UC-NR POEMS BY JOHN GALT. LONDON: COCHRANE AND M'CRONE, WATERLOO PLACE, PALL MALL. MDCCCXXXIII. G. W00DFALL, ANGEI* COURT, SKINNER STREET, TO ANTHONY TODD THOMSON, M.D. PROFESSOR OF MATERIA MEDICA IN THE LONDON UNIVERSITY. MY DEAR DOCTOR, You will be surprised at this dedication : to whom, how- ever, can I so properly address myself, as to him who, many years ago, thought the principal poem in this collection not only deserving of being preserved, but by his friendly cri- ticism endeavoured to make it so. The Appendix to the second volume of my Autobiogra- phy not reaching to so many pages as I expected, " The Star of Destiny" was consequently added. Afterwards, however, I was induced to publish that Drama separately, with a number of my old unlooked-at manuscripts, which were also thought to possess some merit. But of that I must allow the world to judge, for I set little store by them myself; indeed, the best proof I can give of the moderate affection with which they are regarded, is by reminding you of the nicks which Time has made in both our horns since I renounced " the unprofitable art of poem-making." Forgive this freedom, and believe^me to be, with every kindly feeling, My dear Doctor, faithfully yours, JOHN GALT. Barn Cottage, October 20, 1833. M021573 PREFACE. As every Author heartily thinks his publications deserving of attention, however, in some instances, he may candidly allow that there are a few rather superior I shall make no apology for soliciting the courteous reader to look with a favourable eye into this little work ; nor, as " good wine needs no bush," shall I say how much I hope it will con- tent him. The fact is, that I am setting my house in order, and having found among the sweepings of my study, various scraps which need not yet be cast into the fire or the dust- hole, I have picked them up. The purchaser will determine if they be worthy of preservation. The following dramatic sketch was written many years ago, soon after Manfred appeared, and was intended to present a more scenic version of the same kind of subject. It seemed to me, that the sublimity of Byron's beautiful drama, was too refined and meditative for representation, and this notion emboldened me to fuse the mystery of Faustus again, and to mix it with baser stuff, for the use of the million, as gold is alloyed for purposes of circulation. This is all I can say, in excuse for the faults of the scenes intended to vary the te- nour of the piece : the serious defects arise from a more fatal inheritance. In adapting the story for exhibition, it was necessary to conceal the allegory, but not so entirely as that it should not be obvious, Still, however, it is done, perhaps, so ef- VI PREFACE, factually, that many readers may require to be told that Count Herman is really only a crazy lover, and that all the silent servitude of the fiend, is but a phantasy of his morbid and moody imaginations. The other pieces which make up the volume were all composed long before the Star of Destiny, w r ith the ex- ception of a few stanzas. The HERMIT PETER was printed in a kind of epic called THE CRUSADE, which, in my Autobiography, I forgot to mention, as the composition of it has long since been aban- doned. By the way, this same omission ought to be noticed ; for, although the world is apt to forget epics, I am not aware that the authors of them often do ; and, therefore, I consider myself really entitled to take precedence in this respect above Homer and Milton, especially as there is no proof that either of these gentlemen ever forgot theirs. I was vain of myself before, for being within a hundred yards of the Falls of Niagara, without going to see them; but the total occultation in my memory of THE CRUSADE, makes me undoubtedly unique. I shall now be distinguished as the man who wrote an epic poem, which even he himself forgot. The SCOTTISH rhymes are almost all of " a certain age ; " and I beseech the courteous reader to believe that I am not to blame for their defects. Could I have made them more deserving of his or her attention, for which I enter- tain as much sincere respect as it is possible to cherish for that of those whom I know nothing about, be assured the verses would have been entitled to the utmost praise. As to the ENGLISH effusions, having, of course, allowed the purchasers to determine with respect to the preservation of the whole work, it would be highly indecorous to say a single word. They all know that, if they buy on my ac- count, they are sure of having my gratitude ; and if for their own gratification, they must thank their stars for the qua- PREFACE. Vl'i lity of what they get. I can only, with my wonted urbanity, hope that they may not be disappointed: their own con- sciences will instruct them how they ought to be classed. But to be a little serious. Very many years have elapsed since I abandoned the craft of verses-making, and I only publish these antique scraps because they seem better now than they did long ago. Indeed what reason can be assigned why poetry, as well as wine, should not be mel- lowed by time ? Horace recommends tragedies to be kept seven years. If this appeal, however, be not pronounced altogether fri- volous, I intend to collect my verses into a volume ; but not without divine authority, for unless the vox populi declare these above par, all shall be allowed to perish like the leaves in autumn, whatever may have been thought of them in the days of their freshness. Respectability is the zero of the moral scale, and I consider it highly disreputable to have anything to do with merely respectable poetry. The ques- tion is not whether this is of that kind, but whether these may rival in durability the ancient citizens of Memphis or Lady Kilsyth, as well as those ancestral poems which are entombed in every well-selected ornamental library. CONTENTS. Page THE Star of Destiny 1 A Reverie , 37 Infinite , 38 The Radicals 39 Spring 41 The Penny Wedding 42 The Blockade , 45 Epigram 46 Hymn 47 Morning, a Canticle 48 The Siddonian Curse 49 The Misanthrope 49 The Crusaders' March 50 The Field of Battle 50 The Coronation , 51 The Destruction of Old Dunwich 52 The Widow's Croone 54 ASong 55 A Song 56 The Song of the Saint 56 Epigrams 57 Werter to Charlotte 58 The Hermit Peter 59 The Ordeal of Judas 91 The Death of St Joseph 95 Epilogue for " Maddelen" 100 List of Works . . .... 102 THE STAR OF DESTINY, & Dramatic DRAMATIS PERSONS. MEN. WOMEN. EMPEROR HENRY, the Birder. IST WOMAN. HERMAN. 2D WOMAN. VENTOSE. BEATRICE. IST CITIZEN. MERL. 2o CITIZEN. SIR GONDIBERT. BOY. MUTES ' LUDOLPH. FlEND ' RUGENSTEIN. CHILD. LUNENBURGH. SERVANTS. SERVANT. INQUISITORS. BENEDICT. COURTIERS and ATTEND- BERNSTIEMT. ANTS. PRIOR. INQUISITOR. CHORUS. MEN, WOMEN, and HUNTSMEN. THE STAR OF DESTINY Dvamattr ACT I. SCENE I. A GOTHIC STUDY. Window open shews a beautiful Star, whose radiance appears occasionally to fade and shine. In the middle of the room a magical mangaul burning. Herman, seated at a table, with an antique volume in his hand ; a dagger and a lamp on the table. HER. O'er every birth a star of fate presides, And he that knows his orb of destiny, May, by the changes of its radiance, tell Whene'er his good or evil genius reigns. This knowledge, earned by many a midnight vigil, Has taught me that yon silver star is mine, Which nightly, since I conn'd this wond'rous volume, Hath dimm'd its fires, and warn'd me to forbear. B 2 4 THE STAR OF DESTINY. Yet have I still undaunted read, and now, While pale and fitfully its beams shrink in, The ingredients of a potent spell I mingle, And but three drops of my own blood are wanting, To give me proof that to my hests and bidding, A spirit of dread ministry wili come. (Rises.) Why should the glorious planet fade at this? Is there then peril to my better part In this mysterious science ? If I stop, How shall I know the secrets written here Are knowledge or phantasma ? Can there be Evil in truth ? For to unfold the art That summons spirits from their dark abode, Is but to know what is and what the gods, In their eternal mysteries have framed. Shrink into darkness thou faint trembling light, I will abide the issues of the spell. [He lays down the book, and taking the dagger, holding his arm over the cauldron, pierces a vein. The blood refuses. Why will it not come ? It was no groan ! 'Tis but the sighing wind, That sweeps along the silent galleries. What coward palsy am I smitten with ? I'll strike again. It flows so now 'tis done. [Subterranean noises heard, and a large gaunt hand holding a scroll rises from the middle of the caul- dron. What horrible apocalypse is this ? [He takes the scroll and reads. " If thou on All Soul's Eve wilt be but mine, To all thy wishes I will be thy slave." Who and what art thou ? Show me first thy face, Come forth to vision, that I may discern The strong condition of thy proffer'd service. THE STAR OF DESTINY. O [ The scroll vanishes from his hand, solemn music is heard, and a flood of light bursts in from the side scene. Hail, thou magnificent refulgent form, I would not seek to serve a brighter god. Show me thy power, and what I may expect. [The light disappears, and a procession of slaves, bearing treasure, is seen to pass in the air, out- side of the window. He can give wealth, treasures would beggar kings And I may purchase all that gold can buy ; But love or friendship cannot be so won, And what is life without them ? Pass away, . I will not stoop to take the sordid trash ! [ The vision changes, martial music is heard, an army is seen defiling among mountains, and venerable men come from the gate of a gorgeous city, bear- ing a crown and sceptre. What means this glorious pageantry of war, And these hoar senators, who thus come forth, Bearing the emblems of imperial state ? They point towards yon myriads of the brave, That throng the hills, like the bright seraphim Reposing on the golden evening clouds : And now they kneel and offer me the crown. Ha ! would he bribe me with ambition's bauble, And place me on a far-seen pinnacle, An idol in the sunshine, to be cast Into a darker and a deeper ruin Than gulfs the common fortunes of mankind ? Vanish, ye hollow and fantastic pomps ! Ye vain illusions ! that but slaves can worship ; I have not studied to be fooled by shows. 6 THE STAR OF DESTINY. [The vision changes, and Sir Gondibert is seen in a wild and desolate place, with his hands bound : troubled and mournful music heard. My rival Gondibert. Canst thou give him, Surrender him, to my awaken'd hate ? No, Spirit, no ; I'll not be brib'd by this. His noble nature won fair Beatrice, And though I mourn that lovely maid's denial, I bear no malice to her gallant choice. Away, brave Gondibert, live for thy love ! [The vision changes, and Beatrice is seen reposing in a splendid apartment delightful soft music. Wilt thou give Beatrice ? O let me catch her ; On this condition I am thine for ever. [ The vision vanishes ; the stage is darkened, and a wavering form of the demon is seen, amidst thun- der and lightning, exulting over Herman. Oh, horror, horror ! Hell ! must I be thine ? [Exit Herman ; dreadful thunder and lightning. SCENE II. A STREET. An ancient College seen onjire at a distance bells ringing a crowd of people rush- ing from all quarters, and in such garbs as may be supposed hastily put on in a moment of alarm, CHORUS. Mercy on us ! What's the matter ? Stop your clamour cease your clatter. Tis a fire ; fire, fire ; Where, where ? There, there, See it burns, THE STAR OF DESTINY. 7 In the air ; Higher, higher, higher, higher. Oh, the flames, how they mount ! How they wrestle, lick, and point The students and the college, The professors and their knowledge ; Their cellars and their libraries, Their wigs, and gowns, and pageantries ; Their mutton, beef, and bacon, Their turkeys, geese, and capon ; Their physics, rhyme, and reason, And their delicates in season, All, all, but serve as fuel, To the flames so fierce and cruel. See, how they clasp the steeple ; It shakes it will come down ; Lord have mercy on the people, It will murder half the town ! [The steeple falls with a great crash, the flames are extinguished, and the bell ceases to ring. Enter VENTOSE, with a petticoat on, and a large powdered wig. VEN. Obstreperous nightingales ! home to your nests ; Nor with nocturnal clamour deafen thus The solemn night, that is already dumb. 1st WOM. How has this happened ? 2d WOM. Tell us, tell us, do. VEN. Peace, matron, peace. Art not ashamed, old hag, Thus in the street, and at the midnight hour, To shew thyself with breeches for a shawl ? 2d WOM. And fellow, where got you this petticoat ? VEN. A fig-leaf in the hurry pluck'd. IstCrr. And this? THE STAR OF DESTINY. 2d CIT. It is the rector's wig ! how came it here ? VEN. The hand of instinct placed it on my head. 1st WOM. But tell us, tell us how the fire began - What lives are lost who perished in the flames ? VEN. Save those whose burglaries and petty thefts Vex the sweet temper of good housewifes, none, None perished in the flames. 2d WOM. What does he mean ? VEN. The vulgar jargon calls them rats and mice. As for the fire, wherein they were consum'd, And now in ashes pale infect the air, That 'gan in the renowned Count Herman's chamber ; Whose chymic pot, being with calx surcharged, Of most combustible and testy humour, Crack'd, and went off in those ambitious fires, Which you have seen flapping the cheeks of Heaven. 1st CIT. And has the Count himself escaped unhurt? VEN. In lith and limb, member and joint, he has ; But what infection from the fume he took Into his nostrils, making sick the brain, Cannot be told ; but like a thing distraught, He rous'd the college with his scalded yells. I started at the sound ; and oh, sad vision ! Beheld him in the court his stockings down, And not a coat upon his helpless back, Unslipper'd, pacing wild ; while all on fire, The riven rafters of his chamber roof, Did burn like Erebus, or town of Troy, What time Minerva, and the goddess proud, Turn'd old queen Hecuba into a bitch, That gnaw'd the heel of many a Greek that night. But ladies now, and courteous gentlemen, Let's all repair unto our several homes, And doff these garbs, wherein we dressed ourselves THE STAR OF DESTINY. 9 In such confounded hurry. For this fire, Longer to stay were to incur a cold, Or deadly cough ; therefore to bed, to bed. [Exeunt severally. SCENE III. A GLADE IN A WOOD. Enter SIR GONDIBERT, BEATRICE, MERL, children and attendants. SIR GON. It is a lovely sylvan solitude. Here the meek primrose earliest lifts her eye ; The daisy here, on the smooth grassy knoll, Smirks a bright welcome to the vernal sun ; While yet the spring has scarcely dared to pass From midst the branches of the neighbouring grove. BEAT. The mavis and the linnet mingle songs With the bold blackbird's full, round note of joy. The solemn jays here chatter garrulous, Like blithsome gossips in a nappy nook ; And choughs and rooks forget their boding here, To caw repose. The humming waterfall Sings like a nurse, a soothing lullaby. BOY. How tame the butterflies are in this place. Three have I caught ; look, bright as the pea blossom ; And I have chased a golden honey bee From flower to flower, till I can run no longer. BEAT. Then sit thee down, sweet rogue, and rest thyself; And Merl, till the village dancers come, Invoke the wood-nymphs to our revelry. \_Sir Gondibert, Beatrice, and children sit. MERL sings. ODE TO THE WOOD-NYMPHS. Come, ye nymphs, whose eyes like dew, Twinkle these green branches through ; 10 THE STAR OF DESTINY. Whose timid steps are only heard, When rustling wind, or hopping bird, Stirs the fallen leaves so sear, Come ye wood-nymphs softly here Softly come, and with you bring, Flowers and fragrancies of spring ; With the ripen'd apples' blushes, Peeping forth the bowery bushes : Bashful whisp'ring they appear Come ye gentle wood-nymphs here. Hasten, for the summer gales, Slumber in the new mown vales, And bring with you leafy boughs, To fan our dancers' glowing brows ; Garlands too, for maids to wear, Bring, sweet nymphs : Our pastimes share. [Sir Gondibert and Beatrice come forward Herman is seen at a distance. SIR GOND. It is the Count ! alas, how he is chang'd ! His looks are wan and woeful, and he seems A man that wrestles with ill-boding fancies. It is not study that has done all this. BEAT. It cannot be, his passion should yet live ; And but of late he has been seen to wear These knotted brows and that wan melancholy. Shall we invite him to partake our pleasures ? SIR GOND. Do, my sweet Beatrice but see, the children Already press and beckon him to come. Enter HERMAN, led by two children. BOY. You shall not stay if you will not be merry. HER. Thou pretty fairy ! How his mother's beauty Dawns in his young face, like the budded rose. Oh, Beatrice too happy Gondibert! THE STAR OF DESTINY. 