford A promise we might ever meet again. I speak, Costanza, in the bitterness Of desperate and most unhappy love ! My father's hall, my father's heart, are open — Wilt thou not tend Avitli me his sinking years ? Beneath the shelter of the old man's roof Thine hours shall pass away in happiness ; Thou shalt be blest, Costanza, and thy heart Forget Parthenope for ftiir Provence. Cost. Nay, urge me not — it may not, cannot be ; My heart hath twined itself, through years of suff'ring, Round its sad duties and its early home. Ber. Yet — yet withhold the word. Thouart so young, JOANNA OF NAPLES. 129 Canst thou not learn to love another home ? May not my love — my deep, my anxious love — Chase from thy heart the cloud of early care ? Cost. Age should be told by sorrows, not by years ; Winters blight not as wintry anguish doth ; And twenty summer storms thou may'st behold, Nor feel so old as one heart's storm can make thee. I have been nurtured from mine early years 'Midst care and sorrow; I have seen the heads I honour'd whiton'd by untimely snows ; The smooth fair brow furroVd by many a wrinkle, The joyous eye grow dim. I have grown up A floweret shrivell'd from the bud — a plant Water'd by briny dews. Farewell, farewell ! I will not give thee, youth, a wither'd heart. Back to thy bright and beautiful Provence ; Be bless' d — be fortunate — be loved ; and when Thine eye shall rest upon a blighted rose, Think upon her who was too sad to love thee. 130 JOANNA OF NAPLES. ACT IV. SCENE . Joan. {After the Provencals' departure.) They are gone hence, the loyal and the true, The last supporters of Joanna's cause ! Their less'ning sails, like small and dusky birds, Hover upon the utmost rim of ocean ; Another hour, they will be vanish'd quite — Vanish'd, like hope, to bless mine eyes no more. Agnes of Dxirazso. They are gone hence — darkly the pall of fate Infolds our joyless future — darkly sets Our morning sun of gladness on our path, To cast its cheering beams, alas ! no more. Cost. They are gone hence ; and lie is gone with them — He that was hope, and life, and bliss to me — He whose kind smile brightcn'd the work-day world ; Whose deep voice woke the echoes of my heart. And call'd the poesy of feeling forth. Enough — he is gone lience — good saints protect him ! JO.VXXA OF NAPLES. 131 I have not sadden'd o'er his joyous morrow, Nor twined his fortunes with mine ill-starr'd lot. Yet was it well to snap the bands in twain Which might have link'd us throughout joy and sorrow — Spirit to spirit, heart to answering heart, Strength'ning each other's faith, each other's hope, Smoothing our rugged path by gentle kindness ? If I have err'd, Heaven's pity shield my reason ! Oh ! little can ye deem who stand and mark My unmoved brow, my customary smile, How deeply, darkly, >vildly I have striven And wrestled with my spirit and its weakness, Ere I could bid him go from me for ever. And now the strife is over — he is gone — Gone from my sight for ever — ay, for ever ! And my sick heart, dissover'd but unwean'd. Turns faintly from the void of coming years, And inly whispers, " Hast thou err'd, Costanza?" Joan. (To Agnes.) Nay, nay, fair niece, thou shalt not stay with me ; In thine ancestral halls, a jocund band, Stand the young scions of thine ancient house. A mother's blessings have been pour'd on thee — 132 JOANNA OF NAPLES. On thee a mother's duties have been laid. Thou shalt return unto thy gladsome troop, Thine the dear office, with a parent's pride, To nurture and to discipline, and form The high imaginings, the lofty instincts Of thy heroic sons. Canst thou forget, A few short years of childliood past, and youth, They shall spring forth the men of future years ? Mother of heroes, shrink not from thy task ! Cost. Mine is a claim may not be disallow'd. Thou wast a mother to my orphan'd youth, My love shaU soothe thy childless age. Forgive me, I cannot leave thee, and I stand alone ; No parent claims my duty — I have broken The only ties that bound me, save to thee. Take me, Joanna, I am all thine own. Joan. Young one, dost thou not tremble, whUe thou speak'st ? The atmosphere I breathe is fiill of danger ; And one that would not lightly think of life. Is little meet to share my solitude. JOANNA OF NAPLES. 133 Cost. Or life or death, whate'er thy lot may be, I do not fear to share it. I fear nought ; For the one blighting sorrow hath pass'd o'er me. And I can fear no more. ACT V. SCENE I. Joanna and Fra Agostino. Joan. Toll me, father. Can grief-wrung groans — can ceaseless prayers — can woe, Treasured within the heart an honour'd guest — Can deep remorse that asketh not relief. Inly consuming me, and wasting me — Can aught atone for bygone sins ? Can tears Flowing fi'om night till morn — from morn till night — Can they from my sad spirit wash away The stain of blood ? F.Agost. Of what? 134 JOA^'NA OF NAPLES. Joan. Of innocent blood ? F. Agost. Pardon, O God of Vengeance ! — 'tis Andrea's ! Joan. Oil ! no, no, no, thank God ! — No ! not Andrea's ! Blood is upon my soul — but oh ! not his. God ! who dost seai'ch all spirits, Thou dost see me, I stand before Thee a most guUty thing ; But from my true love to my murder'd lord, From the deep faith and ftrm fidelity, My early vow plighted before Thine altar, Thou know'st I swerved never. Father, no ! Crave thou no pardon for thy hard rude thought — The chasten'd spirit of thy penitent Can brook and sufter all ; and even in this Can see tliy pity for an erring soul. And thank thee that thou call'dst Heaven's mercy down On one thou dcem'dst so vile : — and vile indeed The sin that blots my memory. There was one, The nursing mother of my bright young years — She loved me, father, with a parent's love ; JOANNA OF NAPLES. 135 Loved me ! ay, loved me like her only child, The bright-hair'd maiden, with the smiling eyes, Wlio grew beside me into womanhood. Father, that gii-l's fair image haunts me yet. Her glad and musical laughter, and the songs We sang together in that sunny time. We were so blithe, that I have even wept For idleness — the o'erflow of too much joy. She gi'ew beside me, and a truer heart, A gentler being lived not on the earth. I gave the maiden with a princely dower, Such as beseem'd Joanna's dearest friend, To one right worthy of her : they were happy, Their life flew onward like a summer's day. Father, I gave them all — all three — to death. And they were innocent ! My cruel brother Charged them with having MTOught Andrea's death But it was false — her latest accents said so. E'en to the last they stood in conscious virtue, Pronouncing " We are innocent." — They died, But breathed no curses on Joanna's name. 136 JO.INNA OF NAPLES. Joan. Bid them enter. Did we not, father, share our hoarded food In sunny Naples with the hungry poor ? And shall not Muro's storm-rock'd tower aiford The houseless wand'rer shelter from the blast ? — Alas ! such meagre hospitality Is all Joanna now hath power to offer. ACT V. BeRANGER to COSTANZA. The love that breathes its vows beside the dead Is no vain birth of idle fantasy ; ' Twill brighten as the darker days descend ; And when our checker'd pilgrimage is closing. And the last hour of trial draweth nigh, ' Twill look beyond the grave to that bless'd world Where love, refined from all its earthly dross. Shall dwell, seraphic, in the courts of heaven. FROM THE GERMAN. God moved, and chaos to being sprang — Millions of suns awoke to light, And earth shone forth, the bride of heaven, With all her thousand flowerets bright ; And through the new creation's plain Stray'd happy creatures, twain by twain. Man stood alone — in strength, in worth — In conscious dignity elate — Joyless he view'd the wonders round — Life without love is desolate. God framed the Woman — she stood forth In calm and miglity lowliness, Man's gentler counterpart, and form'KEN. I. Get up, little sister, the monaing is bright, And the birds are all singing to welcome the light ; The buds are all op'ning — the dew's on the flower ; If you shake but a branch, see there falls quite a shower. By the side of tlieir mothers, look, under the trees, How the young fawns are skippmg about as they please ; And by all those rings on the water, I know The fishes are merrily swimming below. The bee, I dare say, has been long on the wing. To get honey from every flower of the sprmg ; For the bee never idles, but labours all day, And thinks, wise little insect, work better than play. 174 INFANTILE POEMS. The lark's singing gayly ; it loves the bright sun, And rejoices that now the gay spring is begun ; For the spring is so cheerful, I think 'twould be wrong If we did not feel happy to hear the lark's song. Get up, for when all things are merry and glad, Good children should never be lazy and sad ; For God gives us daylight, dear sister, that we May rejoice like the lark, and may work like the bee. II. Wlien I kneel down my prayers to say, I must not think of toys or play ; No ! — I must think what I should be, To please God who is good to me. He loves to see a little child Obedient — patient too — and mild ; Not often angry, but inclined Always to do Avhat's good and kind. INFANTILE I'OKMS. 175 And I must love my dear mamma, And I must love my dear papa ; And try to please them, and to do Things that are right, and say what's true. For God is always pleased to see Even little children such as we, Whose hearts (as angels' are above) Are full of i)eaee and full of love. III. Butterfly, butterfly, brilliant and bright, How very often I envy your flight ! I think I should like through the whole summer day. Like you, pretty insect, to flutter and play. Butterfly, butterfly, onward you fly. Now skimming so lowly, now rising so high ; First on the jessamine, then on the rose. Then you will visit the pinks, I suppose ? 176 INFANTILE POEMS. Now you are resting, pray let me come near : I will not hurt you, nor touch you, don't fear ; For mamma says my hand is too heavy by far, To touch such little creatures as butterflies are. NoAv you are off again. Butterfly, stay ; Don't fly away from me, butterfly, pray : Just let me look at your beautiful wings ; Oh ! it does not mind me, but upward it springs. 