HEMAN'S POEMS FELICift HE MISS NEW CENTURY EDITION THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES HEMAN'S POEMS CHICAGO AND NEW YORK THE HENNEBERRY COMPANY College Library A 1 / CONTENTS. JUVENILE POEMS. SELECTED AS SPECIMENS OF MRS. HEMANS 1 EARLY TALENT. On my Mother's Birthday .... i Pity ; an Allegory, versified ... i A Prayer . 3 Morning . 2 On a Rose : . . 2 Written in North Wales .... 2 To Hope ......... 2 To Fancy 3 The Lily of the Vale 3 Youth . . . , 3 Written on the Sea-shore . . . 3 Hymn 3 Liberty . '. . . 4 My Brother and Sister, in the Country 4 Ode to Mirth 4 The Ruined Cas'le ...... 5 The April Mora ..../.. 5 Shakspeare ......... 5 Melancholy ......... 6 Fairy Song . > . i . . . 6 To a Butterfly ...... c . 6 Hymn . .. ...'..,. 6 The Minstrel to his Harp .... 6 Song . 6 Holiday Hours ....... 7 Song of Zephyrus ..",.:.. 7 The Bee 7 The Song of a Seraph 7 Inscription for a Hermitage ... 7 The Petition of the Redbreast . . ; The Minstrel Bard 8 Genius 8 Song 9 Rural Walks ........ 10 Christmas 10 Sea Piece by Moonlight . . . . 10 Harvest Hymn ....... n Song of a Wood Nymph . . . . u The Farewell n The Alpine Shepherd 12 Address to Music ....... 12 Sonnet to Italy 12 Address to Fancy 12 Song 13 Address to Thought . . . . ' . . 13 To my Younger Brother ._...*. 14 To my Mother 14 War Song of the Spanish Patriots . 15 Sea Piece 15 To Resignation ....... 16 Lines written in the Memoirs of Eliza- beth Smith ........ 16 The Silver Locks ....... 17 The Bards ......... V) . 1567917 CONTENTS. The Angel of the Sun r8 To Mr. Edwards, the Harper of Con- way . 19 The Ruin and its Flowers Christmas Carol . < PAGfc . 19 30 SONNETS. To a Dying Exotic 21 I Sonnet ..,,.,,.. a; To the Muse of Pity 21 To Agnes . ,.,,, tt Sonnet ^ ... 21 Sonnet ........... 2a To my Mother ....... 21 Sonnet .......... 22 ENGLAND AND SPAIN; OR, VALOUR AND PATRIOTISM ...... 22 THE DOMESTIC AFFECTIONS ,,..... 30 WAR AND PEACE ....,.,. 35 THE RESTORATION OF THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY .....,,., 43 MODERN GREECE 50 TALES AND HISTORIC SCENES. The Abencerrage 65 Night-scene in Genoa 97 The Widow of Crescentius .... 85 The Troubadour and Richard Coeur The Last Banquet of Antony and de Lion 100 Cleopatra 911 The Death of Conradin 102 Alaric in Italy . . .' 93 Wallace's Invocation to Bruce . . 104 The Wife of Asdrubal 95 The Sceptic ... : 107 Heliodorus in the Temple . ... 96 Dartmoor ..>,..;. 115 WELSH MELODIES. The Harp of Wales 119 Taliesin's Prophecy ...,. 125 Druid Chorus on the Landing of the Owen Glyndwr's War-song . v . 1 25 Romans 120 Prince Madoc's Farewell . . . . 126 The Green Isles of Ocean .... 120 Caswallon's Triumph 126 The Sea-Song of Gafran . . . .121 Howel's Song . 127 The Hirlas Horn .121 The Mountain Fires 127 The Hall of Cynddylan 122 Eryri Wen 127 The Lament of Llywarch Hen . . 122 Chant of the Bards before their Mas- Grufydd's Feast 123 sacre by Edward I. < . . . . 128 The Cambrian in America .... 124 The Dying Bard's Prophecy . . . 128 The Fair Isle ........ 124 The Rock of Cader Idris .... 129 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA ... no CONTENTS. SONGS OF THE CID. PAGE The Cid's Departure into Exile . .183 The Cid's Deathbed 184 The Cid's Funeral Procession The Cid's Rising . . . FACE . 184 . 1 36 GREEK SONGS. The Storm of Delphi. ,.,..186 The Spartan's March 188 The Bowl of Liberty i 187 The Urn and Sword ...... 189 The Voice of Scio . .188 The Myrtle- Bough ...... 189 THE MAREMMA 189 A TALE OF THE SECRET TRIBUNAL , . * 193 THE CARAVAN m THE DESERT , . >, 208 MARIUS AMONGST THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE ............ 2IO A TALE OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY 211 BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST 217 THB LAST CONSTANTINB . . . *. 220 THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS ; OR. THE MEETING ON THE FIELD OF GRUTLI . . 234 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO 240 THB FOREST SANCTUARY . , ... 279 LAYS OF MANY LANDS* Moorish Bridal Song ..... 304 He never Smiled Again . . . . .313 The Bird's Release ..*. 305 The Vassal's Lament for the Fallen The Sword of the Tomb ..... 306 Tree .......... 314 Valkyriur Song ..... 307 The Wild Huntsman 315 The Cavern of the Three Tells . . 308 Brandenburgh Harvest-Song . , . 316 Swiss Song ... ...... 309 The Shade of Theseus 316 The Messenger Bird 310 Greek Funeral Chant, or Myriologue 317 The Stranger in Louisiana .... 310 Ancient Greek Song of Exile . . . 318 The Isle of Founts ...... 311 The Parting Song 319 The Bended Bow , 312 The Suliote Mother ...... 321 Coeur de Lion at -the Bier of his The Farewell to the Dead .... 332 Father 313 > CONTENTS. RECORDS OF WOMAN. PACK Aiabella Stuart ..... t . 323 The Bride of the Greek Isle . . . 329 The Switzer's Wife 333 Properzia Rossi 336 Gertrude ; or, Fidelity till Death . . 339 Imelda 340 Edith 342 The Indian City 347 The Peasant Girl of the Rhone . . 351 Indian Woman's Death-Song . . . 353 Joan of Arc in Rheims ..... 354 Pauline 356 Juana 358 The American Forest Girl . . ; . 359 Costanza \ . 361 Madeline 363 The Queen of Prussia's Tomb . . . 365 The Memorial Pillar 366 The Grave of a Poetess . . . 367 SONGS OF THE AFFECTIONS. A Spirit's Return 368 The Lady of Provence 373 The Coronation of Inez di Castro . 377 Italian Girl's Hymn to the Virgin 378 To a Departed Spirit 379 The Chamois Hunter's Love . . -. 379 The Indian with his Dead Child . . 380 Song of Emigration 381 The King of Arragon's Lament for his Brother 382 The Return . 383 The Vaudois Wife 384 The Guerilla Leader's Vow '. , . 385 |Thekla at her Lover's Grave . . . 385 The Sisters of Scio 386 B-jrnardo del Carpio 387 The Tomb of Madame Langhans . 388 The Exile's Dirge 389 The Dream-ing Chi'd ...... 390 The Charmed Picture .... .391 Parting Words 392 The Message to the Dead .... 393 The Soldier's Deathbed 393 The Image in the Heart . . . . 394 The Land of Dreams 395 The Two Homes 397 Woman on .the Field of Battle . . 397 The Deserted House 398 The Stranger's Heart 399 Come Home I ... .... 399 The Fountain of Obliviua . , , 400 PREFATORY MEMOIR. |ELICIA DOROTHEA BROWNE (afterwards Hemans), born at Liverpool, September 2 5th, 1793, was the daughter of a merchant. Her mother was of Italian descent ; a woman of great intelligence and excellence. Felicia was her fifth child, and was remarkable in early childhood for precocious talent and great personal beauty. Commercial losses obliged the family to remove from Liverpool in 1800 when Felicia was seven years of age and to seek a new home in Wales, near Abergele, Denbighshire. This new abode was one of great beauty, being near the sea and sur- rounded by the high Welsh hills. Here the precocious child must have drunk in full draughts of beauty from the scenery around her, to be reproduced in after years in her poems, which manifest an intense appreciation and perfect knowledge of the beauties of natural scenery. Felicia's earliest verses date from her eighth year, and were written in celebration of her mother's birthday. At the age of fifteen she made her first appearance in print, publishing a quarto volume of poems. A severe review of these juvenile effusions so affected the girl-writer, that she was ill in consequence and confined to her bed for some days. But the love of poetry was not to be extinguished by the breath of a hostile critic. Felicia, the same year, wrote her " England and Spain," the subject being inspired by the intense interest felt by the nation at the time in the Peninsular War ; and her own individual feeling on the sub- ject from having two brothers, officers in the Welsh Fusiliers, engaged in it Family affection was at all times strong in Felicia Hemans. In 1809 the young poetess became acquainted with her future husband, Captain Hemans, of the 4th Regiment A mutual affection followed, and they became engaged, but as he was obliged to rejoin his regiment In Spain soon afterwards, the marriage was. deferred till 1812, when she became his wife. During the interval of the engagement the Browne family had removed to Bronwylfa, where Felicia studied languages and wrote the "Domestic Affections " and several minor poems, which were published in her maid ?n name previous to her marriage. Captain and Mrs. Hemans went to live at Daventry hi Northampton- shire, where in the following year their eldest son Arthur was born. Soon after they returned to Bronwylfa, and took up their abode under the roof PREFATORY MEMOIR. of her mother ; her father having gone to Quebec on commercial business. In 1816 the young wife published the "Restoration of the Works of Art to Italy " and " Modern Greece," the latter marking a distinct step forward in her poetical career, though Byron at once detected in it aa ignorance of the actual state of that country. In 1818 the death of the Princess Charlotte led to the composition ot the really fine ode on her death which was published in Blackwood's April number of that year. In the following year the young poetess gained a prize for the best poem on the meeting of Wallace and Bruce. This literary success was followed, it is to be feared, by domestic in- quietude ; for it was in 1818 that her husband left her, on the plea of his health requiring his residence in the south of Europe. She was at this time the mother of five sons, and already acknowledged as a promising member of the guild of literature. Her husband never returned to her ; but whatever was the cause of the separation, her delicacy and womanly feeling prevented any scandal arising from it, such as blackened the name of Byron. Mrs. Hemans was a woman of true but not demonstrative Christianity. The self-righteousness of the Pharisee would have been abhorrent to her ; she, who could from her popularity and promise as a writer have won the sympathy of all England for her wrongs, was silent, and let a veil of love fall over the weaknesses, wrongdoing, or incompati- bility of temper and tastes which widowed her home. Contrasted with Lady Byron, Felicia Hemans shines as a perfect woman loving, for- giving, tender, and true. In 1820 Mrs. Hemans made her first literary friend, Reginald Heber, afterwards Bishop of Calcutta. She also became a contributor to the Edinburgh Review, sending to it the only prose writings she ever pub- lished, the papers on Foreign Literature. In this year also she published the " Sceptic," and her " Stanzas to the Memory of George the Third." The year 1821 was distinguished by her obtaining the prize of the Royal Society of Literature for-" Dartmoor," a poem written of course OP a given subject, and about equal to the general class of prize poems. The "Welsh Melodies" appeared next. In 1823 the "Vespers ot Palermo" was performed, unsuccessfully, at Covent Garden. In this same year it was performed, and with decided success (though only for a few successive nights), at the Theatre Royal, Edinburgh, a prologue being written for this tragedy by Sir Walter Scott Another tragedy, called " The Crusaders," was composed not long after the "Vespers of Palermo," but not published till after her decease, the MS. having been unaccount- ably lost. In 1826 the "Forest Sanctuary," her favourite poem, appeared. There are passages of great beauty in it The auto da // is very striking and touching, and occasional lines from it haunt us like a strain of music. In 1827 a great grief fell on Mrs. Hemans. The mother, so long her support and shelter, died at Rhyllon, to which place the family had removed from Bronwylfa in 1824. Soon after her own health became delicate. PREFATORY MEMOIR. The intervening years had been spent in educating her boys and writing some of her best lyrics. She had become very popular as a writer in America, and had received a handsome offer from a Boston publishei to edit a periodical there, which would have been of great pecuniary benefit to her. But of all writers of whom we have heard or read, Mrs. Hemans had the most home proclivities. Retiring, dreamy, modest, and perchance saddened by her domestic history, she nestled in the shelter of her mother's or her own home, and had no desire to see the lands whose natural features her imagination so vividly reproduced at second hand. Meantime she had made many lite- rary friends, one of the most enthusiastic being Miss Jewsbury, afterwards Mrs. Fletcher. She corresponded with Joanna Baillie, Miss Bowles, Mary Howitt, Miss Mitford, Dean Mihnan, and Dr. Channing. In the year following her mother's death, Mrs. Hemans' connexion with Blackwood's Magazine began. That firm published also her " Records of Woman," Her " Hymns for Childhood" were published in America in 1827. In the following year she removed with her family to Wavertree, near Liverpool, sending her two elder sons at the same time to Rome to the care of their father, who had always been consulted in all matters relating to their training and education. During her residence at Wavertree (which proved very uncongenial to her), she studied music under Zeugheer Hermann, and composed airs for some of her own lyrics. She had played on the harp and piano from her youth, and had great facility in sketching from nature ; in fact, few women have ever possessed the varied gifts of Felicia Hemans beauty, talent of all kinds, and a fine moral nature. In 1829 she visited Scotland, and became acquainted with Sir Walter Scott, between whom and herself a sincere liking and friendship began, which continued to the end. In 1830 she visited Wordsworth at Mpunt Rydal, who also yielded to the spell of her gentleness and genius, and when the grave had closed over her, paid a poetical tribute to her memory. Here (at Ambleside) she remained in a cottage called " Dove's Nest" with her boys for the summer. She revisited Scotland, and then returned to Wales for the last time. Wavertree had proved, as we have said, uncongenial to her ; the family in Wales had been broken up by the death of her mother, and Mrs. Hemans now thought of making a new home in Ireland, Major Browne, her brother, having been appointed Commissioner of Police in Dublin, and being desirous of having his gifted sister near him ; so, in the spring of 1831, she embarked for the Irish capital Here her health improved, and she formed some valuable friendships, notably with the family of Archbishop Whately. Her " Lyrics and Songs for Music," were first published in Dublin. The " Scenes and Hymns of Life," a volume of religious poems, was the last published during her lifetime dedicated to Wordsworth, and still copyright. Mrs. Hemans resided while in Dublin, in Upper Pembroke Street, St Stenheu Greei* -md Dawson Street ; and now the end of hei PREFATORY MEMOIR. short and brilliant existence was drawing near. Her health failed, and she was nearly always condemned to keep on her sofa. Still she continued writing. Her illness was cheered by the presence of her brother and his wife, and her sister, Mrs. Hughes ; while Charles and Henry, her two younger sons, rewarded her maternal love by their filial devotion. It was about this time that a stranger sought an interview with her, and gave her the delight of hearing that her poem " The Sceptic" had been the means of converting him to a belief in Christianity. As her mind was at this time deeply imbued with religious feeling, she probably rightly estimated this fact as the best part of her renown, the fullest reward of her efforts for good. In the summer of 1834 Mrs. Hemans was attacked by scarlet fever,, which left her extremely weak. A cold supervened, caught from having j sat too long reading in the gardens of the Dublin Society. The cold was followed by ague and hectic fever attended by symptoms of dropsy. During an interval of convalescence she paid a visit to her friends the Whatelys at Redesdale, a country seat of the Archbishop's, but she returned from it much worse, having nearly lost the use of her limbs. On the 1 6th of May, 1835, at ^ e a e f forty-one, she passed quietly away to the " Better Land," of which she had so touchingly written. She was interred in a vault beneath the church of St. Anne's, Dublin. She died, as she had once wished, in the spring. " With the bright sunshine laughing around, it (death) seems more sad to think of," she says in one of her letters. " Yet, if I could choose when I would wish to die, it should be in the spring the influence of that season is so strangely depressing to my heart and frame." (" Memoir," pp. 66 and 68.) Many of our readers will understand and sympathize with this feelinp and recall Keble's exquisite lines : Well may I guess and feel Why autumn should be sad, But vernal hours should sorrow heal, Spring should be gay and glad 1 Yet as along this violet bank I rove, The languid sweetness seems to choke my breath ; I sit me down beside the hazel grove, And sigh, and half could wish my weariness were death- Mrs. Hemans had her greatest popularity, perhaps, in her own day. Critics with the exception of her first foe and the theatrical public- lauded her efforts uniformly ; the people loved her sweet strains, and musical young ladies rejoiced in the songs set to charming melodies by her sister. It is said that Sir Walter Scott never tired of listening to her " Captive Knight," sung to the music composed by that sister, Mrs. Hughes, who wrote the u Memoir" above cited. Time has somewhat diminished this popularity. The spirit of the present day undoubtedly does not harmonize with the purity and softness of this poetess of the early part of the century. Nevertheless, amongst a large class of readers Mrs. Hemans is still a great favourite. Her intense PREFATORY MEMOIR. love of nature, her strong .family affection, the thousand tender glimpses of home-life to be found in her poems, will have a lasting attraction for the young of her own sex ; while many of her best shorter poems, as " The Treasures of the Deep," " The Dying Soldier," " The Voice of Spring," &c. &c., will live as long as the language ; and perchance, when the vexed pulse of this feverish age shall have subsided into a wiser calm, and an intellectual repose, her poems will be as much loved as they were when Heber, Scott, Wordsworth, and Whately united in commending and admiring them. Lord Jeffrey bore strong testimony to her powers in an admirable critique on her poems in the Edinburgh Review after the publication of the " Records of Women." " We think," he says, " the poetry of Mrs. Hemans a fine exemplifi- cation of female poetry, and we think it has much of the perfection wnich we have ventured to ascribe to the happier productions of female genius. " It may not be the best imaginable poetry, and may not indicate the highest and most commanding genius, but it embraces a great deal of that which gives the very best poetry its chief power of oleasing, and would strike us, perhaps, as more impassioned and exalted if it were not regulated and harmonized by the most beautiful taste. It is infinitely Bweet, elegant, and tender touching, perhaps, and contemplative rather than vehement and overpowering ; and not only finished throughout with an exquisite delicacy and even severity of execution, but informed with & purity and loftiness of feeling, and a certain sober and humble, tone of indulgence and piety, which must satisfy all judgments and allay the apprehensions of those who are most afraid of the passionate exaggera- tion of poetry. "The diction is always beautifully harmonious and free, and the themes, though of infinite variety, uniformly treated with a grace, origi- nality, and judgment which mark the same master hand. ...... Though occasionally expatiating somewhat fondly and at large amongst the sweets of her own planting, there is, on the whole, a great condensa- tion and brevity in most of her pieces, and, almost without exception, a most judicious and vigorous conclusion. The great merit, however, of her poetry is its tenderness and its beautiful imagery. .... Almost all her poems are rich with fine descriptions, and studded over with images of visible beauty. But these are never idle ornaments. All her pomps have a meaning, and her flowers and her gems are arranged, as they are said to be among Eastern lovers, so as to speak the language of truth and passion. This is peculiarly remarkable in some little pieces which seem at first sight to be purely descriptive, but are soon found to tell upon the heart with a deep moral and pathetic impression. But it is a truth nearly as conspicuous in the greater part of her productions, where we scarcely meet with any striking sentiment that is not ushered in by some such symphony of external nature, and scarcely a lovely picture that does not serve as a foreground to some deep and lofty emotion." (Edinburgh Review, No. 99.) Such is a very brief portion of the long and masterly article in which {he great reviewer discussed the works of the favourite poetess of her day. PREFATORY MEMOIR. We recommend our lady readers to peruse it in its entirety, as it com- mences with an estimate of womanly powers which appears to us to answer many of the vexed questions of the present day. We have heard that Mrs. Hemans regretted that circumstances and the friendly importunities of her admirers had induced her to write so fast ; but we think that, from the period which followed the publication of " Modern Greece," we could ill spare any of her productions. A 'great many specimens of her juvenile poems are given in this edition all, in fact, of any importance. They are remarkable for great smooth- ness of metre and some taste and fancy, but of course cannot compare with the productions of her more mature years. We believe that all her best poems will be found in the present volume, which contains some few not to be met with in any other edition. The domestic fireside can, we believe, have no pleasanter companion than her Poems will prove ; while mothers may safely place them in the hands of their children, certain that nothing but moral good can be ob- tained from them, and that noble sentiments and the acquirement of a fine and correct taste are a natural consequence of the'Study of Mrs. Hemans' poems. We add, in conclusion, a portion of the exquisite lines in which Wordsworth lamented her death in conjunction with those of bis earlier brethren in art : Like clouds that rake the mountain summits Or waves that own no curbing hand, How fast has brother followed brother. From sunshine to the sunless land 1 Yet I, whose lids from infant slumber Were earlier raised, remain to hear A timid voice that asks in whisper " Who next will drop and disappear >'* Our haughty life is crowned with darkness Like London with its own black wreath, On which with thee, O Crabbe 1 forth-looking I gazed from Hampstead's breezy heath. As if but yesterday departed, Thou too art gone before ; but why, Our ripe fruit seasonably gathered, Should frail survivors heave a sigh ? Mourn rather for that holy spirit, Sweet as the spring, as ocean deep t For her' who ere her summer faded, Has sunk into a breathless sleep I November, 1835. Trie Editor has to thank Charles Hemans, Esq. son of the poetess for a very kind and courteous revision of this memoir and poems since ihe original publication of the work. ' Felicia Hemans j$ May, 1835, THE POETICAL WORKS MRS. HEMANS. JUVENILE POEMS. SELECTED AS SPECIMENS OF MRS. HEMANS' EARLY TALENT. ON MY MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY. WRITTEN AT EIGHT YEARS OF AGE, CLAD in all their brightest green, This day the verdant fields are seen ; The tuneful birds begin their lay, To celebrate thy natal day. The breeze is still, the sea is calm. And the whole scene combines to charm The flowers revive, this charming May, Because it is thy natal day. The sky is blue, the day serene, And only pleasure now is seen ; The rose, the pink, the tulip gay, Combine to bless thy natal day. PITY; AN ALLEGORY, VERSIFIED. WRITTKN AT KLBVKN YEARS OP AGE. I N that blest age when never care annoyed, Nor mortals' peace by Discord was de- stroyed, A happy pair descended from above, And gods and mortals named them Joy and Love. Together had they seen each opening day, Together shared each sportive infant play ; In riper years with glowing warmth they loved ; [approved. Jove saw their passion and his nod Long happy did they live, when cruel fate From hliss to misery changed their envied SUMS. Mankind grew wicked, and the gods severe, And Jove's dread anger shook the trem- bling sphere. To Joy he sent his high behest to fly On silken pinions to her native sky. Reluctant she obeys, but Love remains, By Hope his nurse led to Arcadia's plains : When from, his starry throne, the mighty Jove In thunder spoke : " Let Sorrow wed to Love t" The awful stem command Love trembling hears ; Sorrow was haggard, pale, and worn with tears, Her hollow eyes and pallid cheeks con fest, That hapless misery " knows not where Id rest." . Forced to submit, Love's efforts were in vain ; The Thunderer's word must ever finn remain. No nymphs and swains to grace the nuptia day Approach, no smiling Cupids round then play, No festal dance was there, no husband 'i pride, < For Love in sadness met his joyless bride. One child, one tender girl, to Love sh< bore, Who all her father's pensive beauty wore 4 So soft her aspect, the Arcadian s*vaiiu> Had named her Pity and her name re- mains. JUVENILE POEMS. In early youth for others' woe she felt Adversity had taught her how to melt Love's myrtle, Sorrow's cypress she com- bined, [forehead twined. And formed a wreath which round her Sbe oft sat musing in Arcadia's shades. And played her lute to charm the native maids. A ringdove flew for safety to her breast ; A robin in her cotfage built its nest. Her mother's steps she follows close ; to bind [kind, Those wounds her mother made : divinely Into each troubled heart she pours her balm, And brings the mind a transitory calm. But both are mortal ; and when fades the earth, [her birth ; The nymph shall die, with her who gave Then, to elysium Love shall wing his flight, And he and Joy for ever re-unite. A PRAYER. WRITTEN AT NINE YEARS or AGR. O GOD, my father and my friend, Ever thy blessings to me send ; Let me have virtue for my guide, And wisdom always at my side ; Thus cheerfully through life I'll go, Nor ever fed the sting of woe ; Contented with the humblest lot, Happy, though in the meanest cot. MORNING. Now rosy morning, clad in light. Dispels the darkling clouds of night, The sun, in gold and purple drest, Illumines all adown the east ; The skylark flies on soaring wings, And as be mounts to heaven, thus sings : "Arise, ye slothful mortals, rise I See me ascending to the skies : Ye never taste the joys of dawn. Ye never roam the dewy lawn, Ye see not Phoebus rising now. Tinging with gold the mountain's bro* ; Ye ne'er remark the smiling land, Nor see the early flowers expand. Then rise, ye slothful mortals, rise, See, I am mounting to the skies." ON A ROSE. How short, sweet flpwer, have all thy beauties been ! [are seen : AD hour they bloomed, and now no more So human grandeur fades, so dies away Beauty and wealth remain but for a day. But virtue lives for ever in the mind, In her alone true happiness we find : The perfume stays, although the rose be dead , So virtue lives, when every grace is fled. WRITTEN IN NORTH WALES. OH ! happy regions of delight and joy, And much-loved scenes of bliss without alloy ; [woodlands dear, Hail! to your mountains, groves, and Hail ! to your flowery lawns and streamlets clear; Hail ! to your lowly cots. and stately parks. And hail ! your meadows green and soar- ing larks. [bowers, Observe yon verdant fields and shady Wherein I've passed r many happy hours ; See, too, yon rugged hill, upon whose brow Majestic trees and woods aspiring grow. There to the right, the vale of Clwyd ends; Here to the left, huge Penmaen Mawr extends : [o'er Look to the south, the Cambrian mountains Hark I to the north, the ocean's awful roar. Remark those lowing herds and sportive sheep, [who keep. And watchful shepherds too, their flocks Behold yon ships, now on the glassy main. Which spread the sails, their destined port to gain. [soul, These lovely prospects, how they cheer my With what delight and joy I view the whole! Accept, Great GOD, thanks for these bless- ings giv'n, And may my gratitude ascend to heaven. TO HOPE. FAIR enchantress, gaily kind, Sweet the dream inspired by thce ; Ever bless thy poet s mind With thy heavenly energy. Thine, oh ! Hope, the magic art, To charm the sorrows of the heart ; To chase the fond, the plaintive sigh; With visions of felicity I Ah ! when real joys are o'er, And love and peace delight no more, Then thy melting syren-voice Bids the pensive mind rejoice. Ah ! thy dreams are too beguiling ! Ah I thy prospect is too smiling JUVENILE POEMB. Welcome still, thy dear illusions : Ever sweet thy wild effusions ; Fair enchantress, gaily kind, Ever bless thy poet's mind, Thine the inspiring song of peace, Soon the plaint of woe shall cease ; Soon again a brighter guest Calm the mourning soul to rest. Roses in thy path shall bloom ; Think, oh ! think of .joys to come I Come, Hope, and all my steps attend, Oh I ever be my bosom friend ; To me thy fairest dreams impart, And whisper comfort to my heart. Oh 1 shed thy sweet enchanting ray, To bless my wild romantic way In thy magic scene we view Gay delusions, seeming true. Sweet musician, gaily kind, Ever bless thy poet's mind I TO FANCY. OH 1 thou visionary queen, t love thy wild and fairy scene, Bid for me thy landscape glow, To thee my first effusions flow. I court the dreams that banish cart. And hail thy palace of the air. Oh ! bless thy youthful poet's hours, And let me cull thy sweetest flowers. Ever can thy magic please. And give a care to transient ease. View the poor man toiling hard, Of the joys of life debarred, Thy power his lovely dream will bless, In thy brightest rainbow dress ; With flattering pleasures round him smile In soft enchantment for awhile. ( Thy dear illusions melt away , Ye heavenly visions, why decay I Oh ! thou visionary maid, Formed to brighten life's dark shade, Let me soar with thee on high, To realms of immortality I Hope, thy sisjer, airy queen, Forms with thee her lovely scene. Oh I thou visionary maid, Lend my soul thy magic aid, To cheer with rairbows every shade. THE LILY OF THE VALE. SEE, bending to the gentle gale. The modest lily of the vale ; Hid in its leaf of tender green, Mark its soft ami simple mien. Thus sometimes Merit blooms retired. By genius, taste, and fancy fired : And thus 'tis oft the wanderer's lot, To rove to Merit's peaceful cot, As I have found the lily sweet, That blossoms in this wild retreat. YOUTH. OH t halcyon Yomn, delightful hours, When not a cloud of sorrow lowers ; When every moment wings its flight, To waft new joy and new delight. Kind, unsuspecting, and sincere, Youth knows no pang, no jealous fear ; And sprightly Health, with cherub face Enlivens ev'ry opening grace ; And laughing Pleasure hovers near, And tranquil Peace to youth is dear. If Sorrow heave the little breast, There plaintive Sorrow cannot rest ; For swiftly flies the transient pain, And Pleasure re-assumes her reign. The tale the sons of woe impart. Vibrates upon the youthful heart ; The soul is open to belief, And Pity flies to soften grief. Hope with sweet expressive eye, Mirth and gay Felicity ; Fancy in her lively dress ; Pity who delights to bless ; Innocence, and candid Truth, These and more attend on Youth. WRITTEN ON THE SEA-SHORE AT TBN YKARS OF AGE. How awful, how sublime this view, Each day presenting something new I Hark 1 now the seas majestic roar, And now the birds their warblings pour ! Now yonder lark's sweet notes resound, And now an awful stillness reigns around HYMN. GREAT GOD I at whose "creative word Arising Nature owned her Lord ; At whose behest, from gloomy night The earth arose in order bright 1 To whom the poet swells the song, And cherub's loftier notes belong : JUVENILE POEMS To Thee be glory, honour, praise ; Great GOD ! who canst depress or raise. Say, all ye learned, all ye wise, What towering pillars prop the skies ? What massy chain suspends the earth ? 'Tis His high power who gave it birth. 'Tis He who sends the grateful shower ; 'Tis He who paints the glowing flower, Let the loud anthem raise the strain, While echo murmurs it again. And ye who wander o'er the sheaf-crowned fields, Praise Him for all the plenty harvest yields ; Let harp and voice their swelling notes combine [divine. To praise all Nature's God, the Architect LIBERTY. AN ODE. WHERE the bold rock majestic towers on high, Projecting to the sky ; Where the impetuous torrent's rapid course Dashes with headlong force ; Where scenes less wild, less awful, meet the eye, And cultured vales and cottages appear ; Where softer tints the mellow landscape dye, More simply beautiful, more fondly dear ; There sportive Liberty delights to rove, To rove unseen, In the dell or in the grove. Midst woodlands green. And when placid eve advancing, Faintly shadows all the ground ; Liberty, with Hebe advancing, Wanders through the meads around. Fair wreaths of brightest flowers she loves to twine, Moss-rose, and bluebell wild ; The pink, the hyacinth with these combine, And azure violet, Nature's sweetest child ! When the moonbeam, silvery streaming, Pierces through the myrtle shade ; Oien her eye with pleasure beaming, She trips along the sylvan glade. She loves to sing in accents soft, When the wood lark soars aloft ; She loves to wake the sprightly bom, Ajid swell the joyful note to celebrate the morn I In the dell or in the grove. Liberty delights to rove ; By the ruined moss-grown tower, By the woodland, or the bower ; On the summit thence to view The landscape clad in varied hue ; By the hedgerow on the lawn, Sporting with the playful fawn ; Where the winding river flows, And the pensile osier grows, In the cool impervious grovt, Liberty delights to rove. MY BROTHER AND SISTER. IN THE COUNTRY. WRITTEN IN LONDON. HAPPY soon we'll meet again, Free from sorrow, care, and pain ; Soon again we'll rise with dawn, To roam the verdant dewy lawn. Soon the budding leaves we'll hail, Or wander through the well-known vale Or weave the smiling wreath of flowers, And sport away the light-winged hours. Soon we'll run the agile race, Soon, dear playmates, we'll embrace ; Through the wheat-field or the grove, We'll hand in hand delighted rove , Or, beneath some spreading oak, Ponder the instructive book ; Or view the ships that swiftly glide, Floating on the peaceful tide : Or raise again the carolled lay ; Or join again in mirthful play ; Or listen to the humming bees, As their murmurs swell the breeze ; Or seek the primrose where it springs ; Or chase the fly with painted wings : Or talk amidst the arbour's shade ; Or mark the tender shooting blade ; Or stray beside the babbling stream. When Luna sheds her placid beam ; ' Or gaze upon the glassy sea ; Happy, happy, shall we be. ODE TO MIRTH. THOU, O Mirth, with laughing eye. Spread thy empire o'er my sou! ; No cares obtrude when thou art by, To crown the bright nectarious bowl Leave the rich to pomp and splendour, Happiness they cannot render. Let the miser heap his hoard ; Mirth shall bless the festive board. JUVENILE POEMS. Friendship and the smiling muse Their influence all around diffuse. Now the flute with mellow sound Invites thee to the feast ; rhe lively hautboy echoes round. We form the sprightly iest. O'er the mantling generous wine, Good humour and delight combine : Genial Pleasure for awhile, Bids her votaries gaily smile. Pleasure twines the rosy wreath. And bids inspiring music breathe, While we lead the circling dance ; Oh ! Mirth, to join the airy maze, advance. Mirth has heard the festive measure. We devote the day to pleasure ; Let the miser heap his hoard, Mirth shall crown the social board. THE RUINED CASTLE. OH ! let me sigh to think this ruined pile Was favoured once with fortune's radiant smile ; [towers, These moss-grown battlements, these ivied Have seen prosperity's uncertain hours ; Their heroes triumphed in the scenes of war, While victory followed in her trophied car. Here, where I muse in meditation's arms, Perhaps the battle raged with loud alarms ; Here glory's crimson banner waving spread, While laurel crowns entwined the victor's head ; [ tear > And here, perhaps, with many a plaintive The mourner has bedewed the soldier's bier. The scene of conquest pensive fancy draws, Where thousands fell, enthusiasts in their cause. Yon turret mouldered by the hand of time Shaded by silver ash and spreading lime, Was once, perhaps, the hall of mirth and joy, Where warriors sought no longer todestroy ; And where, perhaps, the hoary-headed sage, Would lead them o'er the animating page ; Where history points to glorious ages fled, And tells the noble actions of the dead. Still fancy, with a magic power recalL The time when trophies graced the lofty walls: [art When with enchanting spells the minstrel's Could soften and inspire the melting heart ; Could raise the glowing elevated flame, And bid the youthful soldier pant for fame; While deeds of glory were the themes he sung, The pleasant harp in wild accordance rung. Ah 1 where is now the warrior's ardent fire ? Where now the tuneful spirit of the lyre ? The warrior sleeps; the minstrel's lay is still; No songs of triumph echo from the hill. Ah ! yettheweepingmuseshalllovetosigh, And trace again thy fallen majesty ; And still shall fancy linger on the theme, While forms of heroes animate her dream. THE APRIL MORN. Now a smile, and now a frown ; Brightening now, and now cast down Now 'tis cheerful, now it lowers ; Yet sunshine in the midst of showers. Now the sky is calm and clear ; Now the frowning clouds appear ; Evanescent soon they fly ; Calm and clear again the sky. Such the face which April wears, Now in smiles, and now in tears , Like the life we lead-below, Full of joy, and full of woe. Lovely prospects now arise ; Vanish now before our eyes : Yet, amid the clouds of grief, Still a sunbeam sheds relief. Like the face which April wears; Now in smiles, and now in tears. SHAKSPEARE. I LOVE to rove o'er history's page. Recall the hero and the sage ; Revive the actions of the dead. And memory of ages fled : Yet it yields me greater pleasure, To read the poet's pleasing measure. Led by Shakspeare, bard inspired, The bosom's energies are fired ; We learn to shed the generous tear, O'er poor Ophelia's sacred bier ; To love the merry moonlight scene, With fairy elves in valleys green ; Or borne on Fancy's heavenly wings, To listen while sweet Ariel sings. How sweet the "'native wood-notes wild Of him, the Muse's favourite child ; Of him whose magic lays .impart. Each various feeling to the heart. JUVENILE POEMS. MELANCHOLY. WHEN Autumn shadows tint the waving trees, When fading foliage flies upon the breeze ; When evening mellows all the glowing scene, And the mild dew descends in drops of balm ; When the sweet landscape placid and serene, Inspires the bosom with a pensive calm ; Ah ! then I love to linger in the vale, And hear the bird of eve's romantic tale ; I love the rocky sea-beach to explore, Where the clear wave flows murmuring to the shore ; [sound, To hear the shepherd's plaintive music While Echo answers from the woods around ; To watch the twilight spread a gentle vale Of melting shadows o'er the grassy dale, To view the smile of evening on the sea ; Ah I these are pleasures ever dear to me. To wander with the melancholy muse, Where ; waving trees their pensive shade diffuse.- Then by some secret charm the softened mind Soars high in contemplation unconfined, To melancholy and the muse resigned. FAIRY SONG. ALL my life is joy and pleasure, Sportive as my tuneful measure ; In the rose's cup I dwell, Balmy sweets perfume my cell : My food the crimson luscious cherry And the vine's luxurious berry ; The nectar of the dew is mine : Nectar from the flowers divine. And when I join the fairy band, Lightly tripping hand in hand, By the moonlight's quivering beam, In concert with the dashing stream ; Then my music leads the dance, When the gentle fays advance ; And oft my numbers on the green Lull to rest the fairy queen. All my life is joy and pleasure, Sportive as my airy measure. TO A BUTTERFLY. LITTLE fluttering beauteous fly, With azure wing of softest dye, Hither fairy wanton hie, Nor fear to lose thy liberty : For I would view, thou silly thing. The colours of thy velvet wing. Its lovely melting tints outvie The glories of the summer sky Can pencil imitate the hue, So soft, so delicate a blue ? Well I know thy life is short, One transient hour of idle sport ; Enjoy that little halcyon hour, And kiss each fair and fragrant flower No more I'll stay thy mazy flight, For short thy moments of delight. HYMN. WRITTEN AT TWELVE YEARS OF ACS. GOD of mercy 1 let my lyre Speak with energetic fire ; And teach my infant tongue to raise The grateful animated lays. While musing at thy hallowed shrine, 1 listen to thy word divine ; I bless the page of genuine truth ; Oh I may its precepts guide my youth. To Thee, thou Good Supreme ! I bend Do thou the humble prayer attend. THE MINSTREL TO HIS HARP WHEN youthful transport led the hours. And all my way was bright with flowers, Ah I then, my harp, thy dulcet note, To songs of joy would lightly float ; To thefc I sang in numbers wild, Of hope and love who gaily smiled. And now though young delight is o'er, And golden visions charm no more ; Though now, my harp, thy mellow tone, I wake to mournful strains alone ; Ah I yet the pleasing lays impart A pensive rapture to my heart. I sang to thee of early pleasures, In sweet and animated measure* ; And I have wept o'er griefs ana cares, And still have loved thy magic airs : To me thy sound recalls the hours, When all my way was bright with flowers SONG. SAY, does calm Contentment In palace rich or lowly cell ? JUVENILE POEMB. Fixed to no peculiar spot, Gilded rooms or simple cot, She will grace the courtly scene, Or love to haunt the village green : Where Virtue dwells Content must be. And with her Felicity. HOLIDAY HOURS. INSCRIBED TO MY BROTHER CLAUDE, DEAR boy, let us think of the pleasures in spring, When the season is welcomed with gar- lands of flowers ; [the wing, How thy moments will fly with delight on How thy fancy will dwell on the holiday hours. And sweet are those moments the young bosom knows, [home ; Preceding the social endearments of Where maternal affection so tenderly glows, And invokes the gay holiday pleasures to come. And oh I my sweet boy, when our years shall expand, [favourite bowers ; When we wander no more through our Perhaps we may sigh for the pleasures so bland, The sportive delights of the holiday hours. SONG OF ZEPHYRUS. WHEN sportive hours lead on the rosy spring, Then in the frolic smiling train I come ; And wander with the bee on sylphid wing, To kiss each floweret in its tender bloom. And at the fragrant time, the close of day, Or at the sweet and pensive moonlight hour, Then in the summer air I love to play, And sport with Flora in the dewy bower. Oft o'er the harp of winds with gentle sigh, I breathe a mellow note, a mournful lay; And then enraptured with the melody, I list with pleasure till the sounds dec'ny. THE BEE. INSCRIBED TO MV SISTRB MARK how the neat assiduous bee, Pattern of frugal industry, Pursues her earnest toil ; All day the pleasing task she plies, And to her cell at evening hies, Enriched with golden spoil. She warns us to employ the hours, In gathering stores from learning's flowers, For these will ever last : These mental charms will fill the place Of every beauty, every grace, When smiling youth is past. THE SONG OF A SERAPH. " Hark ! they whisper ! angels say, ' Sister spirit ! come away !' " POPE' Lo ! the dream of life is o er ; Pain the Christian's lot no more I Kindred spirits I rise with me, Thine the meed of victory. Now the angel-songs I hear, Dying softly on the ear ; Spirit, rise 1 to thee is given, The light ethereal wing of heaven. Now no more shall virtue faint. Happy spirit of the saint ; Thine the halo of the skies, Thine the seraph's paradise. INSCRIPTION FOR A HERMITAGE PILGRIM, view this mossy dell, View the woodland hermit's cell ; And if thou love the rustic scene, And love to court the muse serene ; If virtue to thy soul be dear, And sometimes melancholy's tear ; Oh ! thou wilt view the vale around, As if 'twere consecrated ground. The pious hermit here retired, With love of solitude inspired ; He loved the scene of this retreat, This smiling dell to him was sweet ; And here he sought for hallowed rest, To calm the sorrows of his breast ; And resignation with a smile, His tear of grief would oft beguile ; Would soothe to peace his tranquil age In this romantic hermitage. THE PETITION OF THE RED- BREAST. AH 1 why did thy rude hand molest The sacred quiet of my nest ? No more I rise on rapture's win;j. The ditties of my love to sing. Restore me to the peaceful vale. To wander with the southern goie ; JUVENILE POEMS. Restore me to the woodland scene, Komantic glen, or forest green ; To bail the Heaven's ethereal blue, To drink the freshness of the dew ; Now while my artless carols flow, Let pity in thy bosom glow. For this, at mom's inspiring hour, I'll sing in thy luxuriant bower : To thee the breeze of airy sigh Shall waft my thirlling melody ; Thy soul the cadence wild shall meet. The song of gratitude is sweet. And at the pensive close of day, When landscape-colours fade away, Ah I then the robin's mellow note, To thee in dying tone shall float ; Now, while my plaintive carols flow, Let pity ijj thy bosom glow ; And I will consecrate to ihee The wildest note of liberty. THE MINSTREL BARD. WHERE awful summits rise around. With wild and straggling floweieis crowned ; Tis there the poet loves to sigh, And touch the harp of melody And wake the measure of delight Or melt in fairy visions bright . And sometimes vi ill his soul as pin . And feel almost ethereal fire. Ah I then the fond enthusiast drearns (Enraptured with celestial themes,) That happy spirits round him play. And animate the magic lay: Their floating forms his fancy sees. And hears their music in the breeze. Then, while the airy numbers die, He wakes his sweetest harmony To imitate the heavenly strain, Which memory fondly calls again. To Fancy then he pours his song, To her his wildest notes belong. Oh I spirit of the lyre divine, 1 deck with flowers thy sacred shriue ; Thus let me ever melt with thee, lu the soft dreams of poesy. GENIUS. Now evening stealsuponthe glowing scene, Her colours tremble on the wave serene ; The dews of balm on languid flowers de- scend, The mellow tinges of the landscape _ Wend : Hail i placid eve, thy lingering smiles diffuse A pensive pleasure to the lonely raust I love to wander by the ocean side, And hear the soothing murmurs of the tide; To muse upon the poet's fairy-tale, In fancy wafted to the moonlight vale : Sometimes I think that Ariel's playful bands Are lightly hovering o'er "these yellow sands." 