11 BEAT, (approaching). Come, sit with us, Lord Herman, on this bank ; To-day we hold a little revel here To please our children. See, our rustic neighbours Are gaily coming ; let us view their sports. They sit down ; enter dancers, villagers, and VENTOSE with them : a dance. HER. (rising). This sight is hateful to me, and the looks Of these glad cherubs chafe my troubled heart ; Fiend, fiend, where art thou ? \The fiend, appears, muffled in black. Blast this scene of bliss. [Exit Herman and fiend. SIR GOND. Alas ! how is that shining spirit faded, The beam and glory of it all eclips'd. BEAT. But come, we must not let this mar our sports. SIR GOND. Ventose, you dance ? YEN. I did, Sir Gondibert ; But that was when the bouncing blood of youth Leapt from my heart, and prompted up my heel : I was accounted then a gracious dancer. SIR GOND. Indeed, Ventose ! Thou wilt yet try thy skill ? BEAT. I pray thee do thou art not yet too old. VENT. Ah, lady fair ! to such a fond entreaty, It were most stern not to be found consenting. Bid, then, these capering bumpkins stand apart, And while the sweet musicians ply their sticks, I will essay to ape my wonted graces. [Ventose dances the children and others laugh in an instant a shriek is heard all fly a mild boar crosses the stage, and returns, dragging Ventose. 2 THE STAR OF DESTINY. SCENE IV. A CHAMBER. HERMAN (alone). The loss of Beatrice was as perdition ; And raging passion, like the blasts of hell, Then swept me to despair Oh, Beatrice, For thee a dreadful forfeit I have made, And yet I have thee not But I may have. It is a vantage destiny must yield, . Though I have gained it at a fatal price. Come, thou dread demon, that art bound to serve me, Come and fulfil thy part, accursed fiend ! [The demon appears. I would have Beatrice within my castle A willing guest Go, find the means to send her, And let me see how thou perform'st the task. \_The demon vanishes thunder the walls of the chamber open, and show an old man on a bed of sickness, surrounded by attendants he delivers papers to Ludolph ; the Jiend is seen approaching behind, and, in a moment, when the patient appears to pray, he strikes him dead with a dart. HER. What means this visionary scene of death, I see there but a pale and dying man Delivering his last testaments ? The fiend ! Ha ! 'tis the demon strikes the mortal blow. [The vision vanishes thunder the chamber appears as before. Enter RUGENSTEIN. RUG. My Lord, my Lord ! HER. How now, what sends thee here ? RUG. An estafette has come from Flaughtenburgh To say your uncle, at the point of death, Entreats you earnestly to hasten to him. THE STAR OF DESTINY. 13 HER. I am too late the old man is no more. RUG. How know you that, my *Lord ? Behold another ! Enter LUDOLPH, with papers. LUD. Health and long life to you, most noble Herman, And wisdom to enjoy your prosp'rous fortunes ; I bring you tidings that will please and sadden. Your princely uncle, the Lord Palatine, Is dead, and left you heir to all his treasures. HER. He was a good man, whose infirmities Made smooth his transit from this scene of care. LUD. He lov'd you well, my Lord ; oh ! his last prayers Were for your honour here, and bliss hereafter. HER. The fiend did strike him as he pray'd for me ? Lost, lost, for ever lost ! LUD. My gracious master ! HER. He gave thee papers, tell me what they were ? RUG. (apart}. How knew he that ? LUD. I have them here, my Lord. [Herman waves to Rugenstein to leave the room, and he retires. The bonds and vouchers of old heavy debts, Due by the father of Sir Gondibert. HER. Ha ! give them to me let me look at them. [Ludolph gives the bonds, and Herman glances hastily over them ; Ludolph continues speaking. LUD. The dying Palatine did strongly charge me, To beg you, as his solemn last request, Never to claim the payment of these bonds. The debtor was his early chosen friend, And he had long ago cancelled the debt ; But knowing how you lov'd Sir Gondibert, He thought it would delight your gen'rous nature, To make this sacrifice to youthful friendship. - THE STAR OF DESTINY. HER. All the estate Sir Gondibert possesses, Will not suffice to satisfy these bonds. LUD. Nor twice as much, twice told. HER. Then he is ruin'd ! LUD. He would, my Lord, were they in other hands. HER. The man is in my power ? kuD. He is, my Lord ; But being so, you have a noble part In the fulfilment of the legacy. HER. And what is that ? LUD. To give him up the bonds. HER. Never, never ! LUD. My Lord, my gracious Lord ! HER. I'll sooner pardon the eternal fiend That purchased me, than this effectual debt ! LUD. The mother of the poor Sir Gondibert HER. Poor, didst thou say ? He shall be houseless too, I will not spare him, or his famish'd brats, A blanket rag to serve them, when they beg. LUD. My Lord, the Palatine HER. Peace to his manes ! I'll have a thousand masses daily said For this rich legacy. LUD. Hear me, my Lord, The dying Palatine bade me relate, How in his youth he lov'd, and was rejected The lady was the mother of your debtor. HER. What ! of Sir Gondibert, that owes these bonds ? LUD. Ay ; and his father, who the debt contracted, The friend that did supplant him in his love. He was a poor, but a most gallant knight, And to promote their love and happiness, His princely rival, the good Palatine, Lent him the money that you would exact. THE STAR OF DESTINY. 15 HER. Can heavenly spirits yet commune with mine ? [He seems inclined to tear the bonds. But who will tear that everlasting compact, By which I have obtained this boon from fate. Here, take the vouchers ! at thy peril, slave, Remit no means the rigorous law allows, Till every fraction of the debt be paid ! Take them, I say ! I will not hear remonstrance ! [Exit severally. END OF ACT I. ACT II. SCENE I. THE IMPERIAL COURT. The Emperor HENRY, the Birder, LUNENBURGH, and attendants, in preparation for a tournament. EMPEROR (with a petition in his hand). A man beset upon all sides with foes Cannot be good. Thrice has this Gondibert Demanded the judicial combat from us, And now he craves to dare another knight. Who is this Gondibert ? LUN. The son of Hordin. EMP. What ! the Hungarian chief that gain'd The lady whom the Palatine so lov'd ! LUN. The same, your Majesty. EMP. Know you the man ? LUN. All that I wish. These tales for which he fights Spring from a story that affects his knighthood, As deeply as the trick his father play'd. 16 THE STAR OF DESTINY. BMP. Ah ! what was that ? LUN. He had a noble friend, Count Herman, nephew to the palatine, From whose free purse he borrow'd heavy treasures, And with the fruits and other vile devices, Entic'd a lady to become his bride, Whose hand was pledg'd to his too gen'rous friend. EMP. We will not listen more to his request, His blood hath in it some base sediment Dulling the brightness of nobility ; We strike the recreant from our list of knights, And banish him forthwith our court and favour : Go, see it done ! We would the world should learn, That there are races in the stock of man, Ordain'd for high and virtuous purposes, And they are those whose old unstain'd escutcheons, Are ever seen among their country's banners : Come, set ye forward to the tournament. [Exeunt the court, fyc. SCENE II. A SPACIOUS ALPINE LANDSCAPE. A stupendous mountain in the distant scene. The gate of HER- MAN'S castle on the one side. LUDOLPH and BEATRICE. LUD. Oh, lady, enter not this castle gate ! Here moody misery, and guilt and woe, Contend for mastership ; and here despair Calls on self-murder with his gleaming knife. BEAT. Alas ! I know that your once noble master Is with a fearful frenzy sore beset, Else had I not, so poor and woe-begone, Been here upon this doleful pilgrimage. Go, tell him that the lady Beatrice THE STAR OF DESTINY. 17 Implores by all the kindness once he bore her, That she may, as a mendicant forlorn, Relate the little story of her griefs. LUD. A pity that my heart cannot resist, Subdues me to obey your hopeless suit. Enter the portal Ha ! the Count himself, See where he comes ! St. Mary guard thee well ! [Exit Ludolph. HERMAN enters, and walks wildly ', to and fro, for some time, before noticing BEATRICE. HER. (apart.) And richly from her round unfolded charms, Voluptuous Nature, wreathing graces, breath'd Such taste of warmth into th' embracing air, That my whole spirit but inhaled delight. It is herself! Ah, my lov'd Beatrice ! Unsought, unsent for, hast thou come to me ? But, no no no I will not have thee yet, The means the fiend would use I dare not try, Yet let me look on that fair face once more ; How is thy beauty faded ! BEAT. Oh, my Lord ! But not so chang'd as that far fairer mind, Whose sad decay hath caus'd that care to come, Which preys on my pale cheek. HER. Ah, Beatrice ! How did I love thee once ! thou wast my heaven ! And losing thee, I found no middle place, But down I sunk, down, down, for ever down! BEAT. The heart, my Lord, will yield to no constraint, But you had all from me that mine could give ; The part, weak woman's love, that brooks no bidding, Was his, that lowly pines beneath your hate. HER. I do not hate thy husband Gondibert ; I know his virtues, and could once revere them. c 18 THE STAR OF DESTINY. BEAT. Oh, then, my Lord, why do you press him down? Why with those cruel bonds that came upon us, Like troubled ghosts from out the sepulchres, Do you so haunt our spirits to despair 1 HER. Because I love thee, and would have thee mine ; Come, Beatrice, come to thy lover's arms ! Oh, let me press thee to my throbbing heart ! BEAT. Lay not upon me thy unholy hands ! HER. Yet will I clasp thee to my burning breast ! BEAT. Help, help ! oh, help ! Enter GONDIBERT, and rescues her. HER. Detested Gondibert ! The treacherous demon juggles in his bargain, For here she came, free and unask'd, she came, But only to be ravish'd from my arms ! Hell, hell, where art thou ? to my summons straight ! [ The demon appears. Till thou hast hurl'd yon mountain from its seat, I'll not believe thou canst give Beatrice ! [The Jlend quits the stage, and is presently seen, in a gigantic form, dilating gradually as he moves among the hills. The mountain moves, and I dare not repent ! \_Thejiend shivers the mountain to pieces the earth- quake throws down part of the castle Herman rushes into the wood, and servants come from the gate. CHORUS. Felt ye the earthquake, heard ye the thunder, Peal through the dungeons and depths of the earth ; Lo, the stern mountains shuddering asunder, White rolling waters are bursting to birth. THE STAR OF DESTINY. 19 Enter VENTOSE. IST SERV. Ventose, Ventose! you that are college bred, Oh, tell us what these prodigies portend ! VEN. They are themselves the very things they seem : See where yon cloud-capt mountain prostrate lies ; Which of you has the faith to set it up, And make it lift its hoary top of snows Like a tall Alp again ? I am aghast, To think that nature, with such lack of reason, Should thus, like a non compos bedlamite, Turn all things topsy-turvy in a trice. 2o SERV. They say the earthquakes are when devils try If yet the pillars of the world be rotten ; Tugging and shaking them to bring them down. VEN. Talk not such stuff to a philosopher ! Why, know ye not, unletter'd credulous, That this firm earth, whereon we stedfast stand, Is a celestial orb, and in its sphere Doth to the moon perform a lunar part, Bearing a lantern to her as she pays Her nightly visitation ? Enter HERMAN. HER. Peace, fool, peace ! Why stand ye wond'ring at this accident ? There's not a leaf that falls but brings with it, As wide a ruin to a living world, As the huge chaos which the earthquake spreads Round the proud race of man ! and who shall tell, Within the viewless beings of that scene, There may not be some life as dear to heaven, As the most great and noble of mankind ? c 2 20 THE STAR OF DESTINY. VEN. (to servants). Tis plain he's mad the man call'd me a fool ! [Exeunt servants. HER. I would possess her undivided heart, But while her husband lives this cannot be. He cannot pay the law gives me his person ! What! art thou there again? [The fiend re-appears. Seek Gondibert, And send him to me, fetter'd, to the castle. [Exit fend. The Emp'ror has depriv'd him of his trusts, And may I not in his despair of fortune, Tempt him to part with her ? But I have broken The slender tie I held in her esteem ! Oh ! it is easier in the fiend to shiver The globe itself into its elements, Than to constrain the light that beams in her, To mingle with the fire accurs'd in me ! Did I the Palatine's request fulfil, It might appease her to forget the insult ; I'll take the bonds and tear them in her presence, Confess the wrongs, in madness, I have done, And so again recover my lost vantage ; Thence, thence, once more find footing for my love ! Ha ! who doth whisper to me this device, Making such thoughts, abhorr'd, spontaneous come, Like Herod's worms that grew within his blood ? It is the fiend, with which I am possess'd ! Oh, Beatrice ! my guilty love of thee, Hath wreck'd my everlasting life of life, Upon the burning shoals of raging hell ! [Exit Herman. SCENE III. THE INTERIOR OF A CHURCH. BENEDICT and PRIOR. BEN. I found him leaning o'er a splinter fire, The crimson light struck strong on his dark visage, THE STAR OF DESTINY. 21 And 'neath his gather'd brows of stern abstraction, His deep-set eyes like embers seem'd to burn, His garb was faded, e'en the stone he sat on Accorded with his mien. It had been once A flourish'd capital, Corinthian work, But of the acanthus scarcely aught remain'd, And all around was grandeur chang'd and fallen : See where he comes ! PRIOR. He beckons you towards him. Enter HERMAN. HER. Leave us, good father. [Exit Prior. Is the Prior gone ? BEN. He is. HER. Art thou at leisure to attend me ? BEN. Shall I then enter the confessional ? HER. No, father, for I come not to confess The sins I have done, but what I would do. Hungry as hell, love rages in my blood, And guilt is needful to complete the joys. You are a priest, a soldier of the church, And bound as such, by all imagin'd ways, To spread her glory and exalt her power. If, by the help of your shrewd casuistry, The saint I worship will vouchsafe her favour, All my inheritance I will resign, Into your hands, for a religious use. BEN. Hence from this holy roof, thou wretch accurs'd ! HER. The flash that strikes the single traveller dead, Renews the vital spirit of the air ; The storm, that sinks the beggar'd merchant's treasures, Purges the hov'ring vapour of disease ; And all particular ills, bring general good : 22 THE STAR OF DESTINY. Apply the moral, and then think what good Thou may'st do with the riches I will give. BEN. I '11 hear no more. Alas ! 