1836 ITALY. Oh ! name it not, there is a spell Around its memory clinging, To which I would not bid farewell For all the future's bringing. The skies of radiant Italy ! Oh ! they are deeply blue ; And nothing save their kindred waves Can match their sapphire hue. No little clouds e'er flit across, To dim their heavenly light ; Would that my sold were pure as they, As spotless and as bright ! The gales of balmy Italy ! Oh ! as they fleet along, 178 ITALY. They bear upon their downy wings The treasured wealth of song. They linger through the blooming scenes Where once my footsteps roved ; And they are free, though I am not, To kiss the flowers I loved. The songs of tuneful Italy ! They wake within the heart Those visions of the olden time, Which will not thence depart. And freedom, love, and honour bright Rise from the dust again. Would that my feeble lyre could wake The spirit-stirring strain ! The flowers of sunny Italy ! Oh ! blissful is their doom ; A brief, bright space to bloom, then sink Untrodden to the tomb. Still breathing fi-agrance as they droop Beneath the golden ray ; Oh thus were 't mine to sigh my soul In ecstasy away ! ITALY, 179 The tombs of holy Italy ! The earth where heroes trod ; Where sainted martyrs glorified In death th' Incarnate God ! Where all is bright, and pure, and calm, On earth, in air, and sea. O Italy ! amongst thy tombs, Hast thou not one for me ? THE FAIRY KING. Softest dreams shall round thee hover, Fairy bands thy rest watch over ; Where thou rov'st shall sweet birds sing ; Where thou tread'st shall wild-flowers flin£ Incense of the balmy spring. I will bring the pearls of morning, The rose's blushing cheek adorning ; I will shed them round the cell, Wliere the maid I love so well, Ever, evermore doth dwell. I will catch the wild strains swelling From the mermaid's charmed dwelling ; THE FAIRY KING. Ibl Where, deep in lier coral caves, The sea-maiden sits and laves Her tresses in the sapphire waves. I ^vill hasten to the mountain, To bring thee wild thjone from the fountain ; I will mark the breath which steals From the violet, and reveals What leaf that fading gem conceals. I'll bring thee the mingled sigh Of music, flowers and poesy ; At thy lightest look or word I'll rove, Rifling hiU, and mead, and grove, To deck thy bower, my ladye-love ! SONG. The wine shines bright In the cup to-night For hearts undimm'd by sorrow ; But who can tell If this cup shall swell For hearts as blithe to-morrow ? Twine, twine we then the fading rose, The flower that but to perish blows ; Could poet's lay avert thy doom. Thine were, O Rose, immortal bloom ! 1836. THE SONG OF EUDORA. [" The wandering eyes of the girl of the sea became still more unsettled. She grasped tlio offered hand of the free-trader in both her own, and ■wrung it in an impassioned and unconscious manner. Then releasing her hold, she opened wide her arms, and cast them convulsively about his unmoved and unyielding form. ' We will go together! I am tliine, and thine only!' — 'Thou knowest not what thou sayest, Eudora!' gasped the skimmer. ' Thou hast a father — friend — husband.' — ' Away, away !' cried tlio frantic girl, waving her Iiand wildly towards Alida and the Patroon, who advanced as if hurrying to rescue her from a precipice. ' Thine, and thine only !' The smuggler released himself from her fren- zied grasp, and witli the strength of a giant he held the struggling girl at the length of his arm, wliile he endeavoured to control tlie tempest of passion that struggled within him. ' Think, for one moment think!' he said; 'thou wouldst follow an outcast — an outlaw — one hunted and con- demned of men !' — ' Thine, and thine only !' — ' With a ship for a dwell- ing, the tempestuous ocean for a world !' — ' Thy world is my world — thv home my home— thy danger mine !' The shout which burst out of the chest of the skimmer of the seas, was one of uncontrollable exultation. ' Thou art mine!' ho cried. ' Before a tie like this, the claim of sucli a father is forgotten ! Burgher, adieu — I will deal by thy daughter more honestly tliaii tliou didst deal by my benefactor's child !' " — Extrait fnmt the Water Witch.;] Thine, and thine only ! — though, around our way, Tempests should rave and storms disturb our path, For thee I cast my woman's fears away, And yield me unrepining to their wrath. 184 THE SONG or EUDORA, Thine, and thine only ! — o'er the bounding surge, Exiles of earth, together let us roam ; I reck not where our de\dous course we urge ; Thy bark my universe, thy heart my home ! Thine, and thine only ! — when the silent deep Reflects the wand'ring children of the sky, Eudora by thy side shall vigil keep, And trace with thee her destiny on high. Thine, and thine only ! — though despair and gloom Should shed their baleful influence o'er thy lot, ' Twere bliss to share the darkness of thy doom ; Oh ! doubly dreadful did I share it not ! THE SPIRIT'S GREETING. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND' " Are the bonds of earth unloosing ? Soars my soul on pmions free, That m this, our home, beloved, Once again I meet vdth Thee ? Long thy bless' d, thy shadowy presence Raised me o'er my grovelling lot ; Now in light and Hfe I find thee, Now I know I lost thee not." " Do I see thee ? tempt'st thou eartliward '? Or abid'st thou ever near ? Is for me earth's spring returning ? Or begins a fairer here ? 186 THE spirit's greeting. Yes ! even in these brighter regions I have pined sometimes for thee. Come — I feel that in thy presence Heaven can be more bless'd to me !" LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. A FRAGMENT. " The age of Chivalry is fled" — So Mr Edmund Burke hath said ; And ev'ry thinking person must Confess the sentence to be just. Our modern knight more versed appears In breaking hearts than breaking spears ; Prefers to siege and escalade Mazourkas and the gaUopade ; To grey-goose shaft, the grey-goose quill ; To ogre-hunting — sitting still ; To " princely pleasures," London's spring ; To steel-clad tournaments, the ring ; Forsweareth madrigal and lay ; Scorneth the lyre, and hunts his bay ; 188 THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPIXG BEAUTY. Measures his merit by his purse ; Lets his sword rust, and huys his spurs ! No dragons guard the modern fair, But chaperons with modish air, Still bent to play a hostUe part Against the rash admirer's heart ; Not (when he strives her smiles to win) To keep him out, but take him in. Not to chivalric legends, then. Rashly wiU I devote my pen ; Its ruder youth now pass'd away, Society is growing grey, From action shrinks, desires repose, And loves to meditate and doze ; And second childhood come again, May listen to a childish strain. In Albion's isle, and in that good old time So praised in prose and eulogized in rhyme, When worth and independence were the plan, " And every rood of ground maintain'd its man ; " THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 189 (For harvests sprang alike on ev'ry soil, And blighted crops ne'er mock'd the farmer's toil ;) \Mien bards spoke truth, and lovers common sense — That golden age, the age of innocence. In that bless'd time a monarch wore the crown, Whom future kings in vain may emulate : For him the regal pillow was of down ; He slept untroubled by turmoils of state. No dire presentiments of adverse fate Disturb'd the couch where he lay slumbering ; His highness never could anticipate That, in the world, there was so rash a thing As dared disturb the quiet of a king. He was a man greatly to be revered, And to be held in wondrous estimation ; Long was his pedigree, and eke his beard. And very great his sldll in divination ; For mathematics he'd much inclination ; Had ANTitten treatises on ornithology, Pneumatics, hydrostatics, osteology ; And could dispute with any in the nation On electricity and navigation. 190 THE LEGEND OF THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. He compiled tracts and penny magazines, And edited (on-dit) the " Weekly News," Essays on agricultural machines, On glasshouse chimneys and on hothouse flues. Sometimes, in loftier mood, he woo'd the muse. And -wrote in strains romantic or political ; Sometimes crack articles for the reviews — The courtiers caU'd them " neatly analytical," Though some poor authors deem'd them hypercritical. The queen was his " harmonious opposite," A wife upon the compensation plan, Which wills that woman, both in wrong and right. Should stand in constant apogee to man. (Such wives do ne'er, say they who deeply scan The matrimonial balance, pull awry.) She churn'd the butter, fed the fowls with bran. And, victim she to all a housewife's duUery, Visited eke the kitchen and the scullery. She was a lady of a cortam age. Known in the peerage by the date omitted. Where stands the name on the ancestral page, To 'scape the comments of the ready-witted. THE LEGEND OP THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 191 For many good folks love not to be twitted With the remembrance of life's fast decay ; Though some will eulogize the scene they've quitted, And, smiling on the retrospect, wiU say " That was when I was young — before your day." Sages, whose nightly lamp beholds ye scan The scrolls of science with tliin cheek and pale ; Grave moralists, who, from the heart of man, Would lift with daring hand the mystic veil, Read me the moral of this oft-told tale : — Man seeks to seem that which he cannot be. We ever Uve in memory or in hope, The fleeting present glides unnoticed by. 'Tis passing strange that man would ever seem The thins: he is not This was the first of a scries of poems wliich Lady Flora had intended writing, to prove that the nursery tales, with whicli we are amused in in- fancy, do in reality contain in them a deep moral. 1837. ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH. A TALE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CBNTUKY. The author addresseth the courteous public. Ye gentles gay List to my lay, On lofty themes I touch- A song rU sing Of James the King, And Ashby de la Zouch. K.iyai musings. Thc monarch sate In regal state, As chroniclers Avill vouch Absorb'd — for nought Could claim a thought But Ashby de la Zouch. ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH. 193 Anticipatory reflections. III. Nor yet renown Had made it known For baths,* hot, cold, and douche Nor Scott to fame Consign'd the name Of Ashby de la Zouch. Humour telleth of the magnifi- cence of Earl Henrv. IT. But fame declared Earl Henry fared As kings to fare would grudge — His banquot-hall Was free to all, In Ashby de la Zouch : Of the illus- trious guests. To every squire In Leicestershire — And there were many such And chivalry Of high degree, At Ashbv de la Zouch. * Salt-water from Lord Hiistinjfs' coal-mines, famous for the cure of rlicun\atisni, and now brought to Ashby. N 194 ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH. VI. Out spake the King — " A settled thing ! I'll taste no more hotch-potch, Till I shall know How matters go At Ashby de la Zouch. The plan unfolded. VII. " I'll down and share My cousin's fare ; I'll mount the heavy coach, And it shall drop Me from its top, At Ashby de la Zouch. Objections answered. VIII. " 'Tis not the thing To suit a long. My ministers avouch ; But I will jog Along — incog. — To Ashby de la Zouch." ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH. 195 IX. Effect produced. Oil all men near Fell doubt and fear — He might have spoken Dutch They puzzled long, That courtier throng, O'er Ashby de la Zouch. Tlie constitu- tional advisers of the crown alarmed. X. Could it be meant As precedent For future kings to clutch ? Use 'his own eyes Instead of spies, At Ashby de la Zouch ? The author moralizeth. XI. Oh ! dream too free For majesty ! Could truth to thrones approach, James had gone down From town alone To Ashby de la Zouch. 196 ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH, A threatened resignation. XII. The premier knelt ; He said — he felt He must from office trudge, Should etiquette The king forget, For Ashby de la Zoueh. Of thf pride, positive and possible, of tl)t» Plantagenets. XJII. The haughty set, Plantagenet, Had ne^'cr learn'd to crouch ; Too proud they'd be* The king to see At Ashby de la Zouch. I.imltatlon.s of tlie royal pre- rogative. XIV. If he would go. He hoped he'd do As council best might judge ; Some means they'd find My lord to grind, At Ashby de la Zouch. ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH, 107 A fliaritabU- sugarestion. XV. To entertain A goodly train Might lighten my lord's pouch ; Some weeks to spend He'd recommend At Ashby de la Zouch. La nuit portc ronseil. XVI. Ere morning's light Had banish'd night, The monarch left his couch ; And straightway sent To this intent, To Ashby de la Zouch. A gracious letter. XVII. " He did not fear He on his dear Kind kinsman could encroach ; He'd be, he knew, Le Bien-venu At Ashby de la Zouch." 198 ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH. A humble reply, and animadver- sions thereon. XVIII. The Earl profess'd Himself most bless'd ; (The premier mutter'd " Fudge !") And all the court Did straight resort To Ashby de la Zouch. Preparation. XIX. But wo the while ! What haste, what toil, To build, and eke to botch ; To brew, to bake — To mend, to make — In Ashby de la Zouch ! XX. Perplexities. Earl Henry stood In thoughtful mood — The Countess tore her mutch ; She thought of all That might befall Poor Ashby de la Zouch. ASHBT DE LA ZOUCH. 199 More definite apprehensions. XXI. Her buttery, stored With many a hoard, Where erst none dared to poach, Would rifled be, She could foresee. At Ashby de la Zouch. The Countess anticipateth an incursion of the Picts and Scots. XXII. " He will bring down," She cried, " fi-om town. Hosts of his starving Scotch ; They'll find no kaH, Nor parritch meal, At Ashby de la Zouch !" The King arriveth. XXIII. On foot, on horse, All rush'd of course. With sword, bow, staff, or ci-utch. The King to meet, And gladly gi'cet, At Ashby de la Zouch. 200 ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH. The King fares sumptuously. XXIV, Great was the guest, As groat the feast, And none could thrift reproach ; Of buck and roe They had enow, At Ashby de la Zouch. XXV. A word in favour G ilwiska's stream * of the Trent. Could not, I deem. Afford pike, perch, or roach ; But generous Trent A tribute sent To Ashby de la Zouch. The Malmsey butt i.s broached. XXVI. He gave the word, That princely lord, The Malvoisie to broach The fatal winef Was thought " divine" At Ashby de la Zouch. • A Htroam that runs closo to Ashby. + I'';ital to Oeorgc, Duke of Clarence, Lord Ilastings's ancestor. ASIIRY DE LA ZOUCH. 201 ■• Ho (iinnibus rebus — ct inuUis ;iliis." XXVII, I might as well Attempt to tell The feats of Scaramouch, As all the " sport Of that gay court" At Ashby de la Zouch. Tlie finale, whiTPin lurketli a nior.il. XXVIII. The bells did ring, The gracious king Enjoy'd his visit much ; And we've been poor- Er since that hour, At Ashby de la Zouch. One of the Hastings', POSTSCRIPT. Among these rhymes I've manv times 202 ASHBY DE LA ZOUCH. Rejected the word " slouch ;"* I do not know What it could do At Ashby de la Zouch ! • The women of Ashby are remarkable for their erect carriage in walking. For Note on the localities of the foregoing poem, and its historical asso- ciations, vide Appendix. THE IDEALIST. Look on this grave : the rank grass waves o'er it, The startled fawn, up-springing from our tread, Shakes from the dewy fern its liquid gems ; — Yet here blooms the first primrose — the last violet That sheds its fragrance on the chill damp air Of a November morn, like love in death, Springs from this sod ; and in the simimer nights The glow-worm layeth here her lamp of light ; The heavenward lark begins its matins here, And the pale moonbeams kiss the sacred earth. And well may bird, and flower, and moonbeam pale, With fragrance, and with radiance, and with song, Hallow his bed of rest who slumb'reth here. For he was one whose heart entwined itself 204 THE IDEALIST. With all of being : — who beheld all things That lived, instinct with the Immaterial Mind, All things that were, as that Mind's handiwork ; Who knew himself the brother of the worm, And yet akin to angels and archangels. His was the poetry of life. His heart Was steep'd in love, and in the deep, unutter'd, Unfathom'd sense of beauty and perfection. He would go forth from his sweet cottage-home, Drinking the sounds and sights of blessedness That throng this faery world, to treasure them In the deep silence of his lofty soul. ^ His spirit sought no words in which to clothe His consciousness of bliss : he pour'd it forth In deep low murmurs to the mountain wind. He gazed upon the countless orbs of night, Brightly careering in their mystic paths, Until he felt his soul blend with their beams By the intensity with which he loved them. And when the tempest woke, and the dread north Cast forth her lightnings and her fleecy snows. He bent his brow in raptured awe, and hail'd The present God — the ruler of the storm I THE IDEALIST. 205 The past gave xip her wealth of thought ; he pored Upon the strolls of bygone time, until The mighty men, the giant minds of old, Came at his call, peopling his solitude, Like his accustom'd and familiar fi'iends. The future brought her hopes, her glorious promise ; Ages unborn flitted before his sight. The world of air was his ; his spirit yearn'd, With deep and passionate longing, to arrest The vague and spiritual realities, Wliose shadows brighten o'er life's toilsome way. They answor'd to his call, and round his couch Came, nightly thronging, messengers of light ; He felt the ether tremble with their wings ; Their voices sank upon his slumb'ring ear, Like echoes from another sphere, and gave To time the music of eternity. And was he happy ? Stoop'd his spirit never From its exalted j)aths ? Was he still free To tread the empyrean, and to bathe His being in essential ecstasy ? Sorrow and sickness came, and this world's cares, 206 THE IDEALIST. Cramping the noble soul that scorn'd its hopes, And mock'd at its delusions ; and he chafed Against the galling chain that bound him down, As the caged eagle chafes in slavery. His heart grew chill'd and reckless ; and his sense Of the ideal paled and waned away. He was most wretched — but amidst the gloom The voice of Mercy spake ; he raised his eyes, And, from the mystery of the Holy Cross, He learn'd to read the mystery of life. Linking the present with the future world. He worshipp'd — he believed — adored — and loved ! FAREWELL, MY HOME! A FRAGMENT. ■^f, Farewell, my home ! — Oh ! in that one brief word What myriad thoughts are cluster'd — what deep love, Wliat holy feelings, what hopes, not of earth, Are waken'd by that word — My home ! my home ! Thou first, loved mother — ^thou, the gentlest, best ! The watchful guardian of my uifant years — Thou who has bent with almost seraph's love Above my weak and cradled infancy. Wiping away the half-unconscious tear, Soothing the infant rebel's heart to peace. Folding the tiny hands, and teaching me To form my lisping accents into prayer : — Thou who hast wept — ^yet, smiUng through thy tears. Hast hail'd the hand of Mercy — whose meek head 208 FAREWELL, ^lY HOME ! Has bent beneath the chastening of thy Lord, Hallow'd by sorrow, as the trampled thyme Exhales a richer fragrance to heaven's cope — Dear legacy of a departed father — Loved trust committed to our duteous love. When he was taken from us to his rest. And my sweet sisters, with their cahn bright eyes, Their gentle laughter, their soft voices chiming, Their light glad steps, their wild and sportive wit, And their pure feelings, and their humble hearts. Yes ! from a child, I loved to look on ye — To hope for ye — to feel that as we grew In age together, so Ave grew in love ; For not in name alone, not by birth only, But by the tie of faith, of hope, of grief, Together shared, and duties day by day Together borne, have we been sisters ever. And thou, dark hill and hoar,* That bi-oodest like a genius o'er the strath. • Loudon Hill— a curious rock of voli-mic formation in Ayrshire, at the foot of which three battles have been fought; one in the time of the Ro- mans (of whose camp the traces are still supposed to be visible), the second in 1307, and the third in 1679. FAREWELL, MY HOME ! 209 Passionless witness of the lapse of ages — And monument, by nature's hand uprear'd, Of the stern struggles of an earnest time. Even so thou stood'st, when winding round thy base, Through the wild forest's over-arching gloom. The Roman led his legions. Thus thy brow Raised from the misty clouds its awful form, When Bruce and Scotland stemm'd the warlike pride Of the first Edward's southern chivalry. And there was yet an hour more deeply fraught With fervid feeling. — On thy storm-rived crest Stood they who turn'd the sickle to a sword, And grasp'd, with hands to pastoral toils inured, Th' unwonted weapon, in the holiest cause For which man hath stood forth a combatant — The cause of conscience and of liberty. Smile not, O sons of these pacific times ! When, free to worship even as ye list, Ye tliink upon the motley mustering Of those who, for the holy Covenant, The church by Scotland sanction'd and approved, Even from this rock descending, with one voice 210 FAREWELL, MY HOME ! Raised to the Lord of Armies one loud psalm, And on the bloody heather of Drumelog Pour'd forth their blood, to seal their faith thereby. Lo ! down the valley, from how many roofs Curls the white smoke, melting in air away ! I love to watch those Avreaths, and think they mark Each some calm homestead — some kind social hearth- Some home of human hearts, where human love Can smooth the rugged path of daily toil, And spiritualize the dull material round. The penal lot of fallen mortality. Ofi, merciful ! and wise as merciful ! That twinest our blessings with our .... 