'Tis thus that Shakspeare. with inspiring song, Can lead the visionary train along : Then by his magic spell the scene around, The " yellow sands" become enchanted ground. But when the lingering smile of even dies, And when the mild and silvery moonbeams rise. Then sweeter is the favourite rustic seat, Where pensile ash-trees form the green retreat. Ana mingle with the richer foliage round, To cast a trembling shadow on the ground. 'Tis there, retired, I pour the artless rhyme And court the muses at this tranquil lime. O Genius ! lead me to Pierian bowers. And let me cull a few neglected flowers : By all the poets, fanciful and wild, Whose tales my hours of infancy beguiled. Oh ! let thy spirit animate my lyre, And all the numbers of my youth insprct. Perhaps, where now I pour the simple lays, Thy bards have waked the song of other days ; [near. Some Cambrian Ossian may have wandered While airy music murmured in his ear ; Perhaps, even here, beneath the moonlight beam, He loved to ponder some entrancing theme; And here, while heavenly visions filled his eye, He raised the strain of plaintive melody; This fond idea consecrates the hour, And more endears the calm secluded bower. Sweet was ih* CamNnan harp in ancient ume, [sublime ; When tuneful bards awaked the song And minstrels carolled in the bannered hall. Where warlike trophies graced the lofty wall ; They sang the legends and traditions oW, The deeds of chivalry, and heroes bold. JUVENILE POEMS. 9 O Cambria ! though thy sweetest bards are dead, And fairies from thy lovely vales are fled ; Still in thy sons the musing mind may trace The vestige of thy former simple race : Some pious customs yet preserved with care, Their humble village piety declare ; Ah I still they strew the fairest Sowers and weep, [sleep, Where buried friends of sacred memory The wandering harper, too, in plaintive lays, Declares the glory of departed days ; And, Cambria, still upon thy fertile plains, The dower of hospitality remains. Yet shall my muse the pleasing task resign, Till riper judgment all her songs refine ; But let my sportive lyre resume again The purposed theme, to hail another's strain. [raise Yes, heavenly Genius, I have heard thee The note of truth, of gratitude, and praise. 'Twas thine with modest indigence to dwell, And warble sweetly in the lowly cell ; . To rove with Bloomfield through the wood- land shade, And hail the calm seclusion of the glade : Beneath the greenwood canopy reclined, Twas thine to elevate h : ess mind. While in the lov scene " to him so dear, " He traced the varied beauties of the year ; ..nd fondly loitered in the summer bower, To hail the incense of the morning hour, Or through the rich autumnal landscape roved, And raised a grateful hymn for all he loved. O Genius I ever with thy favoured band May Piety be seen with aspect bland ; And conscious Honour with an eye serene, And Independence with exalted mien. Ah ! mayst thou never to ambition bend, Nor at the shrine of Luxury attend ; But rather consecrate some tranquil home, And in the vale of peace and pleasure bloom. [retired, There mayst thou wander from the world And court the dreams by poesy inspired; And sometimes all thy pleasing spells em- ploy, To bid affliction own a transient joy : For oft 'tis thine to chase the tear away With soothing harp and melancholy lay; And sorrow feels the magic for awhile, And then, with sad expression, learns to smile. Oh I teach me all the soft bewitching art, The music that may cheer a wounded heart For I would love to bid emotion cease, With sweetest melodies that whisper peace; And all the visions of delight restore. The softened memory of hours no more. Ah, Genius ! when thy dulcet measures flow, Then pleasure animates the cheek of woe ; And sheds a sad and transitory grace, O'er the pale beauty of the languid face. But when 'tis thine to feel the pang of grief, Without one melting friend to bring relief ; Then, who thy pain shall soften and beguile, What gentle spirit cheer thee with a smile ; And bid thy last departing hopes revive. And all thy flattering dreams of rapture live? Oh ! turn to Him thy supplicating eye, The God of peace and tenderest charity ; And He will bless thee with consoling power, And elevate thy soul in Sorrow's hour. Ah I then a pensive beam of joy shall play, To cheer thee, weeping Genius, on thy way : A lovely rainbow then for thee shall rise, And shed a lustre o'er the cloudy skies. Though all thy fairy prospects are no more, And though the visions of thyyouth areo'.er ; Yet Sorrow shall assume a softer mien, Like Melancholy, mournful yet serene : The placid Muse to thee her flowers shall bring, [and sing ; And Hope shall " wave her golden hair," With magic power dispel the cloudson higu. And raise the veil of bright eternity. SONG. THE RETURN OK MAY. HAIL ! fairy queen, adorned with flowers Attended by the smiling hours, 'Tis thine to dress the rosy bowers In colours gay ; We love to wander in thy train. To meet thee on the fertile plain, To bless thy soft propitious reign, O lovely May I 'Tis thine to dress the vale anew, In fairest verdure bright with dew ; And harebells of the mildest blue, Smile in thy way ; Then let us welcome pleasant spring, And still the flowery tribute bring, And still to thee our carol sing, O lovely May I Now by the genial zephyr fanned, The blossoms of the rose expand ; And reared by thee with gentle hand. Their chdnns display i 10 JUVENILE POEMS. The air is balmy and serene, And all the sweet luxuriant scene by thee is clad in tender green, O lovely May I RURAL WALKS. OH I may I ever pass my happy hours In Cambrian valleys and romantic bowers ; For every spot in sylvan beauty drest, And every landscape charms my youthful breast. And much I love to hail the vernal mom, Whenflowersof spring the mossy seat adorn ; And sometimes through the lonely wood I stray, To cull the tender rosebuds in my way ; And seek in every wild secluded dell. The weeping cowslip and the azure bell ; With all the blossoms, fairer in the dew, To form the gay festoon of varied hue. And oft I seek the cultivated green, The fertile meadow, and the village scene ; Where rpsy children sport around the cot, Or gather woodbine from the garden spot. And there I wander by the cheerful rill, That murmurs near the osiers and the mill ; To view the smiling peasants rum the hay, And listen to their pleasing festive lay. I love to loiter in the spreading grove, Or in the mountain scenery to rove ; Where summits rise in awful grace around, With hoary moss andtuf ted verdure crowned ; Where cliffs in solemn majesty are piled, "And frown upun the vale" with grandeur wild : [sublime, And there I view the mouldering tower Arrayed in all the blending shades of time. The airy upland and the woodland green, The valley, and romantic mountain scene ; The lowly hermitage, or fair domain, The dell retired, or willow-shaded lane ; " And every spot in sylvan beauty drest, And every landscape charms my youthful breast. " CHRISTMAS. THE sunbeams glitter on the mountain sno w . And o'er the summit cast a transient glow , Now silver frost adorns the drooping bower, My favourite seat in summer's happy hour. Twas there, when spring the mantling blossoms shed, The sweet laburnum clustered o ei mynead : And there the robin formed a mossy nest, And gaily carolled in retirement blest ; Still memory loves to paint the glowing scene, [green. When autumn tints enriched the foliage Even yet the bower is lovely in decay, Gilt by the "sunbeam of a winter's day ;" For now the frost befringes every thorn, And sparkles to the radiant smile of mom : The lucid ice has bound the mountain rill, No more it murmurs by the cheerful mill. I hear the village bells upon the gale ; And merry peasants wander through the vale ; In gay convivial bands they rove along, With genuine pleasure and inspiring song ; I meet the rustic troop, and love to trace The smile of health in every rosy face. O Christmas I welcome to thy happy reign, And all the social virtues in thy train ; The Cambrian harper hails tliy festal time, With sportive melody and artless rhyme : Unlike the bards who sung in days of old, And all the legends of tradition told ; In Gothic castles decked with banners gay, At solemn festivals they poured the lay : Their poor descendant wanders through the vales, And gains a welcome by his artless tales ; He finds a seat in every humble cot, And hospitality in every spot ; 'Tis now he bids the sprightly harp resound, To bless the hours with genial plentj crowned. And now the gay domestic joys we prove, The smiles of peace, festivity, and love. O Christmas i welcome to thy hallowed reign, And all the social virtues in thy train ; Compassion listening to the tale of grief, Who seeks the child of sorrow with relief, And every muse with animating glee, Congenial mirth and cordial sympathy. SEA PIECE BY MOONLIGHT How sweet to mark the softened rey O'er the ocean lightly play ; Now no more the billows rave, Clear and tranquil is the wave ; While I view the vessel glide O'er the calm cerulean tide. Now might fays and fairy bands, Assemble on these " yellow sands ; For this the hour, as poets tell, That oft they leave the flowery cell JUVENILE POEMS. 11 And cad the sporuve dance along, While spirits pour the choral song. The moonbeam sheds a lustre pale, And trembles on the distant sail ; And now the silvery clouds arise, To veil the radiance of the skies ; But soon I view the light serene, Gild again the lovely scene. HARVEST HYMN. Now Autumn strews on every plain His mellow fruits and fertile grain ; And laughing Plenty crowned with sheaves, With purple grapes, and spreading leaves, In rich profusion pours around, Her flowing treasures on the ground. Oh ! mark the great, the liberal hand, That scatters blessings o'er the land ; And to the GOD of Nature raise The grateful song, the hymn of praise The infant corn in vernal hours, He nurtured with his gentle showers, And bade the summer clouds diffuse Their balmy store of genial dews. He marked the tender stem arise, Till ripened by the glowing skies ; And now matured, his work behold, The cheering harvest waves in gold. To Nature's GOD with joy we raise The grateful song, the hymn of praise. The valleys echo to the strains Of blooming maids and village swains , To Him they tune the lay sincere, Whose bounty crowns the smiling year. The sounds from every woodland borne, The sighing winds that bend the com, The yellow fields around proclaim His mighty everlasting name. To Nature's GOD united raise The grateful song, the hymn of praise. SONG OF A WOOD NYMPH. IN peaceful dells and woodland glades, In sweet romantic scenes I stray ; And wander through the sylvan shades, Where Summer breezes lightly play : There at fervid-noon I lave, In the calm pellucid wave. And oft the fairest flowers I bring, To deck my grotto's mossy seat, Culled from the margin of the spring, That flows amidst the green retreat ; The violet and the primrose pale. That smile uncultured in the vale. Reclined beneath some hoary tree, With tufted moss and ivy drest, I listen to the humming bee, Whose plaintive tune invites to rest ; While the fountain, calm and clear, Softly murmurs playing near. And oft in solitude I rove To hear the bird of eve complain ; When seated in the hallowed grove, She pours her melancholy strain, In soothing tones that wake the tear, To sorrow and to fancy dear. I love the placid moonlight hour, The lustre of the shadowy ray ; 'Tis then I seek the dewy bower, And tune the wild expressive lay ; While echo from the woods around, Prolongs the softly dying sound. And oft, in some Arcadian vale, t touch my harp of mellow note ; Then sweetly rising on the gale, I hear celestial music float ; And dulcet measures faintly close, Till all is silence and repose. Then fays and fairy elves advance, To hear the magic of my song ; And mingle in the sportive dance, And trip with sylphid grace along ; While the pensive ray serene, Trembles through the foliage green. In peaceful dells and woodland shades, In wild romantic scenes I stray ; And wander through the sylvan glades. With airy footstep light and gay ; Yet still my favourite lonely spot, The sweet retirement of the grot. THE FAREWELL. WHEN the sad parting word we hear, That seems of past delights to tell ; Who then, without a sacred tear, Can say farewell ? And are we ever doomed to mourn, That e'en our joys may lead to pain ? Alas 1 the rose without a thorn We seek in vari. When friends endeared by absence meet, Their hours are crowned with every treasure; Too soon the happy moments fleet On wings of pleasure. 12 JUVENILE POEMS. Bui *hen the parting hour is nigh, What feeling breast their woes can tell ? With many a prayer and tender sigh They bid farewell. Yet Hope may charm their grief away, And pour her sweet enchanting strain, That friends beloved, some future day, Shall meet again. Her aid the fair deceiver lends, To dry the tears which sadly fell And calm -the sorrow which attends The last farewell. THE ALPINE SHEPHERD. IN scenery sublime and rude, In wild romantic solitude, Where awful summits crowned with snow In soft and varied colours glow ; There, in some grassy sheltered spot, The Alpine shepherd forms his cot ; And there, beside his peaceful home, The fairest mountain-flowerets bloom ; There oft his playful children climb The rock fantastic and sublime, And cull the mantling shrubs that creep And sweetly blossom o'er the steep. 'Tis his to mark the morning ray Upon the glittering scenery play : To watch the purple evening shade In sweet and mellow tinges fade ; And hail the sun's departing smile, That beams upon the hills awhile : And oft, at moonlight hour serene. He wanders through the shadowy scene : And then his pipe with plaintive sound Awakes the mountain-echoes round. How dear to him the sheltered spot. The waving pines that shade his cot I His pastoral music wild and gay, May charm his simple cares away ; And never will he sigh to roam Far from his native mountain-hor? 1 /?. ADDRESS TO MUSIC. OH thou I whose soft, bewitching lyre Can lull the sting of pain to rest ; Oh thou ! whose warbling notes inspire The pensive muse with visions blest : Sv/eet music 1 let thy melting airs Enhance my joys and soothe my cares I Is there enchantment in thy voice, Thy dulcet harp, thy moving measure s To bid the mournful mind rejoice. To raise the fairy form of pleasure ? Yes, heavenly maid i a charm is thine, A magic art, a spell divine I Sweet music I when thy notes we hear, Some dear remembrance oft they brin Of friends beloved, no longer near, And days that flew on rapture's wing Hours of delight that long are past, And dreams of joy, too bright to last I And oft 'tis thine the soul to fire, With glory's animating flame, Bid valour's noble sons aspire To win th' immortal wreath of fame, Thine, top, the soft, expressive tones. That pity, tender pity owns I Oh harmony ! celestial power, Thou syren of the melting soul I In sorrow's reign, in pleasure's hour, My heart shall own thy blest control : And ever let thy moving airs, Enhance my joys and soothe my cares I SONNET TO ITALY. FOR thee, Ausonia I Nature's bounteoui hand, [stores , Luxuriant spreads around her blooming Profusion laughs o'er all the glowing land, And softest breezes from thy mvnleshores. Yet though for thee unclouded suns diffure Their genial radiance o'er thy blushing plains ; [muse Though in thy fragrant groves the sportive Delights to pout her wild, enchanted strains ; Though airs that breathe of paradise are thine, Sweet as the Indian or Arabian gales, Though fruitful olive and empurpling vine, Enrich, fair Italy, thy Alpine vales ; Yet far from thee inspiring freedom flies, To Albion's coast and ever-varying skies. ADDRESS TO FANCY. OH, queen of dreams 1 'tis now the hour, Thy fav'rite hour of silence and of sleep; Come, bring thy wand, whose magicpowa Can wake the troubled spirits of the deep I And while around on every eye The " honey-dews of sluaaber" lit JUVENILE POEMS. 18 Oh I guide me to the wild retreat, Where fays in nightly revel meet ; And gaily sport in mystic ring, By lonely glen or haunted spring ! Now every sound has died away, The winds and waves are lulled to rest ; The sighing breeze forgets to play, And moonbeams tremble o'er the ocean's breast Come, Fancy ! come, creative power f That lov'st the tranquil reign of night : Perhaps in such a silent hour, [sight ; Thy visions charmed the bard of Avon's Oh, poet blest ! thy guiding hand Led him through scenes of fairyland ; To him, thy favoured child, alone, Thy bright, Elysian worlds were shown 1 Come Fancy 1 come ; with loved control, Bewitch thy votary's pensive soul. Come, sportive charmer I lovely maid I In rainbow-coloured vest arrayed, Invoke thy visionary train, The subjects of thy gentle reign. If e'er ethereal spirits meet On earth, to pour their dirges sweet ; Now might they hover on the moonbeam pale, And breathe celestial music on the gale. And hark I from yonder distant dell, I hear angelic numbers swell ! Ah I sure some airy sylph is nigh, To wake such heavenly melody ! Now soft the dulcet notes decay, Float on the breeze and melt away ; Again they fall again they rise, Ah, now the soft enchantment dies ! The charm is o'er, the spell is past, The v/itching spell, too sweet to last I Hail, Fancy, hail I around thy hallowed shrine, [appear 1 What sylphid bands, what radiant forms Ah ! bless thy votary with thy dreams divine, Ah 1 wave thy wand, and dear I , call thy visions Bear me, oh 1 bear me, to thy realms un- known, Enchantress 1 waft me in thy car sublime I To bendj entranced, before thy shadowy throne; To view the wonders of thy fairy clime I SONG. OH I bear me to the groves of palm. Where perfumed airs diffuse their balm ; And when the noontide beams invade, Then lay me in the embow'ring shade ; Where bananas o'er my head, Mingling with the tarn 'rind, spread ; Where the long liannes combining, Wild festoons of flowers entwining ; Fragrant cassia, softly blowing, Lime and orange, ever glowing ; All their spicy breath exhale, To scent the pleasure-fanning gale. There her sweet ambrosial stores. Nature in profusion pours ; The cocoa's nectar let me sip, The citron's juice refresh my lip ;, While round me hovering play Birds, in radiant plumage gay ; And amidst the foliage, raise Melodies, in varied lays. There, in aromatic bowers, Be mine to pass the summer hours ; Or by some clear cascade reclined ; Whose dashing sound may lull the mind Wake the lyre and tune the song, Scenes of paradise among I ADDRESS TO THOUGHT. OH thou I the musing, wakeful power, That lov'st the silent, midnight hour, Thy lonely vigils then to keep, And banish far the angel, sleep, With all his lovely train ; Come, pensive thought 1 with thee I'll rove Through forest wild, sequestered grove. Or twilight plain. The lone recluse, in hermit- ! the sun that gilds thy day, Soon will veil its, parting ray, In endless night SEA PIECE. SUBLIME is thy prospect, thou proud roll- ing Ocean, [light ; And Fancy surveys thee with solemn de- When thy mountainous billows are wild in commotion, And the tempest is roused by the spirits .of night When the moonbeams through winter- clouds faintly appearing, At intervals gleam on the dark-swelling wave ; JUVENILE POEMS. And the mariner, dubious, now hoping, now feanng. May hear the stern Genius of hurricanes rave. But now, when thine anger has long been subsiding, [its wing ; And the tempest has folded the might of How clear is thy surface, in loveliness gliding. For April has opened the portah of spring. Now soft on thy bosom the orient is beam- ing, [breast , And tremulous breezes are waving thy On thy mirror the clouds and the shadows are streaming. And morning and glory the picture !>avc drest. No gale but the balmy Favonian is blowing, In coral caves resting, the winds are asleep ; [are glowing, .And, rich in the sunbeam, yon pendants That tinge with their colours the silvery deep. Yet smile or be dreadful, thon still-changing Ocean, Tremendous or lovely, resistless or still ; I view thee adoring, with hallowed emotion, The*Power that can hush or arouse thee at will TO RESIGNATION. M AID of the placid smile and heavenly mien, With beaming eye, though tearful, yet serene; Teach me, like thee, in sorrow's lingering hour, To bless devotion's aTl-consoling power ; Teach me. like thee, when storms around me nse, [skies, And spreading glooms obscnre the azure On one unclouded light to fix my view, For ever brilliant and for ever true ; The star of faith I whose mild, celestial ray With steady histre shall direct my way Thy seraph-hand shall raise my drooping head. fspread ; Angel of peace ! thy wings around me With hallowed spells my faintingspmt cheer Hush the sad murmur, dry the starting tear. Thus when the halcyon broods upon the tides, [subsides . The winds are lulled, the mountain-wave Soft rainbow hues, reflected, tinge the deep, /And balmy zephyrs on its bosom sleep- Maid of the placid smile I my troubled soul, Would own thy gentle reign, thy mild con- trol ; [brow, Though the pale cypress twine thy sainted Eternal palms for thee in heaven shall blow. LINES WRITTKN IN THE MEMOIRS OF SLIZABRTH SM1IH OH thou, whose pure, exalted mind Lives in this record, fair and bright . Oh thou. whose blameless life combined Soft female charms and grace refined With science and with light. Celestial maid I whose spirit soared Beyond this vale of tears ; Whose clear, enlightened eye explored The lore of years I Daughter of heaven I if here, e'en here, The wing of towering thought was thine ; If, on this dim and mundane sphere. Fair truth illumed thy bright career With morning star divine ; How must thy blest, ethereal soul, Now kindle in her noon-tide ray \ And hail, unfettered bycontiol, The fount of day. E'en now, perhaps, thy seraph-eyes. Undimmed by doubt, nor veiled by fear Behold a chain of wonders rise. Gaze on the noonbeam of the skies, Transcendent, pure, and clear E'en now the fair, the good, the true, From mortal sight concealed, Bless in one blaze thy raptured view, In light revealed ! If kere, the lore of distant time, And learning's flowers were all thine own J How must thy mind ascend, sublime, Matured in heaven's empyreal clime, To light's unclouded throne Perhaps, e en now, thy kindling glance Each orb of living fire explores , Darts o er creation s wide expanse, Admires adores. Oh ! tf that lightning-eye surveys This dark and sublunary plain ; How must the wreath of human praise. Fade, wither, vanish, in thy gaze, So dim, so pale, so vain. How like a faint and shadowy dream, Must quiver learning's brightest ray ; While on thy eyes, with lucid stream. The sun of glory pours his beam. Porfection's d?y JUVENILE POEMS. 17 THE SILVER LOCKS. TO JOHN FOULKES, ESQ. l8TH AUGUST, l8oO THOUGH youth may boast the curls thau flow, In sunny waves of auburn glow ; As graceful on thy hoary head, Has time the robe of honour spread, And there, oh ! softly, softly, stiad, His wreath of snow. As frost-work on the trees displayed, When weeping Flora leaves the shade,- E'en more than Flora, charms the sight ; E'en so thy locks, of purest white, Survive, in age's frost-work bright. Youth's vernal rose decayed. To grace the nymph, whose tresses phy Light on the sportive breeze of May, Let other bards the garland twine, Where sweets of every hue combine ; Those locks revered, that silvery shine, Invite my lay. 'Less white the summer-cloud sublime, Less white the winter's fringing rime ; Nor do Belinda's lovelier seem, (A poet's blest, immortal theme,) Than thine, which wear the moonlight beam, Of reverend time I Long may the graceful honours smile, Like moss on some declining pile ; Oh, much revered I may filial care, Around thee, duteous, long repair, Thy joys with tender bliss to share, Thy pains beguile I Long, long, ye snowy ringlets, wave, Long, long, your much-loved beauty save i May bliss your latest evening crown, Disarm life's winter of its frown, And soft, ye hoary hairs, go down, In gladness to the grave. And as the parting beams of day. On mountain-snows reflected play ; And tints of roseate lustre shed ; Thus, on the snow that crowns thy head, May joy, with evening planet, shed His mildest ray I THE BARDS. fO THB SOLDIBES OF CAKACTACU* VALIANT sons of freedom's land, Ardent, firm, devoted band, Rise, at honour's thrilling caU Warriors, arm ! shall Britain fall? Rush, battle-steed, Bleed, soldiers, bleed 1 For Britain's throne, for glory's meed. Heroes 1 to the combat fly, Proud to struggle, blest to die ; Go I should death your efforts crown. Mount the pinions of renown ; Go ! tell our sires, Their daring fires, Glow in our lofty souls, till life expires. Tell them, ne'er shall Britain yield Whilst a h?nd the sword can wield Tell them, we the strife maintain, Tell them, we defy the chain I In heart the same, In patriot-flame We emulate their brightest fame. Shades of sainted chiefs ! be near, Smile on Albion's lifted spear, Point the falchion, guide the car. Flaming through the ranks of war, Rise on the field, With sword and shield, To British eyes in forms of light revealed' Spark of freedom, blaze on high, Wilt thou quiver? shall thou die ? Never, never, holy fire ! Mount, irradiate ! beam, aspire I Our foes consume, Our swords illume, And chase the dark horizon's gloora. Shall the Roman arms invade Mona's dark and hallowed shade ? By the dread, mysterious wand, Waving in the Druid's hand ; By every rite, Of Mona's night, Arm, warriors I arm ; in sacred cause unite Honour ! while thy bands disdain Slavery's dark, debasing chain ; Britain 1 while thy sons are free, Dauntless, faithful, firm for thee, Mona I while at thy command, Ardent bold, sublime, they stand ; Proud foes in vain, Prepare the chain, For Albion unsubdued shall reign. Lo I we see a flame divine Blaze o'er Mona's awful shrine I Lo ! we bear a voice proclaim " Albion, thine, immortal fame ;" Arise, ye brave, To bleed, to save, [ wave. Though proud in pomp, yon Roman eagles (8 JUVENILE POEMS. Caesai, come I in tenfold mail, Will thine arms like ours avail ? Caesar ! let thy falchions blaze. Will they dim fair Freedom's rays f Caesar ! boast thy wide control, Canst thou chain th' aspiring soul ? What steel can bind. The sparing mind. Free as the light, the wave, the wind i THE ANGEL OF THE SUN WHILE bending o er my golden lyre, While waving light my wing of foe , Creation's regions to explore, To gaze, to wonder, to adore While faithful to th' external will, My task of glory I fulfil , To rule the comet's dread career, To guide the planets on their sphere . While from this pure empyreal sky, I dart my truth-enlightened eye I What mists involve yon changeful scene, How dark thy views, thou orb terrene I E'en now compassion clouds awhile Bright ecstacy's immortal smile : I see the flames of war consume Fair scenes that sm:l<.u in glowing blown er ev'ry nation, ev'ry land, 1 see destruction wave his hand ; How dark thy billows, ocean-flood ; Lo, man has dyed thy waves in blood I Nature, how 'changed thy vivid grace i Vengeance and war thy charms deface Oh, scene of doubt, of care, of anguish , Oh, scene, where virtue's doomed to lan- guish ; Oh, scene, where death triumphant rides, The spear, the sword, the javelin guides ! And canst thou be that earth, declare, That earth so pure, so good, so fair, O'er which, a new-created globe, Thy Father spread perfection's robe ? Oh, Heaven how changed, how pale, bow dim 1 Since first arose the choral hymn, That hailed, at thy auspicious birth, A dawning paradise on earth ; On that sublime, creative morn, That saw the infant-planet born, How swelled the harp, the lyre, the voice, To bless, to triumph, to rejoice. How kneeling rapture led the song, How glowed the exulting cherub throng, When the fair orb, arising bright, Sprang into glory, life and light, Oh, Heaven, how changed a thorny waste. With shadows dimmed, with cloudso'ercast, See passions desolate the ball. See kingdoms, thrones, and empires fall I See mad Ambition s whirlwinds sweep, Resistless as the wintry deep . See, waving through the troubled sky, His crimson banner glare on high Blush, Anger, blush, and hide thy sword , Weep, Conquest, weep I imperious lord I And mourn, to view thy sullied name Inscribed in blood emblazed in flame I And are those cnes, which rend the air, Of death, of torture, of despair, Hymns that should mount on wings above, To him, the GOD OF PEACE AND LOVE ' And is yon flame of ruthless war, That spreads destruction's reign afar, The incense taught by man to blaze, For him who dwells in mercy's rays ? Mortals ! if angels grief might know, From angels if a tear might flow, For you celestial woes might rise, And pity dim a seraph's eyes ; Yet,' mortals ! oft, through mists and tears Your bright original appears, Gleams through the veil with radiant smile A sunbeam on a ruined pile I Exulting, oft the forms 1 trace, Of moral grandeur, beauty, grace ; That speak your powers for glory given. That still reveal the heir of heav'n I Not yet extinct your heavenly fire, For cherubs oft its beams admire I I see fair virtue nobly rise, Child, favourite, darling, of the skies ; Smile on the pangs that round her wait, And brave, and bear the storms of fate. I see her lift th 1 adoring eye, Forbid the tear, suppress the sigh ; Still on her high career proceeding, Sublime I august i though suffering bleeding ; ("rude, The thoin, though sl^arp the blast, thougb Shake not her lofty fortitude i Oh, graceful dignity serene, Faith, glory, triumph on thy mien ! Still, virtue ! still the strife maintain, The smile, the frown of fate, disdain ; Think on that hour, when freed from clay, Thy soul shall rise to life and day ; Still mount to heaven on sorrow's car ; There shine a fixed unclouded star, Like me to range, like me to soar, Suns, planets, worlds of light explore ; Then angel-forms around shall throng. And greet tbee in triumphal song ; JUVENILE POEMS. 19 " Mount, spirit, mount! thy woes are o'er; Pains, sickness , trials, now no more ; Hail, sister, hail I thy task is done, Rise, cherub, rise ! thy crown is wou." Oh, favoured mortals ; best beloved, Ye in stern perils fiercely proved ; When faith and truth, with pure control, Refine, inspire, exalt your soul ; When firm in brightest, noblest aims, Your bosoms glow with hallowed flames ; When still the narrow path you tread, Nor scorn, nor grief, nor dangers dread : Though fate with every dart assail, To pierce your heart's heaven tempered mail; Nor shrink, though death his javelin hurled, Scorned yet untainted by the world ; Then think, ye brave, ye constant few, To faith, to hope, to virtue true, Then think, that seraphs from above, Behold your deeds, admire, and" love : And those who Heaven's commands per- form, Who still the wave, who ride the storm ; Who point the lightning's fiery wing, Or shed the genial dews of spring ; Who fill with balm the zephyr's breath, Or taint th' avenging winds with death ; That those who guide the planet's course, Who bend at light's transcendent source ; Oh, think that those your toil survey, Your struggling mind, your rugged way I Oh, think that those, e'en now prepare A bower of bliss, for you to share ; E'en now, th immortal wreath entwine, Around your sainted brows to shine ; E'en now, their golden harps attune, To greet you in the blaze of noon ! Soon shall your captive souls be free, To bless, to hymn, to soar, like me I The fair, the perfect, and the bright, Shall beam unclouded on your sight ; Soon shall the silver lutes be strung, Soon shall the poean lays be sung ; Hail, sister, hail ! thy task is done : Rise, cherub, rise 1 thy palm is won I TO MR. EDWARDS, THB HARPER OF CONWAY. MINSTREL ! whose gifted hand can bring, Life, rapture, soul, from every string ; And wake, like bards of former time, The spirit of the harp sublime ; Oh 1 still prolong the varying strain ! Obi touch th' enchanted chords again 1 Thine is the charm, suspending care, The heavenly swell, the dying close, The cadence melting into air, That lulls each passion to repose. While transport, lost in silence near, Breathes all her language in a tear. Exult, O Cambria I now no more With sighs thy slaughtered bards deplore What though Plinlimmon's misty brow, And Mona's woods' be silent now, Yet can thy Conway boast a strain Unrivalled ir thy proudest reign. For Genius, with divine control, Wakes the bold chord neglected long, And pours Expression's glowing soul O'er the wild Harp, renowned in song. And Inspiration, hovering round, Swells the full energies of sound. Now Grandeur, pealing in the tone, Could rouse the warrior's kindling fire, And now, 'tis like the breeze's moan, That murmurs o'er th' ^Eolian lyre : As if some sylph, with viewless wing, Were sighing o'er the magic string. Long, long, fair Conway ! boast the skill, That soothes, inspires, commands, at will! And oh I while rapture hails the lay, Far distant be the closing day, When Genius, Taste, again shall weep, And Cambria's Harp lie hushed in sleep i THE RUIN AND ITS FLOWERS. SWEETS of the wild I that breathe and bloom On this lone tower, this ivied wall ; Lend to the gale a rich perfume, And grace the ruin in its fall ; Though doomed, remote from careless eye, To smile, to flourish, and to die In solitude sublime, Oh I ever may the Spring renew, Your balmy scent and glowing hue, To deck the robe of time 1 Breathe, fragrance 1 breathe, enrich the air, Though wasted on its wing unknown ! Blow, flow'rets ! blow, though vainly fair, Neglected, and alone 1 These towers that long withstood the blast These mossy towers, are mouldering fast, While Flora's children stay ; To mantle o'er the lonely pile, To gild destruction with a smile, , And beautify decay I 20 JUVENILE POEMS. Sweets of the wild I uncultured blowing Neglected in luxuriance glowing . From the dark ruins frowning near. Your charms m brighter tints appear. And richer blush assume You smile with softer beauty crowned, Whilst all is desolate around, Like sunshine on a tomb t Thou hoary pile I majestic still, Memento of departed fame I While roving o'er the moss-clad hill. I ponder on thine ancient name < Here grandeur, beauty, valour sleep, That here, so oft have shone supreme While glory, honour, fancy weep, That vanished is the golden dream i Where are the banners, waving proud. To kiss the summer-gale of even ? All purple as the morning-cloud, All streaming to the winds of heaven i Where is the harp, by rapture strung, To melting song, or martial story? Where are the lays the minstrel sung, To loveliness, or glory ) Lorn echo of these mouldering walls, To thee no festal measure calk ; No music through the desert-halls. Awakes thee to rejoice I How still thy sleep ! as death profound, As if, within this lonely round, A step a note a whispered sound Had ne er aroused thy voice I Thou hear'st the zephyr murmuring, dying, Thou hear'st the foliage, waving, sighing ; But ne er again shall harp or song, These dark, deserted courts along, Disturb thy calm repose ; The harp is broke, the song is fled The voice is hushed, the bard is dead And never shall thy tones repeat, Or lofty strain, or carol sweet With plaintive close i Proud castle I though th days are flown, When once thy towers in glory shone When music through thy turrets rung, When banners o er thy ramparts hung, Though midst thine arches, frowning lone, Stern desolation rear his throne And silence, deep and awful, reign Where echoed once the choral strain Yet oft, dark ruin I lingering here, 1 be cause will hail thee with A tear Here when the moonlight, quivering, beams, And through the fringing ivy streams, And softens every shade sublime, . And mellows every tint of time Oh ! here shall contemplation love, Unseen and undisturbed, to rove ; And bending o er some mossy tomb, Where valour sleeps or beauty's bloom. Shall weep for glory's transient day, And grandeur s evanescent ray I And listening to the swelling blast, Shall wake the spirit ofthe past Call up the forms of ages fled. Of warriors and of minstrels dead ; Who sought the field, who struck the lyre, With all ambition's kindling fire I Nor wilt thou, Spring l refuse to breathe, Soft odours on this desert-air ; Refuse to twine thine earliest wreath, And fringe these towers with garlands fait I Sweets of the wild, oh I ever bloom Unheeded on this ivied wall I Lend to the gale a rich perfume, And grace the ruin in its fall I Thus round Misfortune's holy head* Would Pity wreaths of honour spread ; Like you, thus blooming on this lonely pile, She seeks despair, with heart-reviving smilel CHRISTMAS CAROL. FAIR Gratitude I in strain sublime, Swell high to heaven thy tuneful zeal ; And, hailing this auspicious time, Kneel, Adoration I kneel I CHORUS. For lo I the day, th immortal day, When Mercy's full, benignant ray, Chased every gathering cloud away, And poured the noon of light ! Rapture I be kindling, mounting, glowing While from thine eye the tear is flowing, Pure, warm, and bright I 'Twas on this day. oh, love divine I The orient star s effulgence rose ; Then waked the moon, whose eye benign, Shall never, never close I ' Messiah I be thy Name adored, Eternal, high, redeeming Ixird Bv ffratpful wwrids be antb'.ms Emanuel ! Prince of Peace I This day, from Heaven's empyreal dwelling, Harp, lyre, and voice, in concert swelling, Bade discord cease 1 Wake the loud paean, tune the voice, Children of Heaven and sons of earth ! Seraphs and men ! exult, rejoice, To bless the Saviour's birth 1 CHORUS Devotion ! light thy purest fire I Transport ! on cherub-wing aspire ! Praise I wake to him thy golden lyre. Strike every thrilling chord ! While, at the ark of mercy kneeling, We own thy grace, reviving, healing, Redeemer 1 Lord 1 SONNETS. TO A DYING EXOTIC. AH ! lovely faded plant, the blight I mourn That withered all thy blossoms fair and gay; . I saw thee blushing to the genial May, And now thy leaves are drooping and forlorn. I marked thy early beauty with a smile, And saw with pride the crimson buds expand ; They opened to the sunbeam for awhile, By all the flattering gales of summer fanned. Ah I faded plant, I raise thy languid head, And moisten every leaf with balmy dew ; But now thy rich luxuriant bloom is fled, Thy foliage wears a pale autumnal hue ; Too soon thy glowing colours havedecayed ! Like thee the flowers of pleasure smile and fade. TO THE MUSE OF PITY. OH ! mistress af the melancholy song, I love to bend before thy sacred shrine ; To thee my fondest early vows belong, For pity's melting tenderness is thine. Thine is the harp of wild expressive tone, 'Tis thine to touch it with entrancing art ; Till all thy numbers vibrate on the heart, And sympathy delights thy power to own. Oh ! sweetest muse of pity and of love, In artless song thy plaintive lyre I hail ; Be mine to weep with thee o'er sorrow's tale, And oft thy pleasing visions may I prove. "Thou mistress of the melancholy song, To thee my fondest early vows belong." SONNET. AH 1 now farewell thou sweet and gentle maid, Beside thy simple grave we oft shall mourn; And plant a willow where thy form is laid, And then with flowers the weeping tree adorn. Oft shall we sing thy melancholy tale, When all the shades of evening steal around ; And oft assemble by the moonlight pale, To linger near the consecrated ground. And oh I if spirits e'er on earth descend, To hover o'er some chosen hallowed spot , Around thy tomb shall airy bands attend, And humble villagers shall weep thy lot. Ah ! fair departed maid, thy placid mind Was calm in sorrow, and to Heaven re- signed. TO MY MOTHER. To thee, maternal guardian of my youth, I pour the genuine numbers, free from art; The lays inspired by gratitude and truth, For thou wilt prize th' effusion of the heart. Oh ! be it mine, with sweet and pious care, To calm thy bosom in the hour of grief ; With soothing tenderness to chase the tear, With fond endearments to impart relief. Be mine thy warm affection to repay With duteous love in thy declining hours ; My filial hand shall strew unfading flowers, Perennial roses to adorn thy way : Still may thy grateful children round thee smile, Their pleasing care affliction shall beguile. SONNET. Tis sweet to think the spirits of the blest May hover round the virtuous man's repose ; Arid oft in visions animate his breast. 