'tis ever thus ; The heart that cherishes forbidden passion, Is apt far every crime. Who, and what art thou? HER. A wretch abandoned to his evil genius. BEN. It is not fit that such should roam the earth ; I da arrest thee here for sacrilege. HER. Presumptuous monk ! dar'st thou lay hands on me ? Where is my faithful demon ? [ Thejiend appears, Seize that friar I Why dost thou pause, and beckon me away ? BEN. To whom, lost man, dost thou address thyself? HER. See'st thou not him ? BEN. There 's no one in this place. HER. Dost thou not see that dark and awful form Standing between us? Look! the earth uncloses, And he sinks down, having no power o'er thee. [The demon sinks Herman rushes off, followed by the monk *. SCENE IV. THE CASTLE SEEN AT A DISTANCE. Enter GONDIBERT, with his hands tied behind, attended by officers. GON. O he was to me, in my earliest kindness, As my own image in the faithful glass. When first I saw it there, I thought it him, And kiss'd it for my playmate. In our youth, He grew still dearer, even by his faults, * This incident of the apparition is borrowed from Lord Byron's Manfred ; his Lordship took it from Pickersgill, who helped himself to the thought from the scene between Saul and the Witch of En-dor. THE STAR OF DESTINY. 23 For they were all that in his glorious nature Made him submit to my companionship. Had oracles and martyrs from x their shrines, Told me that ever his ingenuous spirit Could have endured so base a transmutation, I had replied to them with blasphemies. But he is changed, and will not be appeased, Till he has quench'd his vengeance in my blood. My fortune blasted, and my honour gone, To kill me now were merciful ; but come, Conduct me to the maniac's dread abode. [Exeunt. SCENE V. A GALLERY ; a star seen opposite the window at the further end. Enter HERMAN. My natal star, whose pure and silv'ry eye Hath been shut up so long, again uncloses, Though with a troubled and uncertain light ; It is as if the fiends and angels fought Between me and the glory of its beams. Surely some dreadful business now awaits me, That thus its splendour is so pale and shiver'd. My trembling household think me shook with frenzy, And every deadly weapon have concealed, So work the guardian spirits that would save me ; For now that Gondibert is in my power, The clotted thoughts of murder thicken in me. Lo where he comes ; would that I had a knife I \_Thefand enters, and gives him a dagger from its skeleton hand, and in passing off the stage, turns round its skeleton head. 24 THE STAR OF DESTINY. Enter GONDIBERT, his arms bound. SIR GON. Hold hold ! Count Herman, hold thy desp'rate hand! I have no weapon to defend myself. Though the famed promise of thy youth be withered, Thou art not yet so fallen from all goodness, As to destroy me like a foul assassin. HER. Ah ! blood for blood ; I have shed mine for thine, SIR GON. You speak in riddles that I cannot read, But if your maniac hatred claims my life, It must be yours, for I am in your power. HER. Prepare thyself, thou ha&t not long to live; Thy hands are bound, but still thy limbs are free, And thou may'st kneel to heaven, yet while I strike ; In that in that thou art the happier man, For I dare never kneel to heaven more. SIR GON. Alas ! mysterious and ill-fated being f HER. Down on thy knees ! I give thee leave to pray. SIR GON. (kneels.) Not for myself, but for this guilty man, To whose eternal woe I thus must die, I do implore thy mercy to descend. [Herman several times makes an effort to strike, and the star contracts its lustre ; at last he bursts into tears, Jlings away the dagger, Jails on the neck of Gondibert, and the star shines out with great splendour. END OF ACT II. THE STAR OF DESTINY. 25 ACT III. SCENE I. CHAMBER. HERMAN (solus). Her virtues and his worth have conquer'd me ; Yes in her presence reigns a holiness Checking the taint of guilt in my desires, Like that unknown renown'd Egyptian gum, Whose sovereign quality denied corruption, And kept the dead in everlasting beauty. But the dire fiend, that will not speak but do, Will not forego the bargain he has made, And I must still be lost for ever lost ! Enter LUDOLPH. LUD. My Lord He is again wrapt up in gloom, What if his frenzy should return ! My Lord HER. Ha ! honest Ludolph ! Wherefore stand you back ? Give me thy hand, old friend. Is thy task done ? Hast thou deliver'd to Sir Gondibert Those fatal bonds ? LUD. I have, my Lord. HER. Thank Heav'n ! But did you see them torn ? LUD. I gave them to him. HER. Thou hast but half thy duty done, old man : Again go to him, move not from his presence, Till thou hast seen them utterly destroy'd, That hell, which cannot re-create, may never By spell or conjuration bring them back ; Away, and come not till thou hast done this ! [Exit Ludolph. 26 THE STAR OF DESTINY. The demon is my slave, and though no more I claim his power against fair Beatrice, I may employ him to redeem the wrongs Which hang like mildew on her husband's fame. Come once again to me, thou dreadful thing! It comes not yet. Has my good angel won ? I dare not trust that hope, but still must call. Come ! I invoke thee by my forfeit soul ! \_Thejiendappears, with averted head, and indicat- ing) by the motion of his hands, reluctance. How ! dar'st thou question what I may command ? Slave, do thy tasks ! I know, when I am thine, Thou wilt not spare me in thy burning hests ! Go to the Birder's court, and there undo The wrong thou did'st for me on Gondibert. A little space serves for an evil deed ! How quick he was to work for me that ill ; But now, when I the mischief would repair What, not yet gone ? By that eternal doom, Which makes thy bondmen crave increase of pain, As blessed spirits after bliss aspire, I will be answered by thine act in this ! \Tlie fiend vanishes, and Herman walks thoughtfully across the stage. Enter SERVANT. SERV. My lord, my lord ! HER. Why come you on me thus ? SERV. The servants of the Holy Inquisition Demand your presence in St. Leonard's Abbey. HER. I will attend them. [Exit Servant. One day more but one, And I must answer to a dreader summons. \_Exit Herman. THE STAR OF DESTINY. 27 SCENE II. THE WOODS ; (day-break.) HUNTSMEN, LUNENBURGH, and BERNSTEIN. CHORUS. 1st HUNT. Sound the bugle ! 2d HUNT. The bugle sounds. 3d HUNT. Hark ! the echo, The echo replies ; OMNES. And the huntsman, The huntsman and hounds, Chide the morning O morning arise ! LUN. To horse, companions ; see, at length the dawn, Blushing behind her curtain in the cloud, As if asham'd that she had slept so long, Lets forth her glorious paramour the sun, To share our sport. BERN. Where lies the chace to day ? LUN. In the black forest ; there a savage boar, Shaggy and grim, like a fierce tyrant rages, And scares the hinds and honest villagers From their accustomed pastimes. Not long since, He burst upon them, and with murd'rous tusks, Snatch'd from the midst a wise and learned man, A doctor from the University, By chance, spectator of their harmless pleasure. The Birder, our brave emperor, hearing this, Has vow'd with hound and horn to hunt him out. But we are summoned all the court are hors'd ; And see, his Majesty himself sets forward. [The Court pass to the chase ; soon after the boar crosses the stage, and the hunt begins. 28 THE STAR OF DESTINY. SCENE III. THE CHURCH OF ST. LEONARD'S. The Members of the Inquisition assembled. The PRIOR and BENEDICT. PRIOR. You heard his servant, Rugenstein, confess, How he foreknew the Palatine was dead ; And when the messenger the tidings brought, He ask'd, as one all privy to the scene, For papers that the old man had bequeathed. These things are of themselves appalling proof Of leagues accurst, and damning sorceries. What shall we then say of those horrors done Beneath this sacred roof? BEN. See, he is here. (HERMAN brought in.) PRIOR. Count Herman ! HER. Well, sir! PRIOR. You shall answer me HER. Shall ! I attend your question. PRIOR. We have heard HER. What have you heard ? PRIOR. Hear us, and then reply. It has been told, say if the tale be true, An ancient man, hoary and wild and strange, Cloth'd in the garb of some untravell'd land, Came to you in the forest some believe He was that wretch who never shall know death And nine times offer'd you a magic book, Lock'd with huge brazen clasps, which you refused, Till the ninth time ; oh, had you that withstood ! HER. What might have then ensued ? THE STAR OF DESTINY. 29 PRIOR. Within that book None may without eternal peril read ! HER. Think ye I would confess against myself? INQUIS. Hear him no more, but to the rack with him ! HER. And so extort the truth ! Hold ! yet forbear ; I know not what your riving wheels may force From out my torments. I may then accuse Even you, my Lord Inquisitor, as one That shares the guilt and pleasures of my sins. PRIOR. He is not to be daunted by the rack. We'll try his faith by a more certain test ; See, how the earthquake rent our sacred dome. Will you rebuild the abbey ? HER. Ha ! will that Be taken as a surety for my soul ? If towers on towers, and sculptur'd churches, pil'd Higher than Babel, would but serve for that ! As in the earthquake, when the mountain fell, Your church was shaken, it is meet that I Should use the means I used, to set it right. It shall be done. PRIOR. We can desire no more. My lord, we are content you may depart. \Exeunt all but Benedict and Herman ; Benedict re- tiring, Herman calls him back. HER. I would converse with thee, good man, alone. There's a disease philosophy disowns, In which 'tis said the living frame of man Begets an actual fire within itself And I have caught it oh ! it kindles here. I could not think, till I had felt this pain, How sweet a boon consenting nature gave To weary mortals in that sleep of rest, Beneath the grassy blanket of the grave. 30 THE STAR OF DESTINY. BEN. But to lie down, while yet the pulse beats high, Like an inglorious sluggard in his task, Bating the sin, is an unmanly part. HER. Disease and accident, and battle wounds, Set the soul free while in its noblest vigour, And wherefore, when it sinks so low as mine, Should it remain imprison'd in the flesh, A living being to a carcase chain'd ! BEN. My Lord! HER. I think the mind, when it despairs, Is with a deadly malady oppress'd, And to relieve it, instinct prompts the hand. BEN. Oh, know you not my lord where they must go, Who do that sin which cannot be repented ? HER. Where'er it is, they take their fate with them, And cannot suffer, in another place, A fiercer hell than burns within them here. But I have gain'd one deep and dreadful secret, By the stern quests of my unsocial science. BEN. Ah ! what is it ? Her. When the self-slaughter' d falls, He but fulfills some compact made before, With the eternal enemy of man. BEN. My lord, my lord, what do these words portend ? HER. Why only, that this being All Soul's Eve, I would that thou shouldst in thy requiems think Of forfeit spirits that can hope no more.- When you at midnight hear BEN. What, my dear lord ? HER. Fall on your knees and weep, BEN. For whom ? HER. For me. [Exeunt Herman and Benedict. THE STAR OF DESTINY. 31 SCENE IV. THE LANDSCAPE, AND THE GATE QF HERMAN'S CASTLE. Enter EMPEROR, LUNENBURGH, $c., $c. EMP. It is a vain pursuit, call in my train. I'd rather bide the shock of twenty tiltings, Than such another day's determined chase. Thrice was the dreadful boar at my spear's point, And thrice the weapon shiver'd in my grasp, And he escap'd unhurt ! Know you this castle ? LUN. It is Count Herman's. EMP. No ; it cannot be ! LUN. It was the Palatine's preferred retreat. How changed is all around ! See how Neglect Sits on the rushy margin of the lake, Spreading her mantling weeds, while Ruin leans, With ivy tendrils dangling in her hand, From the lone battlements of yonder tower. EMP. The place denotes a poor or sullen master ; But be he what he may, here we must roost ; So wind the horn that hangs there at the gate. \_An attendant winds tlie horn, and Ventose, as se- neschal, comes out. VEN. What Nimrods are ye, that invade our bounds, Which, save the pretty paw of nimble hare, Or the cleft sandal of the simple fawn, Nor hoof nor heel impresses. LUN. Ah, Ventose ! VEN. My wise Lord Lunenburgh ! LUN. How cam'st thou here ? VEN. Have you not heard of that outrageous boar That dared with ravenous throat to seize on me, And had devour'd, doubtless, but for Count Herman 32 THE STAR OF DESTINY. Who, with a voice tuned to a high command, Met the grim ravisher, and me rescued ? EMP. Art thou that learned doctor ? VEN. I am he. And I, in gratitude to brave Count Herman, Well he deserves the name, have here become His castle's seneschal, an honour'd office, Richly endow'd with largess and with fee, And gay habiliments, behold, to boot. Walk in, my Lord. LUN. Go, let your master know The Emperor will be his guest to-night. VEN. Ring the alarm bell let the trumpets shout The Emperor ! the Emperor ! My Lord, When will his dreadful majesty be here ? In, in, my Lord ; let all your servants aid. Stop, fellow, stop ! my Lord takes precedence. LUN. That is his Majesty. [Exeunt all to the castle but Ventose. VEN. O mercy, mercy ! Was ever treason, and high treason too, So guileless done by honest man before ? I shall be hang'd for this, devoted man ! [He rushes in despair against Herman, who is en- tering) and then flees into the castle. HERMAN, solus. The peasants say it is the Emperor. Fiend, Fiend, attend! I will brook no delay. [ The fiend appears. Thou hast done well to send the Emperor here Prepare a banquet meet for such a guest. [Exit fiend. The day is far declined, the setting sun Ha ! what is that between me and the sun ? THE STAR OF DESTINY. 33 A visionary arm whose hand doth hold A time-glass, and the sands are all run out. O ! I must hasten, while there is yet time, To intercede for injured Gondibert. [Exit Herman. SCENE V. THE BANQUET HALL. The EMPEROR, and all the Dramatis Personce but the fiend. Music, Sec. The music stops, and the Emperor comes forward with Herman. EMP. At your request, most kind and liberal host, He shall in all his honours be replaced. HER. It is enough ; your Majesty so wills it. But I had hoped that his own worth and service Were of themselves sufficient. Gondibert ! His Majesty is pleased that you again Return to court : do homage for the boon. [Gondibert kneels to the Emperor. (Apart?) The ill I did, still lacks in reparation. EMP. My Lord, upon our eyelids sits dull Sleep, Pressing them down : again, with thanks, good night ! [Exeunt all but Gondibert, Herman, and Beatrice. HER. He 's gone they all are gone stay you, my friend! GON. How deeply, Herman, am I still your debtor ! BEA. My Lord, my generous friend, what moves you thus? HER. I have done all to heal the harm I did you Within the compass of my desp'rate means. Can you forgive me yet ? BEAT, and GON. W T e do ! we do ! GON. 'Tis late, dear Herman, let us part to-night. HER. Yes : we must part. BEAT. My Lord ! HER. What is the hour ? GON. Nearing to midnight. 