'v.- 1838. LA NOTTE ED IL GIORNO. Around our globe with ceaseless flight Move the twin sisters, Day and Night ; Intent to bear to every clime The mandates of their father, Time ; And pour with equal-handed grace His blessings on the human race. Day bathes the earth in dews of light, Night brings its visions yet more bright. The op'ning flower, the wild bird's song. To Day, glad joyous Day, belong ; While Night, with step more staid and calm, Brings slumber's soft Lethean balm. When Day hath suffer'd aught of care. Night sheds her soothing poppies there ; If Night hath brought us aught of sorrow, Dav shall lead on a brishtor morrow. 212 LA NOTTE ED IL GIORNO. When Time's allotted course is done, His wings unplumed, his hour-glass run, May Day be merged in brighter day. And fade in heaven's own light away ; And all Night's fairest visions be Changed to more bless'd reality ! I THINK OF THEE. FROM THE GERMAN OF MATTHISSO\. I THIXK of thee — when bursting from the grove, From her sweet dwelling in the greenwood tree, The nightingale pours forth her lay of love ; — When dost thou think of me ? I think of thee — in twilight's dewy shade, In the effulgence of the sunbeam free, In the pure radiance of the moonlit glade ; — Where dost thou think of me ? I think of thee — with trembling tenderness. With gushing teai's of voiceless ecstasy — With sighs that soothe, with grief that seems to bless How dost thou tliink of me ? 214 I THINK OF THEE. Oh think of me — until we meet again, If kinder stars ordain such bliss to be — For sever' d far, by mountain or by main, I ever think of thee ! 1839. FREDERIC AND GELA. A IlEGEND of the KHINE. " Our love shall be eternal ! ' There is a stream — yonder you see its wave — Which, bursting from the hills, spreads its pure crystal Over the peaceful valley. 'Tis the Kinz. Upon its banks dwelt once the lovely Gela ; She Avho loved Frederic, and, though humbly born, Was fondly loved by him again. Her story Is short — the shepherds know it well, and oft Will teU it with sighs ; noting stiU how pure And holy was that love, which yielded up Its object for the sake of his renown. This is her simple tale the shepherds tell : — 216 FREDERIC AND GELA. It was the evening hour : all the earth reposed In silent peacefulness ; the moonbeam play'd In innocent brightness on the dimpling wave, And sUver'd the dark groves. He slumber'd not, The youthful warrior. From Galilee Frederic had hasted : his strong arm had fought For Heaven and for the Cross — his early might He had essay'd against the Paynim foe ; He had sought holy Solyma, had raised The Christian banner, and had home return'd To joy, to love, to Gela ! Mute he sate Till the last hours of lingering night had pass'd, And daylight gray made pale the latest stars. With rapid step, yet all unheard his tread. He left the castle, and by early dawn Threaded the woods, and reached the river's side, Where stood St Mary's chapel. There he paused. It was the spot, the hour, the very light, By wliich he once was wont to meet with Gela. All now was still — the stream flow'd gently on. Unruffled, calm, bright as his Gola's love. It caught heaven's smile — her azure on its wave — And answer'd it with kindred purity. FREDERIC AND GELA. 217 He thought he heard a stejj — no, it was nought ; ' Twas but the startled hind who raised her head. He thought he saw a shadow light bend o'er The crystal stream ; 'twas but the weeping birch 'Gainst which his Gela leant when first he woo'd her. He thought ho heard her mantle's rustling folds Brush the. bright tears of morning from the path ; ' Twas but the zephyrs whispering 'mid the trees. He open'd slowly next the chapel door — She was not there — the dweller of his soul. Was she then faithless ? Could he bear the thought ? No ! let him die ere he should find her false ! Was she then cold, laid in the narrow grave ? Trembling he fell before the cross to pray For blessings on her grave, peace to her soul. Before the altar and the cross he found A letter, traced by the maid's well-knoAvn hand. It briefly told him, so traditions say, His Gela had become the espoused of heaven ; It charged him to select a nobler bride, And ended with the very words with which They parted last, " Our love shall be eternal !" It ivas eternal — even to the grave 218 FREDERIC AND GELA, Her Frederic loved the memory of Gela. And she — as she had lived, she died — in true And holy constancy. So runs the tale. This is the tale as the traditions tell. The foregoing little legend should properly have appeared in an earlier part of the volume, but was not discovered until the printing was far ad- vanced. The style, which is dissimilar to Lady Flora's other writings, seems to have been suggested by the perusal of Mr Rogers' " Italy," and was pro- bably penned shortly after the publication of that chaste and classical poem. J'ide Note in Appendix. SONG. " I callM on the hopes," &c. I call'd on the hopes of the years that are past To return to my spu-it and glad me again ; And a low voice repKed, in the moan of the blast, " Canst thou call back the faded, or waken the slain ?" Sound they sleep, they wake no more ; Calm they rest, their toil is o'er. Deep, deep, deep, their bed is made 'Neath the dark, dim yew-tree shade. Can they come, the hopes of yore ? I saw the green leaves of the summer grow sere, I have seen the bright day-star sinkquench'd in the wave ; The dark days of Cambria's winter are near, For Cambria's best warriors are cold in the grave. 220 SONG. Sound they sleep, they wake no more ; Calm they rest, their toil is o'er. Deep, deep, deep, their bed is made 'Neath the dark, dim yew-tree shade. They are gone, the loved of yore ! Tliese stanzas -were set to music by the Chevalier Xeukomm. SONG. When first I met thee, on thy brow The light of fancy pla/d, And brightly beam'd the eyes which now Those downcast lashes shade. Thou mo\''dst an airy form of light, A thing almost di\ine ; I might not dim thy fortunes bright By love so sad as mine. For I had seen the dreams depart Which once illusion shed ; Had known the chillness of the heart When youth's gay charm is fled. Thou wert so bless'd, thou couldst not share The darkness of my doom ; Thou wert a flower too sweet, too rare. To cheer the desert's gloom. 222 SONG. But years are past, and thou hast known Youth's noon-dreams fade away ; The light of cloudless mirth is flown, And rapture's fleeting ray. Chasten'd and calm the hope appears That gilds thy placid brow ; Sweet sister ! in tins vale of tears, I dare to love thee now. SONG. I. I DO not ask a brighter lot Than this — that through the day I still may wander by thy side, And cheer thee on thy way. II. I do not nurse a fonder hope Than this — that I may see, When thou art shedding smiles around, One kind glance fall on me. m. I do not breathe a wilder wish Than this — unseen, unknown, To linger near thee while thou sing'st, And catch each liquid tone. 224 SONG. IT. I frame no more aspii'ing prayer Than tliis — still unreproved To breathe the aii- which thou dost breathe, And rove where thou hast roved. V. And when my weary course is run, And the green sod shroudeth me, Lady ! I ask no elegy Save one brief sigh from thee. THE CROSS OF CONSTANTINE. " Conquer in this !" — Not unto thee alone The vision spake, imperial Constantine ! Nor, presage only of an earthly throne. Blazed in mid-heaven the consecrated sign. Through the unmeasured tract of coming time The mystic cross doth with soft lustre glow, And speaks through every age, in every clime, To every slave of sin and child of wo. " Conquer in this !" — Ay, when the rebel heart Clings to the idols it was wont to cherish, And, as it sees those fleeting boons depart, Grieveth that things so bright were form'd to perish. Arise, bereav'd one I and, athwart the gloom, Read in the brightness of that cheering ray — p 226 THE CROSS OF CONSTANTINE. " Moui'D. not, Christian ! though so brief their bloom, Nought that is worth a sigh shall pass away." " Conquer in this!" — When fairest visions come To lure thy spirit to a path of flowers ; Binding the exile from a heavenly home, To dwell a lingerer in unholy bowers : Strong in His strength who burst the bonds of sin, Clasp to thy bosom, clasp the holy cross ! Dost thou not seek a heavenly crown to win ? Hast thou not counted all beside as loss ? " Conquer in this !" — Though powers of earth and hell Were leagued to bar thee from thy homeward way, The cross shall every darlding shade dispel, Chase every doubt, and re-assure dismay. Faint not, wearied one ! faint not : for thee The Lord of Righteousness and Glory bled, And His good Spirit's influence, with free And plenteous unction, is upon thee shed. " Conquer in this !" — When, by thy fever'd bed. Thou see'st the dark-wing'd angel take his stand. THE CROSS OF COXSTAXTINJ]. 