22 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. And scenes of bright beatitude disclose. The ministers of Heaven with pure control, May bid his sorrow and emotion cease ; Inspire the pious fervour of his soul, And whisper to his bosom hallowed peace. Ah ! tender thought, that oft with sweet relief. [fnend ; May charm the bosom of a weeping Beguile with magic power the tear of grief, And pensivepleasurewith devotion blend ; While oft he fancies music sweetly faint. The airy lay of some departed saint. TO AGNES. AH 1 could my Agnes rove these favourite shades, [brian vale, With mirth and friendship in the Cam- In mossy dells, or wild romantic glades, Where flowers uncultured scent the sportive gale ; And could she wander at the morning hour, To hail with me the blest return of May ; Or linger sweetly in the woodbine bower. When early dews begem the weeping spray. Ah ! soon her cheek the lovely mantling bloom Of sprightly youth and pleasure would disclose, Her lip the smile of Hebe would resume, And wear the blushes of the vernal rose ; And soon would cherub health with lively grace, Beam in her eye and animate her face. SONNET. ( LOVE to hail the mild, the balmy hour, When evening spreads around her twi- light veil . When dews descend on every languid flower, And sweet and tranquil is the summer gale. Then let me wander by the peaceful tide. While o er the wave the breezes lightly play. To hear the waters murmur as they glide, To mark the fading smile of closing day. There let me linger, blest in visions dear. Till the soft moonbeams tremble on the seas , While melting sounds decay on fancy s ear. Of airy music floating on the breeze. For still when eveningsheds thegemaldews. That pensive hour is sacred to the muse. SONNET. WHERE nature's grand romantic charms invite The glowing rapture of the soul refined ; In scenes like these the young poetio mind May court the- dreams of fancy with de- light . And dear to those by every muse inspired, The rural landscape and the prospect fair , They love, in mountain solitudes retired. To own illusions that may banish care. These gentle visions ever shall remain, To soothe the poet in his pensive hours ; For him shall Fancy cull Pierian flowers, And strew her garlands o'er the path of pain , For him shall Memory shed her pensive ray. O'er the soft hours of life's enchanting May. ENGLAND AND SPAIN; OR, VALOUR AND PATRIOTISM. " His sword the brave man draws, And aslcs no omen but his country's cause." POPE TOO long have Tyranny and Power com- bined To sway, with iron sceptre, o'er mankind ; Long has Oppression worn th' imperial robe. [globe 1 And rapine's sword has wasted half the O'er Europe s cultured realms, and climes afar, [war , Triumphant Gaul has poured the tide of To her fair Austria veiled the standard bright ; [might ; Ausonias lovely plains have owned her ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 23 While Prussia's eagle, never taught to yield, Forsook her towering height on Jena's field ! Oh I gallant Fred'ric ! could thy 'parted shade [trayed ; Have seen thy country vanquished and be- How had thy soul indignant mourned her shame, [fame ! Her sullied trophies and her tarnished When Valour wept lamented Brunswick s doom, [tomb ; And nursed with tears the laurels on his When Prussia, drooping o'er her hero's grave, Invoked his spirit to descend and save, Then set her glories then expired her sun, And fraud achieved e'en more than con- quest won ! [plenty gay, O'er peaceful realms, that smiled with Has desolation spread her ample sway ; Thy blast, oh Ruin ! on tremendous wings, Has proudly swept o'er empires, nations, kings ! Thus the wild hurricane's impetuous force, With dark destruction marks its whelming course ; [ing plain, Despoils the woodland's pomp, the bloom- Death on its pinion, vengeance in its train I Rise, Freedom, rise I and breaking from thy trance, [lance I Wave the dread banner, seize the glittering With arm of might assert thy sacred cause, And call thy champions to defend thy laws ! How long shall tyrant power her throne maintain ? How long shall despots and usurpers reign ? Is honour's lofty soul for ever fled ? Is virtue lost ? is martial ardour dead ? Is there no heart where worth and valour dwell, No patriot Wallace, no undaunted Tell ? Ves, Freedom, yes 1 thy sons, a noble band, Around thy banner, firm exulting stand ; Once more 'tis thine, invincible, to wield The beamy spear and adamantine shield 1 Again thy cheek with proud resentment glows, Again thy lion-glance appals thy foes ; Thy kindling eye-beam darts unconquered fires, [spires : Thy look sublime the warrior's heart in- And while, to guard thy standard and thy right, Catilians rush, intrepid to the fight ; lx> ! Britain's generous host then aid supply, Resolved for tbee to triumph or^ die ! And glory smiles to see Iberia's name, Enrolled with Albion's in the book of fame I Illustrious names ! still, still united beam, Be still the hero's boast, the poet's theme : So when two radiant gems together shine, And in one wreath their lucid light combine; Each, as it sparkles with transcendent rays, Adds to the lustre of its kindred blaze 1 Descend, oh, Genius ! from thy orb de- scend 1 [lend I Thy glowing thought, thy kindling spirit As Memnon's harp (so ancient fables say) With sweet vibration meets tha morning ray, [own, So let the chords thy heavenly presence And swell a louder note, a nobler tone . Call from the sun, her burning throne on high, The seraph Ecstacy, with lightning eye ; Steal from the source of day empyreal fire, And breathe the soul of rapture o'er the lyre I Hail, Albion ! hail, thou land of free- dom's birth ! Pride of the main, and Phoenix of the earth I Thou second Rome, where mercy, justice, dwell, Whose sons in wisdom as in arms excel ! Thine are the dauntless bands like SparUris brave, Bold in the field, triumphant on the wave In classic elegance, and arts divine, To rival Athens' fairest palm is thine ; For taste and fancy from Hymettus fly, And richer bloom beneath thy varying sky, Where science mounts, in radiant cai sublime, To other worlds beyond the sphere of tio*e ; Hail, Albion, hail I to thee has fate dnied Peruvian mines and rich Hindostan's pnde ; The gems that Ormuz and Golconda\x>ast, And all the wealth of Montezuma's coast ; For thee no Parian marbles brightly shine ; No glowing suns mature the blushin No light Arabian gales their wings To waft Sabasan incense o'er the land ; No graceful cedars crown thy loliy hills, No trickling myrrh for thee its balm distils.; Not from thy trees the lucid amber flows, And far from thee the scented cassia blows ; Yet fearless Commerce, pillar of thy throne, Makes all the wealth of foreign climes th) own : 24 ENGLAND AND SPAIN. From Lapland's shore to Afric's fervid reign, She bids thy ensigns float above the main ; Unfurls her streamers to the favouring gale, And shows to other worlds her daring sail ; Then wafts their gold, their varied stores to thee, Queen of the trident ! empress of the sea 1 For this thy noble sons have spread alarms, [arms 1 And bade the zones resound with Britain's Calpe's proud rock, and Syria's palmy shore, Have heard and trembled at their battle's roar I The sacred waves of fertilizing Nile Have seen the triumphs of the conquering isle! For this, for this, the Samiel-blast of war Has rolled o'er Vincent's cape and Tra- falgar I [sound, Victorious RODNEY spread thy thunder's And NELSON fell, with fame immortal crowned I gain Blest if their perils and their blood could To grace thy hand the sceptre of the main ! The milder emblems of the virtues calm, The poet's verdant bay, the sage's palm ; ^hese in thy laurel's.blooming foliage twine, And round thy brows a deathless wreath combine ; Not Mincio's banks, nor Mcles' classic tide, Are hallowed more than Avon's hau side : Nor is thy Thames a less inspiring theme, Than pure Ilissus, or than Tiber's stream. Bright in the annals of th' impartial page, Britannia's heroes live from age to age ! From ancient days, when dwelt her savage race, Her painted natives, foremost in the chase, Free from all cares for luxury or gain, Lords of the wood, and monarchs of the plain , To these Augustan days, when social arcs, Refine and meliorate her manly hearts ; From doubtful Arthur, hero of romance, King of the circled board, the spear, the lance, [shield, To those who recent trophies grace her The gallant victors of Vimiera's field , Still have her warriors borne th' unfading crown, [renown. And made the British flag the ensign of. Spirit of Alfred ! patriot soul sublime I Thou morning-star of error's darkest time I Prince of the lion-heart I whose arm in fight, On Syria's plains repelled Saladin's might, Edward ! for bright heroic deeds revered, By Cressy's fame to Britain still endeared I Triumphant Henry I thou, whose valoul proud, The lofty plume of crested Gallia bowed ! Look down, look down, exalted Shades I and view Your Albion still to freedom's banner true ! Behold the land, ennobled by your fame, Supreme in glory, and of spotless name : And, as the pyramid indignant rears Its awful head, and mocks the waste cl years ; See her secure in pride of virtue tower, While prostrate nations kiss the rod ot power. Lo I where !wr pinions waving high, aspire, [fire !" Bold victory hovers near, "with eyes of While Lusitania hails, with just applause, The brave defenders of her injured cause ; Bids the full song, the note of triumph rise, And swells the exulting paean to the skies ! And they, who late with -anguish, hard to tell, [farewell f Breathed to their cherished realms a sad Who, as the vessel bore them o'er the tide, Still fondly lingered on its deck, and sighed ; Gazed on the shore, till tears obscured theif sight And the blue distance melted into light ; The Royal Exiles, forced by Gallia's hate, To fly for refuge in a foreign state : They, soon returning o'er the western main, Ere long may view their clime beloved again, i And as the blazing pillar led the host Of faithful Israel, o'er the desert coast ; So may Britannia guide the noble band, O'ei the wild ocean, to their native land. Oh I glorious isle ! oh ! sovereign of the waves I [slaves I Thine are the sons who never will be See them once mure, with ardent hearts advance And rend the laurels of insulting France ; To brave Castile their potent aid supply, And wave, oh Freedom I wave thy sword on high I Is there no hard of. heavenly power pee- sest, To thrill, to rouse, to animate the breast I Like Shakspeare o'er the secret nftnd to sway And call each wnvvrard passion to obey? ENGLAND AND SPAIN. OK UO Is there no b.ird, Imbued with hallowed fire, To wake the chords of Ossi.an's magic lyre ; Whose numbers breathing all his flame divine, The patriot's name to ages might consign ? Rise, Inspiration, rise, be this thy theme, And mount, like Uriel, on the golden beam ! Oh, could my muse on seraph pinion spring, [bling string ; And sweep with rapture's hand the trem- Could she the bosom energies control, And pour impassioned fervour o'er the soul ; Oh ! could she strike the harp to Milton given, [heaven. ! Brought by a cherub from th' empyrean Ah 1 fruitless wish ! ah ! prayer preferred in vain, For her ! the humblest of the woodland train : Vet shall her feeble voice essav to raise The hymn of liberty, the song of praise ! Iberian bands I whose noble ardour glows, To pour confusion on oppressive foes ; Intrepid spirits hail ; 'tis yours to feel The hero's fire, the freeman's godlike zeal I Not to secure dominion's boundless reign, Ye wave the flag of conquest o'er the slain ; No cruel rapine leads you to the war, Nor mad ambition whirled in crimson car ; No, brave Castilians ! yours a nobler end, Your land, your laws, your monarch to defend ! [rear For these, for these, your valiant legions The floating standard and the lofty spear ; The fearless lover wields the conquering sword, Fired by the image of the maid adored ; His best-beloved, his fondest ties to aid, The Father's hand unsheaths the glittering blade; For each, for all, for every sacred right, The daring patriot mingles in the fight ! And e'en if love or friendship fail to warm, His country's name alone can nerve his dauntless arm. He bleeds ! he falls i his death-bed is the field ! [shield ; His dirge the trumpet, and his bier the His closing eyes the beam of valour speak, The flush of ardour lingers on his cheek ; Serene he lifts to heaven those closing eyes, Then for his country breathes a prayer and dies 1 Oh 1 ever hallowed be his verdant grave, There let the laurel spread, the cypress wave ! Thou, lovely Spring ! bestow, to grace his tomb, [bloom ; Thy sweetest fragrance and thy earliest There let the tears of heaven descend in balm, There let the poet consecrate his palm ! Let honour, pity, bless the holy ground, And shades of sainted heroes watch around! Twas thus, while Glory rung his thrilling knell, Thy chief, oh Thebes ! at Mantinea fell ; ' Smiled undismayed within the arms of death, While Victory, weeping nigh, received his breath I Oh ! thou, thesovereignofthenoblesoul! Thou source of energies beyond control f Queen of the lofty thought, the gen'rous deed, Whose sons unconquered fight, undaunted bleed. Inspiring Liberty ! thy worshipped name The warm enthusiast kindles to a flame ; Thy look of heaven, thy voice of harmony. Thy charms inspire him to achievement* high ; More blest, with thee to tread perennial snows Where ne'er a flower expands, a zephyr . blows, Where Winter, binding nature in his chain, In frost-work palace holds perpetual reign ; Than, far from thee, with frolic step to rove, The green savannas and the spicy grove ; Scent the rich balm of India's perfumed gales, In citron-woods and aromatic vales ; For oh ! fair Liberty, when thou art near. Elysium blossoms in the desert drear 1 Where'er thy_ smile its magic power bestows, There arts and taste expand, there, fancy glows ; The sacred lyre its wild enchantment gives, And every chord to swelling transport lives; There ardent Genius bids the pencil trace The soul of beauty and the lines of grace ; With bold Promethean hand the canvas warms, And calls from stone expression's breathing forms. Thus, where the fruitful Nile o'erflows its bound, Its genial waves diffuse abundance round, Bid Ceres laugh o'er waste and sterile sands' And rich profusion clothe deserted lands I 26 ENGLAND AND tit AIM. Immortal Freedom ! daughter of the skies I To thee shall Britain's grateful incense rise ! Ne'er, goddess I ne'er forsake thy favourite isle. Still be thy Albion brightened with thysmile. Long had thy spirit slept in dead repose, Whileproudlytnumphed thine insultmgfoes; Yet though a cloud may veil Apollo's light, Soon, with celestial beam, he breaks to sight ; Once more we see thy kindling soul reiura, Thy vestal-flame with added radiance burn ; Lo I in Iberian hearts thine ardour lives. Lo 1 in Ibenan hearts thy spark revives I Proceed, proceed, ye firm undaunted band I Still sure to conquer, if combined ye stand ! Though myriads flashing in the eye of day, Streamed o'er the smiling land in long array: Though tyrantAsia poured unnumberedfoes, Triumphant still the arm of Greece arose ; For every state in sacred union stood, Strong to repel invasion s whelming flood : Each heart was glowing in the general cause, Each hand prepared to guard their hallowed laws : Athenian valour joined Laconia's might, And but contended to be first in fight , From rank to rank the warm contagion ran, And Hope and Freedom ledtheflamingvan: Then Persia's monarch mourned his glories lost, As wild confusion winged his flying host ; Then Attic bards the hymn of victory sung, And Grecian harp to notes exulting rung I Then Sculpture bade the Parianstone record The high achievements of the conquenng sword. [renown, Thus, brave Castilians ! thus may bright And fair success your valiant efforts crown I Genius of chivalry ! whose early days, Tradition still recounts in artless lays . Whose faded splendours fancy oft recalls, The floating banners and the lofty halls ; The gallant feats thy festivals displayed. The tilt, the tournament, the long crusade Whose ancient pride Romance delights to hail, In fabling numbers or heroic tale : Those times are fled, when stem thy castles frowned, [crowned ; Their stately towers with feudal grandeur Those times are fled, when fair Iberia's clime, Beheld thy Gothic reign, thy pomp, sublime; And all thy glories, all thy deeds of yore, Live but in legends wild and poeffe lore. Lo I where thy silent harp neglected lies. Light o er its chords the murmuring zephyi sighs ; Thy solemn courts, where once the minstrel sung, The choral voice of mirth and music rung ; Now, with the ivy clad, forsaken, lone, Hear but the breeze and echo to its moac : Thy lonely towers deserted fall away, Thy broken shield is mouldering in decay. Yet though thy transient pageantries are gone, Like fairy visions, bright, yet swiftly flown ; Genius of chivalry ! thy noble train, Thy firm, exalted virtues yet remain. Fair truth arrayed in robes of spotless white, Her eye a sunbeam and her zone of light ; Warm emulation, with aspiring aim, Still darting forward to the wreath of fame ; And purest love, that waves his torch divine, At awful honour's consecrated shrine ; Ardour with e^gle wing, and fiery glance ; And generous courage, resting on his lance ; And loyalty, by perils unsubdued ; Untainted faith, unshaken fortitude ; And patriot energy, with heart of flame ; These, in Ibena's sons are yet the same 1 These from remotest days their souls have fired, [inspired ! "Nerved every arm," and every breast When Moorish bands their suffering land possest, And fierce oppression reared her giant crest; The wealthy caliphs on Cordova's throne, In eastern gems and purple splendourshonfe: Theirs was the proud magnificence, that wed With stately Bagdat s oriental pride Theirs were thecourtsin regal pomp arrayed Where arts and luxury their charms dis . played ; [towers, Twas theirs to rear the Zehrar's costly Its. fairy palace and enchanted bowers ; There all Arabian fiction e'er could tell. . Of potent genii or of wizard spell ; All that a poet's dream could picture bright, Onesweet Elysium, charmed the wondering sight I Too fair, too rich, for work of mortal hand, It seemed an Eden from Armida's wand 1 yet vain their pride, their wealth, and ra- diant state, [fate ! When freedom 'waved on high the sword of When brave Ramiro bade the despots fear. Stern retribution frowning on his spear ; And fierce Almanzor, after many a fight, O'erwhelmed with shame, confessed thf Christian's might. ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 2? In later times the gallant Cid arose, Burning with zeal against his country's foes ; His victor-arm Alphonso's throne main- tained, [gained ! His laureate brows the wreath of conquest And still his deeds Castilian bards rehearse, Inspiring theme of patriotic verse ! High in the temple of recording fame, Iberia points to great Gohsalvo's name ; Victorious chief ! whose valour still defied The arms of Gaul, and bowed her crested pride ; [reign's throne, With splendid trophies graced his sove- And bade Granada's realms his prowess own. Nor were his deeds thy only boast, oh Spain 1 In mighty Ferdinand's illustrious reign ; Twas then thy glorious Pilot spread the sail, Unfurled his flag before the eastern gale ! Bold, sanguine, fearless, ventured to explore Seas unexplored, and worlds unknown before : Fair science guided o'er the liquid realm, Sweet hope, exulting, steered the dariag helm ; While on the mast, with ardour-flashing eye, Courageous enterprise still hovered nigh : The hoary genius of th' Atlantic main, Saw man invade his wide majestic reiga ; His empire yet by mortal unsubdued, The throne, the world, of awful solitude. And e'en when shipwreck seemed to rear his form, And dark 'destruction menaced in the"storra, In every shape, when giant-peril rose, T,o daunt his spirit and his course oppose ; O'er every heart wh^n terror sWayed alone, And hope forsook each bosom, but his own : Moved by no dangers, by no fears repelled, His glorious track the gallant sailor held. Attentive still to mark the sea-birds lave, Or high in air their snowy pinions wave : Thus princely Jason, launching from the steep, ' [veiled deep ; With dauntless prow explored th' untra- Thus, at the helm, Ulysses' watchful sight, Viewed every star, and planetary light. Sublime Columbus ! when at length descried, The long-sought land arose above the tide ; How every heart with exultation glowed, How from each eye the tear of transport flowed : Not wilder joys the sons of Israel knew, When Canaan's fertile plains appeared 'in view ; Then rose the choral anthem on the breeze, Then martial music floated o'er the seas ; Theirwaving streamers to the sun displayed, In all the pride of warlike pomp arrayed ; Advancing nearer still, the ardent band, Hailed the glad shore, and blessed the stranger land. Admired its palmy groves and prospects fair, With rapture breathed its pure ambrosial air V Then crowded round its free and simple race, Amazement pictured wild on every face : Who deemed that beings of celestial birth, Sprung from the sun, descended to the earth 1 Then first another world, another sky, Beheld Iberia's banner blaze on high I' Still prouder glories beam on history's page, [age : Imperial Charles ! to mark thy prosperous Those golden days of arts and fancy bright, When science poured her mild refulgent light ; When Painting bade the glowing canvas breathe, [wreath ; Creative Sculpture claimed the living When roved the Muses in Ausonian bowers, Weaving immortal crowns of fairest flowers; When angel truth dispersed with beam divine, [shrine. The clouds that veiled religion's hallowed Those golden days beheld Iberia tower, High on the pyramid of fame and power : Vain all the efforts of her numerous foes, Her might, superior still, triumphant rose. Thus, on proud Lebanon's exalted brow, The cedar, frowning o'er the plains below, Though storms assail, its regal pomp to rend, Majestic still aspires, disdaining e'er to bend. When Gallia poured,. to Pavia's trophied plain, [train ; Her youthful knights, a bold, impetuous When, after many a toil and danger past, The fatal morn of conflict rose at last ; That morning saw her glittering host com- bine, And form in close array the threatening line ; Fire in each eye, and force in every arm, With hope exulting, and with ardour warm, Saw to the gale their streaming ensigns play, Their armour flashing to the beam of day ; Their generous chargers panting, spurn tiie ground, Roused by the trumpet's animating sound ; And heard in air their warlike music float, The martial pipe, the drum's inspiring note 1 Pale set the sun the shades of evening fell, The mournful night-wmd rung their funeral knell I ENGLAND AND SPAIN. And the same day beheld the warriors dead, Their sovereign captive, and their glories fled! Fled, like the lightning's evanescent fire, Bright, blazing, dreadful only to expire ! Then, then, while prostrate Gaul confessed ' her might, Iberia's planet shed meridian light' I Norless.onfamedSt.Quintin'sdeathfulday, Castilian spirit bore the prize away.; Laurels that still their verdure shall retain, And trophies beaming high in glory's fane I And lo I her heroes, warm with kindred flame, Still proudly emulate their father's fame ; Still with the soul of patriot-valour glow. Still rush impetuous to repel the foe I Wave the bright falchion, lift the beamy spear, And bid oppressive Gallia learn to fear 1 Be theirs, be theirs unfading honour's crown, The living amaranths of bright renown I Be theirs th' inspiring tribute of applause, Due to the champions of their country's cause 1 Be theirs the purest bliss that virtue loves, The joy when conscience whispers and ap- proves, When every heart is fired, each pulse beats high, To fight, to bleed, to fall for Liberty ; When every hand is dauntless and prepared, The sacred charter of mankind to guard ; When Britain's valiant sons their aid unite, Fervent and glowing still for Freedom's right, Bid ancient enmities for ever cease, And ancient wrongs forgotten, sleep in peace ; When firmly leagued, they joined the patriot band, Can venal slaves their conquering arms withstand ? Can fame refuse their gallant deeds to bless Can victory fail to crown them with success ? Look down, oh Heaven I the righteous cause maintain. Defend the injured, and avenge the slain ! Despot of France ! destroyer of mankind I What spectre-cares must haunt thy sleepless mind. Oh I if at midnight round thy regal bed, Wbensoothing visions fly thine aching head When sleep denies thy anxious cares to calm, And lull thy senses in his opiate-balm : Invoked by guilt, if airy phantoms rise, And murdered victims bleed before thine Loud let them thunder in thy troubled car, "'Tyrant! the hour, the avenging hour ts near ! It is, it is ! thy star withdraws its ray, Soon will its parting lustre fade away ; Soon will Cimmerian shades obscure its light, And veil thy splendours in eternal night ! Oh ! when accusing conscience wakes thy soul, With awful terrors, and with dread control Bids threatening forms, appalling, round thee stand, And summons all her visionary band ; Calls up the parted shadows of the dead, And whispers, peace and happiness are fled; E'en at the time of silence and of rest, Paints the dire poniard menacing thy breast ; Is then thy cheek with guilt and horror pale ? Then dost thou tremble, does thy spirit fail ? And wouldst thou yet by added crimes pro- voke The bolt of heaven to launch the fatal stroke ? Bereave a nation of its rights revered, Of all to mortals sacred and endeared ? And shall they tamely liberty resign, The soul of life, the source of bliss divine ? Canst thou, supreme destroyer 1 hope to bind, In chains of adamant, the noble mind ? Go bid the royal orbs thy mandate hear. Go, stay the lightning in its winged career I No, Tyrant I no, thy utmost force is vain, The patriot-arm of Freedom to restrain : Then bid thy subject-bands in armour shine, Then bid thy legions all their power com- bine, [mand, Yet couldst thou summon myriads at corn- Did boundless realms obey thy sceptred hand, [spurn, E'en then her soul thy lawless might would E'en then, with kindling fire, with indig- nation burn Ye Sons of Albion ! first in danger's field, The sword of Britain and of truth to wield I Still prompt the injured to defend and save, Appal the despot, and assist the brave ; Who now intrepid lift the generous blade, The cause of Justice and Castile to aid I Ye Sons of Albion 1 by your country's name Her crown of glory, her unsullied fame, Oh ! by the shades of Cressy's martial dead, By warrior-bands, at Agincourt who bled ; By honours gained on Blenheim's fatal plain, By those in Victory's arms at Minden slain : ENGLAND AND SPAIN. 29 By the bright laurels Wolfe immortal won, Undaunted spirit 1 valour's favourite son 1 By Albion's thousand, thousand deeds sublime, [clime ; Renowned from zone to zone, from clime to Ye British heroes ! may your trophies raise, A deathless monument to future days I Oh ! may your courage still triumphant rise, Exalt the "lion-banner" to the skies ! Transcend the fairest names in history's page, The brightest actions of a former age ; The reign of Freedom let your arms restore, And bid oppression fall to rise no more I Then, soon returning to your native isle, May love and beauty hail you with their smile ; [wreath, For you may conquest weave th' undying And fame and glory's voice the song of rapture breathe 1 Ah I when shall mad ambition cease to rage ? [assuage ? Ah I when shall war his demon-wrath When, when, supplanting discord's iron reign, Shall mercy wave her olive;wand again ? Not till the despot's dread career is. closed, And might restrained, and tyranny deposed ! Return, sweet Peace, ethereal form benign I Fair blue-eyed seraph ! balmy power divine, Descend once more, thy hallowed blessings bring, [downy wing ; Wave thy bright locks, and spread thy Luxuriant plenty laughing iv thy train, Shall crown with glowing stores the desert plain ; Young smiling hope, attendant on thy way, Shall gild thy path with mild celestial ray. Descend once more 1 thou daughter of the sky! Cheer every heart and brighten every eye I Justice, thy harbinger, before thee send, Thy myrtle-sceptre o'er the globe extend : Thy cherub-look again, shall sooth man- kind ; [bind ; Thy cherub-hand the wounds of discord Thy smile of heaven shall every museinspire; To thee the bard shall strike the silver lyre. Descend once more 1 to bid the world rejoice, Yet nations hail thee with exulting voice ; Around thy shrine with purest incense throng, [song 1 Weave '! Thus o'er the southern climes, luxuriant lands, [expands ; Where spreads the olive, where the vine The dread volcano bids the torrent sweep, Rolls the fierce lava burning down ,the steep ; Life, beauty, verdure, fated to destroy, Blast every bloom, and wither every joy ! Sweet orange groves, with fruit and blos- soms fair, [air ; Which breathed the soul of fragrance on the Vineyards that blushed, with mantling clus- ters graced Gay domes, erected by the hand of taste ; These mingled all in one resistless fire, Flame to the skies, fairNature's funeral pyre. Ambition ! vainly wouldst thou gild thy name, With spacious rays of conquest and of fame; Truth waves her wand ! from her all-piercing eye, From her Ithuriel-spear, thy glories fly 1 In vain to thee may suppliant mercy kneel, Plead with soft voice, and deprecate the steel ! Look up, with seraph-eye, in tears benign. Smile through each tear, with eloquence divine . In vain implore thee to relent and spare, With cherub-mien and soul-dissolving prayer : Lost are those accents of melodious charms. 'Midst the loud clangour of surrounding arms; Thy heart of adamant repels the strain, Mercy ! thy prayer, thy tear, thy hope, is But can remorse, despotic power ! prevail, And wound thy bosom through the "twisted mail?" [science felt, Say, can his frown, by shuddering con- Pierce the dark soul which mercy cannot melt ? [way, No, tyrant ! no, when conquest points thy And, lights- thy track the blood-path of dismay ; E'en then his darts, though barbed with fiery pain, [disdain. Fall from thy woundless heart, averted by Power of the ruthless arm, we see thy form, Tower midst the darkness of the gathering storm; 40 WAR AND PEACE. We see thy sabre with portentous blaze. Flash o'er tb nations, trembling as they gaze ; And lo! we hear thine awful voice resound, While fear and wonder faint, through em- pires round ! [power ! " Realms of the globe, submit ! adore my Mine the red falchion, practised to devour! Mine, dark destruction's torch of lurid light, Mine, her keen scimitar's resistless might I Chiefs ! patriots 1 heroes ! kneeling at my shrine, [resign ! Your arms, your laurels, and your fame, Bend, ye proud isles ! my dread behest obey 1 [swa.y I Yield, prostrate nations ! and confess my Lo! thebright ensigns of supreme command, Flame on my brow, and glitter in my hand I Lo ! at my throne what vanquished myriads wait, My look, decision ! and my sceptre, fate ! Ye lands, ye monarchs 1 bow the vassal- knee ! World, thou art mine ! and I alone am free ; For who shall dare, with dauntless heart advance, [lance !" Rouse my dread arm, and brave my potent Relentless power ! thy deeds from age to age, Stain the fair 'annals of th" impartial page! O'er the mild beam of order, silvery bright, Long have thy votaries poured the clouds of night, [plenty smiled, And changed the loveliest realms, where To the lone desert and abandoned wild I Ye western regions of a brighter zone, Ye lands that bowed at Montezuma's throne, Where vivid nature wears the richest dyes, Matured to glory by exulting skies ; Scenes of luxuriance 1 o'er your blooming pride, How ruin swept the desolating tide I When the fierce Cortes poured his faithless train, O'er the gay treasures of your fervid reign ; Taught the pure streams with crimson stains to flow, Made the rich vales a wilderness of woe ! And swelled each breeze of soft ambrosial air, With cries of death and murmurs of despair. Peruvian realms 1 where wealth resplendent shines, [mines ; Throned in full glory, 'midst your diamond Where vegetation spreads her brightest hues, [dews ; Nursed by soft airs, and balm-descending Where all his beams, the worshipped sun bestows, And Flora's empire to perfection glows ; O'er your gay plains, Ambition spreads alarms, [arms, When stern Pizarro rushed with conquering Despoiled your wealth, and ravaged all your charms ! Ferocious leader! his aspirirjg soul, Nor fear could tame, nor social ties control I Ardent and firm, in countless dangers bold. Dark savage fierce to faith, to mercy cold. Then was the sword to dire oppression given, [heaven I Her vulture-wing obscured the light ol Through many a plantain shade, and cedar grove, [love ; Where the blest Indian carolled joy and The war-note swelled upon the zephyr's calm, [of palm ! The wood-nymph, Peace, forsook her bowers And Freedom fled, to Andes' heights un- known, Majestic Solitude's primeval throne ! Where Echo sleeps, in loneliness profound, Hears not a step, nor quivers at a sound 1 Yet there the genius of eternal snows, Marked far beneath a scene of death dis- close ! Saw the red combat raging on the plain, Heard the deep dirge that murmured o'ei the slain ! While stern Ambition waked th' exulting cry, And waved his blazing torch, and meteor flag, on high. Yet, ah ! not there, vindictive power I alone, Has lawless carnage reared thy towering throne ; [age, For Europe's polished realms, through every Have mourned thy triumphs and bewailed thy ragt; ! [land, Though soft refinement there, o'er every Spread the mild empire of her silver wand ; Erect supreme, her light Corinthian fane, Tune the sweet lyre, and modulate the strain ; [spar. Though Genius there, on Rapture's pinions And worlds of ether and of fire explore ; There, though Religion smile with seraph eye, [sky, And shed her gifts, like manna from the While Faith and Hope, exulting in her siht, Pour the full noon of glory's living light ; WAR AND PEACE. 41 There still Ambition bids his victims bleed, Still rolls his whirlwind, with destructive speed ! Still in his flame, devoted realms consume, Fled is their smile and withered is their bloom ! With every charm has Nature's lavish hand Adorned, sweet Italy 1 thy favoured land ! There Summer laughs, with glowing aspect fair, [hail ;" Unfolds her tints, and " waves her golden Bids her light sylphs delicious airs convey, On their soft pinions, waving as they play; O'er clustered grapes the lucid mantle throw, [glow 1 And spread gay life in one empurpling Paint all the rainbow on perennial flowers, And shed exuberance o'er thy myrtle bowers ! Verdure iu every shade thy woods display, Where soft gradations melt in light away 1 And vernal sweets, in rich profusion blow, ' E'en 'midst the reign of solitude and snow ; Yet what avail the bright ambrosial stores, Which gay redundance o'er thy region pours? Devoted land ! from long-departed time, The chosen theatre of war and crime ; What though for thee transcendent suns arise, The myrtle blossoms, and the zephyr sighs ; What though for thee again Arcadia blooms, [illumes ; And cloudless radiance all thy realm There still has Rapine seized her yielding prey, [bounded sway ; There still Oppressior spreads th' un- There oft has War each blooming charm effaced, And left the glowing vale a bleak, deserted waste Is there a land, where halcyon peace has reigned, From age to age, in glory unprcfaned ? Has dwelt serenely in perpetual rest, "Heaven in her eye," and mercy in her breast, Ah, no 1 from clime to clime, with ruthless train, Has War still ravaged o'er the blasted plainl His lofty banner to the winds unfurled, And swept the storm of vengeance o'er the world. 7et, oh I stem god I if ever conscious right, If ever justice armed thee for the fight ; If e'er fair truth approved thy dread career, Smiled on thy track and curbed thy dread- ful spear ; Now may the generous heart exulting see. Those righteous powers in amity with thee : For never, never, in a holier cause, Nor sanctioned, e'er by purer, nobler laws ; Has Albion seized the sabre and the shield, Or rushed impetuous to the ensanguined field. Oh I when that cause triumphant shall prevail, And Freedom's foes her ark no more assail ; Then might thy smile, sweet Peace ! thy angel-form [the storm Beam through the clouds, and tranquillize Lo ! to the Muse's bright prophetic eyes, What scenes unfold, what radiant visions rise ; See hand in hand, and wafted from above, Celestial Mercy, and angelic love ! Lo 1 from the regions of the morning-star, Descending seraphs bear their sun-brighl car. " High the peaceful streamers wave, Lo 1" they sing, ' we come to save ; Come to smile on every shore, Truth and Eden to restore ; Come, the balm of joy to bring, Borne on softest gales of spring ; Rapture, swell the choral voice, Favoured earth, rejoice, rejoice. " Now the work of death is o'er, Sleep, thou sword I to wake no more : Never more Ambition's hand ' Shall wave thee o'er a trembling land, Never more, in hopeless anguish, Caused by thee, shall virtue languish Rapture, swell the choral voice, Favoured earth, rejoice, rejoice. " Cease to flow, then purple flood, Cease to fall, ye tears of blood ; Swell no more the clarion's breath, Wake no more the song of death ; Rise, ye hymns of concord, rise, Incense, worthy of the skies ; Wake the paean, tune the voice, Favoured earth, -ejcice, rejoice. " Nature, smile I thy vivid grace, Now no more shall war deface ; Airs of spring, oh I sweetly breathe, Summer I twine thy fairest wreatb ; WAR AND PEACE. Not the warrior's bier to spread, Not to crown the victor's head ; But with flowers of every hue, Love and mercy's path to strew; Swell to heaven the choral voice, Favoured earth, rejoice, rejoice. " Sleep, ambition ! rage, expire I Vengeance I fold thy wing of fire ! Close thy dark and lurid eye, Bid thy torch, forsaken, die ; Furl thy banner, waving proud, Dreadful as the thundercloud ; Shall destruction blast the plain ? Shall the falchion rage again ? Shall the sword thy bands dissever? Never, sweet Affection ! never ! As the halcyon o'er the ocean, Lulls the billow's wild commotion, So we bid dissension cease. Bloom, O amaranth of peace I Twine the spear with vernal roses, Now the reign of discord closes ; Goddess of th' unconquered isles, Freedom ! triumph in our smiles, Blooming youth, and wisdom hoary Bards of fame, and sons of glory ; Albion ! pillar of the main, Monarchs, nations, join the strain ; Swell to heaven th' exulting voice ; Mortals, triumph ! earth rejoice." Oh ! blissful song, and shall thy notes re- sound, While joy and wonder bend entranced around ? And shall thy music float on every breeze, Melt on the shores and warble o'er the seas ? Oh ! mercy, love, ambassadors of heaven. And shall your sunshine to mankind bt given ? Hope, is thy tale a visionary theme ? Oh ! smile, .supernal power, and realize the dream ! And thou, the radiant messenger of truth, Decked with perennial charms, unfading youth ; [diffuse Oh ! thou, whose pinions as they wave, All Hybla's fragrance and all Hermon's dews ; [serene, Thou, in whose cause have martyrs died In soul triumphant, and august in mien ; Oh ! bright Religion, spread thy spotless robe, Salvation's mantle, o'er a guilty globe ; Oh ! let thine ark, where'er the billows roll, Borne on their bosom, float from pole to pole! Each distant isle and lonely coast explore, And bear the olive-branch to every shore ; Come, Seraph ! come : fair pity in thy train, Shall sweetly breathe her soul-dissolving strain, [beam, While, her blue eyes through tears benignly Soft as the moonlight, quivering on the stream ; [shall play, Come, Seraph ! come, around' thy form Diffusive glories of celestial day ; Oh ! let each clime thy noon of lustre share, And rapture hail the perfect and the fair ; Let peace on earth resound from heaven once more, [pour ; And angel-harps th' exulting anthems While faith, and truth, and holy wisdom bind, One hallowed zone to circle all mankind. 43 I8i6 THE RESTORATION OF THE WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. " Italia, .Italia ! O to cni die la sorte Dono infelice di bellezza, ond* hai Fonesta dote d'infiniti guai, Che'n fionte scritte per gran doglia porte ; Deh, fossi tu men bella, o almen piu.forte." FIUCAJA. [" The French, who in every invasion have been the scourge of Italy, and have rivalled or rather surpassed the rapacity of the Goths and Vandals, laid their sacrilegious hands on the un- paralleled collection of the Vatican, tore its Masterpieces from their pedestals, and, dragging them from their temples of marblo, transported them to Paris, and consigned them to the dull sullen halls, or rather stables, of the Louvre. . . . But the joy of discovery was short, and the triumph of taste transitory." "EUSTACK'S Classical Tour through Italy, voL ii. p. 60.] LAND of departed fame! whose classic plains Have proudly echoed to immortal strains ; Whose hallowed soil hath given the great and brave, Day-stars of life, a birthplace and a grave ; Home of the Aits I where glor/s faded smile [ing pile ; Sheds lingering light o'er many a moulder- Proud wreck of vanished power, of splen- dour, fled, Majestic temple of the mighty dead I Whose grandeur, yet contending with decay, Gleams through the twilight of thy glorious day; Though dimmed thy brightness, riveted thy chain, Yet, fallen Italy I rejoice again ! [gaze Lost, lovely Realm ! once more 'tis thine to On the rich relics of sublimer days. Awake, ye Muses of Etrurian shades, Or sacred Tivoli's romantic glades ; Wake, ye that slumber in the bowery gloom Where the wild ivy shadows Virgil's tomb ; Or ye, whose voice, by Sorga's lonely wave, Swelled the deep echoes of the fountain's cave, Or thrilled the soul InTasso's numbers high, Those magic strains of love and chivalry ; If yet by classic streams ye fondly rove, Haunting the myrtle-vale, the laurel-grove ; Oh 1 rouse once more, the daring soul of song. pong, Seize with bold hand the harp, forgot so And hail, with wonted pride, those works revered, [deared. Hallowed by time, by absence more en- And breathe to those the strain, whose warrior-might [fight ; Each danger stemmed, prevailed in every Souls of unyielding power, tostormsinured, Sublimed by peril, and by toil matured, Sing of that Leader, whose ascendant mind Could rouse the slumbering spirit of man- , kind ; [Eagle's flight Whose banners tracked the vanquished O'er many a plain, and dark Sierra'sheight ; Who bade once more the wild, heroic lay, Record the deeds of Roncesvalles' day ; Who, through each mountain-pass of rock and snow, [struck foe ; An Alpine Huntsman chased the fear- Waved his proud standard to the balmy gales, [vales, Rich Languedoct that fan thy glowing And *inidst those sceries renewed th' achievements high, Bequeathed to fame by England's ancestry. Yet, when the storm seemed hushed, the conflict past, [last I One strife remained the mightiest and the Nerved for the struggle, in that fateful hour Untamed Ambition summoned all his power : [were there, Vengeance and Pride, to frenzy roused, And the stern might of resolute Despair. Isle of the free I 'twas then thy champions stood, [flood ; Breasting unmoved the combat's wildest Sunbeam of Battle ! then' thy spirit shone, Glowed in each breast, and sunk with life alone. O hearts devoted I whose illustrious doom, Gave there at once your triumph and your tomb, Ye, firm and faithful, in th' ordeal tried Of that dread strife, by Freedom sanctified ; Shrined, not entombed, ye rest in sacred earth, [wortti. Hallowed by deeds of TOOK than mortal What though to mark where sleeps heroic dust. [bust, No sculptured trophy rise, or breathing Yours, on the scene where valour's race was run, A prouder sepulchre the field ye won ! There every mead, each cabin's lowly name, Shall live a watchword blended with your fame ; And well may flowers suffice those graves to crown That ask no urn to blazon their renown ! There shall the Bard in future ages tread, And bless each wreath that blossoms o'er the dead ; [wave Revere each tree, whose sheltering branches O'er the low mounds, the altars, of the brave; Pause o'er each Warrior's grass-grown bed and hear In every breeze, some name to glory dear. And as the shades of twilight close around, With martial pageants peopleall theground. Thither unborn descendants of the slain Shall throng, as pilgrims, to some holy fane, While, as they trace each spot, whose records tell, [and fell, Where fought their fathers, and prevailed, Warm in their souls shall loftiest feelings glow, [below ! Claiming proud kindred with the dust And many an age shall see the brave repair, To learn the Hero's bright devotion there. And well, Ausonia I may that field of fame, [claim. From thee one song of echoing triumph Land of the lyre 1 'twas there th' avenging sword [restored ; Won the bright treasures to thy fanes Those precious trophies o'er thy realms that throw A veil of radiance, hiding half thy woe, And bid the stranger for awhile forget How deep thy fall, and deem thee glorious yet. Yes ! fair creations, to perfection wrought, Embodied visions of ascending thought I Forms of sublimity I by Genius traced, In tints that vindicate adoring taste ; Whose bright originals, to earth unknown, Live in the spheres encircling glory's throne ; Models of art, to deathless fame consigned, Stamped with the high-born majesty of mind ; [restore Yes, matchless works ! your presence shall One beam of splendour to your native shore, And her sad scenes of lost renown illume, As the bright Sunset gilds some HeroS tomb. Oh I ne'er, in other climes, though many an eye Dwelt on your charms, in beaming ecstasy Ne'er was it yours to bid the soul expand With thoughts so mighty, dreams so boldly grand, [moan, As in that realm, where each faint breeze's Seems a low dirge for glorious ages gone ; Where 'midst the ruined shrines of many 9 vale, E'en Desolation tells a haughty tale, And scarce a fountain flows, a rock ascends, But its proud name with song eternal blends I Yes ! in those scenes where every ancient stream Bids memory kindle o'er some lofty theme ; Where every marble deeds of fame records, Each ruin tells of Earth's departed lords ; And the deep tones of inspiration swell From each wild Olive-wood and Alpine dell ; [plains, Where heroes slumber, on their battle 'Midst prostrate altars, and deserted fanes, And Fancy communes, in each lonely spot, With shades of those who ne'er shall be forgot X [imprest, There was your home, and there your power With tenfold awe, the pilgrim's glowing breast ; [sighs, And, as the wind's deep thrills, and mystic Wake the wild harp to loftiest harmonies, Thus at your influence, starting from repose, [rose. Thought, Feeling, Fancy, into grandevu Fair Florence ! Queen of Arno's lovely vale ! Justice and Truth indignant heard thy tale, And sternly smiled in retribution's hour, To wrest thy treasures from the Spoiler's power. Too long the spirits of thy noble dead Mourned o'er the domes they reared in ages fled. [graced, Those classic scenes their pride so richly Temples of genius, palaces of taste, Too long, with sad and desolated mien. Revealed where conquest's lawless track had been ; Reft of each form with brighter light imbued, Lonely they frowned, a desert solitude. WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. 45 Florence I th' Oppressor's noon of pride is o'er, Rise in thy pomp again, and weep no more 1 As one who, starting at the dawn of day From dark illusions, phantoms of dismay, With transport heightened by those ills of night, Hails the rich glories of expanding light ; E'en thus, awakening from thy dream of woe, While Heaven's own hues in radiance ronnd theeglow, With warmer ecstasy 'tis thine to trace Each tint of beauty, and each line of grace ; More bright, more prized, more precious, since deplored As loved, lost relics, ne'er to be restored, Thy grief as hopeless as the tear-drop shed By fond affection bending o'er the dead. Athens of Italy I once more are thine, Those matchless gems of Art's exhanstless mine. [beam, For the* bright Genfas darts his living Warm o'er thy shrines the tints of Glory stream, And forms august as natives of the sky Rise round each fane in faultless majesty, So chastely perfect, so serenely grand, They seem creations of no mortal hand. Ye, at whose voice fair Art, with eagle glance, [trance ; Burst in full splendour from her deathlike Whose rallying call bade slumbering nations wake, And daring Intellect his bondage break ; Beneath whose eye the Lords of song arose, And snatched the Tuscan lyre from long repose, And bade its pealing energies resound, With power electric, through the realms around; Oh I high in thought, magnificent in soul 1 Born to inspire, enlighten and control ; Cosmo, Lorenzo I view your reign once more, The shrine where nations mingle to adore 1 Again th' Enthusiast there, with ardent gaze, Shall hail tfie mighty of departed days : Those sovereign spirits, whose commanding mind, [shrined ; Seems in the marble'.