34 THE STAR OF DESTINY. HER. No, no, not o late. I saw but now upon the western hills The setting sun. As a refulgent spirit, After a glorious transit o'er the earth, Moves into Heaven, he parted from my sight ; But mine must, like a pale and falling star, Be headlong cast, and quench'd in utter darkness. GON. Herman ! dear Herman ! HER. O ! your hands, your hands ! Time drags me on. Upon my burning brow I feel the coming demon's breath of flame. Air ! give me air ! O, let me taste once more That living freshness in the breath of Heaven ! [Beatrice throws open a large window at the upper end of the hall. BEAT. O look, my Lord, to yonder starry sky ; It is, methinks, the wing of Providence, All speckled over with bright, wakeful eyes, Cov'ring and watching all. HER. Ah, how they speed ! I see but there the restless orbs of time, Like harbingers of some dread execution, All marching onward and will not be stay'd. Why is this universal haste in Nature ? Stand still, stand still ! Oh yet, while there is time ! I'll call the fiend to stop their fatal speed. {The clock strikes. It is too late. He comes ! he comes ! he comes ! \_A cloud overspreads the sky as the clock strikes twelve. Thunder and lightning. The demon is seen in the cloud. Gondibert and Beatrice fall on their knees. Herman stands fascinated with horror. GON. As we forgave the wrongs he did to us, THE STAR OF DESTINY, 35 O let him be forgiven ? As he was wont To stretch his arm to succour the distress'd, Let his good angel drive the fiend away, And from this everlasting peril save him, [A stupendous arm appears from a bright cloud, and pushes the demon down, in the midst of thunde-r and lightning, All the Dramatis Persons come rushing into the room, the clouds disappear, the star shines out, and a grand chorus sing in the air. CHORUS. A soul is redeem'd, glad tidings in Heaven, The seraphs high peans of thankfulness sing ; The seal from the paction of horror is riven ; Shout anthems of glory, and praise to the King ! POEMS. A REVERIE. Strange fancies will at times molest, Awake or when asleep ; And did I dream a dream last night, Or did I think to weep ? n. Methought the green and grassy earth Was as a mortcloth black ; And all the sable skies above Were streak'd with flaming wrack. in. The sun shone like a coffin plate, That tells who sleeps below ; The stars were all as silver nails That glitter in a row. IV. The trees, in that unrighteous scene, Were as the hearse-plumes dread ; The streams ran ink their falls were mute, And all the world was dead. S8 POEMS. V. Then one by one the lights were quench'd And ancient night was come r Lone silence settled dark o'er all, And sound itself grew dumb. VI. The glimmering phantoms of the past Seem'd things that were to be ; But like the stars, my thoughts went out, And light was gloom to me. VII. The steadfast earth, beneath my tread Dissolving, passed away ; And through the vague, the void, and vast, I wander 'd wild astray. VIII. Time was a point dimensionless, Existence ceas'd a sigh ; In all the boundless space around There was but GOD and I. INFINITE. What thoughts do Infinite convey I What import does the term express I The shall be and the past away, A greater than the greatest, say, Or than the least, still less. POEMS. 39 ii. Nor flying hours, nor measur'd space, The pregnant mystic word concerns ; Nor distance in man's life or place, Nor aught that lore or light discerns. in. The goal, perfection only nears Creation's work that's never done, The strength of power, the stream of years, The rimless round, the chain of spheres, God's frame, the viewless One. IV. These hint the secret, and from these Wing'd contemplation dares to soar ; And through the stellar chinks she sees What sages dream and saints adore. v. With eyes amaz'd she thence reviews, Dread Nature's vast mysterious plan, And wondering tells the awful muse, What suns beyond their beams effuse To worlds unknown to man. THE RADICALS. A FABLE. Philo the sage, threw by his book, On his companions once to look ; 40 POEMS. A cat and dog, in slumber snug, Stretch'd out before the fire on rug, Pleased to behold their mutual ease. " Ah ! man," he cried, " wert thou like these, How smooth would flow life's varied stream, Cleared from its lees and brighter gleam. Here creatures of an adverse kind Sleep as if fus'd into one mind. Oh Nature ! goddess of good will, Thy blandishments enchant us still, And woo us to forget the cause That makes us what we are the laws. Lo ! these poor beasts, that own no code, But instinct only laws of God. No cares, no crimes, no frauds they know, Life is with them a limpid flow. Would man, from their example, learn Thy holy instincts to discern ; And banish from their use and wont Enacted laws, and lawyers' cant ; Live free, by Nature charter'd free, And burn the codes of anarchy ! " As thus he said, bright from the grate A sparkling ember leapt elate, And with tormenting anguish bit Grimalkin, in her drowsy fit. Roused by the pain, with claws and teeth She made poor Sprig partake her grief. He, honest dog, with sudden snarl, Provoked with her a deadly quarrel ; Till friend Philo, with tongs to fell 'em, Restored the status ante bellum. POEMS. 41 MORAL. Tis thus the radicals imagine, While basking underneath the laws, That all the troubles men engage in, Spring wantonly from teeth and claws. SPRING. SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTH ODE OF THE FIRST BOOK Of HORACE. Wha's yon braw lass, wi' gowan snood, That's walking o'er the broomy knowe ; She dings the cranreuch frae the wood, And plaits a garland round the bough ? Her e'en, twa dew-drops, sparkling clear, Shed love and daffin' as they glance ; The birds wi' canty likings cheer, And a* the flow'rs rise frae their trance ? It's bride-maid Spring, whose leilsome art Gars lightly loup the youthful heart. n, Thrang frae the misty highland isles, Whar ghaists in flocks glowr as they flee, And Brownie for the Lathron toils, Wi' barkened * sails the kowters see By heaps o' timber caps, and plates, The wark that wile't the winter's drear, Right snod the kintra carlin waits, And wearies wha the price will speer. For a' the lads are on the rig, And she maun thole the snash and prig. * Dyed with bark. 42 POEMS. III. The clachan lucky spreads fu' proud Her webs and spyniels on the green ; And signs and window cheeks renew'd, Like the young leaves shine fresh and clean. But lo ! best proof that winter's done, Auld grannie frae the chumley nook Late toddling in the afternoon To kirk, wi' napkin round her book. In love, or life, or growth, or sense, All feel the genial influence. IV. Come then, dear Jamie, while we may The vernal hours of youth enjoy : The hope that blooms so fair and gay, A worm may gnaw, a blast destroy. But o'er the past, as Horace sings, Not e'en almighty Jove has power, And mem'ry still delighted brings The vision of the happy hour ; That man in joyless age may bear The wumbling pain, and snuling care. THE PENNY WEDDING; JEAN'S ACCOUNT OF THE INFARE. INSCRIBED TO DAVID WILKIE, ESQ., R.A. No bade ! I'm sure 'twas a forget, For a' the town was there ; The whole clan-jamphery far and near, Like as at kirk or fair. POEMS. 43 We had, it's true, the minister, I wat he was jocose, And twa-three decent families Wi' some of the town beaux. Lod, lass, d'ye ken the hempy set Frae a' the laive me wal't, And that wild swankie Laird Kailyards W's blethering ne'er devaul't. The clarty Terrier wee Tarn Sneak Brought punch and sweeties gabbing, And bow't an' binge't and winkit droll, Just like a pyet dabbing. Its wonderfu' how some folks fen* Meg'Glaik she kens hersel, But no a leddy in the town Frae Meg can bear the bell. Her tucker was of Brussels' lace, An ell o't gude an' mair, Nae mutch had she, but a snood of beads Was purl'd in her hair. When she saw young Kailyards wi' me, She could na' thole the sight, But gluncht till Sneakie took her up Syne wallop' t hyte a' night. The bride was braw, but a' the east Wad ne'er mak Tibby snod : A' hachle's like a clubby clute, Made by the hand of God. 44 POEMS. The bridegroom ilka body kens Has needed lang a wife, The doitet cuif fell winking fou' And bred us mickle strife. The live lang supper-time he fash'd And yamert just a pest, And then his eyne began to set, And he maun gang to's rest. This hav'rel word ye weel may think Bred mickle sport awhile, It kittl't e'en the minister And gar't the mimmest smile. Wee Sneakie crept aneath the bed, A taed beneath a stane ; I saw him and tauld Laird Kailyards, And he to hear 't was fain. Sae when we a' were round the stance For posset and the scone, The Laird took crabbit Mrs. Spice To play his prank upon. Her pouch he clippet frae her side, And flung't aneath the bed, Syne sought a prin wi courtesie Prejinct and so well bred. She put her hand to fetch his want, But O ! the pouch was gone, Her eyne flew up, her mouth fell down, Her soul it gied a groan. POEMS. 45 Just then wee Sneakie look'd frae's den Whase pouch is this ? he cries, The pouch was cramm'd wi' crumbs and scraps, And tappy towers of pies. She knevel't at his face a clink, He claught her by the leg, She staggart and red wud wi' wrath, Dure gruppet randy Meg. Meg skreigh'd like ane clean by hersel, To end the deaving din, The bridegroom in a rapture raise, And spare't na kith nor kin. Out at the door he drove us a', Like nowt in a fair fray, And Laird Kailyards went hame wi' me, And we laugh't a' the way. THE BLOCKADE. Though o'er St. George's, black and dread, The flag of winter wave, And on the leeward dangers spread, Shall terror shake the brave ? ii. Loud let the winds careering sweep, Our good ship scorns their pride ; For on the dark and dismal deep, But Duty knows to guide. 46 POEMS. III. Look up ! another rending mast ! True seamen, never fret ; It shortens sail ; the rising blast Will save us sail to set. IV. The bowsprit goes ! the rudder's gone ! They both were useless here : The shallow where the beacon shone Is past, the harbour's near. v. We strike she sinks who would provoke Stern Fate in bloody wars ? A parting cheer, my hearts of oak ! For England and her tars. EPIGRAM. WRITTEN IN 1805 OR 6. Proud to behold the recompense to fame My country gave, to Blenheim tow'rs I came. The trophied portal, and the storied halls, ' With the great " campaign " glowing on the walls, Bright thoughts excited and high aims inspired. But while the Marlborough all my fancy fired, A liveried keeper, with obsequious bow, Claim'd the admission price, and shut the show. POEMS. 47 HYMN. O thou, who through the infinite abyss Of darkness void, like yon ascending sun From out his nightly chamber, rose serene. As thy creative radiance spread around, Millions of angels, stars of the first morn, Then sparkled into being : but their light, In thy effulgent coming, soon was lost : And Thou, Thyself, Thee manifest alone, With glory fill'd the universal round. Time was not yet, nor that beginning, when Thou didst th' apostate seraphim cast out, And in the tempest of thy justice, hurl'd Chaos upon them, till the accumulated wrath O'er-vaulting, closed their cryptical abyss. In Heaven they date the primal evening then. O ! who shall tell thy glory, when again Thou didst look forth, benignant, from the sky Upon the shoreless dark, upheaving vast Of all the elements ; and didst command Yon ruling orb, the pale attendant moon, And their fair kindred lights out of the deep To rise. They rose like birds from off the waves. Thy brighter morning stars, the witnesses, Shouted with joy, to see their circling flight, Sung as they saw their circling flight begin. And the dim patens of material light, Left for thy glory to supply the world, Crown'd the blest evening of the second day. On thy third dawn, waked from his earthy bed, Majestic man, to do thee homage, rose ; And when he fell from his primeval state Thy countenance was darkened, and o'er all 48 POEMS. Afflicted nature spread a dismal night ; Till thou wast pleased in Jesus yet once more To shew forth visible, and, in his form, Come with the radiance of another day. Dread was the hour, when, in the carnal cloud, Thou wast eclipsed. Then all the world was gloom. On bloody Calvary's atrocious hill Perdition howl'd with joy, deeming that night Eternal ; when behold ! bright from the depths Of darkest death, to which thou didst descend, The choirs of Heaven, that rested mute the while, Saw thee arise, and hail'd the glorious morn. But in the awful cycles of thy course, Cloud, hail, and darkness, fearful to thy saints, Obscure thee from them and afflict their faith. O now, when Thou, true light, hast set again, When will thy sixth refulgent morning come ? When will thy sabbath shine on all things good ? MORNING. A CANTICLE. Oh come, ye daughters of Jerusalem ! Come with your timbrels and your songs of joy, To hail the sparkling-footed morn, that brings Her flagons, 'plenish'd from the wells of light, From hills of myrrh and Carmel's fragrant brow. Come while she comes, kindling the dewdrop stars. The fear, the shadow, and the snare are gone The blossoms smile and with glad faces now The lilies shine. Hark ! from the hills afar Melodious bleat the lamb ; while o'er the stream POEMS. 49 The hart looks pleas'd towards yon far-seen rock, Where the blithe shepherd in the sunshine sings, " Awake, my love my fair one come away ! " THE SIDDONIAN CURSE. May he survive the world forgot of God ! And in the infinite, where all things were, Blaspheme alone for ever and for ever ! THE MISANTHROPE. The conscious Misanthrope ! I first beheld him When in my pilgrimage I paced forlorn The shipless shores and lone funereal wastes, Where mould'ring lies the skeleton of Greece. It chanced one evening, from the hovering skies, I sought the leaside of an ancient temple, Whose old magnificence was crush'd and scatter'd. The storm had blown the beacon from the mole, And wrecks and seamen's corses strew'd the shore. Along the sounding strand, with helpless wail, Wringing their hands, their hair dishevell'd flying, The wretched women echo'd to the cries Of drowning men beyond the reach of aid. The bells rung wildly, and the monks with torches, Mingling their requiems with the booming winds, Brought down their sacred relics to the sea, That would not be appeased, but louder raged, As if in mockery of their awful faith ; So wildly did the demons of the air Rule in that dismal night. For refuge I 50 POEMS. Crept to the vaults beneath the gorgeous ruin. There I beheld him, leaning o'er a fire Which he had kindled with the wave-bleach'd splinters Of founder'd barks, and bones that seemed of men. The lurid flames that flared in his grim eyes Show'd he was rapt in stern imaginings. His garb and mien proclaimed he was a soldier ; But the proud plume upon his cap was faded. I would have marred his musing, but he broke Into such frenzied blasphemy of man, For hideous outrage done against himself, That I fled shudd'ring to the storm for shelter. THE CRUSADERS' MARCH. No trumpet's clangour cheer'd their toilsome march ; Nor spirit-stirring fife nor the bold peal Of the courageous drum was ever heard. But more inspiring than the mingled voice Of all accorded instruments of sound They moved exulting to triumphant songs Of ancient Israel to battle led, And led victorious by the Lord of Hosts, Through seas o'er deserts waste and impious kings. THE FIELD OF BATTLE. What though no more was heard the clash of arms The thund'ring squadron nor the victor's shout, Mingled with curses hoarse and mutter'd rage Still dismal rose the wonted sounds of war. POEMS. 51 Like the deep death-bell in some mourning town Where Pestilence careers, there loudly boom'd The long-drawn anguish of the wounded charger. And o'er the field, like prowling fiends, red lights Were wand'ring seen ; where'er they stopp'd, a shriek Broke wildly sharp from some despairing wretch, Struck, as he welter 'd, by the plunderer's knife. At morn, the soldier from his comrade's corpse Startles the camp dog ; and the wounded oft, To scare the foul birds hov'ring o'er them, lift Their shatter'd limbs and roll their gashy heads. And there the sun, remorseless on his throne, Brings clouds of carnage-flies, that fill the air With shadowy gloom a living shower of sound. THE CORONATION. From steeple, spire, and abbey tow'r, The bells are ringing gay ; The cannon proud were shouting loud Before the dawn of day. ii. With golden prows and banners bright, The gallant galleys go ; And thousands on ten thousand drive To see the regal show. in. The chimneys all are wreath'd with boys, Like apple trees in spring ; And ladies' bowers with smiles and flowers Are garnished for the King. 52 POEMS. IV. To trumpets shrill and bugles brave, Loud peal the thund'ring drums ; Lift up your heads, ye feudal halls, The Lord's anointed comes ! THE DESTRUCTION OF OLD DUNWICH. The livelong day, the frantic blast Howls in the dismal sky, Sea-wrecks upon the coast are cast, The raging waves run high. u. The bark from the resounding shore Steers far aloof to sea, The seaman's wife has closed the door, And bends in prayer her knee. in. From drifting clouds the round red sun Beholds the coming night, Men think of sinful courses run, And churme the dirge of light. IV. Dark falls a gloom on town and tower, At midnight as at noon, The birds unblest scream in the show'r, Their eyrie is no boon. POEMS. 