227 Who soon shall lay thy body with the dead, And bear thy spirit to the spirit's land : Fear not ! the cross sustains thee, and its aid In that last trial shall thy succour bring ; Go fearless through the dark, the untried shade, For sin is vanquish'd, and death hath no sting. " Conquer in this!" — Strong in thy Saviour's might. When bursts the morning of a brighter day, Rise, Christian victor in the glorious fight, Arise, rejoicing, from thy cell of clay ! The cross, which led thee scatheless through the gloom, Shall in that hour heaven's royal banner be : Thou hast o'ercome the world, the flesh, the tomb ; Triumph in Him who died and rose for thee ! SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. Bright was the morning, and fresh the breeze, Sported the sunbeams o'er sapphire seas ; Blithely the lark, on the cloud upborne, Pour'd forth his carol to welcome the morn ; Rose on the gale from earth's fairest bowers, The mingling odours of op'ning flowers ; The butterfly roved upon gladsome wing, The wild echoes rang with the voice of spring : Nothing in earth, in ocean, or air, Wore the garb of grief or the brow of care : All was so bright, so serene, so gay, All nature, all being, kept holyday. To sail awhile in this joyous weather, True LoA'o and False Love set out together : SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 229 Each, in a nautilus shell reclined, Spread his gossamer sail to the fav'ring wind ; So light the freight, scarce the waves might feel The fleeting trace of each fairy keel ; So fail- was each, you might scarce, I ween, True Love or False Love have chosen between. Each form was cast in a faultless mould, Each brow was shaded by locks of gold ; Their lips wore the dimpled smile of mirth. Their eyes seem'd to speak of celestial birth ; And childhood's wild grace, and unfetter'd glee, And childliood's air of simplicity. Lent each archer-boy a softer wUe, As he gazed on his bow with a lurking smile. Oh ! Love is more fearful with bow unbent. And smile of innocent merriment. Than when against the unguarded heart He aims his diamond-pointed dart ! Onward they pass'd, and where'er they came, They were welcomed both, under True Love's name ; And False Love, the traitor ! laugh'd to see How cheated the children of earth could be. 230 SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. Gaily they sail'd — but when evening fell. Sunshine and fav'ring breeze, farewell ! Darkness brooded o'er ocean's breast ; The lark had gone to his silent rest ; Every flower, o'er her leafy bed, Folded her petals and droop'd her head : The butterfly shrunk from the night-wind's chill, And the echoes were mute, and the groves were still. Warn'd by eve's falling shadows damp, True Love kindled his " fire-fly lamp," And his eye he raised to the dewy star, Which shone through a veil of clouds afar. Ijouder and louder the winds swept past, And his light galley rock'd in the stormy blast ; But his cheek blanch'd not — and he look'd not back, Nor paused in his course — nor swerved from the track. Deeper and deeper the darkness grew, Wilder and chiller the east wind blew ; But the fire-fly lamp on his galley's prow Brighten'd the dark waves which roll'd below ; And the soft star pointed with silver ray To the land where his destined haven lay. SUNSHINE AND CLOUD. 231 But False Love's bark in that stormy night Cast o'er the waters no gleam of light ; He sought not by starlight his course to guide, But jdelded his boat to the raging tide. And morning woke, with her birds and flowers. And her happy hearts, and her sunny showers ; — And True Love was there ; — but the waters dark Had closed o'er False Love and his treach'rous bark. LINES ADAPTED TO THE NORWEGIAN NATIONAL SONG. Nursed in the wilds, rock'd by the wave, How can we bondsmen be ? Foul fall the traitor and the slave ! But Norway's sons are free ! — are free ! Yes ! from the cradle to the grave, \^Chorus. Old Norway's sons are free ! As the lightning's flash — as the eagle's flight — As the torrent to the sea — Our spirits rise in their chainless might, For Norway's sons are free ! — are free ! Our spirits rise, &c. \^Choms. Long have we worn the stranger's yoke, But brighter hours shall be ; NORWEGIAN NATIONAL SONG. 233 For Heaven's own voice the fiat spoke, That Norway should be free ! — be free ! Yes ! Heaven's own voice, &e. \_Chonis. Shout, then ! oh shout ! from vale and fell ! Bear chorus manfully ! Shout, echo ! from thy deepmost cell, That Norway's sons are free ! — are free ! Shout, echo ! from, &c. [^Chonis. LEGEND OF THE HEART OF BRUCE. A GALLEY seeks the port of Sluys, And o'er the azure wave Rode never bark more fair than she, More royal and more brave. The white sails swelling to the breeze, Are mirror'd in those summer seas, As ocean-birds with snowy wing O'er the blue deep their shadow fling, And round the prow, the dancing spray Blushes to catch the sunny ray, And melts in ambient air away. High on the prow a warrior band, In trim array, are seen to stand ; THE LEGEND OF THE HEART OP BRUCE. 23a Banner and pennon — sword and spear, And mace and battle-axe are there ; And crested helm and armour bright, Buckler and baldric, richly dight ; They do not come ^vith s-vvord and lance To devastate the fields of France ; Nor led by policy, resort A mission to King Philip's* court : They came not with rich merchandize To seek the crowded mart ; But, pilgrims to Jerusalem, They bore King Robert's heart. And he who first in presence sate, 'Neath canopy in chair of state, Was Douglas — he for whom so long \^^oke the wild harp of Scottish song. Whom still a fond tradition names, With benison, " The good Sir James." He was both bold and bUthe of mood, Of faith unstaiu'd and lineage good ; • Philip of Valois. 236 THE LEGEND OF THE HEART OF BRUCE. Loyal of heart, and free of hand, As any knight in Christian land. Fair largesse he to minstrels gave. And loved the faithful and the brave ; Good son of holy church was he. And of unquestion'd piety ; So many graces did commend The knight who was King Robert's friend. For as, in gray Dunfermline's tower. He stood beside the bed. Whereon, in life's departing hour. Was good King Robert laid. Whose failing breath and nerveless form Bespoke him brother of the worm ; While visions of the days gone by Flitted before his glazing eye ; And the old monarch's failing breath Spoke of the fast approach of death ; Awe-struck he kiss'd the feeble hand That once had fought for fair Scotland, And pledged his knightly word, THE LEGEND OF THE HEART OF BRUCE. 237 That he the Brace's heart would bear, With reverence due, and chanted prayer, Unto the Holy Sepulchre Of our most blessed Lord. " He prays you by your knighthood's oath. And by the cross you wear, ' And by your master's dying 'hest, And by your lady fair — He prays you by your courtesy. To lend his cause your blade — Flower of the Scottish chivalry, Come to the cross's aid !" Uutspake the gentle Douglas then — " I may not by my vow. Thus summon'd to the cross's aid, the holy strife forego, liut oh ! thou distant Solyma, long space it must be ere, A pilgrim, I shall bend my knee beside the Sepulchre. Oh ! that I first might seek the land of my dear Saviour's birth. And lay my honour'd master's heart in Syria's holy earth, 238 THE LEGEND OF THE HEART OP BRUCE. And lave, by Jordan's sainted stream, my care-worn furroVd brow, Ere sword again I draw. Enough ! I may not — for my vow !" On rusli'd the Douglas — never knight More valiant sought the field of fight ; Amidst the fray his snowy crest Danced like the foam on ocean's breast ; Like levin brand his broadsword flash'd, And foemen bent, and targets crash'd. With stalwart arm, and giant form, He charged like spirit of the storm ; And as upon the mountain side. So late the trackless forest's pride. Uprooted by the wintry blast The prostrate sapling oaks are cast — So, where he sped his dread career, Bent Moslem crest, and Moslem spear ; While ever, midst the melee, high And clear peal'd forth his battle cry. THE LEGEND OP THE HEART OF BRUCE. 239 They crr'd not — they err'd not, a spell of power Nerved the arm of the Douglas that fated hour ; For lo ! to his fiiithful bosom press'd, In its jewell'd casket of orient gold, The heart that once throbb'd in the Bruce's breast Was borne into fight by that baron bold. Marvel ye- then that his arm was strong ? That he humbled the pride of the Paynim throng ? That where'er he turn'd, from his dreaded track The swarth sons of Afric, dismay'd, drew back ? Ev^n as the wild waves flow back from the rock, When it spurns back their might and derides their shock. " Pass on, brave heart, as thou wert wont, Th' embattled hosts before ; Douglas will die, or follow thee To conquest, as of yore !" They met, they closed, dread was the strife, More dear the gage than fame or life ; There foot to foot, and hand to hand. They stood opposed, and brand cross'd brand 240 THE LEGEND OF THE HEART OF BRUCE. And mace and bickering falchion there Mingled with scymitar and spear. Steel rang on steel — the war-steeds' tread Trampled the dying and the dead. The lurid clouds of dust on high Rose eddying to the darken'd sky ; The vulture snufF'd the scent of blood, And screaming roused her loathsome brood. But the pale crescent waned — the host Of Osmyn saw the battle lost ; And loth to fly, but forced to yield, Abandon'd sullenly the field. Where was the Douglas ? On the plain They found him 'midst the heap of slain, Faithful in death, his good right hand Held with firm grasp his broken brand ; While, o'er the sacred casket laid, A bulwark of his corse he made ! THE LEGEND OF THE HE^VET OF BRUCE. 241 And deem ye not, while ever there To highest heaven rose ceaseless prayer For Scotland's worth and Scotland's weal, For truth to guide, for peace to heal. For light to choose the better part, For grace to sain her every smart ; For freedom and for equal laws. For men to strive for freedom's cause. And guard the land he loved the best — The spii'it of the Bruce was blest ? Oh ! doubt it not — if it be given, By mercy of indulgent heaven, To parted spirits from above To hover round the land they love — That, bending from a higher sphere. The Bruce's spirit linger'd near, Still in the holy anthem blending, Scotland to heaven's great Lord commending. The/rt>te is fallen — the rite is o'er — The choral anthem poals no more ; The moonbeam strays through nave and aisle, And the verdant ivy clings round the pile. Q 242 THE LEGEND OF THE HEART OF BRUCE. It recks not — like dew 'neath the sunny ray, The hallow'd fabric may pass away. Grieve not — for deep in the patriot's breast The names of his country's heroes rest ; And a thrill of pride it will aye impart, That Scottish earth wraps the Bruce' s heart. TO MISS CONROY, ON HKR BIRTH-DAY, WITH A BOUQUET OF FLOWERS AM) A LITTLE BUTTERFLY BROOCH. Tttf.rk was a time (so poets tell) When Flora liad the power To waken, by her magic spell, To life each slumb'ring flower. Roused by her voice, the smiling spring Around her treasures shed, And Zephyi", upon gladsome wing, FoUoVd where'er she led. And best she loved, with flowerets bright, To deck the month of May ; While butterflies, in joyous flight, Hail'd the warm sunnv ray. 244 TO MISS CONROY. O Jenny ! 