-, breathing mould en- Still, with ascendant power, the world to awe.. Still the deep homage of the heart to draw ; To breathe some spell of holiness around, Bid all the scene be consecrated ground, And from the stone, by Inspiration wrought, Dart the pure lightnings of exalted thought There thou, fair offspring of immortal Mind! Love's radiant Goddess, Idol of mankind I Once the bright object of Devotion's vow, Shalt claim from taste a kindred worship now. [light, Oh I who can tell what beams of heavenly Flashed o'er the sculptor !s intellectual sight, How many a glimpse, revealed to him alone, [own ; Made brighter beings, nobler worlds his Ere, like some vision sent the earth to bless, Burst into life thy pomp of loveliness I Young 1 Genius there, while dwells his kindling eye On forms, instinct with bright divinity, While new-born powers, dilating in his heart, Embrace the full magnificence of Art ; From scenes, by Raphael's gifted hand arrayed, [frayed ; From dreams of heaven by Angelo por- From each fair work of Grecian skill sublime, [time ;" Sealed with perfection, "sanctified by Shall catch a kindred glow, and proudly feel His spirit burn with emulative zeal : Buoyant with loftier hopes, his soul shall , rise, Imbued at once with nobler energies ; O'er life's dim scenes on rapid pinion soar And worlds of visionary grace explore, Till his bold hand give glory's day-dreams birth, [earth. And with new wonders charm admiring Venice exult ! and o'er thy moonlight seas, [breeze I Swell with gay strains each Adriatic What though long fled those years of mar- tial fame, That shed romantic lustre o'er thy name : Though to the winds thy streamers idly play. And the wild waves another Queen obey ; Though quenched the spirit of thine ancient race, [trace; And power and freedom scarce have left a Yet still shall An her splendours round toeecast. And gild tbe wreck of years for ever past 46 THE RESTORATION OF TEE Again thy fanes may boast a Titian's dyes, Whose clear soft brilliance emulates thy skies, [bloom, And scenes that glow in colouring's richest With life's warm flush Palladian halls illume. [steed From thy rich dome again th 'unrivalled Starts to existence, rushes into speed, Still for Lysippus claims the wreath of fame, Panting with ardour, vivified with flame. Proud Racers of the Sun ! to fancy's thought, Burning with spirit, from his essence caught, No mortal birth ye seem but formed to bear [of air ; Heaven's car of triumph through the realms To range uncurbed' the pathless fields of space, The winds your rivals in the glorious race ; Traverse empyreal spheres with buoyant feet, Free as the zephyr, as the shot-star fleet ; And waft through worlds unknown the vital ray, The flame that wakes creations into day. Creatures of fire and ether 1 winged with light, To track the regions of the Infinite ! From purer elements whose light was drawn, Sprung from the sunbeam, offspring of the dawn, What years on years, in silence gliding by, Have spared those forms of perfect symmetry ! Moulded by Art to dignify alone, Her own bright deky's resplendent throne, Since first her skill their fiery grace be- stowed, Meet for such lofty fate, such high abode, How many a race, whose tales of glory seem An echo's voice the music of a dream, Whose records feebly from oblivion save, A few bright traces of the wise and brave How many a state, whose pillared strength sublime, Defied the storms of war, the waves of time, Towering o'er earth majestic and alone, Fortress of power has flourished and is gone 1 [borne, And they, from clime to clime by conquest Each fleeting triumph destined to adorn, They, that of powers and kingdoms lost and won. Have seen the noontide and the setting sun. Consummate still in every grace remain, As O'er ihtir heads had ages rolled in vain! \ Ages, victorious in their ceaseless flight, D'er countless monuments of earthly mighn While she, from fair Byzantium'? lost domain, Who bore those treasures to her ocean-reign, Midst the blue deep, who reared her island-throne, And called th' infinitude of waves her own ; Venice the proud, the Regent of the sea, Welcomes in chains the trophies of the Free! And thcu, whose Eagle's towering plume unfurled Once cast its shadow o'er a vassal world, Eternal city ! round whose Curule throne The Lords of nations knelt in ages flown ; Thou, whose Augustan years have left to time Immortal records of their glorious prime ; When deathless bards, thine olive shades among, Swelled the high raptures of heroic song ; Fair, fallen Empress ! raise thy languid heed, From the cold altars of th' illustrious dead, And once again with fond delight survey, The proud memorials of thy noblest day. Lo ! where thy' sons, ob Rome 1 a god- like train, In imaged majesty return again I Bards, chieftains, monarchs, tower with mien august O'er scenes that shrine their venerable dust. Those forms, those features, luminous with soul, Still o'er thy children seem to claim control ; Withawful grace arrest the pilgrim's glance, Bind his rapt soul in elevating trance, And bid the past, to fancy's ardent eyes, From time's dim sepulchre in glory rise. Souls of the lofty I whose undying names Rouse the young bosom still to noblest aims ; Oh 1 with your images could fate restore, Your own high spirit to your sons once more ; Patriots and Heroes I could those flames return, [ardours burn ; That bade your hearts with freedom's Then from the sacred ashes of the first, Might a new Rome in pncenix-graadfjir burst I [gloorc,. With one bright glance dispel th' horizon's With one loud call wake Empire from the tomb , WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. Bind round her brows her own triumphal crown, Lift her dread Mg\s, with majestic frown, U nchain her Eagle's wing, and guide his flight To bathe its plumage in the fount of light * *ain' dream I degraded Rome ! thy noon is o'er ; Or ce lost, thy spirit shall revive no more. It sleeps with those, the sons of other days, W ho fixed on thee the world's adoring gaze ; Tnose, blest to live, while yet thy star was high, [beam, ' die I More blest, ere darkness quenched its Yet, though thy faithless tutelary powers Have fled thy shrines, left desolate thy towers, [way, Still, still to thee shall nations bend their Revered in ruin, sovereign in decay I Oh I what can realms, in fame's full zenith, boast, To match the relics of thy splendour lost I By Tiber's waves, on each illustrious hill, Genius and Taste shall love to wander still; For there has Art survived an Empire's doom, [phied tomb : And reared her throne o'er Latium's tro- She from the dust recalls the brave and free, Peopling each scene with beings worthy thee I Oh 1 ne'er again may War, with light- ning stroke, [oak I Rend its last honours from the shattered Long be those works, revered by 'ages, thine, To lend one triumph to thy dim decline. Bright with stern beauty, breathing wrathful fire, In all the grandeur of celestial ire, Once more thine own, th' immortal Archer's form [being warm I Sheds radiance round, with more than Oh 1 who could view, nor deem that perfect frame, A living temple of ethereal flame ? Lord of the day-star ! how may words portray Of thy chaste glory one reflected ray ? Whate'er the soul could dream, the hand could trace, Of real dignity, and heavenly grace, Each purer effluence of the fair and bright, Whose fitful gleams have broke on mortal sight; Each. bold idea, borrowed from the sky. To vest th' embodied form of Deity ; All, all in thee, ennobled and refined, Breathe and enchant, transcendently com- bined I Son of Elysium ! years and ages gone, Have bowed, in speechless homage, at thy throne, And days unborn, and nations yet to be, Shall gaze, absorbed in ecstasy, on thee 1 And thou, triumphant wreck,* e'en yet sublime, Disputed trophy, claimed by Art and Time : Hail to that scene again, where Genius caught From thee its fervours of diviner thought ! Where He, th' inspired One, whose gigan- tic mind [assigned ; Lived in some sphere, to him alone Who from the past, the future, and th' unseen, [mien : Could call up forms of more than earthly Unrivalled Angelo on thee would gaze, Till his full soul imbibed perfection's blaze f And who but he, that Prince of Art, might dare [despair ? Thy sovereign greatness view without Emblem of Rome 1 from power's meridian hurled, , Yet claiming still the homage of the world, What hadst thou been, ere barbarous hands defaced The work of wonder, idolized by taste? Oh I worthy still of some divine abode, Mould of a Conqueror ! ruin of a God ! Still, like some broken gem, whose quench- less beam [stream, From each bright fragment pours its vital 'Tis thine, by fate unconquered, to dispense From every part, some ray of excellence 1 E'en yet, informed with essence from on high, Thine is no trace of frail mortality ! Within that frame a purer being glows, Through viewless vains a brighter current flows ; [swells, Filled with immortal life each muscle In every line supernal grandeur dwells. Consummate work I the noblest and the last, [past, Of Grecian Freedom, ere her reign was * The Belvidere Torso, the favourite study of Michael Angelo, and of many other distin- guished artists, THE RESTORATION OF TEE Nurse of the mighty, she, while lingering still, Her mantle flowed o'er many a classic hill, Ere yet her voice its parting accents breathed, A Hero's image to the world bequeathed ; Enshrined in thee th" imperishable ray Of high-souled Genius, fostered by her sway, And bade thee teach, to ages yet unborn, What lofty dreams were hers who never shall return 1 And mark yon group, transfixed with many a throe, Sealed with the image of eternal woe : With fearful truth, terrific power, exprest, Thy pangs, Laocoon, agonize the breast, And the stern combat picture to mankind, Of suffering nature, and enduring mind. Oh, mighty conflict 1 though his pains intense, [every sense ; Distend each nerve, and dart through Though fixed on him, his children's sup- pliant eyes Implore the aid avenging fate denies ; Though with the giant-snake in fruitless strife, Heaves every muscle with convulsive life, And in each limb Existence writhes, enrolled [fold ; 'Midst the dread circles of thevenomed Yet the strong spirit lives and not a. cry Shall own the might of Nature's agony 1 That furrowed brow unconquered soul reveals, That patient eye to angry Heaven appeals, That struggling bosom concentrates its breath, Nor yields one moan to torture or to death I Sublimest triumph of intrepid Art ! With speechless horror to congeal the heart, To freeze each pulse, and dart through every vein, [pain ; Cold thrills of fear, keen sympathies of Yet teach the spirit how its lofty power May brave the pangs of fate's severest hour.. Turn from such conflicts, and enraptured gaze [plays : On scenes where Painting all her skill dis- Landscapes, by colouring drest in richer dyes, [skies, More mellowed sunshine, more unclouded Or dreams of bliss to dying Martyrs given, Descending Seraphs robed in beams of heaven. Oh ! sovereign Masters of the Peudl'a might, Its depth of shadow, and its blaze of light; Ye, whose bold thought disdaining every bound, , Explored the worlds above, below, around, Children of Italy I who stand alone | And unapproached, 'midst regions all your own ; [favoured sight, What scenes, what beings blest your Severely grand, unutterably bright! Triumphant spirits I your exulting eye Could meet the noontide of eternity, And gaze untired, undaunted, uncon- trolled, On all that Fancy trembles to behold.' Bright -on your view such forms their splendour shed As burst on Prophet-bards in ages fled : Forms that to trace, no hand but yours might dare, Darkly sublime, or exquisitely fair ; These o'er the walls your magic skill arrayed, ' [ing shade-. Glow in rich sunshine, gleam through melt- Float in light grace, in awful gfeatness tower, [power. And breathe and move, the records of your Inspired of heaven 1 what heightened pomp ye cast, O'er all the deathless trophies of the past I Round many a marble fane and classic dome, Asserting still the majesty of Rome ; Round many a work that bids the world believe, [achieve ; What Grecian Art could image and Again, creative minds, yoc visions throw. Life's chastened warmth and Beauty's mel- lowest glow. And when the Mom's bright beams and mantling dyes Pour the rich lustre of Ausonian skies, Or evening suns illume, with pur^ie smile, The Parian altar, and the pillared aisle, Then, as the full, or softened radiance falls, On Angel-groups that hover o'er the walls, Well may those Temples, where your hand has shed [dead, Light o'er the tomb, existence round the Seem like some world, so perfect and so fair, That nought of earth should find admit- tance there, Some sphere, where beings, to mankind unknown, Dwell in the brightness of their pomp alone! WORKS OF ART TO ITALY. 49 Hence, ye vain fictions I fancy's erring theme I Gods of illusion I phantoms of a dream I Frail, powerless idols of 'leparted time, Fables of song, delusire, though sublime ! To loftier tasks has Roman Art assigned Her matchless pencil.and her mighty mind 1 From brighter streams her vast ideas flowed, With purer fire her ardent spirit' glowed. To her 'twas given in fancy to explore The land of miracles, the holiest shore ; That realm where first the light of life was sent, [tent 1 The loved, the punished, of th' Omnipo- O'er Judab's hills her thoughts inspired would stray, [way ; Through Jordan's valleys trace their lonely By Siloa's brook, or Almo tana's deep,* Chained in dead silence, and unbroken sleep ; [serts tell, Scenes, whose cleft rocks and blasted de- Where passed th' Eternal, where his anger fell I [vealed, Where oft his voice the words of fate re- Swelled in the whirlwind, in the thunder pealed, Or heard by prophets in some palmy vale, Breathed "still small" whispers on the midnight gale. [portrayed, There dwelt her spirit there her hand 'Midst the lone wilderness or cedar-shade, Ethereal forms with awful missions fraught, Or Patriarch-seers absorbed in sacred thought, [rest, Bards, in high converse with the world of Saints of the earth, and spirits of the blest, But chief to Him, the Conqueror of the grave, [save ; Who lived to guide us, and who died to Almetana. The name given bjr the Arabs to rhfr Dead Sfa. Him, at whose glance the powers of evil fled, And soul returned to animate the dead ; Whom the waves owned and sunk be- neath his eye, Awed by one accent of Divinity ; To Him she gave her meditative hours, Hallowed her thoughts, and sanctified her powers. [threw, O'er her bright scenes sublime repose she As all around the Godhead's presence knew, And robed the Holy One's benignant mien In beaming mercy, majesty serene. Oh I mark, where Raphael's pure and perfect line Portrays that form ineffably divine ! Where with transcendent skill his hand has sh<*d Diffusive sunbeams round the Saviour's head;* Each heaven-illumined lineament imbued With all the fulness of beatitude, And traced the sainted group, whose mortal sight Sinks overpowered by that excess of light I Gaze on that scene, and own the might of Art, By truth inspired, to elevate the heart I To bid the soul exultingly possess, [ness ; Of all her powers, a heightened conscious- And strong in hope, anticipate the day, The last of life, the first of freedom's ray; To realize, in some unclouded sphere, Those pictured glories feebly imaged here I Dim, cold reflections from her native sky. Faint effluence of " the day-spring from on high I" TMe Trant/ifHmtioo. 50, !8i6. MODERN GREECE. r, Oa 1 who hath trod thy consecrated clime, [strains 1 Fair land of Phidias! theme of lofty And traced each scene, that, 'midst the wrecks of time, The print of Glory's parting step retains ; Nor for awhile, in high-wrought dreams, forgot, [there, Musing on years gone by In brightness The hopes, the fears, the sorrows of his lot, [wear ; The hues bis fate hath worn, or yet may As when, from mountain-heights, his ardent eye [infinity ? Of sea and heaven hath tracked the blue n. Is there who views with cold unaltered mien, [fraught, His frozen heart with proud Indifference Each sacred haunt, each unforgotten scene, [Wisdom taught ? Where Freedom triumphed, or where Souls that too deeply feel I oh, envy not The sullen calm your fate hath never known : [lot Through the dull twilight of that wintry Genius ne'er pierced, nor Fancy's sun- beam shone, [Glory s trace, Nor those high thoughts that, hailing Glow with the generous flames of every age and race. lit. But West the wanderer, whose enthusiast mind [imbued Each muse of ancient days' hath deep With lofty lore ; and all his thoughts re- fined In the calm school of silent solitude ; Poured on his ear, 'midst groves and giens retired, [clime, The mighty strains of each illustrious All that hath lived, while empires have expired, To float for ever on the winds of Time ; And on his soul indelibly portrayed Fair visionary forms, to fiU each classic IV. Is not his mind, to meaner thoughts un< known, A sanctuary of beauty and of light ? There he may dwell, in regions all his own, [bright, A world of dreams, where all is pure and For him the scenes of old renown possess Romantic charms, all veiled from other eyes; There every form of nature's loveliness Wakes in his breast a thousand synv pathies ; [delt As music's voice, in some lone mountain* From rocks and caves around calls forth each echo's swell. V. For him Italia's brilliant skies illume The bard's lone haunts, the warrior's combat-plains, [and bloom And the wild-rose yet lives to breathe Round Doric Psestum's solitary fanes. But most, fair Greece I on thy majestic shore He feels the fervours of his spirit rise ; Thou birth-place of the Muse ! whose voice, of yore, [monies ; Breathed in thy groves immortal har- And lingers still around the well-known coa c t, Murmuring a wild farewell to fame and freedom lost. VT. By seas, that flow in brightness as -the) lave [may stray, Thy rocks, th' enthusiast, rapt in thought, While roves his eye o'er that deserted wave, [array. Once the proud scene of battle's dread O ye blue waters I ye, of old that bore The free, the conquering, hymned by choral strains, [shore, How sleep ye now around the silent The lonely realm of ruins and of chains ! How are the mighty vanished in theii. pride 1 E'en as their barks have left BO traces on your tide. MODERN GREECE. VII. Hushed are the paeans whose exulting tone [sleep Swelled o'er that tide the sons of battle The wind's wild sigh, the halcyon's voice, alone [deep. Blend with the plaintive murmur of the Yet when those waves have caught the splendid hues Of morn's rich firmament, serenely bright, Or setting suns the lovely shore suffuse With all their purple mellowness of light, Oh ! who could view the scene, so calmly fair, [were there ? Nor dream that peace, and joy, and liberty VIII. Where soft the sunbeams play, the zephyrs blow, [nigh ; Tis hard to deem that misery can be Where the clear heavens in blue trans- parence glow, Life should be calm and cloudless as the sky ; [dead, Yet, o'er the low, dark dwellings of the Verdure and flowers in summer-bloom may smile, [spread And ivy-boughs their graceful drapery In green luxuriance o'er the ruined pile ; And mantling woodbine veil the withered tree ; [with thee. And thus it is, fair, land, forsaken Greece I IX. For all the loveliness, andJi'ght, and bloom That yet are thine, surviving many a storm, [tomb, Are but as heaven's warm radiance on the The rose's blush that masks the canker- worm : [passed And thou art desolate thy morn hath So dazzling in the splendour of its way, That the dark shades the night bath o'er thee cast [decay. Throw tenfold gloom around thy deep Once proud in freedom, still in ruin fair, Tby fate hath been unmatched in glory and despair. X. For thee, lost land I the hero's blood hath flowed, [died ; The high in soul have brightly lived and For thee the light of soaring genius glowed O'er the fair arts it formed and glorified. Thine were the minds whose ?nergies subbine So distanced ages in their lightning-race, The task they left the sons of later time Was but to follow their illumined trace. Now, bowed to earth, thy children, to be free, [hearts to thee. Must break each link that binds their filial XI. Lo ! to the scenes of fiction's wildest tales, Her own bright East, thy son, Morea ! flies, To seek repose 'midst rich, romantic vales, Whose incense mounts to Asia's vivid skies. [vain There shall he rest? Alas 1 his hopes in Guide to the sun-clad regions of the palm, Peace dwells not now on oriental plain, Though earth is fruitfulness, and air is balm ; [foes, And the sad wanderer finds but lawless Where patriarchs reigned of old, in pastoral repose. XII. Where Syria's mountains rise, or Yemen's groves, Or Tigris rolls his genii-haunted wave, Life to his eye, as wearily it roves, Wears but two forms the tyrant and the slave I There the fierce Arab leads his darin? horde, Where sweeps the sandstorm o'er the burning wild ; There stern Oppression waves the wasting sword, O'er plains that smile, as ancient Eden smiled ; [gloom, And the vale's bosom, and the desert's Yield to the injured there no shelter save the tomb. xin. But thou, fair world ! whose fresh unsul- lied charms [wave, Welcomed Columbus from the western Wilt thou receive the wanderer to thine arms, [brave ? The lost descendant of the immortal Amidst the wild magnificence of shades That o'er thy floods their twilight -gran- deur cast, [glades, In the green depth of thine untrodden Shall he not rear his bower of peace at last ? [scene, Yes ! thou hast many a lone, majestic Shrined fn primaeval woods, where despof Dt'er bath beec 52 MOVERN GREECE. There by some lake, whose blue expan- sive breast Bright from afar, an inland-ocean, gleams, Girt with vast solitudes, profusely drest In tints like those that float o'er poet's dreams * [mountain pours Or where some flood from pine-clad Its might of waters, glittering in their foam, [shores, 'Midst the rich verdure of its wooded The exiled Greek hath fixed his sylvan home : [treat So deeply lone, that round the wild re- Scarce have the paths been trod by Indian huntsman's feet. xv. The forests are around him in their pride, The green savannas, and the mighty waves ; [the tide, And isles of flowers, bright-floating o'er That images the fairy worlds it laves, And stillness and luxuriance o'er his head [bowers, The ancient cedars wave their peopled On high the palms their graceful foliage spread, Cinctured with roses the magnolia towers, And from those green arcades a thousand tones Wake with each*breeze, whose voice through Nature's temple moans. XVI. And there, no traces left by brighter days, For glory lost may wake a sigh of grief, Some grassy mound perchance may meet his gaze, The lone memorial of an Indian chief. There man not yet hath marked the boundless plain [power ; With rrfarble records of his fame and The forest is his everlasting fane, The palm his monument, the rock his tower : Th' eternal torrent and the giant tree .Remind him but that they, like him, are wildly free. XVII. But doth the exile's heart serenely there In sunshine dwell ? Ah 1 when was exile blest? When did bright scenes, clear heavens, or summer air, Chase from his soul the fever of unrest t There is a heart -sick weariness of mood, That like slow poison wastes the vitaj glow, And shrines itself in mental solitude, An uncomplaining and a nameless woe, That coldly smiles 'midst pleasure's brightest ray, [of day. As the chill glacier's peak reflects the flush XVIII. Such grief is theirs, who, fixed on foreign shore, Sigh for the spirit of their native gales, As pines the seaman, 'midst the ocean's roar, [and vales. For the green earth, with all its woods Thus feels thy child, whose memory dwells with thee, [thou art ; Loved Greece 1 all sunk and blighted as Though thought and step in western wilds be free, [heart Yet thine are still the day-dreams of hii The deserts spread between, the billows foam, [spirit's home. Thou, distant and in cliains. art yet his xuc. In vain for him the gay liannes entwine, Or the green firefly sparkles through the brakes, [pine, Or summer winds waft odours from the As eve's last blush is dying on the lakes. Through thy fair vales his fancy roves the while, [height, Or breathes the freshness of Cithseron's Or dreams how softly Athens' towers would smile, Or Sunium's ruins, in the fading light ; On Corinth's cliff what sunset hues may sleep, [deep I Or, at that placid hour, bow calm th' &geaa XX. What scenes, what sunbeams, are to him like thine ? (The all of thine no tyrant could destroy I) E'en to the stranger's roving eye they shine, Soft as a vision of remembered joy. And he who comes, the pilgrim of a day, A passing wanderer o'er each Attic hill, Sighs as his footsteps turn from thy decay, To laughing climes, where all is splen- dour still ; [shore, And views with fond regret thy lessening As he would watch a star that sets to rise no more MODERN QREECE. 63 xxi. R eil m of sad beauty I thou art as a shrine That Fancy visits with Devotion's zeal, To catch high thoughts and impulses divine, And all the glow of soul enthusiasts feel Amidst the tombs of heroes for the brave [thy soil, Whose dust, so many an age, hath been Foremost in honour's phalanx, died to save [toil ; The land redeemed and hallowed by their And there is language in thy lightest gale, That o'er the plains they won, seems mur- muring yet their tale. XXII. And he whose heart is weary of the strife Of meaner spirits, and whose mental gaze Would shun the dull cold littleness of life, Awhile to dwell 'amidst sublimer days, Must turn to thee, whose every valley teems With proud remembrances that cannot die. Thy glens are peopled with inspiring dreams, Thy winds, the voice of oracles gone by ; And 'midst thy laurel shades the wanderer hears [vanished years. The sound of mighty names, the hymns of Through that deep solitude be his to stray, By Faun and Oread loved in ages past, Where clear Peneus winds his rapid way Through the cleft heights, in antique grandeur vast. Romantic Tempe ! thou art yet the same [time : Wild, as when sung by bards of elder Years, that have changed thy river's classic name,* [lime ; Have left thee still in savage pomp sub- And from thine Alpine clefts and marble caves, [tain-waves. In living lustre still break forth the foun- XXIV. Beneath thy mountain battlements and towers, Where the rich arbute's coral berries glow, -Or midst th' exuberance of thy forest bowers, [flow, Casting deep shadows o'er the current's Th Pcrteus Is now called SalyinprU Oft shall the pilgrim pause, in lone recess, As rock and stream some glancing light have caught, And gaze, till Nature's mighty forms impress His soul with deep sublimity of thought; And linger oft, recalling many a tale, That breeze, and wave, and wood, seem whispering through thy dale. He, thought-entranced, may wander where of old [rose, From Delphi's chasm the mystic vapour And trembling nations heard their doom foretold [and snows. By the dread spirit throned midst rocks Though its rich fanes be blended with the dust, [possess, And silence now the hallowed haunt Still is the scene of ancient rites august, Magnificent in mountain loneliness ; Still Inspiration hovers o'er the ground, Where Greece her councils held, her Pythian victors crowned. XXVI. Or let his steps the rude grey cliffs explore Of that wild pass, once dyed with Spartan blood, [shore, When by the waves that break on CEta's The few, the fearless, the devoted stood I Or rove where, shadowing Mantinea's plain, Bloom the wild laurels o'er the war- like dead, Or lone Platsea's ruins yet remain To mark the battle-field of ages fled : Still o'er such scenes presides a sacred power, Though Fiction's gods have fled from foun- tain, grot, and bower. XXVII. Oh ! still unblamed may fancy fondly deem [dwell. That, lingering yet, benignant genii Where mortal worth has hallowed grovo or stream, [spell ; To sway the heart with some ennobling For mightiest minds have felt their blest control, In the wood's murmur, in the zephyr's sigh, And these are dreams that lend a voice and soul, And a high power, to Nature's majesty I MODERN GREECE. And who can rove o'er Grecian shores, nor feel, [magic steal ? Soft o'er his inmost heart, their secret xxvin. Yet many a sad reality is there, That Fancy's bright illusions cannot veil. Pure laughs the light, and balmy breathes the air, But Slavery's mien will tell its bitter tale ; And there not Peace, but Desolation, throws Delusive quiet o'er full many a scene, Deep as the brooding torpor of repose That follows where the earthquake's track hath been ; [lies, Or solemn calm, on Ocean's breast that When sinks the storm, and death has bushed the seaman's cries. Hast thou beheld some sovereign spirit, . hurled [sphere, By Fate's rude tempest from its radiant Doomed to resign the homage of a world, For Pity's deepest sigh, and saddest tear ? Oh I hast thou watched the awful wreck of mind, That weareth still a glory in decay ? Seen all that dazzles and delights man- kind [P r ey> Thought, science, genius, to the storm a And o'er the blasted tree, the withered ground, [flourish round ? Despair's wild nightshadespread, anddarkly XXX. So mayst thou gaze, in sad and awe- struck thought, On the deep fall of that yet lovely clime: Such there the ruin Time and Fate have wrought, [sublime. So changed the bright, the splendid, the There the proud monuments of Valour's name, The mighty works Ambition piled onbJgh, The rich remains by Art bequeathed to Fame [symmetry, Grace, beauty, grandeur, strength, and Blend in decay ; while all that yet is fair Seems only spared to tell how much hath perished there ! XXXI. t There, while around lie mingling in the dust [o'ergrown fbe column's graceful shaft, with weeds The mouldering torso, the forgotten bust, The warrior's urn, the altar's mossy stone; Amidst the loneliness of shattered fanes, Still matchless monuments of other years, O'er cypress groves, or solitary plains, Its eastern form the minaret proudly rears: As on some captive city's ruined' wall The victor's banner waves, exulting o'er its fall XXXII. Still, where that column of the mosque aspires, [waste, Landmark of slavery, towering o'er the There Science droops, the Muses hush their lyres And o'er the blooms of fancy and of taste Spreads the chill blight, as in that orient isle, [around, Where the dark upas taints the gale Within its precincts not a flower may smile, Nor dew nor sunshine fertilize the ground ; Nor wild birds' music float on zephyr's breath, [death But all is silence round, and solitude, and XXXIII. Far other influence poured the Crescent's light [away , O'er conquered realms, in ages passed Full and alone it beamed, intensely bright, While distant climes in midnight dark- ness lay. [and shades, Then rose th' Alhambra, with its founts Fair marble halls, alcoves, and orange bowers : [arcades, Its sculptured lions, richly wrought Ae'rial pillars, and enchanted towers ; Light, splendid, wild, as some Arabian tale [the gale. Would picture fairy domes, that fleet before xxxiv. Then fostered genius lent each ; Caliph's throne Lustre barbaric pomp could ne'er attain; And stars unnumbered o'er the orient shone, [fane.* Bright as that Pleiad, sphered in Mecca's From Bagdat's palaces the choral strains Rose and re-echoed to the desert's bound, '* The works of the seven most famous Arabian poets are hung round the mosque at Mecca, ?ud are called the Arabian Pleiades. MODERN GREECE. And Science, wooed on Egypt's burning plains, [crowned ; Reared her majestic head with glory And the wild Muses breathed romantic lore [shore. From Syria's palmy groves to Andalusia's XXXV. Those years have passed in radiance they have past As sinks the day-star in the tropic main ; His parting beams no soft reflection cast, They bum are quenched and deepest shadows reign. [trace, And Fame and Science have not left a In the vast regions of the Moslem's power, Regions, to intellect a desert space, A wild without a fountain 'or a flower, Where towers oppression 'midst the deepening glooms, [the tombs. As dark and lone ascends the cypress 'midst XXXVI. \las for thee, fair Greece ! when Asia] poured Her fierce fanatics to Byzantium's wall ; When Europe sheathed, in apathy, her sword, And heard unmoved the fated city's call. No bold crusaders ranged their serried line [throne ; Of spears and banners round a falling And thou, O last and noblest Constan- tino I ' [alone. Didst meet the storm unshrinking and Oh 1 blest to die in freedom, though in vain, [and not the chain ! Ihine empire's proud exchange the grave, Hushed is Byzantium 'tis the dead oi night The closing night of that' imperial race I And all is vigil but the eye of light Shall soon unfold, a wilder scene to trace 1 There is a murmuring stillness on the train [to die ; Thronging the midnight streets, at mom And to the cross, in fair Sophia's fane, For the last time is raised Devotion's eye; And, in his heart while faith's bright visions rise, There kneels the high-souled prince, tht summoned of the skies. xxxvm. Day breaks in light and glory 'tis the hour [calls Of confiJct and of fate the war-note Despair hath lent a stern, delirious power To the brave few that guard the rampart walls. [peal Far over Marmora's waves th' artillery's Proclaims an empire's doom in every note ; [of steel, Tambour and trumpet swell the clash Round spire and dome the clouds of battle float ; [cent's host, From camp and wave rush on the Cres- And the Seven Towers are scaled, and all is won and lost Then, Greece I the tempest rose, that burst on thee, [sage ! Land of the bard, the warrior, and the Ob 1 where were then thy sons, the great, the free, [to age? Whose deeds are guiding-stars from age Though firm thy battlements of crags and snows, [pride. And bright the memory of thy days of In mountain might though Corinth's fortress rose, On, unresisted, rolled th' invading tide I Oh I vain the rock, the rampart, and the tower, [unconquered power. If Freedom guard them not with Mind's Where Were th' avengers then, whore viewless might Preserved inviolate their awful fane, When through the steep defiles to Delphi's height, [train ? In martial splendour poured the Persian's Then did those mighty and mysterious Powers, [wake, Armed with the elements, to vengeance Call the dread storms to darken round their towers, [thunders break ; Hurl down the rocks, and bid the Till far around, with deep and fearful clang, [Parnassus rang. Sounds of unearthly war through wild Where was the spirit of the victor-throng Whose tombs are glorious by Scaman- der's tide, [song. Whose names are bright in everlasting The lords of war, the praised, the deified? MODERN QREEOB. Where he, the hero of a thousand lays,. Who from the dead at Marathon arose All armed , and beaming on the Athe- nians' gaze, A battle-meteor, guided to their foes? Or they whose forms, to Alaric's awe- struck eye, [panoply? Hovering o'er Athens, blazed in airy XLH. Ye slept, O heroes ! chief ones of the earth I [slept. High demi-gods of ancient days 1 ye There lived no spark of your ascendent worth, [swept ; When o'er your land the victor Moslem No patriot then the sons of freedom led, In mountain-pass devotedly to die ; The martyr-spirit of resolve was fled, And the high soul's unconquered buoy- ancy ; [plains, And by your graves, and on your battle- Warriors I your children knelt, to wear the stranger's chains. ran. ^ow have your trophies vanished, and your homes . [scarce remain Are mouldered from the earth, while E'en the faint traces of the ancient tombs That mark where sleep the slayers or the slain. [flown, Your deeds are with the days of glory The lyres are hushed that swelled your fame afar, [gone, The halls that echoed to their sounds are Perished the conquering weapons of your war; And if a mossy stone your names retain, 'Tis but to tell your sons, for them ye died in vain. XUV. Yet, where some lout sspulchral relic stands, [yet, That with those names tradition hallows Oft shall thewandering son of other lands Linger in solemn thought and hushed regret. [spot And still have legends marked the lonely Where low the dust of Agamemnon lies ; And shades of kings and leaders unforgot, Hovering around, to Fancy's visions rise. Souls of the heroes ! seek your rest again, Nor mark how changed* the realms thai saw your glory's reign. XLV. Lo, where th' Albanian spreads hfc despot sway [plains, O'er Thessaly's rich vales and glowing Whose sons in sullen abjectness obey, Nor lift the hand indignant at its chains : Oh I doth the land that gave Achilles birth, And many a chief of old illustrious line t Yield not one spirit of unconquered worth, To kindle those that now in bondage pine? [breath, No I on its mountain-air is slavery's And terror chills the hearts whose uttered plaints were death. Yet if thy light, fair Freedom, rested there, [clime, How rich in charms were that romantic With streams, and woods, and pastoral valleys fair, [sublime ! And walled with mountains, haughtily Heights that might well be deemed the Muses' reign, [skies, Since claiming proud alliance with the They lose in loftier spheres their wild domain. Meet home for those retired divinities That love, where nought of earth may e'er intrude, [tude. Brightly to dwell on high, in lonely sancti- There in rude grandeur daringly ascends Stern Pindus, rearing many a pine-clad height ; [blends, He with the clouds his bleak dominion Frowning o'er vales in woodland verdure bright. Wild and august in consecrated pride, There through the dee,>-blue heaven Olympus towers, [hide Girdled with mists, light-floating as to The rock-built palace of immortal powers ; Where far on high the sunbeam finds re- pose, [snows. Amidst th' eternal pomp of forests and_of XLVHI. Those savage cliffs and solitudes might seem [would roam ; The chosen haunts where Freedom's foot She loves to dwell by glen and torrent- stream, And rnnke the rocky fastnesses her home MODERN GREECE. 57 And in the rushing of the mountain flood, In the wild eagle's solitary cry, In sweeping winds, that peal through cave and wood, There is a voice of stern sublimity, That swells her spirit to a < loftier mood Of solemn joy severe, of power, of fortitude. XLIX. But from those hills the radiance of her smile [afar ; Hath vanished long, her step hath fled O'er Suli's frowning rocks she paused awhile, [tain-war. Kindling the watch-fires of the moun- And brightly glowed her ardent spirit there, ' [tress Still brightest 'midst privation : o'er dis- It cast romantic splendour, and despair But fanned that beacon of the wilder- ness ; And rude ravine, and precipice, and dell, , Sent their deep echoes forth, her rallying voice to swell. L. Dark children of the hills I 'twas then ye wrought [grand ; Deeds of fierce daring, rudely, sternly As 'midst your craggy citadels ye fought, And women mingled with your warrior- band. Then on the cliff the frantic mother stood High o'er the river's darkly-rolling wave, And hurled, in dread delirium, to the flood, Her free-born infant, ne'er to be a slave. For all was lost all, save the power to die The wild indignant death of savage liberty. Now is that strife a tale of vanished days, With mightier things forgotten soon to lie; Yet oft hath minstrel sung, in lofty lays, Deeds less adventurous, energies less high. [still And the dread struggle's fearful memory O'er each wild rock a wilder aspect throws ; [hill, Sheds darker shadows o'er the frowning More solemn quiet o'er the glen's repose ; Lends to therustling pines a deeper moan, And the hoarse river's voice a murmur not its own. tn. For stillness now the stillness of the dead, [scene, Hath wrapt that conflict's lone and awful And man's forsaken homes, in ruin spread, [been. Tell where the storming of the cliffc hath And there, o'er wastes magnificently rude, What race may rove, unconscious of the chain? [dued, Those realms have now no desert unsub- Where Freedom's bamw may be reared again . [fame, Sunk are the ancient dwellings of her The children of her sons inherit but their name. LIII. Go, seek proud Sparta's monuments and fanes ! [lie ; In scattered fragments o'er the vale they Of all they were not e'en enough remains To lend their fall a mournful majesty. Birth-place of those whose names we first revered In song and story temple of the free I O thou, the stem, the haughty, and tKe feared, Are such thy relics, and can this be thee ? Thou shouldst have left a giant wreck behind, [mankind. And e'en in ruin claimed the wonder of LTV. For thine were spirits cast in other mould Than all beside and proved by ruder test; They stood alone the proud, the firm, the bold, With the same seal indelibly imprest. Theirs were no bright varieties of mind, One image stamped the rough, colossal race, [kind, In rugged grandeur frowning o'er man- Stern, and disdainful of each milder grace ; [tower, As to the sky some mighty rock may Whose front can brave the storm, but will not rear the flower. LV. Such were thy sons their life a battle- day ! [die I Their youth one lesson how for thee to Closed is that task, and they have passed away , [high. Like softer beings trained to aims less 68 MODERN GEEEOE. Yet bright on earth their fame who proudly fell, [thy cause, True to their shields, the champions of Whose funeral column bade the stranger tell How died the brave, obedient to thy laws I O lofty mother of heroic worth, How oouldst thou h've to bring a meaner offspring forth ? LVl. Hadst thou but perished with- the free, nor known [by, A second race, when Glory's noon went Then had thy name in single brightness shone A watch-word on the helm of liberty I Thou shouldst have passed, with all thy light of fame, And proudly sunk in ruins, not in chains. But slowly set thy star midst clouds of shame, And tyrants rose amidst thy falling fanes ; And thou, surrounded by thy warriors' graves, [for thy slaves. Ilast drained the bitter cup once mingled Now all is o'er for thee alike are flown Freedom's bright noon, and Slavery's twilight cloud ; And in thy fall, as in thy pride, alone, Deep solitude is round thee, as a shroud. Home of Leonidas ! thy halls are low, From their cold altars have thy Lares fled, [or glow, O'er thee unmarked the sunbeams fade And wild-flowers wave, unbent by human tread ; [profound, And midst thy silence, as the grave's A voice, a step, would seem as some un- earthly sound. LVIII. Taygetus still lifts his awful brow, High o'er the mouldering city of the dead, Sternly sublime ; while o'er his robe of snow [fusions spread. Heaven's floating tints their warm suf- And yet his rippling wave Eurotas leads By tombs and ruins o'er the silent plain, While, whispering there, his own wild graceful reeds [strain Rise as of old, when hailed by classic There the rose-laurels still in beauty wave, fend a frail shrub survives to bloom o'er Sparta's grave. LtX. Oh, thus it is with man a tree, afiower, While nations perish, still renews its race, And o'er the fallen records of his power Spreads in wild pomp, or smiles in fairy grace. [away, The laurel shoots when those have past Once rivals for its crown, the brave, the free; The rose is flourishing o'er beauty's clay, The myrtle blows when love hath ceased to be ; [are fled, Green waves the bay when song and bard And all that round us blooms, is blooming o'er the dead. UK. And still the olive spreads Its foliage round Morea's fallen sanctuaries and towers. Once its green boughs Minerva's votaries crowned, [powers. Deemed a meet offering for celestial The suppliant's hand its holy branches bore ; [head ; They waved around th' Olympic victor's And, sanctified by many a rite of yore, Its leaves the Spartans honoured bier o'erspread. [and hill Those rites have vanished but o'er vale Its fruitful groves arise, revered and hal- lowed still. Where now thy shrines, Eleusis I where thy fane [high ? Of fearful visions, mysteries wild and The pomp of rites, the sacrifical tram, The long procession's awful pageantry? Quenched is the torch of Ceres* all around [reign ; Decay hath spread the stillness of her There never more shall choral hymns re- sound O'er the hushed earth and solitary main, Whose wave from Salamis deserted flows, To bathe a silent shore of desolate repose. * It was customary at Elcusis, on the fifth day of the festival, for men and women to ran about with torches in their hands, and also to dedicate torches to Ceres, and to contend who should present the largest. This was done in memory of the urney of Ceres in search oi Proserpine, dun. hich she was lighted by a torch kindled ir flames of Etna.* -PoRTFH 1 ? A xtiquitits of if MODERN OREEOE. 59 And oh I vc secret and terrific powers, Dark oracles 1 in depth of groves that dwelt, [bowers, How are they sunk, the altars of your Where superstition trembled as she knelt ! Ye, the unknown, the viewless ones I that made [wave ; The elements your voice, the wind and Spirits ! whose influence darkened many a shade, Mysterious visitants of fount and cave I How long your power the awe-struck nations swayed, How long earth dreamt of you, and shud- deringly obeyed I And say, what marvel, in those early days, While yet the light of heaven-born truth was not ; If man around him cast a fearful gaze, Peopling with shadowy powers each dell and grot ? Awful is nature in her savage forms, Her solemn voice commanding in its might, [storms, And mystery then was in ihe rush of The gloom of woods, the majesty of night; And mortals heard fate's language in the blast, [toms of the past I And reared your forest-shrines, ye phan- LXIV. Then through the foliage not a breeze might sigh But with prophetic sound a waving tree, A meteor flashing o'er the summer sky, A bird's wild flight, revealed the things to be. [veyed All spoke of unseen natures, and con- Their inspiration ; still they hovered round, [the shade, Hallowed the temple, whispered through Pervaded loneliness, gave soul to sound ; Of them the fount, the forest, murmured still, [step on the hill. Hieir voice was in the stream, their foot- LXVi Now is the train of superstition flown, Unearthly beings walk on earth no more ; The deep wind swells with no portentous tone, .The rustling wood breathes no fatidic lore. Fled are the phantoms of Livadia's cave, There dwell no shadows, but of crag and steep ; Fount of Oblivion ! in thy gushing wave, That murmurs nigh, those powers of terror sleep. [clime, Oh 1 that such dreams alone had fled that But Greece is changed in all that could be changed by time I Her skies are those whence many a mighty bard [beams ; Caught inspiration, glorious as their Her hills the same' that heroes died to guard, [dreams I Her vales, that fostered Art's divinest But that bright spirit o'er the land that shone, [poured, And all around pervading influence That lent the harp of ^Eschylus its tone, And proudly hallowed Lacedsemon's sword, [stone, And guided Phidias o'er the yielding With them its ardours lived with them iti light is flown. LXVII. Thebes, Corinth, Argos ! ye, renowned of old, [name? Where are your chiefs of high romantic How soon the tale of ages may be told I A page, a verse, records the fall of fame, The work of centuries we gaze on you, Oh, cities ! once the glorious and the free, The lofty tales that charmed our youth renew, And wondering ask, if these their scenes could be? Search for theclassic fane, the regal tomb, And find the mosque alone a record of their doom 1 LXVIII. How oft hath war his host of spoiler? poured, Fair Elis ! o'er thy consecrated vales ? There have the surtbeams glanced on spear and sword, And banners floated on the balmy gales. Once didst thou smile, secure in sancti- tude, As some enchanted isle mid stormy seas ; On thee no hostile footstep might inti-ude, And pastoral sounds alone were on thy breeze. GEEEOE. Forsaken home of peace 1 that spell is broke, Thou too hast heard the storm, and bowed beneath the yoke. LXIX. And through Arcadia's wild and lone retreats [strain Far other sounds have echoed than the Of faun and dryad, from their woodland seats, [swain I Or ancient reed of peaceful mountain- There, though at times Alpheus yet surveys, [dance, On his green banks renewed, the classic And nymph-like forms, and wild me- lodious lays, Revive the sylvan scenes of old romance ; Yet brooding fear and dark suspicion dwell, [cave, and dell. 