53 V. Why does the foul receding tide So haste beyond its bourne ? The priests before the altar cry, When will the tide return ? VI. It comes ! It comes, the waters come, Ten thousand voices cry ; The storm is stay'd, God's thunder drum No more alarms on high. VII. Oh flash of hope, with fiercer breath, Hors'd on the white maned wave, The shrieking wind is lash'd by Death, And Heaven forbears to save. VIII. With hurrying bound the ocean wild Leaps o'er the shudd'ring walls, The beacon staggers like a child, The time-tried abbey falls. IX. Like hungry flames, the wasteful waves Along the streets career ; The weltering crowd a moment raves, And Dunwich once was here. 54 POEMS. THE WIDOW'S CROONE. And maun I lanely spin the tow, And ca' the weary wheel, For cauld they lie, where do they lie, The winsome and the leil ? n. Och hon ! Och hon ! my blithe gudeman Lies deep aneath the wave, The Lord that made us frae the dust, I thought had power to save. in. My Willie !- he lay on my breast Wi' mercy in his e'en, Can I forget the bonnie bairn That milket me yestreen ? IV. Cauld was the coal I had to blaw When Robin sank at sea, For he but left the widow's hope, A wee, wee bairn wi' me ! v. Wi' eydent hand and eye o' woe, I ettled night and day ; And when the Lord forgot our need We grat, and tried to pray. VI. Och hon ! Och hon ! he is awa, My Willie he is gone ; Oh, is he waff in some far land ? But God's good will be done. POEMS. 55 VII. May be he's in the morning star, That glints its sheen sae clear, The Lord be praised, he'll never ken. His helpless mother's fear. VIII. I'm auld and frail, my basin's toom An almous I maun quest, Help me, sweet Death ! to the kirkyard, That holy place of rest! A SONG. The youth that leaves his native land, And feels his heart reluctant swell, As friendship waves the parted hand, And fond affection looks farewell, May know the painful grief I knew When England faded from my view* But when fair Adelaide I saw, Full quickly pass'd that youthful pain, My heart received a happier law, For friends and home were found again. But in her absence I deplore Love, friendship, and my native shore. 56 POEMS. A SONG. What can't be help'd can't, So 'tis nonsense to grieve* We wish what we want, Can wishes relieve ? n. The bottle, poor soul ! As it stands by the glass, Looks up in your face As wishing to pass* in. The glass, my dear friend, With his round open mouth ? Is wanting his drink, Ah ! pity his drouth. IV. So wishes and wants, Jolly lads ! let us pass, For the wish of the bottle, And want of the glass. THE SONG OF THE SAINT. Bright on the mountain's brow as on his throne, Some orient king in regal splendour sits, Exhaling adulations shines the sun, And bower, and bough, and vale, and mountain top, Ring with the chorus of all living things. The streams run glad, the silent lakes lie pleas'd, While woody steeps, green banks, and thymy knolls, POEMS. 57 Bask in fresh happiness, and the grim rocks Relax their frowns, and smile with sullen joy In that blest hour the saint thus sung his song. " Thou glorious orb, in whose effulgence all Earth grows melodious, and awak'ning life, Kindles to rapture at thy bright return ; In thee, dim type foredoom'd, the mental eye Sees but the shadow of that light eterne, Whose holy influence caus'd the world to be. Vision of glory, emblem of the God Whose ray refines the drossy heart of man, Till it forgoes its natural alloy, And glows sublimed, fit ore to mix with heav'ns, Speak to my heart ! May He who bade thee shine, Who strews with stars, as dust, His path on high, Shed there his purity, and there the base Change and exalt by some divine conversion, Oh, as thy splendour banishes the night, Dissolve the gloom of my distrustful dream, And guide my spirit to ascend again." EPIGRAMS. To A YOUNG LADY WHO SAID SHE LOVED BATH CHEESE. How charming, lovely, mild, and fair, Is Julia's form and heav'nly air ! Soft as the gentle dew of night, Descend her accents of delight. Pure as the morning radiance beams, Her mind angelic fancy gleams. Oh ! graced with every power to please Why loves divinest Julia cheese ? 58 POEMS. ON HEARING IT SAID A GOOD MAN WAS PRAISED TOO MUCH. I grant Aristides is good, His mind with noblest thoughts imbued, His hands with public spoil unstain'd, His wealth by wise exertions gain'd ; All this I grant for grant I must But where 's the need to call him just? in. ON RETURNING A MANUSCRIPT. Your language, Sir, is quite correct ; The verse too, is without defect ; The rhymes are choice, and, no offence,. In term or thought, obscures the sense. In short, the work no fault affords, Yet, Sir, excuse me 'tis but words. WERTER TO CHARLOTTE. Oh need'st thou wonder at my sighs ; Look not so kindly on me ; In mercy veil these gentle eyes, Alas ! they have undone me. Or if thou wilt I should be gay, Instruct me to forget thee ; Or be as free as on that day, Alas ! when first I met thee. POEMS. 59 THE HERMIT PETER. BOOK I. The Hermit Peter left his lonely cell, On the green margin of the western sea, And to Jerusalem, with patient steps, Through many a land and hostile regions drear, Meekly inquir'd his solitary way. At length he saw, fronting the setting sun, Tall glittering spires, tipp'd with refulgent stars, And cliffs high turretted, throwing their shadows Black o'er the shaggy vales. " It is the town, The sacred town, the city of the Lord, The home of prophets, and the tomb of God ! " Thick beat his bosom : rushing to his eyes A holy rapture came in floods of tears. He could not stand he knelt and could not pray. With hand on hand press'd to his leaping heart, Awhile to stay this ecstasy he strove ; But swifter whirling, still intenser glow'd The passion of that hour, till from the earth, With arms extended towards Calvary, Lifted in transports he exulting sprung, And fell in throbbing trances to the ground. Ere the rapt fervour of his soul abated, The solemn moon, with all her handmaid stars, Like a fair priestess and her virgin train Of beauteous torch-bearers, was thron'd serene High in the blue mid heaven ; and peaceful Night In silence wav'd her dreamy sceptre o'er The mountains and the vales, save where was heard Soft-murmuring Siloah's quick-glancing wave, 60 POEMS. Or where afar the lamb's pathetic bleat, Rous'd in the distant fold the watchful dog, ' Or startling voices and the hast'ning feet Of travellers late, rose at long intervals, No sound mov'd o'er the sleeping landscape then. * The Hermit shar'd the universal calm, And rais'd his eyes in tranquil holiness, To thank the heavens that his long pilgrimage Was now so near completion when behold Around he saw a venerable band Looking dejected on him, as he lay Prostrate beside the path. The chief advanc'd, A pensive elder. Down his sable vest, In silv'ry whiteness deep, the beard of years Flow'd in the moonshine, like the hoary fall Of mountain-waters o'er a shadowed rock. " By the blest name of Him who died for all, Who and what art thou ?" cried the Hermit, mov'd With reverent horror, as the honour'd stranger Stoop'd to assist his rising. " Fear not, pilgrim, We are thy brethren, blest by baptism," thus The Patriarch replied ; " who late detain'd, Soothing the flight of a departing soul, Were homeward hast'ning to Jerusalem, When we discovered thee upon the ground ; And sadly deeming that thou hadst been slain By some of those remorseless infidels Who have, alas ! possess'd the hallow'd seats Of God's own people, paus'd to mourn that now, The pilgrim, after many a danger past, Should, frustrate of his pardon, die unblest. Oft at the entrance of the sepulchre, POEMS. 61 That sacred sepulchre where Jesus lay, We find the Christian a polluted corpse. O dread Jehovah ! whose avenging wrath Drove charioted in thunder and in hail, Aiding the sword of Joshua, when the sun Stood still on Gibeon, and no priestess serv'd That day the fabling worship of the moon In all the vale of Ajalon how long Shall these oppressors, with their iron sway, Afflict thy people ? When wilt thou command Thy dreadful angel to descend again On yonder mountain, and with withering frown Scorch their fell power, as in that dismal night, When on the host of fierce Sennacherib He look'd in anger, and the host was dead ?" So spake the Patriarch : and the Hermit cried, " The sun is quench'd not, though to us awhile His glory seem extinguish'd ; nor the power Of righteous Jehovah slumb'ring rests, Though the proud infidel triumphant rides The mount of God, and Calvary's holier hill. No : now, even now, the ever active Spring Throughout the universe elastic stirs, To urge a great deliverance." Surpris'd, As if some high miraculous agent spoke, The Patriarch and his attendant priests, Awe-struck, recoil'd. The Hermit's abject mien, Sunk eyes, and visage wan, moving their pity, As they look'd on him in the moon's pale light, Seem'd suddenly, by heavenly ardour chang'd Like radiant panoply. Brighter than stars, His kindling orbs beam'd keen intelligence ; His countenance was lighten'd, and a glow POEMS. Of sacred energy appear'd to shine From all his wondrous and dilating form, In majesty heroic. When he paus'd, The Patriarch reverently, low-bending, said " There is no hope of help : From these lost lands The manly spirit is for ever fled, The term of glorious enterprise is done, And all those great ennobling purposes That rais'd the weak and perishable man Out of his nature to immortal heights, Are utterly unknown. We are as ghosts, Tenants of ruins, and our home the grave ; Nor when we pray, implore we Heaven to aid." " But Heaven will aid," the impetuous Hermit cried. " Thinkst thou that He who did of old but speak Within the hollow of the empty gloom, And heaven, and earth, and light, and man arose, Cannot from out this death of virtue wake A living courage, to redeem the land From the abhorr'd blasphemers ? In His name I will invoke the warriors of the west To arm in this great cause, and they will come, Shall come, obedient to the high command, Like hail and tempest raging from the north, And hence th' accurs'd like chaff and ashes drive. Three hundred weary days, three hundred nights, In patient pilgrimage, searching my way To these blest scenes, have I, a penitent, To drop my tears in Jesus' hallow'd tomb Come undismay'd ; a few short steps, and I May reach the sepulchre, and with these eyes Witness the spot, where, for the sins of men POEMS. 63 A bleeding sacrifice, slain by the hands Of those he came to save, once lay the dread, The innocent, the everlasting God, Wrapt in corrupt mortality ; but back In glorious mission I will straight return ; Nor shall my feet pass the polluted gates Of yon bright town, that on its mountain throne, Shines like a constellation, till the west Pour her heroic blood, and wash them clean. Mourn not, Jerusalem, though captive chains Hang on thy neck, and bend in sorrow low That lofty head which Heaven with halo crown'd, And made the holiest of all the earth, The day of thy deliverance is at hand." He ceas'd, and all stood silent ; every heart Was fill'd with wonder, every eye with tears Glittering was turn'd towards the starry east, And every voice in sympathy attuned, Together swelling sung the praise of God. So sweet and sacredly their hymn arose, That the stern guards, upon the distant walls, Stood listening as the sound, through the still air, Came to the ear like fragrance on the gale. When they had thus with prayer and psalm awhile Express'd their fervid confidence in Heaven, The weary hermit closed his eyes in sleep. Beside him humbly sat the Patriarch down, While to the neighbouring cottages around In quest of food to cheer their pious guest, His train dispersed themselves. Long wide and far The search was spread; but for the needful meal The mourning peasant had but tales to tell 64 POEMS. Of ravage, rape, and horrors worse than death. And grieving, without alms, they all returned. Before the dawn the Hermit wak'd refresh'd, And ask'd to eat, for he had fasted long. Silent to his request the priests remain'd ; And when he crav'd again, their falt'ring voice, With tears, and broken sentences, declar'd The dismal issue of their fruitless range. He heard them look'd at them ; fast from his eyes The rain of speechless anguish bursting, fell, And the dim light of the ascending morn, Show'd pale and ghastly in his eager gaze, * What sorrow stung his heart. He started up And fled without reply. Th' afflicted priests Call'd on him to remain but still he ran, Fanning behind with spread averting hand, Like Lot from doom'd Gomorrah. When the sun Rose glowing bright, and on his shoulders shed Th' enfeebling lustre of the eastern clime, His earnest spirit then began to yield, And nature, by its vigour, so sustained Sinking down, stretch'd him on the parching earth. He had not long thus miserable lain, When the light tinkling of innumerous bells Rose from a distance. At the sound he rais'd His head, and saw descending from the hill A caravan of camels. They were bound To Jaffa, laden with that precious freight Of gorgeous tribute which the wealthy East Pays to th' adventurous genius of the West. Ships of the desert ! many a tedious league POEMS. O'er burning sands, beneath a brazen sun, That ever cloudless fires the thirsting air, Their toilsome course from Bussorah was held. As they approached, the parching Hermit paid The homage of a thankful heart to Heaven, Whose Providence by seeming chances sends Restoring succour when all mortal aid Deserts the reason and the hope of man : He in the travellers, saw well-tim'd relief; And view'd contented their slow-paced advance And cushion-footed camels, on whose backs Of basket leanness, gaily looking forth The young, the infant, and the lamb, were piled In pannier and in cage, and rattling, rung The clustered culinary ware, as down The step abrupt, with surging steps they came. Nor was relief denied : with kindly churme, For so their unknown speech seemed to his ear, The mild and solemn Asiatics shared Their freshest melons, and their coolest gourds ; A camel knelt to bear him, and the men, As all the live long day they journeyed on, Oft cheered him with their hospitable smiles. At night they halted, where a sparkling brook Threw its bright glances to the silv'ry moon; And kindled on the banks a social fire, Whose crimson flames, as mingling with the streams, Made the brown visage of each traveller round, Break from the darkness, with refulgent eyes, Like the good angel's, who of old was wont To sit by night, in wildernesses drear, With the lone saint that thither fled to 'scape p 66 POEMS. The swords of persecuting zeal, more fell And eager than the famish'd beasts that saw The angel there, and from his glance retir'd. The evening meal dispatch'd, the travellers then ' Spread out themselves upon the ground to sleep; The ruminating camels kneeling, form'd Their heads towards the light, a rampart round. On hovering wing the restless brood of sleep Delusive, flutter'd o'er the Hermit's head. As oft the migratory birds awhile Play round some wave-worn bark met far at sea. Lingering, they stoop, as if they would alight, But in the moment when the stretched grasp Of the bold shipman, snatches to possess, They mount aloft, and swiftly speed away. Denied repose, the weary Hermit mov'd Close to the margin of a murmuring stream, And sat him down to muse on holy things. Scarce was he seated there, when he observ'd The coming shadow of a man behind ; And turning, saw an Arab pilgrim near, On whose dark face and head unturbanded, The thin shorn hair seem'd like the charnel mould That furs the dead in a cadavery. Stern was his look and gaunt, but his mild eyes Beam'd more of grief than fierceness or revenge ; Of grief incensed to pain by the keen thought Of hurt that never, never can be cured. He paus'd, and view'd the Hermit, who in vain Made effort to enquire whence he had come, On what intent, and in what savage land His home was plac'd ; but a restraining awe POEMS. Baffled the will to speak, and held him At length the antient of the deserts thus Began, unask'd, his own terrific tale. " Son of that race whom destiny has rais'd To drive by crime or favour from the earth The elder lines of Afric's sable tribes, Know! when the cycle of your reign is run, Men of another tinge shall then arise, Who, in their turn, will sink the master whites Into th' oblivion where the blacks but fall As older first. Our sable visage bears The emblem of our state ; night is on us, And your bright foreheads glow in the full day, But come it will, though in vour noon so high, Ye shall the midnight, too, of fortune prove, And be as tombs that shine beneath the moon. " The empty waste o'er which these travellers came, Was once our native land. Alas, how chang'd! There parching desolation ever reigns, With silent famine, gasping thirst and dearth Continually increasing. There the day Is evil to the songless Arab's sight, As sullenly fast o'er the mould'ring sand He goads the dromedary all around Lies ashy hoar, and dead as mountain snow, What once was fertile soil, gay cloth'd with flowers, Dumb as the void of uncreated night ; Save when the dismal and monotonous wind Comes breathing arid death, is all the air, Which once with warbling of glad vocal birds, The bleat of flocks, refreshing sound of streams, Pipes of contented swains, and the brave voice - ft f>8 POEMS. Of social cities, thrilled with fragrant life ; No cloud e'er screens it; no perfume can scent; Not e'en the unburied corpse can now attaint The perish'd element, but without smell Falls into dust untasted by the worm. 