'twas a merry time, As many a bard hath sung ; For Nature then was in her prime, And Flora, too, was young. But times are changed, and seasons too — Her powers are obsolete ; The faithless zephyrs cease to woo. The cold east wind we meet. In mossy buds the flow'ret sleeps. The half-opcn'd leaves beneath ; The butterfly still lowly creeps. Or lies in mimic death. And she who would have crown'd this day With wealth of flowers untold. Must ofler them in a bouquet, And butterflies in gold ! (Signed) FLORA, Ex-Queen of Flowers. Given at our Winter Palace, this \?'t.h May ISTiO. VERSES AVHITTEN IN MAT 1839. Break not by heedless word the spell With which that strain hath bound me ; For the bright thoughts of foi*mer years Are thronging fest around me. Voices long hush'd are heard again, Smiles that have pass'd away Beam on my memory, as once They blcss'd mine early day. Hopes that have melted into air, And sorrows that have slept — And bending from the spirits' land. The loved — the lost — the wept. 246 VERSES. My very heart is young again, As in the days of yore ; I feel that I could trust — alas ! As I may trust no more ! APPENDIX. NOTE. It is not without hesitation that I have given a place to the following juvenile pieces and detached fragments in the present volume; yet, for several reasons, I felt reluctant to exclude them. It is true that they are imperfect as compositions; yet they are indices to particular trains of feeling ; and, from their varied dates, may tend to exhibit the habits of thought and modes of expression characteristic of Lady Flora, at different periods of her life. The more finished among them are referable to an earlier date than that from which I have selected the bulk of the present volume ; and they are here included, partly from their intrinsic merits, and partly to show, by contrast, the improved style which she afterwards acquired. " Tasso Incoronato " was a later composition ; but is too incomplete and fragmentary to obtain a place with the poems of the same date. It is written in so many different styles, and was found in so many detached scraps, that it remains doubtful what the measure might have been which Lady Flora would have chosen ultimately to adopt. There are lines and ideas in it, however, not unworthy of her pen, and which therefore I might have erred in repressing. APPENDIX. UNCONNECTED SCENT:S FROM AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY, CALLED EURYDICE. WRITTEN ABOUT 1820, OR LATE IN 1819. EuRYDicE. Philip AniDiEus. Beroe. Eurydice. Oh, fear not ! death ailorn'd by victory Is more than life. To feel the proud heart beat, And burst the bonds of its imprisoning clay, Mount on the wings of triumph to the skies. And bear even to the throne of fatlier Jove The tearful vows of an applauding- world. Were ecstasy ineffable — celestial ! 250 APPENDIX. Beroe. Thrice happy state ! ' Eurydice. So, in the Olympic course, The courser, straining past his strong compeers, With eye of fire, and nostrils breathing flame, Bursts to the goal, hears the approving crowds Hail his approach, then gains it, and expires ! Philip. Yet, my Eurydice Eurydice. O gods ! you pause — You hesitate to dare, to die, to stake A little span of life, a little breath, To gain eternal fame ! Would to the gods Thou hadst been born Eurydice, I PhiUp ! — Cast off thy crown — thou canst not fight for it ! Throw by thy robe of purple — it clothes cowardice ! Lay down thy sceptre — 'tis too great a weight For thine eflPeminate hand to grasp securely ! Yet stay — my wrath is too intense : forgive me, My Aridaeus. Give but thy commands. And I will dare all earth's opposing force To stop me ere I execute thy will. EURYDICE, 251 EUBTDICE. OfFTCEK. Eurydice. Speak your behest. WTiat Tvills Olympias ? Nay, youth, why thus leave me in sad suspense ? — Specie ! I can bear the worst of tidings calmly. Officer. By that affection which you bear your lord, She bade me tell you Eurydice. Stay one moment yet : Let me but hope once more ! Oh, vain resource ! If PhiUp is no more, breathe it not to me. Look the sad news, and sign my death-warrant. Officer. Fear not — King Aridaeus still is safe. Eurydice. He lives ! Officer. Ay, madam ; and the queen adjures you straightly, By the fond love you bear him, to be patient, And follow me even to the council-chamber. Eurydice. What ! shall I meet the eyes of vulgar hosts, A prisoner now, so late their sovereign ? Shall I, ye gods, hear, as I pass along. The graybeard elders whisper to their sons. There goes Eurydice ? 252 APPENDIX. EURTDICE. OlYMPIAS. BeKOE. Olympias. Woman, thou art brainsick ! Eurydice. Brainsick ? I am not mad. I know myself, and what I was and am. I know thee too ; thou art Olympias ! — Ay, jealous stepdame, gaze upon that corse ; Hang o'er it, smile on it, 'tis thy work. Poor bleeding earth ! the daggers that pierced thee Have stabb'd my happiness. Beroe. Good mistress, weep not ! Eurydice. Oh ! I must weep, tiU mine eyes melt with tears, Or pitying heaven hear and end my sighs. Beroe, thou hast told me of those sisters. Who, when their brother Phaeton fell from heaven. Were by the pitying gods to poplars changed. And their bright tears to amber. I would fain Become a poplar too, like them, Beroe. Olympias. Thy brain is warp'd ! Eurydice. Woman, dost not know me ? I am Eurydice — I was Philip's wife. The wife of Aridseus — there he lies. Hear me, Olympias, hear me ! — There was once EURTDICE. 253 An eagle mated to a harmless dove ; The eagle built an eyrie in the rock, And feather'd it with down to suit the dove ; And they were happy, till a jealous vulture Dash'd on the dove and smote him. Poor Arida?us ! yes, thy mangled corse I'll wash with tears, and wrap it in my mantle ; I'll shroud thee in a royal shroud, and cast My torn hair on thy bier. Ay thus, OljTnpias ! Beroe. Dear mistress Eurydice. Weep not ; I am going to him. Earth fades before my sight. Close, close my eyes. Faint, reeling brain ! oh sink, my trembling limbs ! My tottering frame, give way ! Philip, my love ! \_Falls — Beeoe catches her. Beroe. Ye gods ! and is all past ? Eurydice ! — Still her breast heaves, her hand is warm, and chills not ; Her eyes are opening Eurydice (faintli/'). It was not death. My frenzied throbbing brain sicken'd to feel How void the world is to Eurydice. I am not right, perchance ; but I do think 'Tis PhUip's corse that lies — oh ! bleeding there — AH silent. Yes, my love, my lord, my husband. 254 APPENDIX. 'Tis thee ! I would that I were also cold — Cold, cold beside thee ! Who has murder d thee ? A vulture — ay, a wolf in human guise ; And, behold, the monster stands gazing upon my grief. Olympias ! Barbarous ! thou fall'st ! l^Riishes on her — Beroe stops her. Olympias. Haste, Lycoplion, the cup ! It were not right To sever thus so true, so fond a spouse From her beloved lord. Cleobulus ! Bring here the rope^ the dagger ! Beroe. O my queen ! Eurydice. Faint'st at the thought of death ! O my Beroe ! Death doth not wear an iron crown to me ; Nor doth he speak of charnel vaults and bones ; But, crown'd with roses, speaks of joy, and peace, And love, and soft oblivion of my woes. And hopes unspeakable. I fear not death ! Olympias. Darest thou to meet it ? Doth no shuddering horror Run o'er thy frame ? Eurydice. I do not fear to die. Olympias. Yet death is horrible. EURYDICE. 255 Eurydice. Not to the virtuous. Perchance some thought may dart across the brain ; Some thought of cold disquiet : 'tis our frailty. But still the virtuous looks for an Elysium — For rest, for happiness. Olympias. Choose thy death. JEurydice. Olympias ! I receive it at thy hands. Death cannot harm Eurydice ; yet sure Thou might'st have paused at least a little space, And let despair and anguish do the office Thou now unkindly takest on thyself. I take the deadly cup : 'tis nectar to me ! Yet mark me well, Olympias ! there will come A time, when every drop this cup contains Shall be a spark of fire to burn thy heart, A bitter tear to stain thy noblest actions. Gall to thy lips and canker to thy spirit. How sweet the nectar is ! Taste it, Beroe. I had forgot — thou canst not ; for, like me. Thou hast not found the vanity of life ; Thou hast not drunk of pleasure's stream, and known Its bitterness ; thou hast not tried the joys And glories of this world, and found them nought ; Thou hast not felt that honours are but dust, A diadem but ashes, and the mantle Of kingly pride excell'd by mournful sackcloth. 256 APPENDIX. ■WTiat is the world, that I should wish to live ! For who would live when every kindly tie That bound them to the earth is burst asunder, Dissever' d, disunited ? The proud spirit Scorns chains and prison gloom, and longs to soar Above its mortal tenement of clay. It feels its native strength, its native worth, Knows 'tis immortal, and would fain extend Its eagle pinions, rise above the clouds. Beyond the radiant orbs that gem the sky ! Eleazar. Yes ! I am sprung of Israel's race — ^a stem Fertile in noble branches ; on whose head The dew of heaven hath been largely pour'd. A plant which, nurtured by the tears of morning, Hath cast its fibres in the earth so deeply, That not the power of princes or of peers. Of jarring nations and confederate forces. Nothing inferior to the will of Him Vs\io planted it, shall tear it from this spot, In which the God of Israel hath placed it. True, we were subject to the Grecian yoke. The thunderbolt which desolated Persia, Great Alexander, we beheld from far. EURYDICE. 257 And bent submissive. But a time shall come — And come it must — when Israel shall be free. We were not made to live in slavery. Methinks already I behold again Her own proud standard, Judah's Lion, float ; I hear the flapping of its silken folds — All, all I see — it seems before — around me ! 