'Midst Pan's deserted haunts, by fountain, LXX. But thou, fair Attica ! whose rocky bound All art and nature's richest gifts en- shrined, [round Thou little sphere, whose soul-illumined Concentrated each sunbeam of the mind ; Who, as the summit of some Alpine height [day, Glows earliest, latest with the blush of Didst first imbibe the splendours of the light, And smile the longest in its lingering ray ; Oh 1 let us gaze on thee, and fondly deem The past awhile restored, the present but a dream. LXXI. Let Fancy's vivid hues awhile prevail Wake at her call be all thou wert once more 1 [gale ! Hark, hymns of triumph swell on every Lo, bright processions move along thy shore ! Again thy temples, 'midst the olive-shade, Lovely in chaste simplicity arise ; And graceful monuments, in grove and glade, [skies ; Catch the warm tints of thy resplendent And sculptured forms, of high and heavenly mien, [bright scene. In their calm beauty smile, around the sun- LXXH. Again renewed by thought's creative spells, [towers: In all her pomp thy city, Theseus' Within, around (he light of glory dwells On art's fair fabrics, wisdom's holy bowers. [ascend, There marble fanes in finished grace The pencil's world of life and beauty glows ; [blend, Shrines, pillars, porticoes, in grandeur Rich with the trophies of barbaric foes ; And groves of platane wave in verdant pride, [tide. The sage's blest retreats, by calm Ihssus' LXXIII. Bright as that fairy vision of the wave, Raised by the magic of Morgana's wand, On summer seas that undulating lave Romantic Sicily's Arcadian strand ; That pictured scene of airy colonnades, Light palaces, in shadowy glory drest, Enchanted groves, and temples, and arcades, [breast ; Gleaming and floating on the ocean's Athens! thus fair the dream of thee appears, [of years. As Fancy's eye pervades the veiling cloud Still be that cloud withdrawn oh ! mark on high, [graced, Crowning yon hill, with temples richly That fane, august in perfect symmetry,* The purest model of Athenian taste. Fair Parthenon I thy Doric pillars rise In simple dignity, thy marble's huo Unsullied shines, relieved by brilliant skies, [ethereal blue;. That round thee spread their deep And art o'er all thy light proportions , throws The harmony of grace, the beauty of repose. LXXV. And lovely o'er thee sleeps the sunny glow, [reign, When morn and eve in tranquil splendour And on thy sculptures, as they smile, bestow Hues that the pencil emulates in vain. Then the fair forms by Phidias wrought, unfold Each latent grace, developing in light ; Catch from soft clouds of purple and of gold, Each tint that passes, tremulously bright ; And seem indeed whate'er devotion det s, [with its beams. While so suffused with heaven, so mingling MODERN GREECE. 61 LXXVT. Bttt oh! what words the vision may portray, [shrine ? The form of sanctitude that guards thy There stands thy goddess, robed in war's array, Supremely glorious, awfully divine ) With spear and helm she stands, and flowing vest, [wrought, And sculptured aegis, to perfection And on each heavenly lineament imprest, Calmly sublime, the majesty of thought ; The pure intelligence, the chaste repose, All that a poet's dream around Minerva throws. LXXVll. Bright age of Pericles I let fancy still Through time's deep shadows all thy splendour trace, [skill And in each work of art's consummate Hail the free spirit of thy lofty race. That spirit, roused by every proud reward That hope could picture, glory could bestow, Fostered by all the sculptor and the bard Could give of immortality below. Thus were thy heroes formed, and o'er their name, [fame. Thus did thy genius shed imperishable LXXVIII. Mark in the thronged Ceramicus, the train [brave : Of mourners weeping o'er the martyred Proud be the tears devoted to the slain, Holy the amaranth strewed upon their grave ! [daims And hark unrivalled eloquence pro- Their deeds, their trophies with trium- phant voice ! [names ! Hark Pericles records -their honoured Sons of the fallen, in their lot rejoice : What hath life brighter than so bright a doom ? [of the tomb ? What power hath fate to soil the garlands LXXIX. Praise to the valiant dead ! for them doth art [forth ; Exhaust her skill, their triumphs bodying Theirs are enshrined names, and every heart [worth. Shall bear the blazoned impress of their Bright on the dreams of youth their fame shall rise, ("cord ; Their fields of fight shall epic song re- And, when the voice of battle Tends the skies, [ing word ! Their name shall be their country's rally- While fane and column rise august to tell How Athens honours those for her who proudly fell. LXXX. City of Theseus ! bursting on the mind, Thus dost thou rise, in'all thy glory fled 1 Thus guarded by the mighty of mankind. Thus hallowed by the memory of the dead : Alone in beauty and renown a scene Whose tints are drawn from freedom's . loveliest ray. , Tis' but a vision now yet thou hast been More than the brightest vision might 'portray ; [fraught And every stone, with but a vestige Of thee, hath latent power to wake some lofty thought. LXXXI. Fallen are thy fabrics, that so oft have rung To choral melodies, and tragic lore ,' Now is the lyre of Sophocles unstrung, The song that hailed Harmodius peals no more. Thy proud Piraeus is a desert strand, Thy stately shrines are mouldering on their hill, [hand. Closed are the triumphs of the sculptor's The magic voice of eloquence is still ; Minerva s veil is rent her image gone, Silent the sage's bower the warrior's tomb o'erthrown. Lxxxn. Yet in decay thine exquisite remains Wondering we view, and silently revere. As traces left on earth's forsaken plains By vanished beings of a nobler sphere? Not all the old magnificence of Rome, All that dominion there hath left to time. Proud Coliseum, or commanding dome. Triumphal arch, or obelisk sublime, Can bid such reverence o'er the spirit steal, [plastic seal. As aught by thee imprest with beauty's LXXXIII. . Though still the empress of tiie urn- burnt waste, Palmyra rises, desolately grand - MODERN GREECE. Though with rich gold ar.d massy sculp- ture graced, Commanding still, Persepolis may stand In haughty solitude though sacred Nile The firstborn temples of the world sur- veys, And many an awful and stupendous pile Thebes of the hundred gates e'en yet dis- plays ; City of Pericles ! oh who, like thee, Can teach how fair the works of mortal hand may be ? LXXXTV. Thou led st the way to that illumined sphere [thence didst bear, Where sovereign beauty dwells ; and Oh, still triumphant in that high career ! Bright archetypes of all the grand and fair. [hath flown And still to thee th' enlightened mind As to her country, tbou hast been to earth [throne, A cynosure, and, e'en from victory's Imperial Rome gave homage to thy worth , And nations, rising to their fame afar, Sail to thy model turn, as seamen to their star. LXXXV. Glory to those whose relics thus arrest The gaze of ages 1 Glory to the free I For they, they only, could have thus imprest Their mighty image on the years to be ! Empires and cities in oblivion lie, Grandeur may vanish, conquest be for- got, [die, To leave on earth renown that cannot Of high-souled genius is th' unrivalled lot [shown Honour to thee, O Athens I thou hast What mortals may attain, and seized the palm alone. LXXXVL Oh ! live there those who view with scornful eyes [prime? All that attests the brightness of thy Yes ; they who dwell beneath thy lovely skies, [clime I And breathe th' Inspiring ether of thy Their path is o'er the mightiest of the dead, [noblest arts ; Their homes are 'midst the works oi Yet all around their gaze, beneath their tread, [imparts. Not one proud thrill tf loftier Such are the conquerors of Minerva S land, [of his hand I Where Genius first revealed the triumphs LXXXVII. For them in vain the glowing light may smile [to shed, O'er the pale marble, colouring s warmth And in chaste beauty many a sculptured pile Still o'er the dust of heroes lift its head. No patriot feeling binds them to the soil, Whose tombs and shrines their fathers have not reared ; [tneir toil Their glance is cold indifference, and But to destroy what ages have revered, As if exulting sternly to erase Whate'er might prove that land had nursed a nobler race. LXXXVIll. And who may grieve that, rescued from their hands, Spoilers of excellence and foes to art, Thy relics, Athens ! borne to other lands, Claim homage still to thee from every heart ? [stranger's sight, Though now no more th' exploring Fixed in deep reverence on Minerva's fane, [of light, Shall hail, beneath their native heaven All that remained of forms adored in vain ; [the scene, A few short years and, vanished from To blend with classic dust their proudest lot had been. LXXXIX. Fair Parthenon ! yet still must Fancy weep fflown. For thee, thou work of nobler spirits Bright, as of old, the sunbeams o'er thee sleep [gone I In all their beauty still and thine is Empires have sunk since thou wert first revered, [shrine. And varying rites have sanctified thy The dust is round thee of the race that reared [soon be thine I Thy walls ; and thou their fate must F,ut when shall earth again exult to see V'rions divine like theirs renewed in aught like thee? xc. Lone are thy pillars now each passing gale [moaned Sighs o'e* them as a spirit's voice, which MODERN GREECE. That ioneiiness.and told the plaintive tale Of the bright synod once above them throned. Mourn, graceful ruin ! on thy sacred hill, Thy gods, thy rites, a kindred fate have shared : [still Yet art thou honoured in each fragment That wasting years and barbarous hands had spared ; [borne, Each hallowed stone, frcm rapine's fury Shall wake bright dreams of tbee in ages yet unborn. xci. Yes ! in those fragments, though by time defaced, [mains And rude insensate conquerors, yet re- All that may charm th' enlightened eye of taste, [reigns. On shores where still inspiring freedom As vital fragrance breathes from every part Of the crushed myrtle, orthe bruised rose, E'en thus th' essential energy of art There in each wreck imperishably glows 1 The soul of Athens lives in every line, Pervading brightly still the ruins of her shrine. XCTI. Mark on the storied frieze the graceful train, The holy festival's triumphal throng, In fair procession, to Minerva's fane, With many a sacred symbol, move along. There every shade of bright existence trace, The fire of youth, the dignity of age ; The matron's calm austerity of grace, The ardent warrior, the benignant sage ; The nymph's light symmetry, the chiefs proud mien [the scene. Each ray of beauty caught and mingled in XCIII. Art unobtrusive there ennobles form, Each pure chaste outlineexquisitelyflows; There e'en the steed, with bold expres- sion warm, Is clothed with majesty, with being glows. One mighty mind hath harmonized the whole ; [impress bear ; Those varied groups the same bright One beam and essence of exalting soul Lives in the grand, the delicate, the fair ; And well that pageant of the glorious dead [spirits fled. Blends us with nobler days, and loftier JCCIV. O conquering Genius I that couldst thus detain The subtle graces, fading as they rise, Eternalize expression's fleeting reign, Arrest warm life in all its energies, And fix them on the stone thy glorious lot Might wake ambition's envy, and create Powers half divine: while nations are forgot, Qquished fate i A thought, a dream of thine hath van- And when thy hand first gave its wonders birth, [claimed a name on earth. The realms that hail them now scarce Wert thou some spirit of a purer sphere But once beheld, and never to return? No-ywe may hail again thy bright career Again on earth a kindred fire shall burn I Though thy least relics, e'en in ruin, beai A stamp of Heaven, that ne'er hath been renewed A light inherent let not man despair : Still be' hope ardent, patience unsubdued ; For still is nature fair, and thought divine, And art hath won a world in models pure as thine. XC71. Gaze on yon forms, corroded and de- faced Yet there the germ of future glory lies f Their virtual grandeur could not be erased ; [common eyes. It clothes them still, though veiled from They once were gods and heroes and beheld [scene ; As the blest guardians of their native And hearts of warriors, sages, bards, have swelled [of mien. With awe that owned their sovereignty. Ages have vanished since those hearts were cold, [godlike mould. And still those shattered forms retain their 'Midst their bright kindred, from thdr marble throne [storms of time ; They- have looked down on thousand Surviving power, and fame, and freedom flown, [sublime I They still remained, still tranquilly Till mortal hands the heavenly conclave marred. [are forgot ; Th' Olympian groups have sunk, and 64 MODERN GREECE. Not e'en their dust could weeping Athens guard- But these were destined to a nobler lot ! And they have borne, to light another land, [riously expand. The quenchless ray that soon shall glo- xcvm. Phidias 1 supreme in thought 1 what hand but thine, [heaven, In human works thus blending earth and O'er nature's truth hath shed that grace divine, [given ? To mortal form immortal grandeur What soul but thine, infusing all its power, [days, In these last monuments of matchless Could, from their ruins, bid young Genius tower, And Hope aspire to more exalted praise ? And guide deep Thought to that secluded height, [light ? Where Excellence is throned, in purity of XC1X. And who can tell how pure, how bright a flame, [the west ? Caught from these models, may illume What British Angelo may rise to fame, On the tree isle what beams of art may rest? Deem not, O England 1 that by climes confined, Genius and taste diffuse a partial ray ; Deem not th' eternal energies of mind Swayed by that sun whose doom is but decay I Shall thought be fostered but by skies . serene ? [e'er hath been. No 1 thou hast power to be what Athens But thine are treasures on unprized, un- known, [mind, And cold neglect hath blighted many a O'er whose young, ardours, had thy smile but shone, [behind I Their soaring flight had left a world And many a gifted hand that might have wrought ToGrecian excellence thebreathing stone, Or each pure grace of Raphael's pencil caught, Leaving no record of its power, is gone ! While thou hast fondlysought, on distant coast, [and thus lost. Gms far less rich than those, thus precious, a. Yet rise, O Land, in all but art alone, Bid the. sole wreath that is not thine be won I [own ; Fame dwells around thee Genius is thine Call his rich blooms to life be Thou their Sun ! So, should dark ages o'er thy glory sweep, Should thine e'er be as now are Grecian plains, [blue deep, Nations unborn shall track thine own To hail thy shore, to worship thy remains; Thy mighty monuments with reverence trace, And cry. " This ancient soil hath nursed a glorious race 1 " TALES AND HISTORIC SCENES, 1819. THE ABENCERRAGE. [Ths events with which the following tale Is Interwoven are related in the Histotin di ku Guerras Civiles de Granada, They occurred in the reign of Abo Abdeli, or Abdali, the Insl Moorish king of that city, called by the Spaniards El Rey Chico. The conquest of Granada, by Ferdinand and Isabella, is said by some historians to have been greatly facilitated by the Abe;- cerrages, whose defection was the result of the repeated injuries thev had received from the king, at the instigation of the Zegris. One of the most beautiful hails of the Alhambra is pointed out as the scene where so many of the former celebrated tribe were massacred ; and it still retains their name, being called the Sala de los Abencerrages." Many of the most interesting old Spanish ballads relate to the events of this chivalrous and romantic period.] CANTO FIRST. LONELY and still are now thy marble halls, Thou fair Alhambra ! there the feast is o'er ; And with the murmur of thy fountain-falls Ble'nd the wild tones of minstrelsy no more. Hushed are the voices that in years gone by Kave mourned, exulted, menaced, through thy towers ; Within thy pillared courts the grass waves high, And all uncultured bloom thy fairy bowers. t Unheeded there the flowering myrtle blows, Through tall arcades unmarked the sun- beam smiles, And many a tint of softened brilliance throws O'er fretted walls and shining peristyles. And well might Fancy deem thy fabrics lone, So vast, so silent, and so wildly fair, Some charmed abode of beings all un- known, Powerful and viewless, children of the air. For there no footstep treads tb' enchanted ground, [vades, There not a sound the deep repose per- Save winds and founts, diffusing freshness round Through the light domes and graceful colonnades. Far other tones have swelled those courts along [trace-- In days romance yet fondly loves to The clash of arms, the voice of choral song, The revels, combats of a vanished race. And yet awhile, at Fancy's potent call, Shall rise that race, the chivalrous, tha bold; Peopling once more each fair Ibrsaken hall With stately forms, the knights and chiefs of old. i. THE sun declines. Upon Nevada's height There dwells a mellow flush of rosy light ; Each soaring pinnacle of mountain snow Smiles in the richness of that parting glow , And Darro's waves reflect each passing dye That melts and mingles in th empurpled sky. Fragrance, exhaled from rose and citron bower, Blends with the dewy freshness of the hour. Hushed are the winds, and Nature seems to sleep In light and stillness. Wood, and tower, and steep Are dyed with tints of glory, only given To the rich evening of a southern heaven- Tints of the sun, whose bright farewell is fraught With all that art hath dreamt, but never caught Yes 1 Nature sleeps ; jl not with net at rest The fiery passions of rhe numaa breast 66 THE AEENCEERAGE. Hark ! from the Alhambra's towers what stormy sound, [around ? Each moment deepening, wildiy swells Those are no tumults of a festal throng, Not the light zambra* nor the choral song : The combat rages 'tis the'shoutxrf war, 'Tis the loud clash of shield and scimitar. Within the Hall of Lions, t where the rays Of eve yet lingering on the fountain blaze ; There, girt and guarded by his Zegri bands, And stem in wrath, the Moorish monarch stands : [him wave, There the strife centres swords around There bleed the fallen, there contend the brave ; While echoing domes return the battle-cry, " Revenge and freedom ! let the tyrant die 1" And onward rushing, and prevailing still, Court, hall, and tower the fierce avengers fill. But first and bravest of that "gallant train, Where foes are mightiest charging ne'er in vain ; In his red hand the sabre glancing bright, His dark eye flashing with a fiercer light, Ardent, untired, scarce conscious that he bleeds, [leads ; His Aben-ZurrahsJ there young Hamet While swells his voice that wild acclaim on high, [die !' ' ' Revenge and freedom I let the tyrant Ves ! trace the footsteps of the warrior's wrath, By helm and corslet shattered in his path, And by the thickest harvest of the slain, And by the marble's deepest crimson stain. Search through the serried fight, where loudest cries From triumph, anguish, or despair arise ; And brightest where the shivering falchions glare, [there. And where the ground is reddest he is Yes ! that young arm, amidst the Zegn host, Hath well avenged a sire, a brother, lost. They perished not as heroes should have died, On the red field, in victory's hour of pride * Zambra, a Moprlih dance. t The Hall of Lions, the principal one of th< Alhambra, was so called from twelve sculpturec (iocs which supported an alabaster basin in th< centre. t The name is thus written in a translation o an Arabic MS. n all the glow and sunshine of their fame. And proudly smiling as the death-pang came. [tear I had they thus expired, a warrior's 3ad flowed, almost in triumph, o'er their bier. [those "or thus alone the brave should weep for Who brightly pass in glory to repose. Not such their fate : a tyrant's stern command Doomed them to fall by some ignoble hand, As, with the fiower of all their high-born race, Summoned Abdallah's royal feast to grace, Fearless in heart, no dream of danger nigh, They sought the banquet's gilded hall to die. [tain's wave Betrayed, unarmed, they fell the foun- Flowed crimson with the life-blood of the brave : Till far the fearful tidings of their fate Through the wide city rang from gate to gate, And of that lineage each surviving son Rushed to the scene where vengeance might be woo. For this young Hamet mingles iu the strife, Leader of battle, prodigal of life, Urging his followers, till their foes, beset, Stand faint and breathless, but undaunted yet. Brave Aben-Zurrahs, on ! one effort more, Yours is the triumph, and the conflict o'er. But lo ! descending o'er the darkened hall, The twilight-shadows fast and deeply fall, Nor yet the strife hath ceased though scarce they know, [from the foe \ Through that thick gloom, the brother Till the moon rises with her cloudless ray, The peaceful moon, and gives them light to slay. [ing train Where lurks Abdallah ? 'Midst his yield- They seek the guilty monarch, but in vain. He lies not numbered with the valiant dead, His champions round him have not vainly bled ; [veil, But when the twilight spread her shadowy And his last warriors found each effort fail, In wild despair he fled. A trusted few, Kindred in crime, are still in danger true ; And o'er the scene of many a martial deed, The Vega's* green expanse, his flying foot steps lead The Vega, .the plain surrounding Granada* THE ABENCERRAGB 67 He passed tb Alhantbra's calm and lovely bowers, Where slept the glistening leaves and folded flowers [cave, In dew and starlight there, from grot and Gushed in wild music many a sparkling wave ; There on each breeze the breath of fragrance rose, And all was freshness, beauty, and repose. But thou, dark monarch 1 in thy bosom reign [agairl. Storms that, once roused, shall never sleep Oh 1 vainly bright is Nature in the course Of him who flies from terror or remorse I A spell is round him which obscures her bloom, [tomb : And dims her skies with shadows of the There smiles no Paradise on earth so fair But guilt will raise avenging phantoms there. [roves Abdallah heeds not, though the light gale Fraught with rich odour, stolen from orange- groves ; [that rise, Hears not the sounds from wood and brook Wild notes of nature's vesper-melodies ; Marks not how lovely, on the mountain's head, [spread ; Moonlight and snow their mingling lustre But urges onward, till his weary band, Worn with their toil, a moment's pause demand. He stops, and turning, on Granada's fanes In silence gazing, fixed awhile remains In stem, deep silence. O'er his feverish brow, [blow, And burning cheek, pure breezes freshly But waft in fitful murmurs, from afar, Sounds indistinctly fearful as of war. What meteor bursts with sudden blaze on high, O'er the blue clearness of the starry sky ? Awful it rises, like some Genie-form Seen 'midst the redness of the Desert storm, Magnificently dread. Above, below, Spreads the wild splendour of its deepening glow. [glare Lo I from the Alhambra's towers the vivid Streams through the still transparence of the air 1 Avenging crowds have lit the mighty pyre, Which feeds that waving pyramid of fire ; And dome and minaret, river, wood, and height, From dim perspective start to ruddy light. Oh Heaven I the anguish of Abdallah's soul I [trol ! The rage, though fruitless, yet bcvond con- Yet must he cease to gaze, and raving fly For life such life as makes it bliss to die ! On yon green height, the Mosque, but half revealed [yield. Through cypress-groves, a safe retreat may Thither his steps are bent yet oft he turns, Watching that fearful beacon as it burns. But paler grow the sinking flames at last, Flickering they fade, their crimson light is past ; And spiry vapours, rising o'er the scene, Mark where the terrors of their wrath have been. [pile, And now his feet have reached that lonely Where grief and terror may repose awhile Embowered it stands 'midst wood and clift on high, [nigh. Through the grey rocks a torrent sparkling He hails the scene where every care should cease, [peace. And all except the heart he brings is There is deep stillness in those halls of state Where the loud cries of conflict rang so late Stillness like that, when fierce the Kamsin's blast Hath o'er the dwellings of the Desert passed. Fearful the calm nor voice, nor step, noi breath Disturbs that scene of beauty, and of death . Those vaulted roofs re-echo not a sound, Save the wild gush of waters murmuring round In ceaseless melodies of plaintive tone, Through chambers peopled by the dead alone. O'er the mosaic floors, with carnage red, Breastplate and shield and cloven helm are spread In mingled fragments glittering to the light Of yon still moon, whose rays, yet softly bright, Their streaming lustre tremulously shed, And smile in placid beauty o'er the dead : O'er features where the fiery spirit's trace Even death itself is powerless to efface ; O'er those who flushed with ardent youth awoke, [broke, When glowing morn in bloom and radiance Nor dreamt how near the dark and frozen sleep Which hears not Gloty call, nor Anguisb weep ; * The Kamsin is the burning wind of Tiesort. 68 TEE ABENOERRAOE. In the low silent house, the narrow spot, Home of forgetfulness and soon forgot But slowly fade the stars the night is o'er [more ; Mom beams on those who hail her light no Slumberers who ne'er shall wake on earth again, [vain. Mourners, who call the loved, the lost, in Yet smiles the day pb ! not for mortal tear Doth Nature deviate irom her calm career : Nor is the earth less laughing or less fair, Though breaking hearts her gladness may not share. O'er thecold urn the beam of summer glows, O'er fields of blood the zephyr freshly blows ; Bright shines the sun, though all be dark below, And skies arch cloudless o'er a world of woe; And flowers renewed in spring's green pathway bloom, Alike to grace the banquet and the tomb. Within Granada's walls the funeral rite Attends that day of loveliness and light ; And many a chief, with dirges and with tears, Is gathered to the brave of other years ; And Hamet, as beneath the cypress shade His martyred brother and his sire are laid, Feels every deep resolve and burning thought Of ampler vengeance even to passion wrought. Yet is the hour afar and he must brood O'er those dark dreams awhile in solitude. Tumult and rage are hushed another day In still solemnity hath passed away, In that deep slumber of exhausted wrath. The calm that follows in the tempest's path. And now Abdallah leaves yon peaceful fane, His ravaged city traversing again. No sound of gladness his approach precedes, No splendid pageant the procession leads ; Where'er he moves the silent streets along, Broods a stern quiet o'er the sullen throng. No voice is heard ; but in each altered eye, Once brightly beaming when his steps were nigh, And in each look of those whose love hath fled From all on earth to slumber with the dead, Those by his guilt made desolate and thrown OD the bleak wilderness of life In youth's quick glance of scarce-dJer sembled rage, And the pale mien of calmly-mournful age, May well be read a dark and fearful tale Of thought that ill the indignant heart can veil, [power, And passion, like the hushed volcano's That waits in stillness its appointed hour. n. No more the clarion from Granada's walls, Heard o'er the Vega, to the tourney calls ; No more her graceful daughters, throned on high, Bend o'er the lists the darkly-radiant eye : Silence and gloom her palaces o'erspread, And song is hushed, and pageantry is fled. Weep, fated city I o'er thy heroes weep- Low in the dust the sons of glory sleep I Furled are their banners in the lonely hall, Their trophied shields hang mouldering on the wall ; [o'er, Wildly their chargers range the pastures Their voice in battle shall be heard no more. And they, who still thy tyrant's wrath sur- vive, [give, Whom he hath wronged too deeply to for That race of lineage high, of worth ap- proved, - The chivalrous, the princely, the beloved- Thin e Aben-Zurrahs they no more shall wield In thy proud cause the conquering lance and shield : Condemned to bid the cherished scenes farewell [dwell, Where the loved ashes of their fathers And far o'er foreign plains as exiles roam, Their land the desert, and the grave their home. Yet there is one shall see that race depart In deep though silent agony of heart : One whose dark fate must be to mourn alone, [known ; Unseen her sorrows and their cause un- And veil her heart, and teach her cheek to wear [share fhat smile in which the spirit hath no Lake the bright beams that shed their fruit- less glow O er the cold solitudes of Alpine snow. Soft, fresh, and silent is the midnight hour, And the young Zegri seeks her lonely bower ; That Zegri maid, within whose gentle mind One name is deeply, secretly enshrined. THE ABENCERRAOR. 69 That name in vain stem reason would efface: Hamet ! 'tis thine, thou foe to all her race! And yet not hers in bitterness to prove The sleepless pangs of unrequited love Pangs which the rose of wasted youth con- " sume, [tomb ; And make the heart of 'all delight the Check the free spirit in its eagle flight. And the spring-morn of early genius blight: Not such her grief though now she wakes to weep, [of sleep. While tearless eyes enjoy the honey -dews A step treads lightly througii the citron- shade, Lightly , but by the rustling leaves betrayed- Doth her young hero seek that well-known spot, [got? Scene of past hours that ne'er may be for- 'Tis he but changed that eye, whose glance of fire Could like a sunbeam hope and joy inspire, As, luminous with youth, with ardour fraught, It spoke of glory to the inmost thought. Thence the bright spirit's eloquence hath fled, And in its wild expression may be read Stern thoughts and fierce resolvesnow veiled in shade, And now in characters of fire portrayed. Changed even his voice as thus its mourn- ful tone Wakes in her heart each feeling of his own. " Zayda 1 my doom is fixed another day And the wronged exile shall be far away ; Far from the scenes where still his heart must be, His home of youth, and, moie than all from thee. Oh I what a cloud hath gathered o'er my lot [spot ! Since last we met on this fair tranquil Lovely as then the soft and silent hour, And not a rose hath faded from thy bower; But I my hopes the tempest hath o'er- thrown, And changed my heart to all but theealone. Farewell high thoughts 1 inspiring hopes of praise I Heroic visions of my early days 1 In me the glories of my race must end The exile hath no country to defend I Even in life's morn my dreams of pride are o'er, [more , Youth's buoyant spirit wakes for me no And one wild feeling in my altered breasi Broods darkly o'er the ruins of the rest. Yet fear not thou to thee, in good or ill, The heart, so sternly tried, is faithful still ! But when my steps are distant, and my name Thou hear'st no longer in the song of fame; When Time steals on, >n silence to efface Of early love each pure and sacred trace, Cau sing our sorrows and our hopes to seem But as the moonlight pictures of a dream, Still shall thy soul be with me, in the truth And all the fervour of affection's youth ? If such thy love, one beam of heaven shall In lonely beauty o'er thy wanderer's way." " Ask not it such my love ! Oh ! trust the mind To grief so long, so silently resigned ! Let the light spirit, ne'er by sorrow taught The pure and lofty constancy of thought, Its fleeting trials eager to forget, Rise with elastic power o'er each regret I Fostered in tears, our young affections grew. And I have learned to suffer and be true. Deem not my love a frail ephemeral flower, Nursed by soft sunshine and the balmy shower ; No 1 'tis the child of tempests, and defies, And meets unchanged, the anger of the skies! Too well I feel, with griefs prophetic heart, That ne'er to meet in happier days we part. We part I and even this agonizing hour, When love first feels his own o'erwhelming power, Shall soon to memory's fixed and tearful eye Seem almost happiness for thou wert nigh I Yes 1 when this heart in solitude shall bleed, As days to days all wearily succeed, When doomed to weep hi loneliness, 'twill be f thee I Almost like rapture to have wept with But thou, my Hamet 1 thou canst yet bestow All that of joy my blighted lot can know. Oh I be thou still the high-souled and the brave, To whom my first and fondest vows I gave I In thy proud fame's untarnished beauty still The lofty visions of my youth fulfil. So shall it soothe me, 'midst my heart's de- spair, [there ! " To hold undimmed one glorious image 70 THE A3BNOERRAGE. "Zayda. my best-beloved! my words too well, Too soon, thy bright illusions must dispel ; Yet must my soul to thee unveiled be shown, [known. And all its dreams and all its passions Thou shall not be deceived for pure as heaven [given. Is thy young love, in faith and fervour I said my heart was changed and would thy thought Explore the ruin by thy kindred wrought, In fancy trace the land whose towers and fanes, Crushed by the earthquake, strew its ravaged plains ; And such that heart where desolation's hand [grand ! Hath blighted all that once was fair or But Vengeance, fixed upon her burning throne, Sits 'midst the wreck in silence and alone ; And \, in stem devotion at her shrine, Each softer feeling, but my love resign. Yes I they whose spirits all my thoughts control, [soul ; Who hold dread converse with my thrilling They, the betrayed, the sacrificed, the brave, [grave, Who fill a blood-stained and untimely Must be avenged ! and pity and remorse In that stern cause are banished from my course. Zayda. ! thou tremblest and thy gentle breast [rest ; Shrinks from the passions that destroy my Yet shall thy form, in many a stormy hour, Pass brightly o'er my soul with softening power And, oft recalleat* thy voice beguile my lot, Like some sweet lay, once heard, and ne'er forgot. But the night wanes the hours too swiftly fly, The bitter moment of farewell draws nigh ; Yet, loved one I weep not thus in joy or pain. Oh ! trust thy Hamet, we shall meet again ! Yes, we shall meet I and haply smile at last On all the clouds and conflicts of the past. On that fair vision teach thy thoughts to dwell, [farewell 1" Nor deem these mingling tears our last Is the voice hushed, whose loved expressive tone [alone 1 Thrilled to her heart and dotb she weep Alone she weeps ; that hour of parting o'er, When shall the pang it leaves be felt no more ? [fair, The gale breathes light, and fans her bosom Showering the dewy rose-leaves o'er her hair; But ne'er for her shall dwell reviving power In balmy dew, soft breeze, or fragrant flower, [delight, To wake once more that calm, serene The soul's young bloom, which passioned breath could blight The smiling stillness of life's morning hour, Ere yet the day-star bums in all his power. Meanwhile, through groves of deep luxurious shade, In the rich foliage of the South arrayed, Hamet, ere dawns the earliest blush of day, Bends to the Vale of Tombs his pensive way. Fair is that scene where palm and cypress wave On high o'er many an Aben-Zurrah's grave. Lonely and fair, its fresh and glittering leaves [weaves, With the young myrtle there the laurel To canopy the dead ; nor wanting there Flowers to the turf, nor fragrance to the air. Nor wood-bird's note, nor fall of plaintive stream- Wild music, soothing to the mourner's dream. [o'er, There sleep the chiefs of old their combats The voice of glory thrills their hearts no more. [blows ; Unheard by them the awakening clarion The sons of war at length in peace repose. No martial note is in the gale that sighs Where proud their trophied sepulchres arise, [brightest bloom- Mid founts, and shades, and flowers ol As in his native vale some shepherd's tomb. There, where the trees their thickest foliage spread Dark o'er that silent VaUey of the Dead ; Where two fair pillars rise, embowered and lone, Not yet with ivy clad, with moss o'ergrown, Young Hamet kneels while thus his vows are poured. The fearful vows that consecrate his sword : "Spirit of him who first within my mind Each loftier aim, each nobler thought enshrined, And taught my steps the line of life to trace Left by the glorious fathers of my race, Hear thou my voice I for thine is with &f still; In every dream its tones my bosom thrill. THE ABENCEREAOE 71 In the deep calm of midnight they are near, "Midst busy throngs they vibrate on my ear, Still murmuring Vengeance I Nor in vain the call: Few, few shall triumph in a hero's fall 1 Cold as thine own to glory and to fame, Within my heart there lives one only aim ; There, till the oppressor for thy fate atone, Concentring every thought, it reigns alone. I will not weep revenge, not grief must be, And blood, not tears, an offering meet for thee ; [come, But the dark hour of stern delight will And thou shalt triumph, warrior I in thy tomb. away, 1 ' Thou, too, my brother I thou art passed Without thy fame, in life's fair dawning day. [shine Son of the brave 1 of thee no trace will In the proud annals of thy lofty line ; Nor shall thy deeds be deathless in the lays That hold communion with the after-days. Yet, by the wreaths thou migbtst have nobly won, [sun, Hadst thou but lived till rose thy noontide By glory lost, I swear I by hope betrayed, Thy fate shall amply, dearly be repaid : War with thy foes I deem a holy strife, And to avenge thy death devote my life. Hear ye my vows, O spirits of the slain ! Hear, and be with me on the battle-plain I A.t noon, at midnight, still around me bide, Rise on my dreams, and tell me how ye died I" CANTO SECOND. " Oh ! ben pro wide U Cielo Ch' Uom per delitti mal lieto non sia." ALFIBRI I. FAIR land 1 of chivalry the old domain- Land of the vine and olive, lovely Spain I Though not for thee with classic shores to vie [eye ; In charms that fix the enthusiast's pensive Yet hast thou scenes of beauty, richly fraught With all that wakes the glow of lofty thought ; Fountains, and vales, and rocks, whose ancient name [fame, /ligh deeds have raised to mingle with their Those scenes are peaceful now : the citron blows, Wild spreads the myrtle, where the brave repose. No sound of battle swells on Douro's shore. And banners wave on Ebros banks no more. .' [tread But who, unmoved, unawed, shall coldly Thy fields that sepulchre the mighty dead? Blest be that soil i where England s heroes share [there ; The grave of chiefs, for ages slumbering Whose names are glorious in romantic lays>. The wild sweet chronicles of elder days By goatherd lone and rude serrano sung, The cypress dells and vine-clad rocks among. [tale How oft those rocks have echoed to the Of knights who fell in Roncesvalles' vale ; Of him, renowned in old heroic loie, First of the brave, the gallant Campeador ; Of those, the famed in song, who proudly died When Rio Verde rolled a crimson tide ,' Or that high name, by Garcilaso's might On the Green Vega won in single fight ! Round fair Granada, deepening from afar, O'er that Green Vega rose the din of war. At morn or eve no more the sunbeams shone O'er a calm scene, in pastoral beauty lone ; On helm and corslet tremulous they glanced, On shield and spear in quivering lustre danced. Far as the sight by clear Xenil could rove,- Tents rose around, and banners glanced above ; [bright And steeds in gorgeous trappings, armour With gold, reflecting every tint of light, And many a floating plume and blazoned shield Diffused romantic splendour o'er the field. There swell those sounds that bid the life- blood start [heart : Swift to the mantling cheek and beating The clang of echoing steel, the charger's neigh, The measured tread of hosts in war's array ; And oh ! that music, whose exulting breath Speaks but of glory on the road to death In whose wild voice there dwells inspiring power To wake the stormy joy of danger's hour ; To nerve the arm, the spirit to sustain, Rouse from despondence, and support in pain ; Garcllaso de la Vega derived his surcajM from vanquishing i Moor in single cuntba/ 01 the Vtsra of Granada. THE ABENOERRAGE. And, 'midst the deepening tumults of the strife. Teach every pulse to thrill with more than life. [fold. High o'er the camp, in many a broidered Floats to the wind a standard rich with gold : [appears There, imaged on the Cross, His form yho drank for man the bitter cup of tears His form, whose word recalled the spirit fled. [dead ! Now borne by hosts to guide them o'er the O'er yon fair walls to plant the Cros? on high, [chivalry. Spain hath sent forth her flower of Fired with that ardour which in days of yore To Syrian plains the bold Crusaders bore Elate with lofty hope, with martial zeal, They come, the gallant children of Castile ; The proud, the calmly dignified : and there Ebro's dark sons with haughty mien repair, And those who guide the fiery steed of war From yon rich province of the western star.* Butj thou, conspicuous midst the glitter- ing scene, [mien ; Stern grandeur stamped upon thy princely Known by Ihe foreign garb, the silvery vest, [crest, The snow-white charger, and the azure YoungA ben-Zurrah ! 'midst that host of foes. Why shines thy helm, thy Moorish lance ? Disclose ! Why rise the tents where dwell thy kindred train, O son of Afric ! 'midst the sons of Spain ? Hast thou with these thy nation's fall con- spired, [fired ? Apostate chief I by hope of vengeance How art thou changed 1 still first in every fight, Hamet the Moor ! Castile's devoted knight I There dwells a fiery lustre in thine eye, But not the light that shone in days gone by; There is wild ardour in thy look and tone, But not the soul's expression once thine own, [say Nor aught like peace within. Yet who shall What secret thoughts thine inmost heart may sway? [tained breast, No eye but Heaven's may pierce that cur- Whose joys and griefs alike are un- expressed. Thf Arabic signification of Andalusia There hath been combat on the tented plain ; The Vega's turf is red with many a stain ; And, rent and trampled, banner, crest, and shield Tell of a fierce and well-contested field. But all is peaceful now : the west is bright With the rich splendour of departing light ; Mulhacen's peak,* half lost amidst the sky, Glows like a purple evening cloud on high, And tints, that mock the pencil's art, o'er- spread [head ;t The eternal snow that crowns Veleta's While the warm sunset o'er the landscape throws A solemn beauty and a deep repose. Closed are the toils and tumults of the day, And Hamet wanders from the camp away. In silent musings rapt : the slaughtered brave [wave. Lie thickly strewn by Darro's rippling Soft fall the dews but other drops have dyed [side, The scented shrubs that fringe the river Beneath whose shade, as ebbing life retired, The wounded sought a shelter and ex- pired. Lonely, and lost in thoughts of other days. By the bright windings of the stream h strays, [scene, Till, more remote from battle's ravaged All is repose and solitude serene. There 'neath an olive's ancient shade re- clined, [wind, Whose rustling foliage waves in evening s The harassed warrior, yielding to the power, [hour. The mild sweet influence of the tranquil Feels by degrees a long forgotten calm Shed o'er his troubled soul unwonted balm ; His wrongs, his woes, his dark and dubious lot, The past, the future, are awhile forgot ; And Hope, scarce owned, yet stealing o'tt his breast, [blest ! Half dares to whisper, "Thou shall yet be Such his vague musings but a plaintive sound [round ; Breaks on the deep and solemn stillness A low, half-stifled moan, that seems to rise From life and death's contending agonies, He turns : Who shares with him thai lonely shade t A youthful warrior on his deathbed laid Highest summit of the Sierra THE ABENUERRAGE. 73 AS rent and stained his broidered Moorish vest, The corslet shattered on his bleeding breast ; In his cold hand the broken falchion strained, With lift's last force convulsively retained ; His plumage soiled with dust, with crimson dyed, And the red lance in fragments by bis side : He lies forsaken pillowed on his shield, His helmet raised, his lineaments revealed. Pale is that quivering lip, and vanished now The light once throned on that command- ing brow ; And o'er that fading eye, still upward cast, The shax.es of death are gathering dark and fast. Yet, as yon rising moon her light serene Sheds the pale olive's waving boughs between, [retrace, Too well can Hamet's conscious heart Tnougb changed thus fearfully, that pallid face, Whose every feature to his soul conveys Some bitter thought of long departed days. " Oh I is it thus," he cries, " we meet at last? Friend of my soul in years for ever past 1 Hath fate but led me hither to behold The last dread struggle, ere that heart is cold, Receive thy latest agonizing breath, And with vain pity soothe the pangs of death 1 [mains, Yet let me bear thee hence while life re- Even though thus feebly circling through thy veins, [revive ; Some healing balm thy sense may still Hope is not lost and Osmyn yet may live ! And blest were he whose timely care should save A heart so noble, even from glory's grave " Roused by those accents, from his lowly bed The dying warrior faintly lifts his head ; O'er Hainet's mien, with vague uncertain gaze, . [strays ; His doubtful glance awhile bewildered Till by degrees a smile of proud disdain Lights up those features late convulsed with pain , A quivering radiance flashes from his eye, That seems too pure, too full of soul, to die ; And the mind's grandeur, in its parting hour, Looks from that brow with more than wonted power. " Awayl" he cries, in accents of com- mand, [hand. And proudly waves his cold and trembling ' ' Apostate, hence 1 my soul shall soon be free Even now it soars, disdaining aid from thee. 