'Twas there that Eden's happy garden smil'd ; And there the earth sentenced to be consumed By quenchless fires will first begin to burn : Already there, th' unmitigated sun So strikes his kindling beams, that every day Widens the hungry circle of the waste. " But, fond Believer in the Christian hope, Think not that consummation when it comes, Will verify thy vain expectances : Nor that when life on this drear globe shall end As end it will the fire, when it begins, Will, by such heralding, be e'er proclaimed, As shall awaken thy oblivious trance. Cheat not thy credulous fancy with the dream That on the dread and final day of man, The stern'st Archangel, stepping from his throne, Will, as a curtain, rend the skies asunder ; And shew within to all the startled dead, As from their bursting graves they live again, The star-crown'd millions of the seraphim Round Heaven's artillery charg'd with wrath and doom, Against the rebel fiends and sinners damn'd ; While from his high and dazzling throne beyond, Your boasted Saviour comes to judge the world On the bright wall, whence his assembled saints Shall see the waves of chaos burst their bounds, And toss the planetary orbs below ; Like helpless navies from their anchorage torn, POEMS. G!) Amidst the burly of a charter'd tempest. No : on that day, motion shall be run out ; Sound be no more, and Nature worn with age, Close all her eyes of light, and wearied, die. Man last created thing, shall be the last To which the universal end will come. " What if the fate be thine to be that last, To see what I have seen feel what I felt, When the dire simoon licked our fountains dry, And wrapt mine eyes in darkness, till its breath Had into ashes, and the desert, turn'd All that was lov'd and lovely to my heart." The Hermit shudder'd at the dreadful thought, And would have spoken, but the morning light Shone in his eyes, and when he look'd again There was no Arab, but a cheerful youth Who, pointing to the camels as they rose Shaking their bells, all willing for the road, Invited him to rise. He, for awhile, Pond'ring the tenour of the ancient's tale, And half inclined to think it but a dream, The aimless reasoning of the fancy lull'd, Or some temptation of the wand'ring fiend, - That oft beset him in the hallow'd mood Of pious thought, with questionings of Heaven- Then knelt he down, and with uplifted hands, Towards the kindling east, where now the sun Came forth triumphant, sung his morning hymn. The strangers, as the Hermit then aloud, Pour'd forth his desultory song, stood mute ; For though unknown his speech, they felt his zeal Thrill to their hearts, persuading them to pray, 70 POEMS. As if the gift of Pentecost had been Conferred upon him, and they knew his theme. When he had ended, and with reverent awe, They had replaced him on their gentlest camel, Onward they journey 'd, and at Jaffa's port, Where he embark'd for Christendom, they brought Rich eastern gems, spices and choicest fruit, Store far the sea, but he rejected all. 71 BOOK II. At Rome the fervour of the noon was past, When thron'd amidst a gorgeous multitude Of crimson'd Cardinals and mitred Prelates, The Pope held solemn court. On that proud throng, Richly the sun pour'd through the lofty halls His golden radiance, and the priestly heart Swell'd with imperial thoughts. Then from without A stir was heard, as of the great approach Of some high embassy. On either side Opening roll'd the motley crowd apart, Like the foam-crested billows of the sea When Moses stretch'd his hand, and through the deep Trench'd the mirac'lous way of Israel. Silent they stood expecting, all prepar'd To witness homage, and reward with praise The vassal worship of some distant king But at the portal enter'd, boldly free, With staff, and scrip, and palm-branch in his hand, A simple pilgrim ; and his lofty eye Pierc'd every breast. The pontiff own'd its power, And on his throne of pride was smit with awe. It was the Hermit. Soon a murmur rose At his irreverence ; but he look'd around, And lifting high his arm, froze them all dumb With dread, as thus he vehemently spoke : " Awake, arise, and gird your loins for war : He that upon his vesture and his thigh Hath written * King of Kings and Lord of Lords,' Calls you to battle, and the hosts of heaven, On their bright horses, trampling wrath and flame, 72 POEMS. Wait till ye arm. The beast and image all That bear the mark prophet and worshipper, Shall be deliver'd captive to your power. Come, the avenger to the vulture cries, Come to the supper of the dreadful God, That ye may banquet on the flesh of kings, Of captains, and the mighty of the earth, The bond and free, that war against the Lamb." His summons rous'd them like a herald's call, A herald from the champion of Heaven ; And without knowledge of what enterprise Was then commanded, high their spirits flam'd. Though tam'd and priestly, all averse to blood, They felt like knights athirst for glorious war ; So did th' intrepid Hermit's earnest voice And kindled visage animate their hearts. For in his mean attire and wasted form, They deem'd Elisha or the fearless Baptist Stood manifested to the eye and ear, A messenger immediate from the sky. He saw their ardour, and while reverence yet Held them in silent wonder, from his seat He bade the pontiff rise. Lowly he rose, And the bold pilgrim, with his palm-branch, marshall'd His awful way, till they alone had reach'd The inmost chamber. There together they Invok'd celestial wisdom, to sustain The spirits girded for the holy cause Of Him who rides on the white horse, and leads The gather'd armies of the living God On to triumphant battle. And this done, The Hermit told his tale, and in the name I'OLMS. Of Jesus and Jehovah claim'd that aid Which he in faith had promis'd confident. Nor heard he aught the papal sire would say, Who look'd admiring, chang'd from awe to doubt, When he commanded that the Church should spread The banner of the cross on high, and call Kindred, and tongues, and people all that bow At Jesus' name to draw th' avenging sword, Ne'er to be sheath'd, nor truce or respite given, Till the accurs'd be utterly destroy'd In Zion, and the sepulchre redeem'd. And straight, his fiat barring all reply, His trust and office brooking no delay, He left the Pope, his task to him fulfill'd, And in the streets, burning with zeal, appear'd. Meanwhile, without, the circling tidings spread Of some high mandate from the Lord of Hosts Brought by a prophet from Jerusalem, And all the town, wildly astir, pour'd out, To learn the new apocalypse. One sound, One ceaseless question, murmur'd every where, And none was answer'd, but still thronging press'd Towards the palace, priest and secular, Old, young, the lordly and the lowly, all Fill'd with dread wonder and religious fear. The altars were deserted, banquets left, Guests rudely quitted in the very welcome, Long parted friends at the first meeting fled, All tasks of duty, servitude, and pleasure Were then forsaken. At the sick man's couch, Before the final sacrament was done, 74 POEMS. The priest in haste set down the bread and chalice ; Mothers that left their infants but to ask What mov'd the crowd, forgot their helplessness, Funerals were halted, and the abandon'd dead Had but the coffin to protect their limbs : The impious and unscared in that wild hour, Pale and aghast, inquired the will of Heaven. But still the Hermit and the Pontiff held Their secret conference, and the glorious sun Far in his western chamber had retired. The anxious multitude, like waves on waves Heav'd by the winds, rolling tumultuous Around the palace gate, saw overhead Shadow with shadow blend, fold upon fold, Till the black pall of darkness was complete, Nor dared to be impatient. But they were As soldiers muster'd, waiting for their chief. Their stir was as that low continuous sound, When leafless forests, hoar with winter, feel The blast pass vehement, and shed their snows. At length the ray of one small taper flared Within the stately portal, and anon Lights issuing numerous, raised the pall of night High o'er ten thousand visages, And all was still, as when the fatal axe Gleams in the air, and some great martyr dies. Then came the Hermit, and the throng exclaimed " He comes, he'll bless ! O bless us, holy man ! " But to their prayer he yielded no reply. Straight passing through them, as they roll'd apart POEMS. 75 Like Jordan's waters, when the Ark of God Was borne amidst them he sedately moved Towards an ancient portico, and there, Rais'd on the steps, far seen, far heard, began : " There are high times and cycles set of old, In Heaven's eternal calendar, when God Receives the register of all things done Upon this earth and every other world. Th' angelic choir at that great time, all mute Lean on their harps, and wond'ring ruminate Why evil is permitted. Jesus then Sits visible to his selected saints Thron'd on the right hand of that veil of light, Which from all vision hides the Father's face. Round and above him, a refulgent sphere, Millions of glorious beings hovering, bend To hear his mediation, and all things Full in his sight lie spread afar below. " At one of these dread epochs, in his task Th' accusing angel folded up the roll, And with deploring eyes, stretched his right hand And pointing to the earth, thus doubtful said ' Behold yon wretch upon the ocean's strand, On the green margin of the western sea, Ceaseless he prays but though his heart confesses Unsated guiltiness, and though his prayer Be less for pardon than for change address'd, Yet asks he still in vain. Say whom, O Lord ! Shall I accuse for his recorded sins.' All Heaven was mov'd ; the glorious radiant throng That hung on wing around, paled in their brightness, 76 POEMS. And the concealing splendour of God's throne Deepened its hue as with a blush suffused * Then every eye was turn'd towards that man That outcast man, created for perdition. But only Jesus look'd compassionate, And shed in pity, his life-giving grace Into the outcast's bosom of despair : It came as the first element of light, Through th' abyss of nature, and he rose From his prone knees, a minister of Heaven, To work great purposes : that wretch was I ! " Fir'd by his zeal, the kindling hearers glow'd, And swore by Him that had redeem'd their souls, Their sentenced souls, from everlasting death, Kindred and native land, never to see, Till with the chosen captain of the cause, They had cut off the infidel in Zion, More utterly than Israel did of old Th' Amalekites, and wash'd the hallow'd tomb From all pollution, with their blood and tears. Hymns of resolve and stern devotion then From every voice rising spontaneous, Fill'd all the vault of Heaven. Many that night, Saw mighty forms careering in the air; Omens and prodigies. The earth did move As with a conscious sense of wonders then, And saints and martyrs in their graves and shrines, * If this idea of ascribing the sentiment of repentance to the Father, require any apology, it must be found in the following passage : " And it repented the Lord that he had made man," Genesis, vi. 6. POEMS. 77 Like men awakening, rais'cl their jointless arms, And from beneath the winding sheet glar'd forth, Eyeless and fleshless, on the world again. Down to the lowest depth, all hell alarm'd, Heard underneath the fall of something dread, Thund'ring descend into th' unknown abyss Where God hath not yet look'd, and at the sound The damn'd were silenc'd ; for they felt as if The nether and sustaining vault had fail'd, Till with the terror of annihilation, So wild a shriek and wail burst from them all, That torment rag'd more fiercely than before : While the antagonists of Heaven on wing, Their clamouring flight directed to the earth. For well they knew by that mysterious sign, The powers and thrones of their confederacy Were threatened, and that man, roused from the sleep Wherein his spirit had been long entranced, Was moving onward to their overthrow. The fires of Hell that on the breasts and wings Of the ascending fiends, gleamed fiercely red, Sh one faint and fainter as they higher rose Into the black, thick darkness overhead, And soon like embers to their ken expir'd. Yet were they still but on the skirts of night, For the continuous sound below came up, Even when it died, the rushing of their wings Cheer'd them awhile, but that too sunk away ; Nor could their voices interchange discourse, For now their flight lay through the silent reign Of everlasting death ; and there for ever They had yet wandered in still solitude ; 78 POEMS. But awful fate breath'd on them as they passed ; And they were borne like birds amidst the storm, Whirling and headlong, till they heard afar The noise of dreadful billows breaking high. Then knew they that they were in the dark cave Which through the adamantine rocks that bound The ocean of old chaos, leads from hell To the lone shore of that wide troubled sea Between created and eternal things ; And hastening on, saw like a distant star, The cavern's mouth, whereat they halted, aw'd, Not there expecting light. Short was their pause. But with more wary steps they now advanced, And as the opening widen'd to their view, A glorious day seem'd all-diffused without. Dazzled and fearfully they cower'd along Till they beheld, rang'd on the cliffs above, The muster'd armies of the living God, The true and faithful : there, the seraphim, Blazing in chariots arm'd for enterprise, Standards of flame unfurl'd, and in the midst A tower of radiance, where Heaven's warder stood. Back from his lidless eye into their den Gnashing the teeth of hate and blasphemy They shrunk aghast ; for he discover'd them, And at his signal all the shining host Mov'd as for battle. But the time was not When they should bear Jehovah's wrath abroad, So they were stay'd, and darkness, over all Fell like a curtain, while th' exasperate fiends, Like vultures hastening to the fields of war, With curse and scream rush'd from their dark retreat. POEMS. 