258 APPENDIX. NO. II. TO THE MOON. A FRAGMENT. While gazing on thy hallow'd beam, Fair Moon ! liow many thoughts arise, Shining with Hope's ecstatic gleam, Or glowing fresh in Mem'iy's dyes ! The joy of Childhood's days of light Return, as gladsome and as bright, As when they first around us threw Their chaplets, fresh with heavenly dew. Those hopes are past, those days gone by. Those wreaths are wither'd now and pale ; And the bright days of infancy Have fled like Api'il's scented gale : Yet, though those days have pass'd away, Still other stars of blissful ray, TO THE Moox. 259 Of blissful ray, but softer tone, On life's horizon since have shone. Oh ! Avhen a child, I little knew Thy charm, sweet Hope ! thy heavenly spell — Supposed 1322, 2G0 APPENDIX. NO. m. TO HOPE. HoPB of the just ! how heavenly is thy power ! — Not the dread king of death and fearful gloom, Not the last struggles of the parting hour, Not the black portals of the yawning tomb, Can fright thee ! — WTien my fading sight grows weak, When heaves my bosom with convulsive gasp. When pale and wan appears my wasted cheek, And every other joy eludes my grasp — And when my heart with agonizing swell Shall fondly tremble on the dark grave's brink — When I, with quivering lip, shall breathe farewell To those, with whom 'tis agony to think TO HOPE. 261 Tliat I must part — Then to my closing eyes, Hope of the righteous ! be tliy bright rays given ; May the loved prospect to my soul arise, To meet with those I love — to meet in heaven ! Tlierc is no date to these stanzas; but tliey must have been written between 1S20 and 182S. 2G2 APPENDIX. NO. IV. ISABELLA. Listing our need, rather than mine own will, I come, ye grayhair'd fathers of the state, From my seduded woman's halls, the depths Of mine own loved retirement, to unveil My hrow unshrinkingly before your gaze. Best it beseems the widow, who hath lost Her consort — light and glory of her life ! — To hide from the world's eyes, in silent bowers. Her grief- worn and night-shrouded countenance ; But now the moment's master-voice compels me — Despotic power, that listeth not to prayer ! — Into the world's unwonted light again. Twice hath the moon her radiant face renew'd, Since, weeping, to his last dark resting-place I bore the body of my princely lord ; The mighty one who hidlt your city up — ISABELLA. 2G3 With stalwart arm against the universe Defending you, by hostile bands beleaguer'd. There rest his sacred ashes ; but his soul Lives in two valiant and heroic sons, That glorious pair, this nation's worthy pride ! Ye have beheld them both in joyous strength Grow up among ye ; but stiU with their growth, From some unknown, ill-omen'd, seed of evil, An unblest brother- hate sprang rankly up, Their childhood's happy unity untwining, And flourish'd fearful with the might of years. Ne'er hath their Idndly union bless'd my spirit : Still have I clasp'd them to mj heart alike. O'er each ahke my love, my care have shed ; Still, still I feel each turns to me aUke With filial tenderness— thanks be to God ! This sympathy yet links my sons in one, In all thino-s sunder'd else. 264 APPENDIX. NO. V. FRAGMENTS OF VERSE. Ay ! flap thy snowy wing-, Bird of the stormy sea — Gem thy glad pinion with the pearly spray ; For thou mayst upward spring From the dark wave, on thine exulting way, For thou art free. The breeze across the JEgean waves Is rushing gladly on — How can it fan the brows of slaves ? It breathes from Marathon ! FRAGMENTS OP VERSE. 265 ON THE COLISEUM. Oft as the lingering rays of parting light Hover around yon ruin's towering height, And still with fading lustre love to play Upon the hoary mass, then fleet away — I think how apt an emblem there we view Of fleeting glory's last, sad fond adieu ; And every beam that gilds the crumbling pile Seems as 'twere victory's expiring smile. While every gale, and every zephyr's sigh, Seem voices of the centuries gone by ; And not a tone is heard but seems to chime Some sound, memorial of the olden time. Oh ! days of victory for ever flown, When nations bent before the sevenfold throne ! Written at Rome in 1821 or 1827 My spirit ! in that awful day, Wlien faints the earth with wonder. When through dim space the lightnings play, And peals the deep-voiced thunder! 2G6 APPENDIX. WTien the trump sounds that this world's o'er, \^Tien flames engulf the sinking shore, \^lien trial 's past, and " Time no more," "VMien How shalt thou dare to meet Him ? Pause, spirit, pause ! nor prove thy wings In flight for time too daring ; One blessed thought assurance brings. The Judge I THANK thee, Heaven ! thou hast given me A treasure of rich tlioughts, an unknown spring. Whence I may drink the stream of ecstasy, The spiritual world's deep communing ; And my tired soul may dip her wearied wing In that unsullied fountain of pure light. And feel new powers, new wishes wakening From baptism in its waters, and more bright May wing to higher scenes her uncontrolled flight. There is a converse that the vulgar throng Hold not, nor deem to be — the silent night. FRAGMENTS OF VERSE. 267 Evert oriel's fretwork quaint, Every niche of sculptured saint, Chapel dim and lofty choir, Glow'd in traecry of fire. Through the lengthen'd Gothic aisle Of the abbey's ancient pile. Many a lamp was hung- aloof From the groin'd and carved roof. Slowly through the cloisters dim Stole the distant vesper h}Tnn, And floated on the breeze's swell The tinkling of the convent-bell. Supposed 1S31. THE OCEAN GRAVE. There is no ripple on the wave, No eddy on the main, To mark his silent ocean grave Who may not wake again. Above that grave no mother weeps — Supposed 1831. 268 APPENDIX. And my life Fades from me like the echo of a strain, Whose melting tones have died upon the ear, Too exquisitely sweet to breathe again. And thus I calmly see the stream Of mine existence ebb away from me ; And my fond spirit asks one only boon, The silent tribute of a tear from thee. TASSO INCORONATO. 269 NO. VI. TASSO INCORONATO. Night hovers o'er the Capitol — the mom Will bring with it the pomp of festal song, And rosy wreaths will Rome's old streets adorn ; And myriads to the Capitol will throng, Bearing in triumph the old man along. Yes ! morn shall come, awakening those who sleep, From stiU repose, to cares, to tears, to strife ; \yakening the many from their rest, to weep The colourless realities of life. And oh ! for some in brighter hues array'd. Bearing on blessings on his dewy wings. And scattering hopes — too soon, alas ! to fade — The young heart's day-dreams and imaginings. Oh ! it were well could those bright dreams remain, To prove the solace of impending ill, And bright, through every deep'ning shade of pain, Burn to life's latest moments brightly still. 270 APPENDIX. The heaven-transplanted floweret must expire Ere noon is gain'd. Oh vain and fond desire ! Why ask'st thou of her beauty ? Ask the flowers, Which, gladden'd by her smiles, fann'd by her breath, Shed their pure perfume on the balmy air. Ask the bright stars — which, circUng through the vault Of boundless space, each orb a world of light, Wlience fervent seraphim to the throne of grace Pour forth their heaven-taught hymns — if she be lovely ? And they will tell thee that the virgin rose Glows with less brightness than her blushing cheek ; That heaven's blue vault reflects her sunny smile ; That her sweet voice might mingle in the songs Of choiring angels ! Well might minstrel's heart beat high. Well might minstrel numbers flow ! For hers the dazzhng radiancy Of joyous youth — the sunny brow, The blushing cheek, the eye of Hght, Gathering its rays from heaven above, With genius and with freedom bright. And eloquent with soul-felt love. Rome's peerless daughters ! there was once a time When I had dared your praises to rehearse, And breathe my deathless gratitude in verse : TASSO INCORONATO. 271 Nor had ye scom'd my lay, fair maids ! for then Methought I stood amongst my fellow-men As Saul amidst the hosts — suhUme — erect — Omnipotent in towering intellect ; — Then my proud verse hke mountain-torrent flow'd, And my bright thoughts like heaven's day-star glow'd ; Then far beyond or time or fate's control, Free and ecstatic soar'd the unshackled soul ; — Then ever round my path benignant moved The spirits of the viewless — the beloved — The honour' d — the departed — and they came To me as to a brother ; mind to mind We held communion ; though this earthly frame Inclothed my essence, yet 'twas unconfined. Earth and earth's hopes and fears had nought in me ; I did not live to them — one link alone Withheld me from the world of fantasy — My own bright world ! — to this dark rayless one ; Else had I cast my reptUe dross away, To merge my being in eternal day. And thou ! the spell that held the aspirer back From the untrodden and mysterious track. Whither he woiUd have hasten'd — thou didst not Upbraid thy servant with Ids lowly lot, Nor scorn his simple homage — it was well ; — For well thou knewest, lady, that the flame, Though lighted on Sorrento's lonely shore. To latest time should consecrate thy name, ■ 272 APPENDIX. When all the pageant of the passing hour Shrouded in dark forgetfulness should dwell. Ay ! on thy memory its light shall pour Till that dread fiat, " Time shall be no more !" Time ! and Sorrento ! would that I could be Even as I was there in my early days — The nursling of the sunny shore, and free To charm that blessed time with idle lays, To lean exulting o'er the rocky steep. And pour my descant to the azure deep, Or wreath the orange flowers, and teach the vine His flexile arms around our porch to twine ; While blushing bright, in youth and beauty's pride, My sister turn'd her spindle by my side. And smiled to hear my infant muse essay To paint the glories of her future day. Yes, smile ! stiU smile ! — Thy peaceful lot is cast From courts and their delusive glories far — The guileless tenor of thy life is pass'd Beneath a placid though inglorious star. Thou hast not left, dear one ! thy native shore ; Thou hast not drain'd the cup of fame, and found Gall in the draught — nor 'neath the rosy flower Hath the asp lurk'd with venom'd fang to wound. Where child thou play'dst, thy little ones are playing, Their dark locks floating on the mountain wind. Oh ! oft have I, 'midst fair Ferrara straying, TASSO INCORONATO. 273 Long'd for the simple home I left behind — Happier, oh ! happier is thy lowly lot, Sister ! thou hast not left thy native cot ! And is it given to lowly souls alone To love and to be happy ? Did the star That on my natal hour prophetic shone, Blast every hope of sympathy — and far Drive me, an oarless bark, upon the sea, The shoreless main of dark eternity ? — Say, lovers — happy lovers ! would you rove ? Short be your wand' ring, by experience taught, Link'd in the heaven-form'd ties of faithful love Be each to each a world with rapture fraught — The same, yet varying ; count the cold world nought. Once, once I loved ! nor would my constant mind Have changed for palaces in those dear hours, Nor for th' ethereal regions of the skies. The silent woods, the paths, the silvan bowers, Bless'd by the footsteps, lighted by the eyes Of the bright nymph to whom the boy-god's thrall Bound me, a willing captive — my first voavs Centring in her, my love, my bliss, my all ! Oh ! are they fled for ever ? — Moments bless'd As those were once, will they return no more ? ^AHiat sad decree my weary soul allows Uncharra'd and disenchanted thus to rove ! 274 APPENDIX. Oh ! dared my heart to wake, say, should I find No spell to charm me, and no link to bind ? Is the bright season of illusion o'er. And have I ceased, for ever ceased, to love ? And be it so !