'Tis not for thee to close the fading eyes Of him who faithful to his country dies ; Not for thy hand to raise the drooping head Of him who sinks to rest on glory's bed. Soon shall these pangs be closed, this con- flict o'er, [soar. And worlds be mine where thou canst never Be thine existence with a blighted name, Mine the bright death which seals a warrior's fame 1" The glow hath vanished from his cheek kis eye Hath lost that beam of parting energy ; Frozen and fixed it seems his brow is chill ; [still. One struggle more that noble heart is Departed warrior ! were thy mortal throes, Were thy last pangs.ere nature found repose, More keen, more bitter, than the envenomed dart Thy dying words have left in Hamet's heart ? Thy pangs were transient ; his shall sleep no more, Till life's delirious dream itself be o'er ; But thou shall rest in glory, and thy grave Be the pure altar of the patriot brave. Oh, what a change that little hour hath wrought In the high spirit and unbending thought ! Yet, from himself each keen regret to hide, Still Hamet struggles with indignant pride ; While his soul rises, gathering all his force, To meet the fearful conflict with Remorse. To thee, at length, whose artless love hath been His own, unchanged, through many a stormy scene Zayda ! to thee his heart for refuge P'*s ; Thou still art faithful to affection's ties. Yes 1 let the world upbraid, let foes contemn, Thy gentle breast the tide will firmly stem ; And soon thy smile and soft consoling voice Shall bid his troubled soul again rejoice. u. WITHIN Granada's walls are hearts and hands Whose aid in secret Hamet yet commands ; Nor hard the task, at some propitious hour, Tp win his silent way to 7.ayda's bower. THE ASENCEBBAOB. When night and peace are brooding o'er the world, [furled, When mute the clarions, and the banners That hour is come and, o'er the arms he bears, [wears : A wandering Fakir's garb the chieftain Disguise that ill from|piercing eye could hide The lofty port and glance of martial pride ; But night befriends. Through path obscure he passed, And hailed the lone and lovely scene at last ; Young Zayda's chosen haunt, the fair alcove, [grove : The sparkling fountain, and the orange Calm in the moonlight smiles the still retreat, As formed alone for happy hearts to meet. For happy hearts ! not such as hers, who there [hair ; Bends o'er her lute with dark unbraided That maid of Zegri race, whose eyes, whose mien, [been. Tell that despair her bosom's guest hath So lost in thought she seems, the warrior's feet Unheard approach her solitary seat, Till his known'accents every sense restore " My own loved Zayda I do we meet once more?" [prise, She starts, she turns the lightning of sur- Of sudden rapture, flashes from her eyes ; But that is fleeting it is past and now Far other meaning darkens o'er her brow : Changed is her aspect, and her tone severe ' ' Hence Aben-Zurrah I death surrounds thee here 1" " Zayda t what means that glance, un- like thine own ! What mean those words, and that un- wonted tone ? I will not deem thee changed but in thy face, It is not joy, it is hot love, I trace 1 It was not thus in other days we met : Hath time, hath absence, taught thee to forget? [dispel: Oh I speak once more these rising doubts One smile of tenderness, and all is well 1" " Not thus we met in other days I oh, no ! [foe. Thou wert not, warrior ! then thy country's Those days are past we ne'er shall meet again [then. With hearts all warmth, all confidence, as Put thy dark soul no gentler feelings sway, Leader of hostile bands ! away, away 1 On in thy path of triumph and of power, Nor pause to raise from earth a blighted flower." " And thou, too, changed I thine earthly vow forgot I This, this alone, was wanting to my lot I Exiled and scorned, of every tie bereft, Thy love, the desert's lonely fount, was left; And thou, my soul's last hope, its lingering beam, [dream, Thou 1 the good angel of each brighter Wert all the barrenness of life possessed To wake one soft affection in my breast I That vision ended, fate bath naught in store Of joy or sorrow e'er to touch me more. Go, Zegri maid ! to scenes of sunshine fly, From the stem pupil of adversity ! And now to hope, to confidence adieu I If thou art faithless, who shall e'er be true?" " Hamet ! oh, wrong me not I I too could speak [cheek, Of sorrows. Trace them on my faded In the sunk eye, and in the wasted form, That tell the heart hath nursed a canker- worm ! [there, But words were idle read my sufferings Where grief is stamped on all that once was fair. Oh, wert thou still what once I fondlj deemed, All that thy mien expressed, thy spirit ^ seemed, My love had been devotion 1 till in death Thy name had trembled on my latest breath. But not the chief who leads a lawless band To crush the altars of his native land ; The apostate son of heroes, whose disgrace Hath stained the trophies of a glorious race ; [name Not him I loved but one whose youthful Was pure and radiant in unsullied fame. Hadst thou but died, ere yet dishonour's cloud [shroud. O'er that young name had gathered as a I then had mourned thee proudly, and my grief In its own loftiness had found relief ; A noble sorrow, cherished to the last. When every meaner woe had long been past. Yes 1 let affection weep no common tear She sheds when bending o'er a hero's bier. Let nature mourn the dead a grief like this, [bliss I" To pangs that rend my bosom, bad beer THE ABEKOERRAQE. 75 "High minded maid I the time admits not now To plead my cause, to vindicate my vow. That vow, too dread, too solemn to recall, Hath urged me onward, haply to my fall. Yet this believe no meaner aim inspires My soul, no dream of power ambition fires. No 1 every hope of power, of triumph, fied, Behold me but the avenger of the dead ! One whose changed heart no tie, no kindred knows, And in thy love alone hath sought repose. Zayda I wilt thou his stern accuser be ? False to his country, he is true to thee I Oh, hear me yet ! if Harriet e'er was dear, By our first vows, our young affection, hear I Soon must this fair and royal city fall, Soon shall the Cross be planted on her wall ; Then who can tell what tides of blood may flow, While her fanes echo to the shrieks of woe ? Fly, fly with me, and let me bear thee far From horrors thronging in the path of war : Fly, and repose in safety till the blast Hath made a desert in its course and passed I" " Thou that wilt triumph when the hour is come, [doom, Hastened by thee to seal thy country's With thee from scenes of death shall Zayda fiy [die I To peace and safety ? Woman, too, can And die exulting, though unknown to fame, In all the stainless beauty of >ver name ! Be mine, unmurmuring, undismayed, to share The fate my kindred and my sire must bear. And deem thou not my feeble heart shall fail, [assail, When the clouds gather and the blasts Thou hast but known me ere the trying hour Called into life my spirit's latent power ; But I have energies that idly slept, While withering o'er my silent woes I wept ; And now, when hope and happiness are fled, My soul is firm for what remains to dread ? Who shall have power to suffer and to bear If strength and courage dwell not with Despair? [again. " Hamet I farewell retrace thy path To join thy brethren on the tented plain. There wave and wood in mingling murmurs tell How, in far other cause th? father fell ' Yes ! on that soil hath Glory's footstep been, Names unforgotten consecrate the scene I Dwell not the souls of heroes round thee there, [^ r Whose voices call thee in the whispering Unheard, in vain they call their fallen son Hath stained the name those mighty spirits won, And to the hatred of the brave and free Bequeathed his own through ages yet to bei" Still as she spoke, the enthusiast's kind- ling eye Was lighted up with inborn majesty, While her fair form and youthful features caught All the proud grandeur of heroic thought, Severely beauteous. Awe-struck and amazed, In silent trance awhile the warrior gazed, As on some lofty vision for she seemed One all-inspired each look with glory beamed, [cA woes, While, brightly bursting through its clouds Her soul at once in all its light arose. Oh ! ne'er had Hamet deemed there dwelt enshrined In form so fragile that unconquered mind ; And fixed, as by some high enchantment, there He stood till wonder yielded to despair. "The dream is vanished daughter of my foes ! Reft of each hope the lonely wanderer goes. Thy wordc have pierced his soul ; yet deem thou not Thou couldsi be once adored, and e'er forgot I Oh, formed for happier love, heroic maid I In grief sublime, in danger undismayed. Farewell, and be thou blest I all words were vain [again From him who ne'er may view that form Him, whose sole thought resembling bliss, must be [thee I" He hath been loved, once fondly loved by And is the warrior gonei" doth Zayda hear His parting footstep, and without a tear ? Thou weep'st not, lofty, maid 1 yet who can tell [dwell? What secret pangs within thy heart may They feel not least, the firm, the high in soul Who best each feeling's agony control. THE ASENCEERAOE. Yes ! we may judge the measure of the grief 'Which finds in misery's eloquence relief ; But who shall pierce those depths of silent woe Whence breathes no language, whence no tears may flow. The pangs that many a noble breast hath proved, Scorning itself that thus it could be moved? He, He alone, the inmost heart who knows, Views all its weakness, pities all its throes ; He who hath mercy when mankind con- temn, Beholding anguish all unknown to them. FAIR City ! thou that 'midst thy stately fanes And gilded minarets, towering o'er the plains, In Eastern grandeur proudly dost arise Beneath thy canopy of deep-blue skies ; While streams that bear thee treasures in their wave,* The citron-groves and myrtle-gardens lave : Mourn, for thy doom is fixed the days of fear, Of chains, of wrath, of bitterness are near I Within, around thee, are the trophied graves [slaves. Of kings and chiefs their children shall be Fair are thy halls, thy domes majestic swell, But there a race that reared them not shall dwell : For 'midst thy councils discord still presides, Degenerate fear thy wavering monarch guides Last of a line whose regal spirit .flown Hath to her offspring but bequeathed a throne, [high, Without one generous thought, or feeling T o teach his soul how kings should live and die. A voice resounds within Granada's wall, The hearts of warriors echo to its call. Whose are those tones, with power electric fraught To reach the source of pure exalted thought ? See, on a fortress tower, with beckoning hand, A form, majestic as a prophet, stand t * Granada stands upon two hills, separated by the Darro. The Xenil runs under the walls. Tht Darro is said to carry with Its stri-uns small uurtic!e5 of gold, and the Xcnil of alvej His mien is all impassioned, and his eye Filled with a light whose fountain is on high; Wild on the gale his silvery tresses flow, And inspiration beams upon his brow; While, thronging round him, breathless thousands gaze As on some mighty seer of elder days. "Saw ye the banners of Castile dis- played, [rayed ? The helmets glittering, and the line ar- Heard ye the march of steel-clad hosts ?' he cries ; [arise i " Children of conquerors ! in yourstrength O high-bom tribes 1 O names unstained by fear I Azarques, Zegris, Almoradis,* hear ! Be every feud forgotten, and your hands Dyed with no blood but that of hostile bands. [come, Wake, princes of the land 1 the hour is And the red sabre must decide your doom. Where is that spirit which prevailed of yore, When Tank's band o'erspread the western shore ? When the long combat raged on Xeres' plain, [Spain ? And Afric's tecbirf swelled through yielding Is the lance broken, is the shield decayed, The warrior's arm unstrung, his heart dis- mayed? Shall no high spirit of ascendant worth Arise to lead the sons of Islam forth ? To guard the regions where our fathers blood [each flood ; Hath bathed each plain, and mingled with Where long their dust hath blended with the soil [toil ? Won by their swords, made fertile by their O ye Sierras of eternal snow ! Ye streams that by the tombs of heroes flow ! [their might Woods, fountains, rocks of Spain ! ye saw In many a fierce and unforgotten fight Shall ye behold theif lost degenerate race Dwell midst your scenes in fetters and dis- grace, With each memorial of the past around, Each mighty monument of days renowned ? May this indignant heart ere then be cold, This frame be gathered to its kindred mould. * Tribes of the Moors of Granada, all of high distinction. T The shout of onset used by the Saracens In battle. THE ABENCERRAOB. n And the Last life-drop circling through my veins Have tinged a soil untainted yet by chains i And yet one struggle ere our doom is sealed, One mighty effort, one deciding field I If vain each hope, we still have choice to be In life the fettered, or in death the free I" Still while he speaks each gallant heart beats high, And ardour flashes from each kindling eye ; Youth, manhood, age, as if inspired, have caught The glow of lofty hope and daring thought ; And all is hushed around as every sense Dwelt on the tones of that wild eloquence. But when his voice had ceased, thf im- petuous cry Of eager thousands burst at once on high ; Rampart, and rock, and fortress ring around, And fair Alhambra's inmost halls resound. ' ' Lead us, O chieftain ! lead us to the strife To fame in death, or liberty in life 1" O zeal of noble hearts 1 in vain displayed; O chainless valour I roused too late to aid 1 Now, while the burning spirit of the brave Is roused to energies that yet might save Even now, enthusiasts i while ye rush to claim Your glorious trial on the field of fame, Your King hath yielded I Valour's dream is o'er ; Power, wealth, and freedom are your own no more ; [mains And for your children's portion, but re- That bitter heritage the stranger's chains. CANTO THIRD. " Permossi ai fin il cor che balzo Unto." PlNDRMONTB. I. HEROES of elder days I untaught to yield, Who bled for Spain on many an ancient field; Ye that around the Oaken Cross* of yore Stood firm and fearless on Asturia's shore, And with your spirit, ne'er to be subdued, Hallowed the wild Cantabrian solitude I The oakeo ernes, carried by Pelogies la .tad* Rejoice ! for Spain, arising la her strength, Hath burst (he remnant of their yoke at length ; [drain, And they, in turn, (he cup of woe must And bathe their fetters with their tears in vain. And thou, the warrior born in happy hour, * Valencia's lord, whose name alone was power, [by, Theme of a thousand songs in days gone Conqueror of kings 1 exult, O Cid.on high ; For still 'twas thine to guard thy country's weal, In life, in death, the watcher for Castile I Thou, in that hour when Mauritania's bands [ing lands, Rushed from their palmy groves and burn- Even in the realm of spirits didst retain A patriot's vigilance, remembering Spain I Then at deep midnight rose the mighty sound, By Leon heard in shuddering awe profound, As through her echoing streets, in dread array, fway Beings once mortal held their viewless Voices from worlds we know not and the tread Of marching hosts, the armies of the dead, Thou and thy buried chieftains. From the grave Then did thy summons rouse a king to save, And join thy warriors with unearthly might To aid the rescue in Tolosa's fight Those d-xys are past the Crescent on thy shore, O Realm of Evening It sets, to rise no more. What banner streams afar from Vela's .tower ? The Cross, bright ensign of Iberia's power! What the glad shout of each exulting voice ? " Castile and Aragon ! rejoice, rejoice ! " Yielding free entrance to victorious foes, The Moorish city sees her gates unclose, And Spain's proud host, with pennon, shield, and lance, ("advance. Through her long. streets in knightly garb Oh 1 ne'er in lofty dreams hath fancy's eye Dwelt on a scene of statelier pageantry, At joust or tourney, theme of poet's lore, High masque or solemn festival of yore. In the " Chronicles of the Cid," Ruy Dial b frequently so styled. t 'Ihe name of Andalusia, the Region oj Evening, or of the Weft, was applied by the Arabs to the whole Peninsula, as well as to thf Southern Province 78 TEE ABENCERRAGE. The gilded cupolas, that proudly rise O'erarched by cloudless and cerulean skies; Tall minarets, shining mosques, barbaric towers, Fountains and palaces, and cypress bowers : And they, the splendid and triumphant throng, With helmets glittering as they move along, With broidered scarf and gem-bestudded mail, [gale ; And graceful plumage streaming on the Shields gold-embossed, and pennons float- ing far, And all the gorgeous blazonry of war, All brightened by the rich transparent hues That southern suns o'er heaven and earth diffuse Blend in one scene of glory, formed to throw O'er memory's page a never-fading glow. And there, too, foremost midst the con- quering brave, Your azure plumes, O Aben-Zurrahs I wave. There Hamet moves ; the chief whose lofty port [court ; Seems nor reproach to shun, nor praise to Calm, stern, collected yet within his breast Is there no pang, no struggle, unconfessed ? If such there be, it still must dwell unseen, Nor cloud a triumph with a sufferer's mien. Hear'st thou the solemn yet exulting sound Of the deep anthem floating far around ? The choral voices, to the skies that raise The full majestic harmony of praise ? Lo I where, surrounded by their princely train, [Spain, They come, the sovereigns of. rejoicing Borne on their trophied car lo ! bursting thence A blaze of chivalrous magnificence i Onward their slow and stately course they bend To where the Alhambra's ancient towers ascend. Reared and adorned by Moorish kings of yore, [more. Whose lost descendants there shall dwell no They reach those towers : irregularly vast, Arid rude they seem, in mould barbaric cast. They enter : to their wondering sight is given A Genii palace an Arabian heaven ! A scene by magic raised, so strange, so fair, Its forms and colour seem alike of air. Here, by sweet orange-boughs half shaded o'er, The deep clear bath reveals its marble floor, Its margin fringed with flowers, whose glowing hues The calm transparence of its waves suffuse. There round the court, where Moorish arches bend, Aerial columns, richly decked, ascend ; Unlike the models of each classic race, Of Doric grandeur or Corinthian grace, But answering well each vision that portrays Arabian splendour to the poet's gaze. Wild, wondrous, brilliant, all a mingling glow Of rainbow-tints, above, around,- below ; Bright streaming from the many tinctured veins Of precious marble, and the vivid stains Of rich mosaics o'er the light arcade. In gay festoons and fairy knots displayed. On through the enchanted realm, that onl> seems [dreams, Meet for the radiant creatures of our The royal conquerors pass while still theii sight . [delight On some new wonder dwells with fresh Here the eye roves through slender colon nades, O'er bowery terraces and myrtle shades ; Dark olive-woods beyond, and far on high The vast Sierra mingling with the sky. There, scattering far around their diamond spray, Clear streams from founts of alabaster play, Through pillared halls, where, exquisitely wrought, [fraught, Rich arabesques, with glittering foliage Surmount each fretted arch, and lend the scene A wild, romantic, Oriental mien : [of old, While many a verse, from Eastern bards Borders the walls in characters of gold. Here Moslem luxury, in her own domain, Hath held for ages her voluptuous reign, 'Midst gorgeous domes, where soon shall silence brood, And all be lone a splendid solitude. Now wake their echoes to a thousand songs, From mingling voices of exulting throngs ; Tambour, and flute, and atabal* are there, And joyous clarions pealing on the air ; While every hall resounds, ' ' Granada won I Granada ! for Castile and Aragon 1" Tis night. From dome and tower. In dazzling maze, The festal lamps innumerably blaze ; ** Atjbal, a k'.nd of Moorish drum. THE ABENCERRAGE. 79 Through long arcades their quivering lustre gleams, From every lattice tremulously streams, 'Midst orange-gardens plays on fount and rill, And gilds the waves of Darro and Xenil. Red flame the torches on each minaret's height, And shines each street an avenue of light ; And midnight feasts are held and music's voice [rejoice. Through the long night still summons to Yet there, while all would seem to heedless eye One blaze of pomp, one burst of revelry, Are hearts unsoothed by those delusive hours, [with flowers ; Galled by the chain, though decked awhile Stem passions working in the indignant breast, [pressed, Deep pangs untold, high feelings unex- Heroic spirits, unsubmitting yet Vengeance, and keen remorse, and vain regret From yon proud height, whose olive- shaded brow Commands the wide luxuriant plains below, Who lingering gazes o'er the lovely scene, Anguish and shame contending in his mien? He who, of heroes and of kings the son, Hath lired to lose whate'er his fathers won ; Whose doubts and fears his people's fate hath sealed, Wavering alike in council and in field ; Weak timid ruler of the wise and brave, Still a fierce tyrant or a yielding slave. Far from these vine-clad bills and azure skies, To Afric's wilds the royal exile flies ; Yet pauses on his way to weep in vain O'er all he never must behold again. Fair spreads the scene around for him too fair ; Eachglowingcharm butdeepenshis despair. The Vega's meads, the city's glittering spires, The old majestic palace of his sires ; The gay pavilions and retired alcoves, Bosomed in citron and pomegranate groves; Tower-crested rocks, and streams that wind in light, All in one moment bursting on his sight, Speak to his soul of glory's vanished years, And wake the source of unavailing tears. Weep'st thou, AbdaUah 1 Thou dost well to weep, [keep I feeble heart 1 o'er all thou couldst not Well do a woman's tears befit the eye Of him who knew not as a man to die. The gale sighs mournfully through Zayda's bower : [flower. The hand is gone that nursed each infant No voice, no step, is in her father's halls, Mute are the echoes of their marble walls , No stranger enters at the chieftain's gate, But all is hushed, and void, and desolate. There, through each tower and solitary shade, In vain doth Harriet seek the Zegri maid. Her grove is silent, her pavilion lone, Her lute forsaken, and, her doom unknown, And through the scenes she loved, unheeded flows [repose. The stream whose music lulled her to But oh I to him, whose self-accusing thought Whispers 'twas he that desolation wrought , He who his country and his faith betrayed, And lent Castile revengeful, powerful aid ; A voice of sorrow swells in every gale, Each wave low rippling tells a mournful tale; And as the shrubs, untended, unconfined, In wild exuberance rustle to the wind, Each leaf hath language to his startled sense, [her hence I" And seems to murmur "Thou hast driven And well he feels to trace her flight were vain [again ? Where hath lost love been once recalled In her pure breast, so long by anguish torn, His name can rouse no feeling now but scorn. O bitter hour I when first the' shuddering heart Wakes to behold the void within and start To feel its own abandonment, and brood O'er the chill bosom's depths of solitude ! The stormy passions that in Hamet's breast Have swayed so long, so fiercely, are at rest. The avenger's task is closed : he finds too late [fate. It hath not changed his feelings, but his His was a lofty spirit, turned aside From its bright path by woes, and wrongs, and pride, And onward, in its new tumultuous course Borne with too rapid and Intense a force To pause one moment in the dread career, And ask if such could be its native sphere. Now are those days of wild delirium o'er, Their fears and hopes excite bis soul BO more; 80 THE ABENCERRAGE. The feverish energies of passion close, And his heart sinks in desolate reporc, Turns sickening from the world, yet shrinks not less From its own deep and utter loneliness. in. THERE is a sound of voices on the air, A flash of armour to the sunbeam's glare, 'Midst the wild Alpuxarras. There, on high, [the sky, Where mountain- snows are mingling with A few brave tribes, with spirits yet unbroke, Have fled indignant from the Spaniard's yoke. [alone, O ye dread scenes I where Nature dwells Severely glorious on her craggy throne ; Ye citadels of rock 1 gigantic forms, Veiled by the mists and girdled by the storms [caves ! Ravines, and glens, and deep resounding That hold communion with the torrent- waves ; [snows ! And ye, the unstained and everlasting That dwell above in bright and still repose ; To you, in every clime, in every age, Far from the tyrant's or the conqueror's rage, [keep Hath Freedom led her sons untired to Her fearless vigils on the barren steep. She, like the mountain-eagle, still delights To gaze exulting fromunconquered heights, And build her eyrie in defiance proud, To dare the wind, and mingle with the cloud. Now her deep voice, the soul's awakener, swells, [dells. WildrAlpuxarras ! through your inmost There, the dark glens and lonely rocks among, As at the clarion's call, her children throng, She with enduring strength has nerved each frame, [flame, And made each heart, the temple of her Her own resisting spirit, which shall glow Unquenchably, surviving all below. There high-born maids, that moved upon the earth More like bright creatures of aerial birth, Nurslings of palaces, have fled to share The fate of brothers and of sires ; to bear, All undismayed, privation and distress, And smile, the roses of the wilderness : And mothers with their infants, there to dwell In the deep forest or the cavern cell. And rear their offspring 'midst the rocks to be, If now no more the mighty, still the free. And 'midst that band are veterans, o'er whose bead Sorrows and years their mingled snows have shed. They saw thy glory, they have wept thy fall, O royal city 1 and the wreck of all They loved and hallowed most: doth aught remain For these to prove of happiness or pain ? Life's cup is drained earth fades before their eye ; Their task is closing they have but to die. Ask ye why fled they hither? that their doom Might be, to sink unfettered to the tomb. And youth, in all its pride of strength, is there, And buoyancy of spirit, formed to dare And suffer all things fallen on evil days, Yet darting o'er the world an ardent gaze, As on the arena where its powers may find Full scope to strive for glory with mankind. Such are the tenants of the mountain-hold, The high in heart, unconquered, uncon- trolled ; By day, the huntsmen of the wild by night, Unwearied guardians of the watch-fire's light, [caught They from their bleak majestic home have A sterner tone of unsubmitting thought, While all around them bids the soul arist To blend with Nature's dread sublimities. But these are lofty dreams, and must not be Where tyranny is near. The bended knee, The eye whose glance no inborn grandeur fires, And the tamed heart, are tributes she re- quires ; Nor must the dwellers of the rock look down On regal conquerors and defy their frown. What warrior-band is toiling to explore The mountain-pass, with pine-wood sha dowed o'er, Startling with martial sounds each rude recess, Where the deep echo slept in loneliness ? These are the sons of Spain 1 Your foes are near, O exiles of the wild Sierra I hear 1 Hear I wake 1 arise ! and from your inmost caves Pour like the torrent in its might of waves I THE ABENCHREAGE. Who leads the invaders on ? His features bear The deep-worn traces of a calm despair ; Yet his dark brow is haughty, and his eye Speaks of a soul that asks not sympathy. 'Tis he! 'tis he again I the apostate chief ; He comes in all the sternness of his grief. He comes, but changed in heart, no more to wield Falchions for proud Castile in battle-field : Against his country's children though he leads , Castilian bands again to hostile deeds, His hope is but from ceaseless pangs to fly, To rush upon the Moslem spears, and die. So shall remorse and love the heart release, Which dares not dream of joy, but sighs for peace. The mountain-echoes are awake I A sound Of strife is ringing through the rocks around Within the steep defile that winds between Cliffs piled on cliffs, a dark terrific scene, Where Moorish exile and Castilian knight Are wildly mingling in the serried fight. Red flows the foaming streamlet of the glen, Vhose bright transparence ne'er was stained till then ; While swell the war-note and the clash of spears To the bleak dwellings of the mountaineers, Where thy sad daughters, lost Granada 1 wait In dread suspense the tidings of their fate. But he whose spirit, panting for its rest, Would fain each sword concentrate in his breast Who, where a spear is pointed, or a lance Aimed at another's breast, would still ad- vance [by, Jourts death in vain ; each weapon glances As if for him 'twere bliss too great to die. Yes, Aben-Zurrah ! there are deeper woes Reserved for thee ere nature's last repose ; Thou know'st not yet what vengeance fate can wreak, Nor all the heart can suffer ere it break. Doubtful and long) the strife, and bravely fell The sons of battle in that narrow dell ; Youth in its light of beauty there hath passed, And age, the weary, found repose at last ; Till, few and faint, the Moslem tribes recoil, Borne down bv numbers and o'erpowered by toil, Dispersed, disheartened, through the pass they fly, Pierce the deep wood, or mount the cliff on high; While Hamet's band in wonder gaze, nor dare [despair. Track o'er their dizzy path the footsteps of Yet he, to whom each danger hath be- come A dark delight, and every wild a home, Still urges onward undismayed to tread Where life's fond lovers would recoil with dread. But fear is for the happy. They may shrink From the steep precipice or torrent's brink [doom They to whom earth is paradise : their Lends no stern courage to approach the tomb. Not such his lot, who. schooled by fate severe. Were but too blest if aught remained to fear. Up the rude crags, whose giant masses throw Eternal shadows o'er the glen below ; And by the fall, whose many- tinctured spray Half in a mist of radiance veils its way. He holds his venturous track : supported now By some o'erhanging pine or ilex bough , Now by some jutting stone, that seems to dwell Half in mid-air, as balanced by a spell. Now hath his footstep gained the summit s bead, A level span, with emerald verdure spread, A fairy circle. There the heath-flowers rise, And the rock-rose unnoticed blooms and dies : [tide And brightly plays the stream, ere yet its In foam and thunder cleave the mountain- side. But all is wild beyond and Hamet's eye Roves o'er a world of rude sublimity. That dell beneath, where even at noon ol day Earth's chartered guest, the sunbeam, scarce can stray ; Around, untrodden woods ; and far above. Where mortal footstep ne'er may hope to rove, Bare granite cliffs, whose fixed inherent dyes Rival the tints that float o'er summer skies ; And the pure glittering snow-realm, yet more high, That seems a part of heaven's eternity. 82 THE ABENCERRAGE. There is no track of man where Haraet stands, [ athless the scene as Lybia's desert sands ; Yet on the calm still air a sound is heard Of distant voices, and the gathering-word Of Islam's tribes, now faint and fainter grown, Now but the lingering echo of a tone. That sound, whose cadence dies upon his ear, He follows, reckless if his bands are near. On by the rushing stream his way he bends, And through the mountain's forest-zone ascends ; Piercing the still and solitary shades Of ancient pine and dark luxuriant glades, Eternal twilight's reign. Those ma<^s past, [last, The glowing sunbeams meet his eyes at And the lone wanderer now hath reached the source Whence the wave gushes, foaming on its course. But there he pauses for the lonely scene Towers in such dread magnificence of mien, And, mingled oft with some wild eagle's cry, From rock-built eyrie rushing to the sky, So deep the solemn and majestic sound Of forests, and of waters murmuring round [gets That, rapt in wondering awe, his heart for- Its fleeting struggles and its vain regrets. What earthly feelings unabashed can dwell [swell r n Nature's mighty presence ? 'midst the Of everlasting hills, the -roar of floods, And frown of rocks, and pomp of waving woods ? [press, These their own grandeur on the soul im- And bid each passion feel its nothingness. 'Midst the vast marble cliffs, a lofty cave Rears its broad arch beside the rushing wave ; Shadowed by giant oaks, and rude and lone, It seems the temple of some power un- known, Where earthly being may not dare intrude To pierce the secrets of the solitude. Yet thence at intervals a voice of w'ail Is rising, wild and solemn, on the gale. Did thy heart thrill, O Hametl at tt" tone? Came it not o'er thee as a 'spirit's moan As some loved sound that long from earth hath fled, The unfo/fjotten zcceEtt of the dead ? Even thus it rose and springing from his trance His eager footsteps to the sound advance. He mounts the cliffs, he gains the cavern floor ; [o'er : Its dark green moss with blood is sprinkled He rushes on and lo 1 where Zayda rends Her locks, as o'er her slaughtered sire she bends, Lost in despair. Yet, as a step draws nigh, Disturbing sorrow's lonely sanctity, She lifts her head, and, all-subdued by grief, [chief ; Views with a wild sad smile- the once-loved While rove her thoughts uncguscious of the past, And every woe forgetting but the last "Com'st thou to weep with me? for 1 am left Alone on earth, of every tie bereft. Low lies the warrior on his blood-stained bier ; [hear. His child may call, but he no more shall He sleeps but never shall those eyes un- close : [pose ; 'Twas not my voice that lulled him to re- Nor can it break his slumbers. Dost thou mourn ? [torn ? And is thy heart, like mine, with anguish Weep, and my soul a joy in grief shall know, [flow !" That o'er his grave my tears with Hamet's But scarce her voice had breathed that well-known name When, swiftly rushing o'er her spirit, came Each dark remembrance by affliction's power Awhile effaced in that o'erwhelming hour, To wake with tenfold strength. Twas then her eye Resumed its light, her mien its majesty, And o'er her wasted cheek a burning glow Spreads, while her lips' indignant accents flow. "Away I I dream I Oh, how hath sor- row's might Bowed down my soul, and quenched its native light That I should thus forget ! and bid thy tear With mine be mingled o'er a father's bier ! Did he not perish, haply by thy hand, In the last combat with thy ruthless band ? The morn beheld that conflict of despair : Twas then he fell he fell I- -and thou wert there ' THE ABENCERRAGB. Thou I who thy country's children hast pursued [rude. To their last refuge 'midst these mountains Was it for this I loved thee ? Thou hast taught My soul all grief, all bitterness of thought 1 Twill soon be past. I bow to Heaven's decree, [thee." Which bade each pang be ministered by " I had not deemed that aught remained below For me to prove of yet untasted woe ; But thus to meet thee, Zayda ! can impart One more, one keener agony of heart. Oh, hear me yet t I would have died to save My foe, but still thy father, from the grave ; But in the fierce confusion of the strife, In my own stem despair and scorn of life, Borne wildly on, I saw not, knew not aught, Save that to perish there in vain I sought. And let me share thy sorrows 1 Hadst thou known All I have felt in silence and alone, Even thou mightst then relent, and deem, at last, A grief like mine might expiate all the past. But oh I for thee, the loved and precious flower, So fondly reared in luxury's guarded bower, From every danger, every storm secured, How hast thou suffered ! what hast thou endured ! Daughter of palaces ! and can it be That this bleak desert is a home for thee I These rocks thy dwelling ; thou who shouldst have known Of life the sunbeam and the smile alone I , Oh, yet forgive ! be all my guilt forgot, Nor bid me leave thee to so rude a loll" "That lot is fixed 'twere fruitless to repine . Still must a gulf divide my fate from thine, t may forgive ; but not at will the heart Can bid its dark remembrances depart. No, Hamet 1 no ! too deeply are these traced ; Yet the hour comes when all shall be effaced I Not long on earth, not long, shall Zayda keep Her lonely vigils o'er the grave to weep. Even now, prophetic of my early doom, Speaks to my soul a presage of the tomb I And ne'er in vain did hopeless mourner feel That dtep foreboding o'er the bosom steal Soon shall I slumber calmly by the side Of him for whom I lived, and would nave died : [orphan lot. Till then, one thought shall soothe m> In pain and peril I forsook him not. And now, farewell 1 Behold the summei day Is passing like the dreams of life away. Soon will the tribe of him who sleeps draw nigh, With the last rites his bier to sanctify. Oh, yet in time, away ! 'twere not my prayer [spare ! Could move their hearts a foe like thee to This hour they come and dost thou scorn to fly ? Save me that one last pang to see thee die !" Even while she speaks is heard then echoing tread ; Onward they move, the kindred of the dead. They reach the cave they enter : slow their pace, [er's face. And calm deep sadness marks each mourn- And all is hushed, till he who seems to wait In silent stern devotedness his fate, Hath met their glance then grief to fury turns ; [burns, Each mien is changed, each eye indignant And voices rise, and swords have left their sheath ; [death I Blood must atone for blood, and death for They close around him : lofty still his mien, His cheek unaltered, and his brow serene. Unheard, or heard in vain, is Zayda's cry ; Fruitless her prayer, unmarked her agony. But as his foremost foes their weapons bend Against the life he seeks not to defend, Wildly she darts between each feeling past, [last. Save strong affection, which prevails at Oh, not in vain its dan ng I for the blow Aimed at his heart hath bade her life-blood flow ; And she hath sunk a martyr on the breast Where in that hour her head may calmly rest For he is saved I Behold the Zegri band, Pale with dismay and grief, around her stand : While, every thought of hate and ven- geance o'er, They weep for her who soon shall weep no more. She, she alone is calm : a fading smile, Like sunset,, passes o'er her cheek the while, TEE ABENCERRAGE. And in her eye, ere yet it closes, dwell Those last faint rays, the parting soul's farewell. [proved " Now is the conflict past ; and I have How well, how deeply thou hast been beloved ! [hide Yes ! in an hour like this 'twere vain to The heart so long and so severely tried : Still to thy name that heart hath fondly thrilled, But sterner duties called and were fulfilled. And I am blest ! to every holier tie My life was faithful, and for thee I die ! Nor shall the love so purified be vain ; Severed on earth, we yet shall meet again. Farewell ! And ye, at Zayda's dying prayer, [spare ! Spare him, my kindred tribe ! forgive and Oh ! be his guilt forgotten in his woes, While I beside my sire in peace repose." Now fades her cheek, her voice hath sunk, and death Sits in her eye and struggles in her breath. One pang 'tis past : her task on earth is done, And the pure spirit to its rest hath flown. But he for whom she died oh I who may paint [faint ? The grief to which all other woes were There is no power in language to impart The deeper pangs, the ordeals of the heart, By the dread Searcher of the soul surveyed : These have no words nor are by words portrayed. rv. A DIRGE is rising on the mountain air, Whose fitful swells in plaintive murmurs bear, Far o'er the Alpuxarras. Wild its tone, And rocks and caverns echo Thou art gone. " Daughter of heroes I thou art gone To share his tomb who gave thee birth : Peace to the lovely spirit flown I It was not formed for earth. Thou wert a sunbeam in thy race. Which brightly passed and left no trace, " But calmly sleep I for thou art tree, And hands unchained thy tomb shall raise. Sleep 1 they are closed at length for thee, Life's few and evil days I Nor shall thou watch, with tearful eye. The lingering death of liberty. " Flower of the Desert 1 thou thy bloom Didst early to the storm resign : We bear it still and dark their doom. We cannot weep for thine I For us, whose every hope is fled, The time is past to mourn the dead. " The days have been, when o'er thy biei Far other strains than these had flowed Now, as a home from grief and fear, We hail thy dark abode I We, who but linger to bequeath Our sons the choice of chains or death. " Thou art with those, the free, the brave, The mighty of departed years ; And for the slumberers of the grave Our fate hath left no tears. Thou loved and lost ! to weep were vain For thee, who ne'er shall weep again. " Have we not seen despoiled by foes The land bur fathers won of yore ? And is there yet a pang for those Who gaze on this no more ? Oh, that like them 'twere; ours to rest ! Daughter of heroes I thou art blest." A few short years, and in the lonely cave Where sleeps the Zegri maid, is Hamet'8 grave, Severed in life, united in the tomb Such, of the hearts that loved so well, the doom. [moan , Their dirge, of woods and waves the eternal Their sepulchre, the pine-clad rocks alone. And oft beside the midnight watch-fire's blaze, . Amidst those rocks, in long-departed days, (When freedom fled, to hold, sequestered there, The stern and lofty councils of despair,) Some exiled Moor, a warrior of the wild, Who the lone hours with mournful strains beguiled, Hath taught his mountain-home the tale of those Who thus have sufiercd. and who thus re- pose. THE WIDOW OF CRESCENTIUS. fin the reign of Otho III., Emperor of Germany, the Romans, excited by their Consul Crescentius, made a bold attempt to shake off the Saxon yoke, and the authority of the Popc&. The Consul was besieged by Otho, in the Mole of Hadrian, which long afterwards continued to be called the Tower of Crescentius. Otho, after many unavailing attacks upon this fortress, at last entered into negotiations ; and, pledging his imperial word to respect the life of Crescentius and the rights of the Roman citiiens, the unfortunate leader was betrayed into his power, and immediately beheaded, with many of his partisans. Stephania, his widow, concealing her afflic- tion and her resentment for the insults to which she had been exposed, secretly resolved to revenge her husband and herself. On the return of Otho from a pilgrimage to Mount Gargano, which perhaps a feeling of remorse had induced him to undertake, she found means to be introduced to him and to gain his confidence : and a poison administered by her was soon afterwards the cause of his painful death.] " L'orage peut briser en un moment leg fleursqul tiennent encore la tete levee." MADAME DB STABL. PART FIRST. I. 'MiDST Tivoli's luxuriant glades, Bright-foaming falls, and olive shades, Where dwelt in days departed long The sons of battle and of song, No tree, no shrub, its foliage rears But o'er the wrecks of other years, Temples and domes, which long have been The soil of that enchanted scene. There the wild fig-tree and the vine O'er Hadrian's mouldering Villa twine ; The cypress, in funereal grace, Usurps the vanished column's place ; O'er fallen shrine and .ruined frieze. The wallflower rustles in the breeze ; Acanthus-leaves the marble hide They once adorned in sculptured pride ; And Nature hath resumed her throne O'er the vast works of ages flown. Was it for this that many a pile, Pride of Ilissus and of Nile, To Anio's banks the image lent Of each imperial monument?* Now Athens weeps her shattered fanes, Thy temples, Egypt I strew thy plains ; And the proud fabrics Hadrian reared From Tiber's vale have disappeared. We need no prescient sibyl there The doom of grandeur to declare. Each stone, where weeds and ivy climb, Reveals some oracle of Time ; * The gardens and buildings of Hadrian's villa were copies of the most celebrated scenes jjd edifices in bis dominions. Each relic utters Fate's decree The future as the past shall be. Halls of the dead I in Tiber's vale, Who now shall tell your lofty tale Who trace the high patrician's dome, The bard's retreat, the hero's home When moss-clad wrecks alone record There dwelt the world's departed lord, In scenes where verdure's rich array Still sheds young beauty o'er decay, And sunshine on ea<^ glowing hill 'Midst ruins finds a dwelling still ? Sunk is thy palace but thy Tomb, Hadrian I hath shared a prouder doom Though vanished with the days of old Its pillars of Corinthian mould ; Though the fair forms of sculpture wrought Each bodying some immortal thought, Which o'er that temple of the dead Serene but solemn beauty shed, Have found, like glory's self, a grave In time's abyss or Tiber's wave ; Yet' dreams more lofty and more fair Than art's bold hand hath imaged e'er- High thoughts otmany a mighty mind Expanding when all else declined. In twilight years, when only they Recalled the radiance passed away, Have made that ancient pile their home. Fortress of freedom and of Rome. There he, who strove in evil days Again to kindle glory's rays, Whose spirit sought a path of light For those dim ages far too bright Crescentius long maintained the strife Which closed but with its martyr's life. THE WIDOW OF ORESCENTIUB. And left the imperial tornb a name. A heritage of holier fame. There closed De Brescia's* mission high, From thence the patriot came to die ; And thou, whose Roman soul the last Spoke with the voice of ages past, Whose thoughts so long from earth had fled To mingle with the glorious dead, That "midst the world's degenerate race They vainly sought a dwelling-place, Within that house of death didst brood O'er visions to thy ruin wooed. Yet, worthier of a brighter lot, Rienzi ! be thy faults forgot. For thou, when all around thee lay Chained in the slumbers of decay So sunk each heart, that mortal eye Had scarce a tear for liberty Alone, amidst the darkness there, Couldst gaze on Rome yet not despair 1 'Tis morn and nature's richest dyes Are floating o'er Italian skies ; Tints of transparent lustre shine Along the snow-clad Apennine ; The clouds have left Soracte's height, And yellow Tiber winds in light, Where tombs and fallen fanes have strewed The wide Campagna's solitude. 