79 Swift was their flight, for computation fails With numbers used by mortals, to express The distance o'er the turbulence of chaos, And spirits reckon not by time, but thought, Their speed and actions ; with them length and depth, Yea, all extents and properties of things, Are measured and encompass'd as the mind Of man conceives its fancies and designs. Their course as o'er the wild abyss they flew 'Was like the changeful bird's, across the sea,* When winter sends them forth, or spring recalls. Aloft they rose, and then descending, seem'd A living arch a dismal galaxy, Dim and malignant reaching from the cave To the dark confines of creation. There They scatt'ring spread themselves, but save of those, Few and the feeblest, that came to the earth, The Muse content, awhile forbears to sing. They, in that ominous night did long perplex The Pope and Cardinals, filling their hearts With doubt, and hesitation, and distrust, Though much inclin'd for base and earthly cares, To urge that war the Hermit had proclaim'd. But still around his inspiration spread, Like fire to heath ; and every heart was fix'd By the bold preacher, steadfast to his cause ; * I have been told by several seamen who have met with the migra- tory birds on the Atlantic, that the flocks have risen like a column of smoke from the horizon and, bending towards another point, have for hours together continued like an arch bridging the ocean to the extent of several points of the compass. 80 POEMS. As the unsettled waters are resolved, When winter breathes upon them, into ice. Firm as the rocks whereon ambitious kings Build the great strongholds of their state and strength, The will of that vast multitude was knit, And ternper'd to one purpose as he spoke. So when Pope Urban from the conclave came, There was no choice but to obey, for all Were sternly nerv'd for war, harden'd as brass Cast into dreadful engines for the field. Which made him feign the virtue that they felt, And render homage to the holy man. This saw th' accursed demons, as they hung Unseen of mortals in the midnight air, And they exulted hopeful envy thence Might so infect the pilgrim's pious cause, That it would perish like a sober fraud, Devis'd by statesmen reckless of man's woe. But, in the flush and rapture of their joy, Fear overcame them, and they grinn'd with rage, To think the seraphim, all marshall'd then, Had seen and spar'd them in their flight from hell, Till courage was rekindled by despair ; When each more fiercely burn'd with zeal to work 111 for the harm it did, not in the hope That aught of good would thence revert to them, But as the means to sink themselves plumb down, Deeper from all remembrance of the blest, Into perdition. The dire thought of heaven For-ever lost, bred in them such a pang, That hell's intensest fires were as a sea Of cooling tides, wherein their quenchless pain POEMS. 81 Might be allay'd : so misery barbs the sting Of self-upbraiding to defeated guilt, And evil deeds grow motives still for more. Up from their hovering pause they turn'd their wings, Doubtful what course to take ; and as they turn'd, Above they saw, unclosing, fix'd on them, The eye of Heaven's great sentinel, and fled Scatter'd and devious, like the shades of night From the refulgent searching of the sun. But still it beam'd upon them, and they sought Refuge and screen from its pursuing ray Within the breasts and bosoms of all men, Yet found no hiding-place. The Pope advanced Towards the Hermit, and the opening crowd Softly made way for him, but ere he reached The hallow'd tribune where the Preacher stood, His progress was forbidden. All were hush'd, And silence spread o'er all, till the void ear Heard but the beating of the eager heart ; For faint and weary, to the earth had sunk, Worn out by zeal, the Hermit's feeble frame, And gently o'er him as he languid lay, The cherub Sleep had stretch'd the fost'ring wing. Calm was his slumber, as th' oblivious rest, Unsullied by the passage of a dream, Which Labour nightly, for the blameless hind, Earns from benignant Nature, to appease The sense of partial Fortune's daily wrong. BCOK III. When the fair morning raised her dewy eye, The Hermit rose with every sense refresh'd, And rising said, like one that would command, " Get me some food !" When, as the words were echoed, Pil'd by ten thousand hands, food for ten thousand Rose like a pyramid within his reach, But many a mother rue'd in Rome that day The stinted succour of her wailing babes. " A miracle ! a miracle !" the crowd exclaim'd, And their exulting shouts, swelling to praise, From tongue to tongue the joyous tidings ran, " He turns the stones to bread !" And they were borne As on the wings of all the winds abroad, Like a new gospel o'er the sea and land. Travellers that held the bridle in their hands, Discoursing with their hosts irreverently Of the new prophet, hors'd themselves amaz'd, And speeded with the news ; departing ships, With anchors weigh'd, swung in the favouring wind While the great tale was told, and then at once Should'ring the waves aside, they sought their course With the rich freightage of the miracle ; The old and young at every village door And way-side shed, stood clust'ring, as in haste Horseman came following horseman : some pass'd on, Intent to bear the tidings to their homes, And spoke not ; barks at sea slanted their helms, To tell the coming sail, afar descried ; Lone shepherds, slumb'ring on the breezy downs High on the mountains, were at noon call'd in To listen to the rapturous report ; On the still watch-tower, at the dead of night, The sentinel that hail'd the passer-by Was answer'd with the tidings ; studious men That sat entranc'd, pond'ring their tasks of thought, Were, by the voice of menials and the tongues Of lauding women, gathering thick without, Rous'd to inquire what prodigy had come ; Nuns at their windows anxiously stretch'd forth Their eager visages unveil'd, and cried To the unheeding vulgar to appease Their thirst for circumstance ; churches were clos'd, And cloisters were deserted : all the priests, Friars and novices, were wide abroad To hear and to report, and dying men, Struck with the pregnant eyes and earnest whispers Of their assembled kin, telling the news, Did strive to ask, but in the effort sank And died neglected ; kings, and statesman fam'd For warlike enterprise and staidest wisdom, Forgot their wonted cares to speak of this ; Th' adventurous merchant, list'ning to the wind Restless, for his rich navies, near the coast, Heard hurrying strangers tell the solemn tale, And was so touch'd with their impassion'd speech That he forgot his fortune's jeopardy ; A seaman's wife, who all the live long night With gown o'er head walked the resounding shore, Thinking each tangled stone that dash'd the wave A corpse, and pictured to her painful fancy Some fatal wreck to her expected lord, Was told the tidings by an awe-struck wretch That prowl'd to plunder the sea's outcast dead, 84 POEMS. And mingled with him sympathies devout, Her fear forgetting, and his trade forgot. All business and terrestrial hests of men Stood still wherever the great rumour came ; The ermin'd judge did pause in his award ; The lover's day of bliss was then deferr'd ; The gen'rous horded his appointed gold To help the mighty ransom of the tomb ; Determin'd enemies sheath'd up their hate, And turned their ire towards the infidel ; The murd'rer and the martyr were set free To aid that cause which miracles so vast Proclaim'd Jehovah's. Thus, through Christendom, Thus, ere the Hermit, summon'd them to join, All hearts beat high, and wheresoe'er he went Cities pour'd forth their swarms to greet his entrance ; The rich and poor promiscuous lin'd the ways, And bashful maidens mix'd amidst the throng To give him welcome, dreadless all of harm, For not with shouts and clam'rous peals of joy Was he receiv'd, but with this solemn song : " Mourn for Jerusalem, for Zion mourn ! A widow desolate she sits, she sighs, Forlorn and far from help, down to her knees She bends her head, in hopeless sorrow bends, And in her hands hides her sad face : the tears Of ceaseless and sore weeping fill her palms. Mourn for Jerusalem, for Zion mourn ! A captive chain'd, prone to the earth she lies, And on her breast the proud oppressor stands, Trampling her beauty, dreading no avenger POEMS. 85 Who shall avenge? her mighty all lie low. Mourn for Jerusalem, for Zion mourn!" Onward his mighty task the Hermit toil'd Till Christendom was rous'd. His name was spread With such courageous breathings of revenge, And aspirations confident in Heaven, That he alone was as the chief and tower Of all the Christian brave. But yet to war Were summoned none. Though they, with zeal on fire, Burnt for the enterprize, he still repressed Their ardour, watchful of the pregnant time When resolution grown to habitude, Would of itself the form of action take. So on untired, from town to town he went, Goading impatience till it chafed within The rein and curb of his great sanctity. For yet the place where best he might begin To band the valiant for the Holy War, Was no where found ; and he at times did feel The ache of doubt, and the chill sense of fear, Trouble his boldest hopes. When as he lay One night in meditation on his couch, The thought came to him that at Amiens, His native town, he should the banner spread ; For there his youth in low intemperance spent, Had cast its slough, but was believ'd unchanged. E'en his fond mother, when he came in tears Of unfeigned penitence, there cast him off, He had so oft deceived her. From that time, In solitude, till the great pilgrimage, His life and being were to Heaven resign'd. But now while all the width of Christendom 86 POEMS. Flam'd, kindled by his piety, he thought Where he had sunk the lowest and was held In least esteem, it might be well ordained That his career of glory should begin. Up from the couch he started, and at once Ere chirp of wak'ning bird, or cottage hearth, The earliest morning star, gave sign of day ; He search'd through devious shades, the road alone, Full of high faith and dauntless to endure The scoff of those who shared his impious hours, The scorn of dearer friends that deem'd him false And his contrition feign'd. As he drew high, Rumour proclaim'd the news of his approach, And all was holiday throughout the town ; Save with his mother, who had long bewailed Him reprobate and lost she weeping sat, Expecting shame, and saw in fancy there, The pelting rabble tossing him along, And heard their ruthless yelling in her fears, " Mother of Christ !" she cried, starting alarm'd By her own thoughts, and clasping high her hands, In sad distraction as she paced the room " Mother of Jesus ! thou hast known thyself A grief like mine, for thou too didst behold Thy son in ignominy. By the pangs Which thou hast suffer'd, I invoke thy aid. Mother of Christ ! thy pangs were not like mine, For they were temper'd by the heavenly thought Of thy son's holiness. But thou hast felt What 'twas to sit beside thine infant's couch ; To see him smiling as he lay asleep ; POEMS. 87 To catch him to thy bosom in his pain ; To share the shrill shouts of his eager glee ; To press him fondling for the pranks he play'd ; Let the sweet memory of these gentle cares Plead for thy pity to my erring child !" While thus impassioned in disshevell'd woe, She claimed relief, the sound was heard without Of hurrying footfalls in the peopled street, Mingl'd with cries, "He comes!" " the Preacher comes!" At the first shout she ran with frantic haste Towards the door, but soon her faltering limbs Fail'd, and she knelt to pray, but could not. A pause ensued and she reviv'd again, But when anon, the clamour louder rose, And she beheld, as fearfully she glanced From her clos'd casement, every window fill'd With clust'ring heads, and swarming children pass ; Forerunners of her son's approach, the light Was shiver'd to her eyes, all objects reel'd, And in her ears so wild a larum rung, That she dropp'd trembling, witness to no more. Now came the Hermit with the streaming throng, Like a small pinnace on the ocean's tide, Toss'd devious by the saucy waves, the spray Breaking high o'er her. To that ins'lent crowd Were known his frailties, and how oft before With fitful penitence he had beguiled Compassion to his errors ; and they thought His zealous preaching, but well feign'd device To bring derision on all piety, 88 POEMS. For this was hooting and contemptuous laud, The taunting welcome of his native town. But he remember'd Jesus with his cross Toiling up Calvary's laborious steep, And bore with lowly heart and downcast eyes Their merciless reviling. In his face The boon-companions, who were wont to share His shameless orgies, oft familiar gazed, As if they honoured some well acted part. Grave elders too, did shake their heads and laugh, While wanton boys afflicting missiles flung, Unchidden by their sires. To all their scorn The patient Hermit answered but with sighs, And to the church steer'd his uneasy way. On the proud portal-steps he sat him down, Pale, weary, and forlorn. Some who had mark'd His meek endurance, felt their bosoms thaw And melt with pity when he slowly rais'd His eyes, suffused with tears, and look'd around^ But saw no friendly visage. From them grew Contagious charity, and silence spread As when the icy winter's viewless spell, Arrests the brawling waters in their course ; In that suspense, he rising, thus began : " What ! is Heaven's mercy then so rare on earth, That one poor wretch, snatch'd from perdition's grasp Is such a miracle, that you reject His living evidence ? Yes ! ye have known me, In this blest temple haunt the pious maid, And with lewd glances as she knelt in prayer POEMS. 89 Lure her to my desires ; and seen me too, With impious ribaldry the chalice take, And drink eternal poison to my soul. The priests abhorring cast me from their altar ; Felons did shun me ; starving mendicants Paus'd in their cries when I drew near, and turn'd, Trembling and shudd'ring, from my proffer'd alms ; No voice replied to mine ; the very dogs With whom I shared the relics of my meal, Ye stoned as guilty ; succour was forbidden ; A child in pity that once threw me bread, Was deem'd accursed and condemn'd to die ; E'en my own mother when she famish'd saw me, Shrieking fied from me, ghastly and abjuring. Were those probations of my outcast state But fruitless punishment ? Had Providence No end in that unsparing ministry Whereof ye were such merciless performers, But to degrade the creature It had made ? Then, even then, when ye beheld me vilest, The vengeance search'd me like refining fire, And purg'd my spirit of its sensual dross Till it was temper'd for the tasks of Heaven. What other proof would ye of this great change Than that I here command you to assume The badge of Christ, and gird your armour on, As my own vassals that dare not refuse ? Arm ye, Avengers, and prepare for war !" His voice like thunder shook them, and their hearts, Aw'd to submission, own'd the sense of dread. Softly afar a stir and murmur rose Behind them. Eagerly the Hermit look'd, 90 POEMS. And every face towards the point was turn'd Whereon his eyes were fix'd. The throng divided : A passage free, like a long avenue Opening, disclosed an old, afflicted dame. Wild were her steps, her flowing grey hair loose Was frequent lifted as she clasp'd her hands, Like the white sea-spray on the tossing yards Of some wave-drifted wreck ; straight to her son She rush'd impetuous, in her arms she caught him, Wept on his breast, and kiss'd his tearful cheek. The Hermit felt his mission then confirmed, And the converted multitude as one, When they beheld the glorying mother kneel And look the thankfulness she could not speak Shouted obedience to his high command. POEMS. f) 1 THE ORDEAL OF JUDAS. Dread Heaven works noiseless. In the vast Immense Creation, never tired, still onward steers Her spangled bark athwart that ocean sea Which clasps the measur'd universe around : And mute as death, her orbed enginery Sweepp.in its awful purposes serene. But of the infinite expanse and depth Of God, the omnipotent's dominion, nor The height sublime, where his all-present power Sows space with stars, and reaps the fruits of life, Man may not sing unblamed, and our dark task Is of that nameless deed, bred ere time was, Within the womb of the Almighty will. Forth to the garden the Predestined went, Where, with enfolded arms and scowling eyes He dar'd the vengeance of the sullen clouds, Through which the wading moon perturbed drove, As one that hurries in a flight with fear. Around him, wrestling with the rising blast, The fig-trees struggled, and the olives groaned ; Afar with wild successive howls, watch-dogs Cower'd awful kennclward, as if they saw Stern portents passaging upon the blast ; And presently, within the turbid gloom Black and mysterious, near Judas, stood A mighty, terrible, unfashioned form ; No eye its visage could discern, nor ear The shadowy secrets of its soundless tread. With gestures fierce, and accents vehement, The moody traitor in his anger cried 92 POEMS. " Is it for this that I have borne so long Taunting and malice in his thankless service ? My care condemned ; aye, while the wherewithal Is ebbing from us. I am sordid ; yes ! To stay the waste, and check the luxury ?" " Look you for thankfulness ?" a startling voice Said in his ear ; and in the well-known form Of one he knew, the Tempter near him stood. Surprised and trembling, all unconscious why, The doomed exclaimed " Is he not Lord of man?" But Satan said, with mirthless laughter moved, " Hath he such need of gold ? cannot he make The stones grow bread, and from the water cream The fragrant unction of the Persian oil Knows he not, as thou sayest, this alchemy ?" " But we are not like him," the traitor cried : " We thirst, we hunger ; and the cost consumes Our scanty treasure poor wayfaring men !" " Does he not hunger too ? " exclaimed the fiend, " Nor ask, athirst, refreshment from the spring ? Hast thou not, Judas, seen him do all this ? And yet believe the mortal thing divine ! " " But I have seen his miracles and might And dare not, when his searching eyes are on me, Believe him less." "I, too," the demon said, " Have seen his sorceries was I deceived ? And yet I saw thee there, and paling stand Amidst the people." POEMS. 