-^great spirits ! ye are bless'd, Though, like the ark-emitted dove. Ye range creation through and find no rest, No answering spirit echoing to your love. Uplift ye proudly, for a loftier doom On your high brow and kindling cheek is set— Your star shall rise exulting from the gloom, A glad eternity awaits you yet. There is a world brighter than poet's dream. Than sunlit isle girt by th' enkindled wave. Glowing in the red orb's departing beam — It is that world whose portal is the grave. There shall I seek my happiness — there lave, In those bright founts which never-failing flow, My spirit from the stains of earth-born wo : There quench my deathless thirst for higher things In those unchanging and ethereal springs : There shall those forms whose shadows bless'd my trance, Even in their firm reality advance : There shall nor hate, nor jealous care find place ; Smile shall meet smile, and heart respond to heart ; And pilgrims, sever'd in their earthly race. Shall meet in that dear world, no more to part. TASSO IXCOROXATO. 275 God shall be all in all — around — above — Our essence, atmosphere, existence, love ! And I shall meet thee there ! — by this hope led, With fearless step my onward path I tread — Though dark and dim the vision'd future seem, A blank the present, and the past a dream. Ye coming years, whom no fond hopes illume, Ye tardy heralds of the peaceful tomb, Joyless and loveless will ye glide along — Untuned my lyre, and mute my lofty lay. Fled the bright vision that inspired my song, The loved illusions of my early day. Thou form adored ! upon this aching heart Too deeply, too indelibly impress'd, Still shalt thou see each lighter grief depart. And reign sole tyrant of my throbbing breast. Yes, Leonora ! dear and fatal name. Oft shall my thoughts with magic power renew The faltering accents of thy last adieu ; The moments that as dreams of heaven came. When thy bright presence blcss'd my longing eyes, Fair as th' unearthly forms of paradise — Dear moments ! could not aught your flight beguile ; Nor Tasso's strain, nor Leonora's smile ? Bind, bind the laurel round my brow ! — I may not think upon the past. 276 APPENDIX. Oh ! what, alas ! avails it now To dream of bliss that could not last ? Bring forth the ^Teath ! — My temples bind- Woiild I beneath its leaves could find Some secret sj^ll, some soothing power, To still the anguish of this hour! — But glory's voice is faint and weak, Nor mounts responsive to its tone The flush of joy on wither'd cheek; For glory's dream is past and gone. My hopes can rest alone on Heaven, The refuge of the troubled soul ; Yet one last sigh to earth is given, One last dear thought can still control — That cherish'd thought, that latest care, Shall mingle in my dying prayer ; Thy name shall in the hour of death Be falter'd by my failing breath — Thine, thine shall be the parting sigh Of agonized mortality ! Bring here the crown ! — I'll not disdain The meed that graces poesy ; 'Tis thine ! for that triumphant strain Was, Leonora, breathed for thee ! LIXES ON THE NIGHT -BLOWING CEREUS. 277 NO. vn. LINES ON THE NIGHT-BLOWING CEREUS. As the fair flower which shuns the golden day, And blooms amidst the shades of silent night, Spreads her pale petals to the lunar ray, And hails with balmy breath the silver light ; So virtue shuns the world's applause and gaze. In secret sheds her balmy sweets abroad, Nor seeks the voice of fame, nor glory's blaze. But blooms and blossoms to the praise of God ! November 1822 278 APPENDIX. NOTE ON "ASHBY DE LA ZOUCR."— Vide p. 202. AsHBY DE LA ZoucH, ill Leicestershire, was long the resi-^ dence of the Earls of Huntingdon, who had a castle there,, which was destroyed by the Parhamentary army in the time of Charles I. It is the property of the Marquis of Hastings ; and, within the last few years, a building has been puUed down which adjoined the ruins of the castle, and was called " the old Place," or Palace, and which was always considered, from traditional authority, to have been built by Henry, fifth Earl of Huntingdon, for the accommodation of the suite of King James I. It is -v^ell known that it was a part of that monarch's policy to visit any of his subjects whose power and riches rendered them formidable, and, by his long resi- dence at tlieir expense, to diminish their fortunes. Amongst the rest, his majesty, attended by a numerous suite, visited the Earl of Huntingdon, and was splendidly entertained. I do not suppose the tradition to be strictly correct, which is still assigning three weeks or two months as the duration of the royal visit ; but his arrival is thus mentioned in a MS. history of the Hastings' family : — NOTE ON " ASIIBY DE LA ZOUCH." 279 " 1st September 1617 King James being oii his return from Scotland, towards which he went on loth March pre- ceding, was entertained, together with the whole court, by this Earle at his house in Ashby de la Zouch ; the King lodging there all night." Tliis little poem was written in consequence of a friend doubting the possibility of any great number of rhymes being to be found for "Ashby de la Zouch ;" and Lady Flora took the old tradition of King James's visit, as the ground- work of the attempt to which she was laughingly challenged. 280 APPENDIX. NOTE ON « FREDERIC AND GELA."— Vide p. 215. " Frederic Barbarossa, afterwards the Emperor Frede- ric I., when only three-and-twenty, became much attached to Gela, the daughter of one of his vassals. Being of a birth so inferior to his, she firmly refused to marry him ; and em- ployed the influence she had over him, to persuade him to join the crusade then proceeding to Palestine. During his absence, fearing lest her affection might tempt her to a dere- liction of duty, she took the veil in a neighbouring convent ; and, on his return, having succeeded his father as Duke of Swabia, he found an eff'ectual barrier thus placed between them. " In memory of his devoted attachment, he built, on the spot where he first saw her, the town of Gelahausen." The foregoing is the legend on which the little poem in the text has been founded ; and it is now added, to make its tenor more distinct. The verses have been transcribed from a rough and original copy, and are confessedly not in that more perfected state which Lady Flora would have herself thought adapted for the press. NOTE OX " LEGEND OF THE IIE.VRT OF BRUCE." 281 NO. X. NOTE ON « LEGEND OF THE HEART OF BRUCE." — Vide p. 234. Detached as the parts are which compose all that Lady- Flora committed to paper of " The Legend of the Heart of Bruce," I hope to render it intelligible by the manner in which the paragraphs follow each other ; for which arrange- ment I am indebted to the recollection of a friend to whom Lady Flora recited it, and who believes there was more com- posed than ever was written down. It may render the poem less indistinct to state the principal facts of the story, as re- corded in history. WTien King Robert I. died, he exacted a promise from Sir James Douglas to convey his heart to the Holy Land, where he had been on the point of going when death arrested him. The party had reached Sluys, so far on their way to Jerusalem, when Alonzo, I^ng of Leon and Castile, at that time engaged in war with the Moorish governor of Granada, Osmyn, sent to demand the aid of the Douglas ; and by his oath as a knight, which forbade him ever to turn a deaf ear to a call in aid of the Church of Clu'ist, he was forced to attend to the summons. He fought with his usual bravery, till the Moslems believed he bore a charmed life, Avhen they 282 APPENDIX. saw him rush into the thickest of the fight and escape un- woiinded. But the Christian ranks, nevertheless, began to give way ; and to stem the flight the Douglas threw the casket containing the king's heart into the melee, and rushed after it. It was then he exclaimed, " Now pass onward as thou wert wont, and Douglas will follow thee or die ! " The day after the battle the body of Douglas and the casket were found by his surviving companions ; and the squire of Douglas, finding it was impossible to convey it to Jerusalem, brought back the Bruce's heart to Scotland, and it was in- terred at Melrose. For a m^ore ample and interesting account, I would refer to " Tttler's History of Scotland^' vol. i. p. 413, 414, 415 ; and vol. ii. p. 4, 5, 6. It is not a little curious that, after a lapse of five centuries, the same subject should have been hit upon by three con- temporary writers, as a suitable one for poetical illustration — by Delta, in " The Burial of Douglas" (Blachivood' s Maga- zine^ Jan. 1829) ; by Mrs Ilemans, in her " Burial of the Heart of Bruce in Melrose Abbey" (^Collected Wo7-hs^ vol. ^^. p. 113); and by Lady Flora, in the poem in the text — unfortunately left unfinished. KDINIUIKGH: I'RINTED BY BAr.LANTYNE AND HUGHES, I'AUL's work, CAiNONGATK. LIST OF BOOKS PUBLISHED DY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET, EDINBURGH j AXD 22, PALL-MALL, LONDON. TEN THOUSAND A-YEAR. CAREFULLY REVISED BY THE AUTHOR. In Three Volumes post 8vo, closely and beautifully printed, price 31s. 6d. Nearly Ready. JOURNAL OF A TOUR IN GREECE AND THE IONIAN ISLANDS IN TIIE SPRING OF 1838. With Remarks on the Recent History, Present State, and Classical Antiquities of those Countries. By W. Mure, Esq. of Caldwell. Illustrated by Original Drawings. In Two Volumes, post 8vo. BLACKWOODS' STANDARD NOVELS. This series will be beautifully printed in small octavo, each Volume so ar- ranged as to form a conii)lcto Work, and embellished with a Portrait or Frontispiece, from paintings made expressly for the purpose by eminent art- ists. The publication commenced on the 1st November, with GALT"S AN- NALS of the PARISH and AYRSHIRE LEGATEES ; to be followed, on the 1st of each month, by SIR ANDREW WYLIE, TOM CRINGLE'S LOG, VALERIUS, REGINALD DALTON, PEN OWEN, PERCY MALLORY, CYRIL TllOBMON, CRUISE of the JUDGE, and others. Price Gs. each, neatly bound in cloth. MESSRS BLACKWOOD AND SONS' POEMS BY JOHN WILSON, CONTAINING THE ISLE OF PALMS, THE CITY OF THE PLAGUE, AM) MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. In Two Volumes, post 8vo, price One Guinea. THE WORKS OF MRS HEMANS, A Complete and Uniform Edition. In Seven Volumes foolscap 8vo, price 3.5s., neatly bound in cloth, with Portraits and Vignettes. Each Volume may be had as a separate and complete Book, price 5s., viz. I. MEMOnt OF MRS HEMANS BY HER SISTER. n. TALES AND HISTORIC SCENES, &c. HI. THE SIEGE OF A^ALENCIA, THE SCEPTIC,