'Tis sad amidst that scene to trace Those relics of a vanished race ; Yet, o'er the ravaged path of time Such glory sheds that brilliant clime Where nature still, though empires fall, Holds her triumphant festival Even desolation wears a smile, Where skies and sunbeams laugh the while ; And heaven's own light, earth's richest bloom, Arrays the ruin and the tomb. But she, who from yon convent tower Breathes the pure freshness of the hour ; She, whose rich flow of raven hair Streams wildly on the morning air, Heeds not how fair the scene below, Robed in Italia's brightest glow. Though throned 'midst Latium's classic plains The Eternal City's towers and fanes, And they, the Pleiades of earth, The seven proud hills of Empire's birth. * Arnold de Brescia was put to dtith by Hadrian IV. ; he was the champion of Roman liberty. Lie spread beneath ; not now her ^.ance Roves o'er that vast sublime expanse. Inspired, and bright with hope, 'tis throw* On Hadrian's massy tomb alone. There, from the storm when Freedom fled, His faithful few Crescentius led ; While she, his anxious bride, who now Bends o'er the scene her youthful brow, Sought refuge in the hallowed fane. Which then could shelter, not in vain. But now the lofty strife is o'er, And liberty shall weep no more. At length imperial Otho's voice Bids her devoted sons rejoice ; And he, who battled to restore The glories and the rights of yore, Whose accents, like the clarion's sound, Could burst the dead repose around, Again his native Rome shall see The sceptred city of the free ! And young Stephania waits the hour When leaves her lord his fortress-tower Her ardent heart with joy elate, That seems beyond the reach of fate ; Her mien, like creature from above, All vivified with hope and love. Fair is her form, and in her eye Lives all the soul of Italy ; A meaning lofty and inspired, As by her native day-star fired ; Such wild and high expression, fraught With glances of impassioned thought. As fancy sheds in visions bright O'er priestess of the God of Light ; And the dark locks that lend her face A youthful ?nd luxuriant grace, Wave o'er her cheek, whose kindling dyes Seem from the fire within to rise, But deepened by the burning heaven To her own land of sunbeams given. Italian art that fervid glow Would o'er ideal beauty throw, And ith such ardent life express Her high-wrought dreams of loveliness, Drams which., surviving Empire's fall, The shade of glory still recall But see I die banner of the* brave O'er Hadrian's tomb hath ceased to wave. Tis lowered and now Stephania's eye Can well the martial train descry, Who issuing from that ancient dome, Pour through the crowded streets of Rome Now from her watch-tower on the height, With steo as fabted wood-nymph's light, THE WIDO FT OF CRESCEATWS. 87 She flies and swift her way pursues Through the lone convent's avenues. Dark cypress groves, and fields o'erspread With records of .the conquering dead, And paths which track a glowing waste, She traverses in breathless haste ; And by the tombs where dust is shrined Once tenanted by loftiest mind, Still passing on, hath reached the gate Of Rome, the proud, the desolate 1 Thronged are the streets, and, still renewed, Rush on the gathering multitude. Is it their high-souled chief to greet That thus the Roman thousands meet With names that bid their thoughts ascend] Crescentius 1 thine in song to blend ; And of triumphal days gone by Recall the inspiring pageantry ? There is an air of breathless dread, An eager glance, a hurrying tread ; And now a fearful silence round. And now a fitful murmuring sound, 'Midst the pale crowds, that almost seem Phantoms of some tumultuous dream. Quick is each step and wild each mien, Portentous of some awful scene. Bride of Crescentius 1 as the throng Bore thee with whelming force along, How did thine anxious heart beat high, Till rose suspense to agony 1 Too brief suspense, that soon shall close, And leave thy heart to deeper woes. Who "midst yon guarded precincts stands, With fearless mien but fettered hands ? The ministers of death are nigh, Yet a calm grandeur lights his eye ; And in his glance their lives a mind Which was not formed for chains to bind, But cast in such heroic mould As theirs, the ascendant ones of old. Crescentius 1 freedom's daring son, Is this the guerdon thou hast won ? Oh, worthy to have lived and died In the bright days of Latium's pride I Thus must the beam of glory close O'er the same hills again that rose, When at thy voice, to burst the yoke, The soul of Rome indignant woke ? Vain dream 1 the sacred shields are gone,* Sunk is the crowning city's throne : The illusions, that around her cast Their guardian spells, have long been past * The Ancilia, or sacred bucklers, which were kept in the temple of Mars, and were corv tidered the Palladium of the city. Thy life hath been a shot-star's ray Shed on her midnight of decay ; Thy death at freedom's ruined shrine* Must rivet every chain but thine. Calm is his aspect, and his eye Now fixed upon the deep blue sky, Mow on those wrecks of ages fled Around in desolation spread Arch, temple, column, worn and grey. Recording triumphs passed away ; Works of the mighty and the free, Whose steps on earth no more shall be, Though their bright course hath left a trace Mor years nor sorrow can efface. Why changes now the patriot's rr.ien, Erewhile so loftily serene ? Thus can approaching death control The might of that commanding soul e Mo I Heard ye not that thrilling cry Which told of bitterest agony ?' He heard it, and at once, subdued , Hath sunk the hero's fortitude. He heard it, and his heart too well Whence rose that voice of woe can tell ; And 'midst the gazing throngs around One well-known form his glance hath found Dne fondly loving and beloved, [n grief, in peril, faithful proved. Yes 1 in the wildness of despair, She, his devoted bride, is there. Pale, breathless, through the crowd she flies, The light of frenzy in her eyes : But ere her eyes can clasp the form Which life ere long must cease to warm Ere on his agonizing breast Her heart can heave, her head can rest- Checked in her course by ruthless hands. Mute, motionless, at once she stands ; With bloodless cheek and vacant glance, Frozen and fixed in horror's trance ; Spell-bound, as every sense were fled, And thought o'erwhelmed, and feeling dead; And the light waving of her hair, And veil, far floating on the air, Alone, in that dread moment, show She is no sculptured form of woe. The scene of grief and death is o'er, The patriot's heart shall throb no more : But furs so vainly formed to prove The pure devotedness of love, And draw from fond affection's eye All thought sublime, all feeling high When consciousness again shall wake, Hath now no refuge but to break. TEE WIDOW CF CRESCENTIUS. The spirit long inured to pain May smile at fate to calm disdain, Survive its darkest hour, and rise In more majestic energies. But in the glow of vernal pride, If each warm hope at once hath died, Then sinks the mind, a blighted flower, Dead to the sunbeam and the shower ; A broken gem, whose inborn light Is scattered ne'er to reunite. PART SECOND. HAST thou a scene that is not spread With records of thy glory fled, A monument that doth not tell The tale of liberty's farewell, Italia ? Thou art but a grave Where flowers luxuriate o'er the brave, And nature gives her treasures birth O'er all that hath been great on earth. Vet smile thy heavens as once they smiled When thou wert freedom's favoured child : Though fane and tomb alike are low, Time hath not dimmed thy sunbeam's glow ; And, robed in that exulting ray, Thou seem'st to triumph o'er decay- On, yet, though by thy sorrow bent, An nature's pomp magnificent ! What marvel if, when all was lost, Still on thy bright enchanted coast, Though many an omen warned him thence, Lingered the lord of eloquence,* Still gazing on the lovely sky, Whose radiance wooed him but to die '. Like him, who would not linger there, Where heaven, earth, ocean, all are fair? Who 'midst thy glowing scenes could dwell, Nor bid awhile his griefs farewell? Hath not thy pure and genial air Balm for all sadness but despair? Nol there are pangs whose deep-woia trace Not all thy magic can efface ! Heart by unkindness wrung may learn The world and all its gifts to spurn ; Time may steal on with silent tread, And dry the tear that mourns the dead, May change fond love, subdue regret, And teach even vengeance to forget ; But thou, Remorse 1 there is no charm Thy sting, avenger, to disarm ! Vain are bright suns and laughing skies To soothe thy victim's agonies ; Hoaro. The heart once made thy burning throne Still, while it beats, is thine alone. In vain for Otho's joyless eye Smile the fair scenes of Italy, As through her landscapes' rich array The imperial pilgrim bends his way. Thy form, Cresccntius ! on his sight Rises when nature laughs in light, Glides round him at the midnight hour, Is present in his festal bower, With awful voice and frowning mien, By all but him unheard, unseen. Oh 1 thus to shadows of the grave Be every tyrant still a slave ! Where, through Gargano's woody dells O'er bending oaks the north wind swells, A sainted hermit's lowly tomb Is bosomed in umbrageous gloom, In, shades that saw him live.and die Beneath their waving canopy. 'Twas his, as legends tell, to share The converse of immortals there ; Around that dweller of the wild There ' ' bright appearances" have smilJ And angel-wings at eve have been Gleaming the shadowy boughs between. And oft from that secluded bower Hath breathed, at midnight's calmer hour. A swell of viewless harps, a sound Of warbled anthems pealing round. Oh, none but voices of the sky Might wake that thrilling harmony, Whose tones, whose very echoes made An Eden of the lonely shade ! Years have gone by ; the hermit sleeps Amidst Gargano's woods and steeps ; Ivy and flowers have half o'ergrown And veiled his low sepulchral stone : Yet still the spot is holy, still Celestial footsteps haunt the hill ; And oft the awe-struck mountaineer Aerial vesper hymns may hear Around those forest-precincts float, Soft, solemn, clear, but still remote. Oft will affliction breathe her plaint To that rude shrine's departed saint. And deem that spirits of the blest There shed sweet influence o'er her breast. And thither Otho now repairs, To soothe his soul with vfcws and prayers And if for him, on holy ground, The lost one, Peace, may yet be found, "Midst rocks and forests, by the bed Where calmly sleep the sainted dead, She dwells, remote from heedless eye. With nature's lonely majesty. TEE WIDOW OF 89 Vain, vain the search ! his troubled breast Nor vow nor penance lulls to rest ; The weary pilgrimage is o'er. The hopes that cheered it are no more. Then sinks his soul, and day by day Youth's buoyant energies decay. The light of health his eye hath flown, The glow that tinged his cheek is gone. Joyless as one on whom is laid Some baleful spell that bids him fad?. Extending its mysterious power O'er every scene, o'er every hour : Even thus he withers ; and to hum Italia's brilliant skies are dim. He withers in that glorious clime Where Nature laughs in scorn of 1'ime ; And suns, that shed on all below Their full and vivifying glow, From him alone their power withhold, And leave his heart in darkness cold. Earth blooms around him, heaven is fair He only seems to perish there. Yet sometimes will a transient smile Play o'er his faded cheek awhile, When breathes his minstrel boy a strain Of power to lull all earthly pain So wildly sweet, its notes might seem The ethereal music of a dream, A spirit's voice from world' unknown, Deep thrilling power tn every tone 1 Sweet is that lay I and yet its flow Hath language only given to woe ; An'd if at times its wakening swell Some tale of glory seems to tell, Soon the proud notes of triumph die, Lost in a dirge's harmony. Oh I many a pang the heart hath proved, Hath deeply suffered, fondly loved, Ere the sad strain could catch from thence Such deep impassioned eloquence I Yes I gaze on him, that minstrel boy- He is no child of hope and joy I Though few his years, yet have they been Such as leave traces on the mien, And o'er the roses of our prime Breathe other blights than those of time. Yet seems his spirit wild and proud, By grief unsoftened and unbowed. Oh I there are sorrows which impart A sternness foreign to the heart, And, rushing with an earthquake's power, That makes a desert in an hour, Rouse the dread passions in their^course. As tempest* wake the billow's force i "Tis sad, on youthful Guide's face, The stamp of woes like these to trace.. Oh ! where can ruins awe mankind, Dark as the ruins of the mind ? His mien is lofty, but his gaze Too well a wandering soul betrays ; His full dark eye at times is bright With strange and momentary light. Whose quick uncertain flashes throw O'er his pale cheek a hectic glow : And oft his features and his air A shade of troubled mystery wear, A glance of hurried wi'ldness, fraught With some unfathomable thought : Whate'er that thought, still unexpressed Dwells the sad secret in his breast ; The pride his haughty brow reveals All other passion well conceals He breathes each wounded feeling's tone In music's eloquence alone ; His soul's deep voice is only poured Through his full song and swelling chord He seeks no friend, but shuns the train Of courtiers with a proud disdain ; And, save when Otho bids his lay Its half unearthly power essay In hall or bower the heart to thrill. His haunts are wild and lonely stilL Far distant from the heedless throne, He roves old Tiber's banks along, Where Empire's desolate remains Lie scattered o'er the silent plains ; Or, lingering 'midst each ruined shrine That strews the desert Palatine, With mournful yet commanding mioii. Like the sad Genius of the scene, Entranced in awful thought, appears To commune with departed years. Or at the dead of night, when Rome Seems of heroic shades the home ; W/hen Tiber's murmuring voice recall!) The mighty to their ancient halls ; When hushed in every meaner sound. And the deep moonlight-calm arour.c! Leaves to the solemn scene alone The majesty of ages flown A pilgrim to each hero's tomb, He wanders through the sacred gloom And midst those dwellings of decay At times will breathe so sad a lay, So wild a grandeur in each tone, 'Tis like a dirge for empires gon I Awake thy pealing harp again, But breathe a more exulting strain, ^ Young Guide 1 for awhile forgot Be the dark secrets of thy lot" And rouse the inspiring soul of song To speed the, banquet's hoar along t '90 THE WIDO ir OF CRESCENTIUK The feast Is spread, and music's call Is echoing through the royal hall, And banners wave and trophies shine 1 O'er stately guests in glittering line ; And Otho seeks awhile to chase The thoughts he never can erase, And bid the vo'ce, whose murmurs deep Rise like a spirit on his sleep The still small voice of conscience die Lost in the dm of revelry. On his pale brow dejection lours, But that shall yield to festal hours ; A gloom is in his faded eye, But that from music's power shall fly , His wasted cheek is wan with care. But mirth shall spread fresh crimson there. Wake, Guido ! wake thy numbers high. Strike the bold chord exultingly ; And pour upon the enraptured ear Such strains as warriors love to hear I Let the rich mantling goblet flow, And banish aught resembling woe ; And if a thought intrude, of power To mar the bright convivial hour, Still must its influence lurk unseen, And cloud the heart but not the mien I Away, vain drecm ! On Otho's brow, Still darker lour the shadows now ; Changed are his features, now o'erspread With the cold paleness of the dead ; Now crimsoned with a hectic dye, The burning flush of agony I His lip is quivering, and his breast Heaves with convulsive pangs oppressed ; Now his dim eye seems fixed and glazed, And now to heaven in anguish raised ; And as, with unavailing aid, Around him throng his guests dismayed, He sinks while scarce his struggling breath Hath power to falter "This is death 1" Then rushed that haughty child of song, Dark Guido, through the awe-struck throng. Filled with a strange delirious light, His kindling eye shone wildly bright ; And on the sufferer's mien awhile Gazing with stern vindictive smile, A feverish glow of triumph dyed His burning cheek, while thus he cried : " Yes ! these are death-pangs on thy brow fs set the seal of vengeance now I Oh ! well was mixed the deadly draught, And long and deeply hast thou quaffed ; And bitter as thy pangs may be, They are but guerdons meet from me ! Yet these are but a moment's throes Howe'er intense, they soon shall close. Soon shall thou yield thy fle ^ing breath My life hath been a lingering death, Since one dark hour of woe and crime, A blood-spot on the page of time 1 ' Deem'st thou my mind of reason void ': It is not frenzied but destroyed I Ay I view the week with shudderinc thought- Thai work of ruin thou hast wrought I The secret of thy doom -to tell My name alone suffices well Stephania I once a hero's bride ! Otho 1 thou know'st the resl : he died. Yes ! Irusting to a monarch's word, The Roman fell, untried, unheard. And thou, whose every pledge was vain, How couldst thou trust in aught again ? ' " He died, and I was changed my soul A lonely wanderer, spurned control. From peace, and light, an'd glory hurled. The outcast of a purer world, I saw each brighter hope o'erthrown, And lived for one dread task alone. The task is closed, fulfilled the vow The hand of death is on thee now. Betrayer ! in thy turn betrayed, The debt of blood shall soon be paid Thine hour is come. The time hath beei My heart had shrunk from such a scene : That feeling long is pasl my fate Hath made me stern as desolate. " Ye that around me shuddering stand. Ye chiefs and princes of the land 1 Mourn ye a guilty monarch s doom / Ye wept not o'er the patriot's tomb I He sleeps unhonoured yet be mine To share his low neglected shrine. His soul with freedom finds a home, His grave is that of glory Rome I Are not the great of old wiih her. The city of the sepulchre ? Lead me to death I and let me share The slumbers of the mighty there I" The day departs that fearful day Kades in calm loveliness away. From purple heavens its lingering beam Seems melting into Tiber's stream, And softly tints each Roman hill With glowing light, as clear and still As if, unstained by crime or woe, Its hours had passed in silent flow. The day sets calmly it hath been Marked with a strange and awful scene One guilty bosom throbs no more, And Otho's pangs and life are o'er. THE LAST BANQUET OF A NTONT AND CLEOPATRA. 91 And thou, ere yet another sun His burning race hath brightly run, Released from anguish by thy foes, Daughter of Rome I shalt find repose. Yes 1 on fhy country's lovely sky Fix yet once more thy parting eye. A few short hours and all shall be The silent and the past for thee. Oh I thus with tempests of a day We struggle and we p*5s away, Like the wild billows as they sweep Leaving no vestige on the deep I And o'er thy dark and lowly bed The sons of future days shall tread, The pangs, the conflicts of thy lot ,By them unknown, by thee forgot. THE LAST BANQUET OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. [" Antony concluding that he could not die more honourably than in battle, determined to attack Caesar at the same time both by sea and land. _ The night preceding the execution of this design, he ordered his servants at supper to reader him their best services that evening, and fill the wine round plentifully, for the day following they might belong to another master, whilst he lay extended on the ground, no longer of consequence either to them or to himself. .... At the dead of night, when universal silence reigned through the city a silence that was deepened by the awful thought of the ensuing day on a sudden was heard the sound of musical instruments, and a noiie which resembled the exclamations of Bacchanals. This tumultuous procession seemed to pass through the whole city, and to go out at the gate which led to the enemy's camp. Those who reflected on this prodigy concluded that Bacchus, the god whom Antony affected to imitate, had then forsaken him." PLUTARCH.] THY foes had girt thee with their dread array, O stately Alexandria 1 yet the sound Of mirth and music, at the close of day, Swelled from thy splendid fabrics far around [hall O'er camp and wave. Within the royal In gay magnificence the feast was spread ; And, brightly streaming from the pictured wall, [shed A thousand lamps their trembling lustre O'er many a column, rich with precious dyes, [burning skies. That tinge the marble's vein 'neath Afric's And soft and clear that .wavering radiance played O'er sculptured forms that round the pillared scene Calm and majestic rose, by art arrayed In godlike beauty, awfully serene. Oh ! how unlike the troubled guests, reclined Round that luxurious board ! in every face Some shadow from the tempest of the mind, Rising by fits, the searching eye might trace, [not mirth, Though vainly masked in smiles which are But the proud spirit's veil thrown o'er the woes of earth. Their brows are bound with wreaths, whose transient bloom [rose May still survive tbe wearers and the Perchance be scarcely withered, when the tomb Receives the mighty to its dark repose I The day must dawn on battle, and may set In death but fill the mantling wine-cup high! Despair is fearless, and the Fates even yet Lend her one hour for parting revelry. They who the empire of the world possessed Would taste its joys again, ere all exchanged for rest. Its joys I oh, mark yon proud Triumvir's mien, [care I And read their annals on that brow of 'Midst pleasure's lotus-bowers his steps have been : [despair. Earth's brightest pathway led him to Trust not the glance that fain would yet inspire The buoyant energies of days gone by ; There is delusion in its meteor-fire, And all within is shame, is agony ! Away ! the tears in bitterness may flow, But there are smiles which bear a stamp of deeper woe. Thy cheek is sunk, and faded as thy fame, O lost devoted Roman ! yet thy brow, To that ascendant and undying name, Pleads with stern loftiness thy right even cow. 92 THE LAST BANQUET OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. Thy glory is departed, but hath left A lingering light around thee : in decay Not less than kingly though of all bereft, Thou seem'st as empire had not passed away. Supreme in ruin 1 teaching hearts elate A deep prophetic dread of still mysterious fate! [hath made But thou, enchantress queen 1 whose love His desolation thou art by his side, In all thy sovereignty of charms arrayed, To meet the storm with still uccon- quered pride. Imperial being ! even though many a stain Of error be upon thee, there is power In thy commanding nature, which shall reign [hour ; O'er the stern genius of misfortune's And the dark beauty of thy troubled eye Even now is all illumed with wild sublimity. Thine aspect, all impassioned, wears a light Inspiring and inspired thy cheek a dye, Which rises not from joy, but yet is bright With the deep glow of feverish energy. Proud Siren of the Nile 1 thy glance is fraught With an immortal fire : in every beam It darts, there kindles some heroic thought, But wild and awful as a sibyl's dream. For thou with death hast communed to attain [from the chain. Dread knowledge of the pangs that ransom And the stern courage by such musings lent, Daughter of Afric 1 o'er thy beauty throws The grandeur of a regal spirit, blent With all the majesty of mighty woes. While he, so fondly, fatally adored, Thy fallen Roman, gazes on thee yet, Till scarce the soul that once exulting soared Can deem the day-star of its glory set ; Scarce his charmed heart believes that power can be [by thee. In sovereign fate, o'er him thus fondly loved But there is sadness in the eyes around, Which mark that ruined leader, and survey [profound His changeful mien, whence oft the gloom Strange triumph chases haughtily away. "Fill the bright goblet, warrior guests!" he cries ; [deep 1 " Quaff, ere we part, the generous nectar Ere sunset gild once more the western skies, Your chief in cold forgetfulness may sleep, While sounds of revel float o'er shore and sea, [not for me. And the red bowl again is crowned but " Yet weep not thus. The struggle is no* o'er, O victors of Philippi I Many a field Hath yielded palms to us : one effort more I By one stem conflict must our doom be sealed. Forget not, Romans I o'er a subject world How royally your eagle's wing hath f- -ad, Thou , from his eyrie of dominion hurled, Now bursts the tempest on his crested head. Yet sovereign still, if banished from the sky, The sun's indignant bird, he must not droop but die." The feast is o'er. Tis night, the dead of night [deep ; Unbroken stillness broods o'er earth and From Egypt's heaven of soft and starry light [sleep. The moon looks cloudless o'er a world of For those who wait the mom's awakening beams, The battle-signal to decide their doom, Have sunk to feverish rest and troubled dreams ; Rest that shall soon be calmer in the tomb ; Dreams dark and ominous, but there to cease, When sleep the lords of war in solitude and peace. Wake, slumberer ! wake ! Hark I heard ye not a sound [still Of gathering tumult? Near and nearer Its murmur swells. Above, below, around, Bursts a strange chorus forth, confused and shrill Wake, Alexandria 1 through thy streets the tread Of steps unseen is hurrying, and the note Of pipe, and lyre, and trumpet, wild and dread Is heard upon the midnight air to float ; And voices clamorous as in frenzied mirth, Mingle their thousand tones, which are not of the earth. These are no mortal sounds ! Their thrilling strain Hath more mysterious power, and birtb more high ; ALARIC IN ITALY. And the deep horror chilling every vein Owns them of stern terrific augury. Beings of worlds unknown 1 ye pass away, O yc invisible and awful throng I Your echoing footsteps and resounding lay To Caesar's camp exulting move along. Thy gods forsake thee, Antony ! The sky By that dread sign reveals thy doom- Despair and die 1 ALARIC IN ITALY. [After describing the conquest of Greece and Italy by the German and Scythian hordes united under the command of Alaric, and narrating how they were foiled by a tempest in the first attempt at the invasion of Sicily, the historian of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire thus pro- ceeds : " The whole design was defeated by the premature death of Alaric, which fixed, after a short Illness, the fatal term of his conquests. The ferocious character of the barbarians was dis- played in the funeral of a hero, whose valour and fortune they celebrated with mournful applause, By the labour of a captive multitude they forcibly diverted the course of the Busentinus, a small river that washes the walls of Consentia. The royal sepulchre, adorned with the splendid spoils and trophies of Rome, was constructed in the vacant bed ; the waters were then restored to their natural channel, and the secret spot where the rerriains of Alaric had been deposited was for ever concealed by the inhuman massacre of the prisoners who liad been employed to execute the work."] HEARD ye the Gothic trumpet's blast, The march of hosts as Alaric passed? His steps have tracked that glorious clime, The birthplace of heroic time ; But he, in Northern deserts bred, Spared not the living for the dead, Nor heard the voice whose pleading cries From temple and from tomb arise. He passed the light of burning fanes Hath been his torch o'er Grecian plains ; And woke they not the brave, the free, To guard their own Thermopylas I And left they not their silent dwelling, When Scythia's note of war was swelling ? No 1 where the bold Three Hundred slept, Sad Freedom battled not but wept I For nerveless then the Spartan's hand, And Thebes could rouse no Sacred Band ; Nor one high soul from slumber broke When Athens owned the northern yoke. But was there none for thet to dare The conflict, scorning to despair, O City of the seven proud hills I Whose name even yet the spirit thrills, A3 doth a clarion's battle-call ? Didst thou, too, ancient empress, fall ? Did no Camillus from the chain Ransom thy Capitol again ? Oh, who shall tell the days to be No patriot rose to bleed for thee ! Heard ye the Gothic trumpet's blast, The march of hosts as Alaric passed ? That fearful sound, at midnight deep, Bursts on the Eternal City's sleep.* How woke the mighty ? She whose will So long had bid the world be still, Her sword a sceptre, and her eye The ascendant star of destiny I She woke to view the dread array Of Scythians rushing to their prey To hear her streets resound the cries Poured from a thousand agonies. While the strange light of flames, that gave A ruddy glow to Tiber's wave, Bursting in that terrific hour From fane and palace, dome and tower, Revealed the throngs, for aid divine Clinging to many % worshipped shrine. Fierce fitful radiance wildly shed O'er spear and sword, with carnage red, Shone o'er the suppliant and the flying. And kindled pyres for Romans dying Weep, Italy 1 Alas, that e'er Should tears alone thy wrongs declare ! The tirre hath been when thy distress Had rou.'ed up empires for redress. Now, her long race of glory run, Without a combat Rome is won, And from her plundered temples forth Rush the fierce children of the North, * "At the hour of midnight the Salarian Gate was silently opened, and the inhabitants were awakened by the tremendous sound of the Gothic trumpet." GIBSON. ALARIC IN ITALY. To share beneath more genial skies Each joy their own rude clime denies. Ye who on bright Campania's shore Bade your fair villas rise of yore, With all their graceful Colonnades And crystal baths and myrtle shades^ Along the blue Hesperian deep, Whose glassy waves in sunshine sleep- Beneath your olive and your vine Far other inmates now recline ; And the tall plane, whose roots ye fed With rich libations duly shed, O'er guests, unlike your vanished friends, Its bowery canopy extends. For them the southern heaven is glowing, The bright Falernian nectar flowing ; For them the marble halls unfold, Where nobler beings dwelt of old, Whose children for barbarian lords Touch the sweet lyre's resounding chords, Or wreaths of Psestan roses twine To crown the sons of Elbe and Rhine. Yet, though luxurious they repose Beneath Corinthian porticoes While round them into being start The marvels of triumphant art Oh ! not for them hath Genius giver. To Parian stone the fire of heaven, Enshrining in the forms he wrought A bright eternity of thought. In vain the natives of the skies In breathing marble round them rise, And sculptured nymphs of fount or glade People the dark-green laurel shade. Cold are the conqueror's heart and eye To visions of divinity : And rude his hand which dares deface The models of immortal grace. Arouse ye from your soft delights ! Chieftains I the war-note's call invites ; And other land 1 : must yet be won,' And other deeds of havoc done. Warriors ! your flowery bondage break Sons of the stormy North ! awake. The barks are launching from the steep Soon shall the Isle of Ceres* weep, And Afric's burning winds afar Waft the shrill sounds of Alaric's war. Where shall his race of victory close ? When shall the ravaged earth repose ? But hark 1 what wildly mingling cries From Scythia's camp tumultuous rise ? Why swells dread Alaric's name on air? A sterner conqueror hath been there I Slefiy A conqueror yet his paths are peace, He comes to bring, the world's release, He of the sword that knows no sheath, The avenger, the deliverer Death I Is, then, that daring spirit fled ? Doth Alaric slumber with the dead ? Tamed are the warrior's pride and strength, And he and earth are calm at length. The laud where heaven unclouded shines, Where sleep the sunbeams on the vines ; The land by conquest made his own, Can yield him now a grave alone. But his her lord, from Alp to sea No common sepulchre shall be I Oh ! make his tomb where mortal eye Its buried wealth may ne'er descry, Where mortal foot may never tread Above a victor-monarch's bed. Let not his royal dust be hid 'Neath star-aspiring pyramid ; Nor bid the gathered mound arise To bear his memory to the skies. Years roll away oblivion claims Her triumph o'er heroic names ; And hands profane disturb the clay That once was fired with glory's ray ; And Avarice from their secret gloom Drags even the treasures of the tomb. But thou, O leader of the free I That general doom awaits not thee : Thou, where no steps may e'er intrude, Shalt rest in regal solitude. Till, bursting on thy sleep profound, The Awakener's final trumpet sound. Turn ye the waters from their course, Bid nature yield to human force, And hollow in the torrent's bed A chamber for the mighty dead. The work is done the captive's hand Hath well obeyed his lord's command. Within that royal tomb are cast The richest trophies of the past, The wealth of many a stately dome, The gold and gems of plundered Rome. And when the midnight stars are beaming And ocean waves in stillness gleaming, Stern in their grief, his warriors bear The Chastener of the Nations there ; To rest at length from victory's toil, Alone, with all an empire's spoil I Then the freed current's rushing wave Rolls o'er the secret of the grave ; Then streams the martyr-captive's blood To crimson that sepulchral flood, Whose conscious tide alone shall keep The mystery in its bosom deep TEE WTFE OF 95 Time hath passed on since then and swept From earth the urns where heroes slept ; Temples of gods and domes of kings Are mouldering with forgotten things : Yet not shall ages e'er molest The viewless home of Alaric's rest : Still rolls, like them, the unfailing river. The guardian of his dust for evsjr THE WIFE OF ASDRUBAL. [" This governor, who had braved death when it was at a distance, and protested lhat the sun should never see him survive Carthage this fierce Asdrubal was so mean-spirited as to come alone, and privately throw himself at the conqueror's feet. The general, pleased to see his proud rival humbled, granted his life, and kept him to grace his triumph. The Carthaginians in the citadel ;io sooner understood that their commander had abandoned the place, than they threw open the gates, and put the proconsul in possession of Byrsa. The Romans had now no enemy to contend with but the nine hundred deserters, who, being reduced to despair, retired into the temple of Esculapius, which was a second citadel within the first : there the proconsul attacked them ; and these unhappy wretches, finding there was no way to escape, set fire to the temple. As the flames spread, they retreated from one part to another, till they got to the roof of the building : there Asdrubal's wife appeared in her best apparel, as if the day of her death had been a day of triumph , hy two children.' Having thus spoken, she drew out a dagger, stabbed them both, and while they were yet struggling for life, threw them from the top of the temple, and leaped down after them into the flames." Ancient Universal History.} THE sun sets brightly but a ruddier glow O'er Afric's heaven the flames of Carthage throw ; Her walls have sunk, and pyramids of fire In lurid splendour from her domes aspire ; Swayed by the wind, they wave while glares the sky As when the desert's red simoom is nigh ; The sculptured altar and the pillared hall Shine out in dreadful brightness ere they fall; For o'er the seas the light of ruin streams, Rock, wave, and isle are crimsoned by its beams ; [chains, While captive thousands, bound in Roman Gaze in mute horror on their burning fanes ; And shouts of triumph, echoing far around, Swell from the victors' tents, with ivy crowned.* [height But mark ! from yon fair temple's loftiest What towering form bursts wildly on the All regal in magnificent attire, [sight, And sternly beauteous in terrific ire ? She might be deemed a Pythia in the hour Of dread communion and delirious power ; A being more than earthly, in whose eye There dwells a strange and fierce ascen- dancy. It was * Roman custom to adorn the teats of victors with ivy The flames are gathering round intensely bright, Full on her features glares their meteor light ; But a wild courage sits triumphant there, The stormy grandeur of a proud despair ; A daring spirit, in its woes elate, Mightier than death, untameable by fate. The dark profusion of her locks unbound, Waves like a warrior's floating plumage round ; Flushed is her cheek, inspired her haughty mien, She seems the avenging goddess of the scene. Are those her infants, that with suppliant cry Cling round her, shrinking as the flame draws nigh, [vest, Clasp with their feeble hands her gorgeous And fain would rush for shelter to her breast? [dain, Is that a mother's glance, where stern dis- And passion, awfully vindictive, reign ? Fixed is her eye on Asdrubal, who stands Ignobly safe amidst the conquering bands ; On him who left her to that burning tomb, Alone to share her children's martyrdom ; Who, when his country perished, fled the strife, And knelt to win ;he worthless boon of life 96 SELIODOBUB D? THE TEMPLE. "Live, traitor, live!'' she cries, "since dear to thee, E'en in thy fetters, can existence be I Scorned and dishonoured live 1 with blasted name, [shame. The Roman's triumph not to grace, but O slave in spirit ! bitter be thy chain With tenfold anguish to avenge my pain 1 Still may the manes of thy children rise To chase calm slumber from thy wearied eyes; Still may their voices on the haunted air In fearful whispers tell thee to despair, Till vain remorse thy withered heart con- sume, Scourged by relentless shadows of the tomb ! E'en now my sons shall die and thou, their sire. In bondage safe, shall yet in them expnc. Think'st thou I love them not? Twas thine to fly 'Tis mine with these to suffer and to die. Behold their fate 1 the arms that cannot save [grave." Have been their cradle, and shall be their Bright in her hand the lifted dagger gleams. Swift from her children's hearts the life- blood streams ; With frantic laugh she clasps them to the breast Whose woes and passions soon shall be at rest; Lifts one appealing, frenzied glance on high, Then deep 'midst rolling flames is lost to mortal eye. HELIODORUS IN THE TEMPLE. tFrom Maccabees, book ii, chapter 3, v. ax. " Then it would ^ve pitied a man to see the . falling down of the multitude of all sorts, and the fear of the high priest, being in such an agony. 22. They then called upon the Almighty Lord to keep the things committed of trust safe and sure, for those that had committed them. 23. Nevertheless Heliodorus executed that which was de- creed. 24. Now as he was there present himself, with his guard about the treasury, the Lord ol Spirits, and the Prince of all Power, caused a great apparition, so that all that presumed to come in with him were astonished at the power of God, and fainted, and were sore afraid. 25. For there appeared unto them a horse with a terrible rider upon him, and adorned with a very fail covering, and he ran fiercely, and smote at Heliodorus with his fore feet, and it seemed that he that sat upon the horse had complete harness of gold. 26. Moreover, two other young men ap- peared before him, notable in strength, excellent in beauty, and comely in apparel, who stood by him on either side, and scourged him continually, and gave him many sore stripes. 27. And Heliodorus fell suddenly to the ground, and was compassed with great darkness ; but they that were with him took him up, and put him into a litter. 