93 But Iscariot cried, " When, to his summons at the sepulchre, Wakening looked forth, lifting his clammy shroud, The buried Lazarus to life recalled : What spell prevailed, what sorcery was there ?" " To answer, Judas, would be to confess I knew the secrets of his crafty lore : Was Lazarus dead ? was he not in a trance ? Four days and nights he had lain in the grave. Was it with death ? no taint of death was there. But, granting Lazarus lay sunk beneath Our mortal sentence what did Jesus more Than old Elisha to the Shunamite ? " The trembling traitor, while he strove to veil His bosom's anguish, could not hide the flame That blazed in torture round his heart : the fiend Looked scorchingly, as thus he made reply : " Thou canst not but confess him wonderful, Gifted o'er man, and with a god-like arm ?" "I will not doubt thy knowledge of his power," Cried the dissembling adversary, " for Thy long experience far surpasses mine : Nor will I question his sublime endowments, Richer than those of all our living race. But was not Moses in his epoch dread, And raised such wonders, that succeeding times Have since lain fallow ; he but stretched his arm, And the dry desert quickened into life. Then rose the blast on the Egyptian towers ; The whirlwind showered the pest ; rich caravans, With all their camels, merchandize, and guides, 94- POEMS. Sunk whelmed, consumed beneath the loathsome drift; Defy him, Judas, with that miracle ! " Aghast and horror-struck, with scornful grin, The outcast quailed ; for deep and muttered low The fierce antagonist of sentenced souls Plied his stern whispers ; but the hypocrite Amazement feigned, and diffidently spoke : " Our Lord rides not in vengeance on the earth, But teaches peace, and, as a husbandman, Sows a blest seed that shall hereafter cheer : He comes in love, and with him hope and health Gladdens the abject pillow of disease." " Indeed, and sayest thou so ? what moved him, then, To chide thy care ; nay, publicly rebuke Thy just reluctance at tli' unbless'd waste ? But shame drives swiftly on to him and thee ; Hast thou not heard a price is on his head ? Had I the motive, friend, that thou hast had, I would to-morrow call the treasure mine." " How much is offered?" was the guilty question. " It is not all the favour of the priests Is better than much gold ; that, too, is promised : It were to earn bright honour among men, To give the daring malefactor up. But go, go quickly earn the great reward ; Some one more resolute may claim the prize : Go, and be firm God speed thy work Good night." I'OEMS. THE DEATH OF ST. JOSEPH. In Bethany the aged Enos lived, Skilful in simples and the gentle charms T^hat mitigate the anguish of disease ; Wide the sweet odours of his pious life, Patience and charity, abroad were spread. As the soft west wind in its breathing bears The fragrant spirit of the blushing rose From the bright bowers of Sharon, so his name Still wafted kindness to the poor forlorn. His mossy roof, a lonely still retreat, Stood on the margin of the murmuring town O'er it the fig-tree in the summer gale Caressing stoop'd, and the embracing vine Flung her fond tendrils on the lowly shed ; Before his door, with herbs medicinal, Grew many a flowret cherished for its bloom, And near the pomegranate and olive, there The humming clusters of the eager bees Strove emulous to hoard their winter sweets. At morn and eve, and when the starry night To solemn musings led the wond'ring mind, The hymns of Enos rose, and frequent then The moon-bright mountain-tops their holiness Shining afar, raised heavenward his theme. Nor were the sparkling villages around, The green glad valleys and the waters still Mute in their harmony ; the birds and streams, 96 POEMS. And all the incense of the vocal fields Joined in his requiems and songs of praise. One night when sleep had from his pillow fled, And on his couch the sorrowing sage deplor'd The fated errors and man's mortal doom, A gentle hand upon his casement knock'd. The summons was repeated, and he rose Enquiring who, at such a peaceful hour, Broke on his lone tranquillity ; the voice Of Mary Magdalene without, replied. Her youthful errors and career of shame Rush'd on his sad remembrance, but he then Unbarr'd the casement, and in pity spoke. " Alas ! forbidden, art thou thus again Abroad and vagrant in the guilty darkness ? But let the Merciful judge of thy sins, And change thy course ; my duty is to aid. What aileth thee, and wherefore dost thou weep ?" "Joseph, thy kinsman and the spouse of Mary, gentle Enos, sickens unto death ; And I am here," she cried, " to bid thee come. Though late it be, and thou art feeble, old, 1 pray thee come come, and make no delay. For this, O Enos ! I have brav'd the streets : The sons of Belial saw me as I pass'd, They knew me too but still I hasten'd on, For then the angel of the penitent Flam'd bright at my right hand, and they were awed They saw him there, and gave me fearful passage." t'OEMS. 97 Back from the window turn'd the good old man, - And belting on his cloak, for the shrewd night Blew cold and dire, and dense the east wind hung On the dim eyelids of the weary stars. A basket then with drugs and herbs he filled, And trembling seized the sorrowing damsel's arm, Forgot his stafl and took with her his way. Dark were the streets and silent as they went, Save where afar the howl of rioters, Incens'd with winq, startled the stilly night, Or where the groans of hopeless anguish came From open'd casements, or, more dismal still, A troubled voice from some dread portal rose, Haunt of the guilty or the destitute. But on unheeding to the house they go Where Joseph lies ; around the unguarded door A whispering multitude of ancient men And aged women, smit with piety, Stand list'ning, and amidst them trembling stood The star-taught shepherds of the distant hills, Who from the lighting of the evening star Beheld in heaven an omen and a sign. Then o'er that house came bright swift-glancing forms, Winging themselves to earth, as from afar Camp wardens see in some beleagur'd tower Thick hurrying lights and. signals of alarm. The humble chamber where St. Joseph lay Wrestling with death, look'd -to the garden, and By open windows drew the cooling breeze. 98 POEMS* Deeply he breath'd, and panting agony Sat on his breast. Beyond were distant seen Dimly and dark the shadowy hills, as o'er Their haggard summits rose the red round moon, Her fullness then complete, and near the couch, Pensive and pale, with folded hands, serene, Stood the blest Mary, watchful of the change That fading life still on his visage shed. With head averted from the hopeless scene Apart, unmov'd, at the low pallet's foot, Silent and sad, as if her tasks were done, Sat Martha : on her hand she leant her brow, As one of expectation all foregone. With soften'd step, and leading by the hand The tottering Enos, Mary Magdalene Advancing, lifted from the floor a lamp, And with her elbow raised aside the curtain That veil'd the visage of the dying man. But a brief space old Enos look'd on him, And turning round, said, with reproachful sadness, " Why have you brought me here ? Alas ! no more Can mortal skill avail his time is come : Save only Jesus, he alone hath power To quench the anguish and withdraw the dart That sentenc'd nature hath infixed here." While he thus spoke a rustling rose without, And presently with his disciples then The Saviour entered. At his dread approach The grasping demon of the dire disease Relaxed his firmness and relenting seem'd, Awed and forbidden in his tasks of pain. POEMS. 99 The sacred mother saw her son draw near, But spake not to him, though her eyes express'd Wonder subsiding into resignation ; While with an eager grasp, on bended knee, The gentle Magdalene his garment caught, Imploring him to bid the sickness cease. But Jesus gently from his skirt withdrew Her hand importunate, and mildly said, " It is now fit that he should be removed." The sorrowing mother understood the words ; While Martha hastily arose, and claimed The mournful Magdalene to move the couch From the chill breathing of the midnight air. But as she stooped the pitying Saviour said, " Thou art too careful about many things, But only one is needful." She desisted : Still her entreating sister earnestly Again beseeched that Joseph yet might live. " He hath been ever just, and wise, and kind, And peace and blessedness," she weeping cried, " Have always flourished near his dwelling-place. To all the town 'tis known that he lies sick, And on him weighs a mortal malady ; O let not, then, the unbelievers think Thy will and efficacy here have failed." Jesus benignly heard her strong request, As a fond father with compassion hears The piteous prattle of his idiot child, And meekly lifting o'er the dying saint His uprais'd hand, the sickness pass'd away, And he became easy and calm, and clos'd His aged eyes, like one that falls asleep. 100 POEMS. EPILOGUE FOR "MADDALEN," TO BE SPOKEN BY THE DUCHESS. Ladies and gentlemen, how do you do ? I hope you're very well ; how, sir, are you ? Not you I mean that grins that ghastly smile, For mercy, cease Death's tired to-night of toil. But after death methinks the critics say Damnation comes. Oh ! pity this poor play, And pity me sent here to beg respite, By damning one you murder both outright. See, gentle critics, how I weep and plead, You never meant to do that double deed, But if you did, let justice to you look, You're quite as bad as my old deary duke. Yet if your hearts, pity's bare babe controls, Though I'm no Sheba, nor yourselves King Sols, We may agree that only one shall die : Well, which ? the poet's play, or duchess I ? You hesitate may Heaven my sins forgive ! And must I perish that the play may live ? Or think you me a good warm-hearted body, Though in my fancies somewhat queer and oddy, Catching the thought by tail, or wing, or foot, And little heeding how the phrases suit ? What! will you spare me ? but the boon is vain, Sirs, I'm a fiction of the poet's brain, And were the play beneath a giant's heel, I like a beetle would in suff 'ranee feel. POEMS. 101 Good people all ! attend awhile to me ; Pale Tragedy's a nymph of high degree, Her mother, Sorrow, and her father Mars, How dare ye kick her like a bumpkin farce ? With more respect for your own sakes behave, If die she must, and no appeal can save, Rise solemn, all and with a pang at heart, Thus with your handkerchiefs like me, depart. THE END. THE SEPARATE WORKS OF JOHN GALT, Those with an asterisk are anonymous. No. of Vols. *The Battle of Largs 1 Voyages and Travels ; 4to 1 Letters from the Levant ; 8vo 1 Life and Administration of Cardinal Wolsey ; 4to. 3d Edit. 8vo 1 Maddalen Agamemnon Lady Macbeth ^ Dramas 1 Antonia Clytemnestra Life of Benjamin West, published in Two Parts 1 *The Majolo, published separately 2 *The Witness, a Drama The Watchhouse, a Farce *The Mermaid, a Drama *Orpheus, an Opera *The Masquerade, a Comedy Published in *The Prophetess, a Drama J> The New British *The Sorceress, ditto Theatre. *The Apostate, ditto *Hector, a Cento *The Word of Honour, a Comedy *Love, Honour, and Interest, a Comedy *Edward III., a Historical Play. 103 No. of Vols. Historical Pictures ........................................... ..... 2 The Wandering Jew ........................................... ... 1 N.B. Published by Souter, as by the Rev. Mr. Clarke. The initials of the last sentences are, " This book was written by John Gait." An Abridgement of Modern Travels in Asia, (under the name of the Rev. Mr. Clarke) ........................... 1 In Stevenson's Lives of the Admirals : *The Life of Admiral Hawke. *The Life of Admiral Byron, revised by Lord Byron. *The Life of Admiral Rodney. Children's Books : *The Rocking Horse. *Gog and Magog. *The Crusade, a Poem ............................................ 1 *The Earthquake .................................................. 3 *The Ayrshire Legatees .......................................... 1 *The Annals of the Parish ...................................... 1 *The Provost ....................... ................................ 1 *The Steam Boat .................................................. 1 *Sir Andrew Wylie ................................................ 3 *The Entail ......................................................... 3 *The Gathering of the West ..................................... 1 *The Last of the Lairds ................................ . ........ 1 *The Omen ......................................................... 1 *Ringhan Gilhaize ................................................. 3 *The Spaewife ...................................................... 3 *Rothelan .............................. ............................. 3 Laurie Todd ......................... , .............................. 3 Southennan ........... . ............................................. 3 Bogle Corbet ....................................................... 3 Stanley Buxton ..................................................... 3 Eben Erskine... . 3 No. of Vols. The Stolen Child 1 The Lives of the Players 2 The Life of Lord Byron 1 *The Life of William Spence, prefixed to his Essay on Logarithmic Transcendants 1 Ouranoulogos, or celestial volume, illustrated by Mr. Martin. The Member 1 The Radical 1 These are all I recollect. The greatest part are ano- nymous ; besides three pamphlets, one on the trade be- tween the West Indies and our North American Colonies. *' The Speech not Spoken," and " Cursory Reflections." A vast number of Tales and Essays are in different periodical publications and annuals ; together with " Visitors, or a Trip to Quebec ", performed there, and " An Aunt in Virginia ", performed at New York two Farces. Since the above was made, The Autobiography, in octavo 2 Poems 1 N.B. In the above list I forgot The Bachelor's Wife f 1 ^Critical Essay on the Works of Henry Mackenzie 1 *The Minstrel, a comic opera in the New British Theatre. ^Travels for a gentleman who put his name on the title-page, a labour of extreme disgust 2 *A Pamphlet for a gentleman who had sense enough to publish it anonymously 1 f It is no uncommon thing for wives to be neglected. G. Woodfall, Printer, Angel Court, Skinner Street, London, ' ' ' : Return to desk from which borrowed. This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. LD 21-100m-ll,'49(B7146sl6)476 10 I I 70