28. Thus him that lately came with great train, and with all his guard, into the said treasury, they carried out, being unable to help himsell with his weapons, and manifestly the y acknowledged the power of God. 29. For he by the hand of God was cast down,, and lay speechless, without all hope of life."] A SOUND of woe in Salem ! mournful cries Rose from her dwellings youthful cheeks were pale, Tears flowing fast from dim and aged eyes, And voices mingling in tumultuous wail ; Hards raised to heaven in agony of prayer. And powerless wrath, and terror, and de- spair. Thy daughters, Judah ! weeping, laid aside The regal splendour of their fair array, With the rude sackcloth girt their beauty's pride, [wild dismay ; And thronged the streets in hurrying, While knelt thy priests before His awful shrine, [thine. Who made, of old, renown and empire But on the spoiler moves the temple's gate, The bright, the beautiful, his guards un- fold ; And all the scene reveals its solemn state, Its courts and pillars, rich with sculp- tured gold ; [abode, And man, with eye unhallowed, views the The severed spot, the dwelling-place oi God. [yore Where art thou, Mighty Presence 1 that of Wert wont between the cherubim to rest, Veiled in a cloud of glory, shadowing o'er Thy sanctuary the chosen and the blest ? Thou I that didst make fair Sion's ark thy throne. And call the oracle's recess thm own I NIGHT SCENE IN GENOA Angtl of God I that through the Assyrian host, [night hour, Clothed with the darkness of the mid- To tame the proud, to hush the invader's boast, [power, Didst pass triumphant in avenging Till burst the day-spring on the silent scene, And death alone revealed where thou hadst been. Wilt thou not wake, O Chastener I in thy might, To guard thine ancient and majestic hill, Where oft from heaven the full Shechinah's light [fill I Hath streamed the house of holiness to Oh 1 yet once more defend thy loved do- main, Eternal one 1 Deliverer 1 rise again I Fearless of thee, the plunderer, undismayed, Hastes on, the sacred chambers to ex- plore [laid, Where the bright treasures of the fane are The orphan's portion, and the widow's store ; [coured die, What recks his heart though age unsuc- And want consume the cheek of infancy ? Away, intruders ! hark I a mighty sound ! Behold, a burst of light I away, away I A fearful glory fills the temple round, A vision bright in terrible array 1 And lo I a steed of no terrestrial frame, His path a whirlwind, and his breath a flame I His neck is clothed with thunder and his mane Seems waving frre the kindling of his eye ts as a meteor ardent with disdain His glance his gesture, fierce in ma- jesty I [to bear Instinct with light he seems, and formed Some dread archangel through the fields of air. But who is he, in panoply of gold, Throned on that burning charger ? bright his form, Yet in its brightness awful to behold, And girt with all the terrors of the storm ! Lightning is on his helmet's crest and feat Shrinks from the splendour of his brow And by his side two radiant warriors stand All-armed, and kingly in commanding grace [grand ; Oh ! more than kingly godlike 1 sternly Their port indignant, and each dazzling face Beams with the beauty to immortals given, Magnificent in all the wrath of heaven. Then sinks each gazer's heart each knee is bowed [fight, In trembling awe but, as to fields of The unearthly war-steed, rushing through the crowd, Bursts on their leader in terrific might ; And the stem angels of that dread abode Pursue its plunderer with the scourge of God. Darkness thick darkness ! low on earth he lies, Rash Heliodorus motionless and pale Bloodless his cheek, and o'er his shrouded eyes Mists, as of death, suspend their shadowy- veil ; [train, And thus the oppressor, by his fear -struck Is borne from that inviolable fane. The light returns the warriors of the sky Have passed, with all their dreadful pomp, away; [high Then wakes the timbrel, swells the song on Triumphant as in Judah's elder day ; Rejoice, O city of the sacred hill ; Salem, exult 1 thy God is with thee still. NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. FROM SISMONDl'S ' REPUBLIQUES 1TAUENNBS." f" Lcs consuls de 1'annee 1169, pour retablir la paix dans leur patrie, au milieu des factions soitrdes a leur voix et plus puissantes qu'eux, furent obliges d'ourdir en quelque sorte une conspira- tion. Ils commencerent par s'assurer secretement des dispositions pacifiques de plusiers des citoyens, qul cependant etoient entraines dans Its e*meutes par leur parente" avec les chefs dv f action ; puis sc concertant avcc le venerable vieUlaru. Hugues, leur arr.heveque, ils firent, long- 98 NIGHT-SOENE IN GENOA. temps arant k lever du soleil, appeler au son des cloches les citoyens a I parlcmect ; Us se flat, toient que la surprise et 1'alarmc de cette convocation inattendue, au milieu de 1'obscuritd de la ouit) rendroit 1'assembMe et plus complete et plus docile. Les citoyens, en accourant au parlement 'general, virent, au milieu de la place publique, Ic vieil arcb.evequc, entoure'de son clerg^en habit de ceremonies, et portant des torches allume'es, tandis que les reliques de Saint Jean Baptiste, le protecteur _de Genes, ens ) 1'asse.mblee, mais le poupJe ct le clerg^ se porterent en foule i leurs maisons ; ils lee trouverenl ce'Ji c'branMs par ce qu'ils venoient d apprcndre, et, profitant de leur Emotion, Us leur firent jura une reconciliation sincere, et donner le baistr de paix aux chefs de la faction opposc'e. Alors leg cloch'es do la ville sonr.erent en t&noignage d'aliegresse* et 1'archeyeoue de retour sur la place pub'ique entonna un Te Deuia avcc tout le pcuple, en honneur du Dieu de paix qul avoit sauvl Ecur pAtnt,"~-fiittoir;t dtt Rtftttliyutt Italitnncit vol. U. pp. 149, 150.] IN Genoa, when the sunset gave Its last warm purple to the wavs, No sound of war, no voice of fear, Was heard, announcing danger near : Though deadliest foes were there whose, hate But slumbered till its hour of fate, Vet calmly, at the twilight's close f Sunk the wide city to repose. But when deep midnight reigned around, All sudden woke the alarm-bell's sound, Full swelling, while the hollow breeze Bore its dread summons o'er the seas. Then, Genoa, from their slumber started Thy sons, the free, the fearless-hearted ; Then mingled with the awakening peal Voices, and steps, and clash of steel. Arm, warriors, arm 1 for danger calls, Arise to guard your native walls ! With breathless haste the gathering throng Hurry the echoing streets along ; Through darkness rushing to the scene Where their bold counsels still convene. But there a blaze of tbrches bright Pours its red radiance on the night, O'er fane, and dome, and column playing, With every fitful night-wind swaying : Now floating o'er each tall arcade, Around the pillared scene displayed,' In light relieved by depth of shade : And now with ruddy meteor-glare, Full streaming on the silvery hair And the bright cross of him who stands 'Rearing that sign with suppliant bands, Girt with his consecrated train, The hallowed servants of the fane. Of life's past woes, the fading trace Hath given that aged patriarch's face Expression holy, deep, resigned, The calm sublimity of mind. Years o'er his snowy head have passed, And left him of his race the last ; Alone on earth yet still his mien Is .bright with majesty serene; And those high hopes, whose guidtin star Shines from the eternal worlds afar, Have with that light illumed his eye, vVhose fount is immortality, And o'er his features poured a ray Of glory, not to pass away. He seems a being who hath known Communion with his God alone. On earth by nought but pity's tie Detained a moment from on high ! One to sublimer worlds allied, One, from all passion purified, E'en now hah' mingled with the sky. And all prepared oh ! not to die But, like the prophet, to aspire, In heaven's triumphal car of fire. He speaks and from the throngs aroutu. Is heard not e'en a whispered sound ; .Awe-struck each heart, and fixed eacb glance, They stand as in a spell-bound trance : He speaks oh 1 who can hear nor own The might of each prevailing tone? NIGHT-SCENE IN GENOA. " Chieftains and warriors I ye, so long Aroused to strife by mutual wrong, Whose fierce and far-tfansmitted hate Hath made your country desolate ; Now by the love ye bear her name, By that pure spark of holy flame On freedom's altar brightly burning, But, once extinguished, ne'er returning ; By all your hopes of bliss to come, When burst the bondage of the tomb ; By him, the God who bade us live To aid each other, and forgive I call upon ye to resign Your discords at your country's shrine, Each ancient feud in peace atone, Wield your keen sword for her alone, And swear, upon the cross, to cast Oblivion's mantle o'er the past." No voice replies. The holy bands Advance to where yon chieftain stands, With folded arms, and brow of gloom O'ershadowed by bis floating plume. To him they lift the cross in vain : He turns oh 1 say not with disdain, But with a mien of haughty grief, That seeks not, e'en from heaven, relief. He rends his robes he sternly speaks- Vet tears are on the warrior's cheeks. " Father 1 not thus the wounds may close, Inflicted by eternal foes. Deemest thou thy mandate can efface The dread volcano's burning trace ? Or bid the earthquake's ravaged scene Be smiling as it once hath been ? No I for the deeds the sword hath done Forgiveness is not lightly won ; The words by hatred spoke may not Be as a summer breeze forgot 1 'Tis vain we deem the war-feud's rage A portion of our heritage. Leaders, now slumbering with their fame, Bequeathed us that undying flame ; Hearts that have long been still and cold Yet rule us from their silent mould ; And voices, heard on earth no more, Speak to our spirits as of yore. Talk not of mercy blood alone The stain of bloodshed may atone ; Nought else can pay that mighty debt, The dead forbid us to forget." He pauses from the patriarch's brow There beams more lofty grandeur now His reverend form, bis aged hand Assume a gesture of commajid, His voice is awful, and his eye ' Filled with prophetic majesty. "The dead 1 and deemcst thou they retain Aught of terrestrial passion's stain ? Of guilt incurred in days gone by, Aught but the fearful penalty? And sayest thou, mortal 1 blood alone For deeds of slaughter may atone ? There hath been blood by Him 'twas shed To expiate every crime who bled ; The absolving God who died to save, And rose in victory- from the grave 1 And by that stainless offering given Alike for all on earth to heaven ; By that inevitable hour When death shall vanquish pride and power, And each departing passion's force Concentrate all in late remorse ; And by the day when doom shall be Passed on earth's millions, and on thee - The doom that shall not be repealed, Once uttered, and for ever sealed I summon thee, O child of clay 1 To cast thy darker thoughts away, And meet thy foes in peace and love. As thou wouldst join the blest above." Still as he speaks, unwonted feeling Is o'er the chieftain's bosom stealing ; Oh ! not in vain the pleading cries Of anxious thousands round him rise ; ' He yields devotion's mingled sense Of faith and fear, and penitence. Pervading all his soul, he bows To offer on the cross his vows, And that best incense to the skies, Each evil passion's sacrifice. Then tears from warriors' eyes were flowing, High hearts with soft emotions glowing ; Stern foes as long-loved brothers greeting, And ardent throngs in transport meeting ; And eager footsteps forward pressing, And accents loud in joyous blessing ; And when their first wild tumults cease. A thousand voices echo " Peace 1 " Twilight's dim mist bath rolled away, And the rich Orient burns with day ; Then as to greet the sunbeam's birth, Rises the choral hymn of earth The exulting strain through Genoa swelling Of peace and holy rapture telling. 100 THE TEOUBALOUE AND EIC3AED CCEUE DE LION. Far float the sounds o'er vale and steep, The seaman hears them OH the deep, So mellowed by the gale, they seem As the wild music of a dream. But not on mortal ear alone Peals the triumphant anthem's tone ; For beings of a purer sphere Bend with celestial joy to hear. THE TROUBADOUR AND RICHARD CGEUR DE LION. [' Not only the place of Richard's confinement" (when thrown into prison by tie Duke of Austria), " ii we 'believe the literary history of the times, but even the circumstance of his cap. tivity, was carefully concealed by his vindictive enemies : and both might have remained unknown but for the grateful attachment of a Provencal bard, or minstrel, named Blondel, who had shared that prince's friendship and tasted his bounty. Having travelled over all the European continent to learn the destiny of his beloved patrort, Blondel accidentally got intelligence of a certain castle in Germany, where a prisoner of distinction was confined, and guarded with great vigilance. Persuaded by a secret impulse that this prisoner was the King of E agland, the minstrel repaired to the place ; but the gates of the castle were shut against him, and lie could obtain no information relative to the name or quality ct the unhappy person it secured. In this extremity, he bethought himself of an expedient for making the desired discovery. He chanted, with a loud voice, soma verses of d song which had been composed partly by himself, partly by Richard; and to his un- speakable joy, on making a pause, he heard it re-echoed and continued by the royal captive. (Hut. Trmtaaovrs). 1 o this discovery the English monarch is said to have eventually owed his release. See RUSSSL s Modern Europe, voL i. p. 369.] THE Troubadour o'er many a plain Hath roamed unwearied, but in vain. O'er many a rugged mountain-scene And forest wild his track hath been ; Beneath Calabria's glowing sky He hath sung the songs of chivalry ; His voice hath swelled on the Alpine breeze, And rung through the snowy Pyrenees ; From Ebro's banks to Danube's wave, He hath sought his prince, the loved, the brave; And yet, if still on earth thou art, Oh, monarch of the lion-heart ! The faithful spirit, which distress But heightens to devotedhess, By toil and trial vanquished not, Shall guide thy minstrel to the spot. He hath reached a mountain hung with vine, And woods that wave o'er the lovely Rhine The feudal towers that crest its height Frown in unconquerable might ; Dark is their aspect of sullen state No helmet hangs o'er the massy gate* To bid the wearied pilgrim rest, At the chieftain's board a welcome guest. Vainly rich evening's parting smile Would chase the gloom of the haughty pile, * A custom in feudal times, as a token that Mrangcrs were invited to enter the castle, and partake of hospitality. That 'midst bright sunshine lours on -high, Like a thunder-cloud in a summer sky. Not these the halls where a child of song Awhile may speed the hours along ; Their echoes should repeat alone The tyrant's mandate, the prisoner's moan, Or the Wild Huntsman's bugle-blast, When his phantom train are hurrying past. The weary minstrel paused his eye Roved o'er the scene despondingly : Within the lengthening shadow, cast By the fortress towers and ramparts vast. Lingering he gazed. The rocks around Sublime in savage grandeur frowned. Proud guardians of the regai flood, In giant strength the mountains stood By torrents cleft, by tempests riven, Yet mingling still with the calm blue heaven. Their peaks were bright with a sunny glow, But the Rhine all shadowy rolled below ; In purple tints the vineyards smiled, But the woods beyond waved dark and wild ; Nor pastoral pipe nor convent's bell Was neard on the sighing breeze to swell ; But all was lonely, silent, rude, A stem, yet glorious solitude. But hark 1 that solemn stillness breaking, The Troubadour's wild song is waking. Full oft that song in days gone by Hath cheered the sons of chivalry : It hath swelled o'er Judah's mountains lone, Hermon I thy echoes nave learned its tone ; THE TROUBADOUR AND RICHARD OCEUR DE LION. 101 On the Great Plain* its notes have rung, The leagued Crusaders' tents among ; 'Twas loved by the Lion-heart, who won The palm in the field of Ascalon ; And now afar o'er the rocks of Rhine peals the bold strain of Palestine. THE TROUBADOUR'S SONG. THINE hour is come, and the stake is set," The Soldan cried to the captive knight ; *' And the sons of the Prophet in throngs are met To gaze on the fearful sight. " But be our faith by thy lips professed, The faith of Mecca's shrine, Cast down the red cross that marks thy vest, And life shall yet be thine." " I have seen the flow of my bosom's blood, And gazed with undaunted eye : I have borne the bright cross through fire and flood, And think'st thou I fear to die? " I have'stood where thousands, by Salem's towers, Have fallen for the name Divine ; And the faith that cheered their closing hours Shall be the light of mine." " Thus wilt thou die in the pride of health, And the glow of youth's fresh bloom ? Thou art offered life, and pomp, and wealth, Or torture and the tomb." " I have been where the crown of thorns was twined, For a dying Saviour's brow ; He spurned the treasures that lure mankind, And I reject them now 1" " Art thou the son of a noble line, In a land that is fair and blest ; And doth not thy spirit, proud captive 1 pine, Again on its shores to rest ? " Thine own is the choice to hail once more The soil of thy father's birth, Or to sleep, when thy lingering pangs are o'er, Forgotten in foreign earth." " Oh ! fair are the vine-clad hills that rise In the country of my love ; But yet, though cloudless my native skies, There's a brighter clime above 1" The bard hath paused for another tone Blends with the music of his own ; And his heart beats high with hope again, As a well-known voice prolongs the strain. "ARE there none within thy father's hall, Far o'er the wide blue main, Young Christian 1 left to deplore thy fall, With sorrow deep and vain ?" "There are hearts that still, through all the Unchanging have loved me well ; There are eyes whose tears were streaming fast When I bade my home farewell. " Better they wept o'er the warrior's bier Than the apostate's living stain ; There's a land where those who loved when here Shall meet to love again." Tis he I thy prince long sought, long lost, The leader of the red-cross host I 'Tis he 1 to none thy joy betray, Young Troubadour 1 away, away ! Away to the island of the brave, The gem on the bosom of the wave : Arouse the sons of the noble soil To win their Lion from the toil. And free the wassail-cup shall flow, Bright in each hall the hearth shall glow ; The festal board shall be richly crowned, While knights and chieftains revel round. And a thousand harps with joy shall ring, 1 When merry England hails her King. 102 THE DEATH OF CONRADIN. C" La sentence de mort fut communiquee a Conradin comme il jouait aux tehees ; on lui laissa peu de temps pour se preparer a son execution ; et le 26 d'Octobre*jl fut conduit, avec tous ses amis, sur la Place du Marche 1 de Naples, le long du rivage de la mer. Charles etait present, avec toute sa cour, et un foule immense entourait le roi vainqueur et le roi condamne. Conradin etait entre les mains des bourreaux ; il detacha lui-meme son manteau, et s'ttant mis a genoux pour prior, il se releva en s'e"criant : ' O ma mere ! quelle profonde douleur te causera la nouvelle qu'oa va te porter de moi !' Puis il tourna les yeux sur la foule qui 1'entourait ; il vit les larmes, il entendit les sanglots de sou peuple ; alors, detachant son gant, il jeta au milieu de ses sujets ce gage d'un combat de vengeance, et rendit sa tete au bourreau." SISMONDI.] No cloud to dim the splendour of the day Which breaks o'er Naples and her lovely bay, [shore And lights that brilliant sea and magic With every tint that charmed the great of yore [bade The imperial ones of earth, who proudly Their marble domes even ocean's realm invade. That race is gone, but glorious Nature here Maintains unchanged her own sublime career, And bids these regions of the sun display Bright hues, surviving empires passed away. The beam of heaven expands its kindling smile Reveals each charm of many a fairy isle, Whose image floats, in softer colouring dressed, With all its rocks and vines, on ocean's breast. Misenum's cape hath caught the vivid ray, On Roman streamers there no more to play; Still, as of old, unalterably bright, Lovely it sleeps on Posilippo's height, With all Italia's sunshine to illume The ilex canopy of Virgil's tomb. Campania's plains rejoice in light, and spread Their gay luxuriance o'er the mighty dead ; Fair glittering to thine own transparent skies, Thy palaces, exulting Naples 1 rise ; While far on high Vesuvius rears his peak, Furrowed and dark with many a lava streak. O ye bright shores of Circe and the Muse ! Rich with all nature's and all fiction's hues, Who shall explore your regions, and declare The poet* erred to paint Elysium there ? Call up his spirit, wanderer 1 bid him guide Thy steps those syren-haunted seas beside ; Virgil. And all the scene a lovelier light shall wear, And spells more potent shall pervade the air. [urn What though his dust be scattered, and his Long from its sanctuary of slumber torn, Still dwell the beings of his verse around, Hovering in beauty o'er the enchanted ground ; [roves His lays are murmured in each breeze that Soft o'er the sunny waves and orange- groves ; [and sea, His memory's charm is spread o'er shore The soul, the genius of Parthenope ; Shedding o'er myrtle shade and vine-clad hill The purple radiance of Elysium still. Yet that fair soil and calm resplendent sky Have witnessed many a dark reality. Oft o'er those bright blue seas the gale hath borne The sighs of exiles never to return. There with the whisper of Campania's gale Hath mingled oft Affection's funeral wail, Mourning for buried heroes while to her That glowing land was but their sepulchre. And there, of old, the dread mysterious moan [tone ; Swelled from strange voices of no mortal And that wild trumpet, whose unearthly note Was heard at midnight o'er the hills to float Around the spot where Agrippina died, Denouncing vengeance on the Matricide. Passed are those ages yet another crime, Another woe, must stain the Elysian clime. There slands a scaffold on the sunny shore It must be crimsoned ere the day is o'er 1 There is a throne in regal pomp arrayed A scene of death from thence must be sur- veyed, [mien is pale, Marked ye the rushing throngs? Each Each hurried glance reveals a fearful tale ; TEE DEATH OF CONRADItf 103 But the deep workings of the indignant breast, Wrath, hatred, pity, must be all suppressed ; The burning tears awhile must check its course, The avenging thought .concentrate all its force ; For tyranny is near, and will not brook Aught but submission in each guarded look. Girt with his fierce Provencals, and with mien Austere in triumph, gazing on the scene ; And in his eye a keen suspicious glance Of jealous pride and restless vigilance, Behold the conqueror I Vainly in his face Of gentler feeling hope would seek a trace. Cold, proud, severe, the spirit which hath lent Its haughty stamp to each dark lineament : And pleading Mercy, in the sternness there, May read at once her sentence to despair ! But thou,fair boy I the beautiful, the brave, Thus passing from the dungeon to the grave, While all is yet around thee which can give A charm to earth, and make it bliss to live ; Thou on whose form hath dwelt a mother's eye, [die Till the deep love that not with thee shall Hath grown too full for utterance can it bel And is this pomp of death prepared for thee, Voung, royal Conradin 1 who shouldst have known Of life as yet the sunny smile alone ! Oh ! who can view thee, in the pride and bloom Of youth, arrayed so richly for the tomb, Nor feel, deep swelling in his inmost soul, Emotions tyranny may ne'er control ? Bright victim ! to Ambition's altar led, Crowned with all flowers that heaven on earth can shed. Who; from the oppressor towering in his pride, May hope for mercy if to thee denied ? There is dead silence on the breathless throng, Dead silence all the peopled shore along, As on the captive moves the only sound, To break that calm so fearfully profound, The low sweet murmur of the rippling wave, Soft as it glides the smiling shore to lave ; While on that shore, his own fair heritage, The youthful martyr to a tyrant's rage Is passing to his fate. The eyes are dim Which gaze, through tears that dare not flow, on him. He mounts the scaffold doth his footstep fail? [pale? Doth his lip quiver? doth his cheek turn Oh 1 it may be forgiven him if a thought Cling to that world, for him with beauty fraught To all the hopes that promised glory's meed, And all the affections that with him shall bleed ! [rose If, in his life's young dayspring, while the Of boyhood on his cheek yet freshly glows, One human fear convulse his parting breath, And shrink from all the bitterness of death I But no I the spirit of his royal race Sits brightly on his brow : that youthful face Beams with heroic beauty, and his eye Is eloquent with injured majesty. He kneels but not to man ; his heart shall own Such deep submission to his God alone ! And who can tell with what sustaining power That God may visit him in fate's dread hour? How the still voice, which answers every moan, May speak of hope when hope on earth is gone 1 That solemn pause is o'er. The youth hath given One glance of parting love to earth and heaven. The sun rejoices in the unclouded sky, Life all around him glows and he must die! Yet 'midst his people, undismayed, he throws The gage of vengeance for a thousand woes; Vengeance that, like their own volcano's fire, May sleep suppressed awhile but not expire. One softer image rises o'er his breast, One fond regret, and all shall be at rest ! "Alas, for^thee, my mother I who shall bear To thy sad heart the tidings of despair, When thy lost child is gone I" That thought can thrill His soul with pangs one moment more shall still. The lifted axe is glittering in the sun It falls the race of Conradin is run I Yet, from the blood which flows that shore to stain, A voice shall cry to heaven and not in vain! Gaze thou, triumphant from thy gorgeous throne, In proud supremacy of guilt alone, Charles of Anjoul but that dread voice shall be A fearful summoner even yet to thee I 104 WALLACE'S INVOCATION TO BRVCE. The scene of death is closed the throngs depart, A deep stem lesson graved on every heart. No pomp, no funeral rites, no streaming eyes, . High-minded boy 1 may grace thine obse- quies. O vainly royal and beloved ! thy grave, Unsanctified, is bathed by ocean's wave ; Marked by no stone, a rude, neglected spot, Unhonoured, unadorned but unforgot; For thy deep wrongs in tameless hearts shall live, Now mutely suffering never to forgive ! The sunset fades from purple heavens away A bark hath anchored in the unruffled bay : Thence on the beach descends a female form, Her mien with hope and tearful transport warm ; But life hath left sad traces on her cheek. And her soft eyesachastened heart bespeak, Inured to woes yet what were all the past 2 She sank not feebly 'neath affliction's blast, While one bright hope remained : who now shall tell The uncrowned, the widowed.how her loved one fell ? To clasp her child, to ransom and to save, The mother came and she hath found his grave ! And by that grave, transfixed in speechless grief, Whose deathlike trance denies a tear's relief, Awhile she kneels till roused at length to know, To feel the might, the fulness of her woe, On the still air a voice of anguish wild, A mother's cry is heard " My Conradir my child I" WALLACE'S INVOCATION TO BRUCE. A PRIZE POEM. " Great patriot hero ! ill-requited chief !" THE morn rose bright on scenes renowned, Wild Caledonia's classic ground, Where the bold sons of other days Won their high fame in Ossian's lays, And fell but not till Carron's tide With" Roman blood was darkly dyed. The morn rose bright and heard the cry Sent by exulting hosts on high, And saw the white-cross banner float, (While rung each clansman's gathering note) O'er the dark plumes and serried spears Of Scotland's daring Mountaineers ; As all elate with hope, they stood To buy their freedom with their blood. . The sunset shone to guide the flying, And beam a farewell to the dying I The summer moon, on Falkirk's field, Streams upon eyes in slumber sealed ; Deep slumber not to pass away When breaks another morning's ray, Nor vanish, when the trumpet's voice Bids ardent hearts again rejoice : Whatsunbeam'sglow.whatclarion'sbieath, May chase the still cold sleep of death ? SKroud'Hiin Scotland's blood-stained plaid, Low a*-* her mountain-warriors laid , They fefl on that proud soil, .whose mould Was blent with heroes' dust of old, And, guarded by the free and brave, Yielded the Roman but a grave I Nobly they fell yet with them died The warrior's hope, the leader's pride. Vainly they fell that martyr-host All, save the land's high soul, is lost. Blest are the slain ! they calmly sleep, N.or hear their bleeding country weep ; The shouts of England's triumph telling, Reach not their dark and silent dwelling ; And those, surviving to bequeath Their sons the choice of chains or death, May give the slumberer's lowly bier An envying glance but not a tear. But thou, the fearless and the free, Devoted Knight of Ellerslie ! No vassal-spirit, formed to bow When storms are gathering, clouds thy brow, No shade of fear, or weak despair, Blends with indignant sorrow there 1 WALLACE'S INVOCATION TO BRUCE. 105 The ray which streams on yoa red field, O'er Scotland's cloven helm and shield, Glitters not there alone, to shed Its cloudless beauty o'er the dead ; But, where smooth Carron's rippling wave, Flows near that death-bed of the brave, Illuming all the midnight scene, Sleeps brightly on thy lofty mien. But other beams, O Patriot ! shine In each commanding glance of thine, 1 And other light hath filled thine eye, With inspiration's majesty, Caught from th' immortal flame divine, Which makes thine inmost heart a shrine I Thy voice a prophet's tone hath won, The grandeur Freedom lends her son ; Thy bearing, a resistless power, The ruling genius of the hour ; And he, yon Chief, with mien of pride, Whom Carron's waves from thee divide, Whose haughty gesture fain would seek To veil the thoughts that blanch his cheek, Feels his reluctant mind controlled By thine of more heroic mould : Though, 'struggling all in vain to war With that high mind's ascendant star, He, with a conqueror's scornful eye, Would mock the name of Liberty. Heard ye the Patriot's awful voice? " Proud Victor ! in thy fame rejoice ! Hast thou not seen thy brethren slain, The harvest of thy battle-plain, And bathed thy sword in blood, whose spot Eternity shall cancel not ? Rejoice 1 with sounds of wild lament, O'er her dark heaths and mountains sent, With dying moan, and dirge's wail, Thy ravaged country bids thee hail I Rejoice I while yet exulting cries, From England's conquering host arise\ And strains of choral triumph tell, Her Royal Slave hajth fought too well I Oh 1 dark the clouds of woe that rest Brooding o'er Scotland's mountain-crest ! Her shield is cleft, her banner torn, O'er martyred chiefs her daughters mourn, And not a breeze, but wafts the Sound Of wailing through the land around. Yet deem not thou, till life depart, High hope shall leave the Patriot's heart, Or courage to the storm inured, Or stern resolve, by woes matured, Oppose, to Fate's severest hour, Less than unconquerable power I No ! though the orbs of heaven expire, Thine, Freedom I is a quenchless fire, And woe to him whose might would dare, The energies of thy despair I No 1 when thy chain, O Bruce ! is cast O'er thy land's chartered mountain-blast, Then in my yielding soul shall die The glorious faith of Liberty I" " Wild hopes I o'er dreamer's mind thai rise 1" With haughty laugh the Conqueror cries, (Yet his dark cheek is flushed with shame, And his eye filled with troubled flame ;) " Vain, brief illusions 1 doomed to fly England's red path of victory 1 Is not her sword unmatched in might ? Her course, a torrent in the fight ? The terror of her name gone forth Wide o'er the regions of the north ? Far hence, 'midst other heaths and snows, Must Freedom's footstep now repose. And thou in lofty dreams elate, Enthusiast 1 strive no more with Fate I 'Tjs vain the land is lost and won . Sheathed be the sword its task is done. Where are the chiefs that stood with thee First in the battles of the free ? The firm in heart, in spirit high ? They sought yon fatal field to die. Each step of Edward's conquering host Hath left a grave on Scotland's coast." " Vassal of England, yes ! a grave Where sleep the faithful and the brave, And who the glory would resign, Of death like theirs, for life like thine ? They slumber and the stranger's tread, May spurn thy country's noble dead ; Yet, on the land they loved so well, Still shall their burning spirit dwell, Their deeds shall hallow Minstrel's theme, Their image rise on warrior's dream, Their names be inspiration's breath, Kindling high hope and scorn of death, Till bursts, immortal from the tomb, The flame that shall avenge their doom I This is no land for chains away 1' O'er softer climes let tyrants sway ! Think'st thou the mountain and the storm Their hardy sons for bondage form ? Doth our stem wintry blast instil Submission to a despot's will ? No 1 we were cast in other mould Than theirs by lawless power controlled ; The nurture of our bitter sky Calls forth resisting energy ; And the wild fastnesses are ours, The rocks, with their eternal towers i 106 WALLACE'S INVOCATION TO BRUCE. The soul to struggle and to dare, Is mingled with our northern air, And dust beneath our soil is lying Of those who died for fame undying. Tread'st thou that soil ! and can it be, No loftier tHought is roused in thee ? Doth no high feeling proudly start From slumber in thine inmost heart? No secret voice thy bosom thrill, For thine own Scotland pleading still? Oh I wake thee yet indignant daiia A nobler fate, a purer fame, And cast to earth thy fetters riven, And take thine offered crown from heaven ! Wake I in that high majestic lot, May the dark past be aU forgot, And Scotland shall forgive the field, Where with her blood thy shame was sealed. E'en I though on that fatal plain Lies my heart's brother with the slain, Though reft of his heroic worth, My spirit dwdls alone on earth ; And when all other grief is past, Must this be cherished to the last Will lead thy battles, guard thy throne, With faith unspotted as his own, Nor in thy noon of fame recall, Whose was the guilt. that wrought his fall." Still dost thou hear in stern disdain? Are Freedom's warning accents vain ? No ! royal Bruce 1 within thy breast Wakes each high thought, too long sup- pressed. And thy heart's noblest feelings live, Blent in that suppliant word " Forgive !" " Forgive the wrongs to Scotland done ! Wallace ! thy fairest palm is won, And, kindling at my country's shrine, My soul hath caught a spark from thine, Oh ! deem not in the proudest hour Of triumph and exulting power Deem not the light of peace could find A home within my troubled mind. Conflicts, by mortal eye unseen, Dark, silent, secret, there have been, Known but to Him, whose glance can trace Thought to its deepest dwelling-place I 'Tis past and on my native shore I tread, a rebel son no more. Too blest, if yet my lot may be, In glory's path to follow thee ; If tears, by late repentance poured, May lave the blood-stains from my sword 1" Far other tears, O Wallace ! rise From the heart's fountain to thine eyes, Bright, holy, and unchecked they spring, While thy voice falters, "Hail I my King Be every wrong, by memory traced, In this full tide of joy effaced ! Hail 1 and rejoice I thy race shall claim A heritage of deathless fame, And Scotland shall arise, at length, Majestic in triumphant strength, An eagle of the rock, that won A way through tempests to the sun I Nor scorn the visions, wildly grand. The prophet-spirit of thy land I By torrent-wave, in desert vast, Those visions o'er my thought have passed, Where mountain-vapours darkly roll, That spirit hath possessed my soul 1 And shadowy forms have met mine eye, The beings of futurity I And a deep voice of years to be, Hath told that Scotland shall be free ! He comes 1 exult, thou Sire of Kings ! From thee the chief, th' avenger springs ! Far o'er the land he comes to save His banners m their glory wave, And Albyn's thousand harps awake On hill and heath, by stream and lake, To swell the strains, that far around Bid the proud name of Bruce resound : And I but wherefore now recall The whispered omens of my fall ? They come not in mysterious gloom, There is no bondage in the tomb 1 O'er the soul's world no tyrant reigns, And earth alone for man hath chains 1 What though I perish ere the hour When Scotland's vengeance wakesin pcwer, If shed for her, my blood shall stain The field or scaffold not in vain. Its voice, to efforts more sublime, Shall rouse the spirit of her clime, And in the noontide of her lot, My country shall forget me not I" Art thou forgot? and hath thy worth Without its glory passed from earth ? Rest with the brave, whose names belong To the high sanctity of song ! Chartered our reverence to control, And traced in sunbeams on the soul ! Thine, Wallace I while the heart has still One pulse a generous thought can thrill, While youth's warm tears are yet the meed Of martyr's death, or hero's deed, Shall brightly live, from age to age, Thy country's proudest heritage J THE SCEPTIC. 107 "Midst her green vales thy fame is dwelling, Thy deeds her mountain-winds are telling, Thy memory speaks in torrent-wave, Thy step hath hallowed rock and cave, And cold the wanderer's heart must be, That holds no converse there with thee I Yet, Scotland ! to thy champion's shade Sfill are thy grateful rites delayed ; From lands of old renown, o'erspread With proud memorials of the dead, The trophied urn, the breathing bust, The pillar, guarding noble dust, The shrine where heart and genius high Have laboured for eternity ; The stranger comes his eye explores The wilds of thy majestic shores, Yet vainly seeks one votive stone Raised to the hero all thine own. Land of bright deeds and minstrel-lore 1 Withhold that guerdon now no more. On some bold height, of awful form, Stern eyrie of the cloud and storm, Sublimely mingling with the skies, Bid the proud Cenotaph arise I Not to record the name that thrills Thy soul, the watchword of thy hills, Not to assert, with needless claim, The bright yfcr ever of its fame ; But, in the ages yet untold, When ours shall be the days of old, To rouse high hearts, and speak thy pride In him, for thee who lived and died. I82O. THE SCEPTIC. [" I*ur ralson, qu'ils prennent pour guide, ne presente & leur esprit que des conjectures et ds embarras ; les absurdites ou ils tombent en niant la Religion deviennent plus insoutenables que les verites dont la hauteur les etonne ; et pour ne vouloir pas croire des mysteres incomprehensibles, Us suivent 1'une apres 1'autre d'incompreTiensibles erreurs." BOSSUKT, Oraisontfunibrit.] WHEN the young Eagie, with exulting eye, Has learned to dare the splendour of the sky, And leave the Alps beneath him in his course, [source ; To bathe his crest in morn's empyreal Will his free wing, from that majestic height, [light, Descend to follow some wild meteor's Which far below, with evanescent fire, Shines to delude, and dazzles to expire ? No 1 still through clouds he wins his up- ward way, And proudly claims his heritage of day 1 And shall the spirit, on whose ardent gaze The day-spring from on high hath poured its blaze, Turn from that pure effulgence to the beam Of earth-born light, that sheds a treache- rous gleam, Luring the wanderer, from the star of faith, To the deep valley of the shades of death ? What bright exchange, what treasure shall be given, [Heaven ? For the high birth-right of its hope in If lost the gem which empires could not buy, What yet remains ? a dark eternity 1 Is -;arth still Eden ? might a Seraph guest, Still, 'midst its chosen bowers delighted rest? Is all so cloudless and so calm below, We seek no fairer scenes than life can show? That the cold Sceptic, in his pride elate, Rejects the promise of a brighter state, And leaves the rock, no tempest shall dis- place, [base ? To rear his dwelling on the quicksand's Votary of doubt ! then join the festal throng, Bask in the sunbeam, listen to the song, Spread the rich board, and fill the wine-cup high, And bind the wreath ere yet the roses die ! 'Tis well thine eye is yet undimmed by time, [prime ; And thy heart bounds, exulting in its Smile then unmoved at Wisdom's warning voice, And in the glory of thy strength, rejoice 1 But life hath sterner tasks ; e'en youth's brief hours Survive the beauty of their lovelies flowers ; 108 THE SCEPTIC. The founts of joy, where pilgrims rest from toil, Are few and distant on the desert soil ; The soul's pure flame the breath of storms must fan, [Man ! And pain and sorrow claim their nursling Earth's noblest sons the bitter cup have shared [pared ? Proud child of reason 1 how art thou pre- When years, with silent might, thy frame have bowed, And o'er thy spirit cast their wintry cloud, Will Memory soothe thee on thy bed of pain, With the bright images of pleasure's train ? Yes 1 as the sight of some far-distant shore, [no more, Whose well-known scenes his foot shall tread Would cheer the seaman, by the eddying wave [grave ! Drawn, vainly struggling, toth' unfathomed Shall Hope, the faithful cherub, hear thy call, [for all ? She, who like heaven's own sunbeam, smiles Will she speak comfort ? Thou hast shorn her plume, [tomb, That might have raised thee far above the And hushed the only voice whose angel tone Soothes when all melodies of joy are flown ! For she was born beyond the stars to soar, And kindling at the source of life, adore ; Thou couldst not, mortal 1 rivet to the earth Her eye, whose beam is of celestial birth ; She dwells with those who leave her pinion free, [thee. And sheds the dews of heaven on aO but Yet few there are so lonely, so bereft, But some true heart, that beats to theirs, is left ; power, And, haply, one whose strong affection's Unchanged, may triumph through misfor- tune's hour, [head, Still with fond care supports thy languid And keeps unwearied vigils by thy bed. But thou I whose thoughts have no blest home above, [love f Captive of earth I and canst thou dare to To nurse such feelings as delight to rest, Within that hallowed shrine a parent's breast, To fix each hope, concentrate every tie, Oa one frail idol destined but to die ; Yet mock the faith that points to worlds of light,. [unite? Where severed souls, made perfect, re- Then tremble ! cling to every parsing joy, ' Twined with the life a moment may de- stroy I If there be sorrow in a parting tear, Still let "/or ever" vibrate on thine ear I If some bright hour on rapture's wing hath flown, Find more than anguish in the thought 'tis gone ' Go i to a voice such magic influence give, Thou canst not lose its melody, and live ; And make an eye the load-star of thy soul, And let a glance the springs of thought control ; Gaze on a mortal form with fond delight; Till the fair vision mingles with thy sight ; There seek thy blessings, there repose thy trust, Lean on the willow, idolize the dust J Then, when thy treasure best repays thy care, [spair I Think on that dread "for ever" and de- And oh ! no strange, unwonted storm there needs To wreck at once thy fragile ark of reeds. Watch well its course explore with anxious eye Each little cloud that floats along the sky Is the blue canopy serenely fair? Yet may the thunderbolt unseen be there, And the bark sink, when peace and sun- shine sleep On the smooth bosom of the waveless deep I Yes ! ere a sound, a sign, announce thy fate, May the blow fall which makes thee deso- late! Not always Heaven's destroying angel shrouds His awful form in tempests and in clouds; He fills the summer air with latent power, He hides his venom in the scented flower, He steals upon thee in the Zephyr's breath, And festal garlands veil the shafts of death I Where art thou then, who thus didst rashly cast Thine all upon the mercy of the. blast, And vainly hope the tree of life to find Rooted in sands that flit before the wind ? Is not thatearth thy spirit loved so well, It wished not in a brighter sphere to dwell THE SCEPTIC. 109 Become a desert now, a vale of gloom, O'ershadowed with the midnight of the tomb? Where shalt thou turn ? it is not thine to raise To yon pure heaven thy calm confiding gaze- No gleam reflected from that realm of rest Steals on the darkness of thy troubled breast, Not for thine eye shall Faith divinely shed Her glory round the image of the dead ; And if, when slumber's lonely couch is prest, The form departed be thy spirit's guest, It bears no light from purer worlds to this ; Thy future lends not e'en a dream of bliss. But who shall dare the Gate of Life to close, Or say, thus far the stream of mercy flows ? That fount unsealed, whose boundless waves embrace Each distant isle, and visit every race, Pours from the throne of God its current free, Nor yet denies th" immortal draught to thee. Oh I while the doom impends, not yet de- creed, While yet th' Atoner hath not ceased to plead > While still, Suspended by a single hair, The sharp bright sword hangs quivering in the air, Bow down thy heart to Him, who will not break The bruised reed ; e'en yet, awake, awake 1 Patient.^ because Eternal,* He may hear Thy prayer of agony with pitying ear, And send his chastening spirit from above, O'er the deep chaos of thy soul to move. But seek thou mercy through his name alone, [shown ; To whose unequalled sorrows none was Through Him, who here in mortal garb abode, As man to suffer, and to heal, as God ; And, born the sons of utmost time to bless, Endured all scorn, and aided all distress. Call thou on Him for He, in human form, [the storm. Hath walked the waves of Life, and stilled " He Is patient, because be Is eternal." ST. AUGUSTINE. He, when her hour of lingering grace was past, O'er Salem wept, relenting to the last. Wept with such tears as Judah's monarch poured, O'er his lost child, ungrateful, yet deplored ; And, offering guiltless blood that guilt might live, Taught from his Cross the lesson to forgive I Call thou on Him his prayer e'en then arose. Breathed in unpitied anguish for his foes. And haste ! ere bursts the lightning from on high, Fly to the City of thy Refuge, fly 1* So shall th' Avenger turn his steps away, And sheath his falchion, baffled of its prey. Yet must long days roll on, ere peace shall brood, [dued ; As the soft Halycon, o'er thy heart sub- Ere yet the Dove of Heaven descend, to shed Inspiring influence o'er thy fallen head. He who hath pined in dungeons, 'midst the shade Of such deep night as man for man hath made. Through lingering years ; if called at length to be, Once more, by nature's boundless charter, free, [shun, Shrinks feebly back, the blaze of noon to Fainting at day, and blasted by the sun. Thus when the captive soul hath long remained In its own dread abyss of darkness chained, If the Deliverer, in his might, at last, Its fetters, born of earth, to earth should cast, The beam of truth o'erpowers its dazzled sight, Trembling it sinks, and finds no joy in light. But this will pass away that spark of mind, Within thy frame unquenchably enshrined, Shall live to triumph in its brightening ray, Born to be fostered with ethereal day. Then wilt thou bless the hour when o'er thee passed, On wing of flame, the purifying blast, * "Then ye shall appoint you cities, to be dries of refuge for you ; that the skyer may flee thither which killeth any person at unawares. And they shall be unto you citier of refuge rroro the avenger, "fifitmbtrt, chap. JKKY. 110 THE SCEPTIC. And sorrow's voice, through paths before untrod, Like Sinai's trumpet, called face to thy God! But hop'st thou, in thy panoply of pride, Heaven's messenger, affliction, to deride ? In thine own strength unaided to defy, With Stoic smile, the arrows of the sky ? Tom by the vulture, fettered to the rock, Still, Demigod t the tempest wilt thou mock ? [brow Alas ! the tower that crests the mountain's A thousand years may awe the vale below, Yet not the less be shattered on its height By one dread moment of the earthquake's might ! A thousand pangs thy bosom may have borne, In silent fortitude, or haughty scorn, Till comes the one, the master-anguish, sent To break the mighty heart that ne'er was bent. Oh I what is nature's strength ? The vacant eye, By mind deserted, hath a dread reply I The wild delirious laughter of despair, The mirth of frenzy, seek an answer there ! Turn not away, though pity's cheek grow pale, Close not thine ear against their awful tale, They tell thee reason, wandering from the ray Of Faith, the blazing pillar of her way, In the mid-darkness of the stormy wave, Forsook the struggling soul she could not save 1 Weep not, sad moralist ! o'er desert plains, Strewed with the wrecks of grandeur mouldering fanes, Arches of triumph, long with weeds o'er- grown, And regal cities, now the serpent's own : Earth has more awful ruins one lost mind, Whose star is quenched, hath lessons for mankind Of deeper import than each prostrate dome Mingling its marble with the dust of Rome." But who with eye unshrinking shall ex- plore That waste, illumed by reason's beam no more? Who pierce the deep, mysterious clouds that roll Ajroun4 tbe shattered temple of the soul, Curtained with midnight low its columns lie, And dark the chambers of its imagery ;* Sunk are its idols now and God alone May rear the fabric by their fall o'er- thrown 1 [bare, Yet 1 from its inmost shrine, by storms laid Is heard an oracle that cries " Beware I" Child of the dust 1 but ransomed of the skies ! [dies t One breath of Heaven and thus thy glory Haste, ere the hour of doom, draw nigh to Him Who dwells above between the cherubim 1" Spirit dethroned ! and checked in mid career- Son of the morning I exiled from thy sphere, Tell us thy tale 1 Perchance thy race was run With Science in the chariot of the sun ; Free as the winds the paths of space to sweep, [deep, Traverse the untrodden kingdoms of the And search the laws that Nature's springs control, [whole 1 There tracing all save Him who guides the Haply thine eye its ardent glance had cast Through the dim shades, the portals of the past ; [fed By the bright lamp of thought thy care had From the far beacon lights of ages fled, The depths of time exploring, to retrace The glorious march of maiiy a vanished race. Or did thy power pervade the living lyre, Till its deep chords became instinct with fire, Silenced all meaner notes, and swelled on high, Full and alone, their mighty harmony, While woke each passion from its cell pro found. And nations started at th' electric sound? Lord of the Ascendant [ what avails it now, [brow ? Though bright the laurels waved, upon thy What though thy name through distant, empires heard, [word ? Bade the heart bound, as doth a Dattle- Was it for this thy still unwearied eye, Kept vigil with the watch-fires of the sky, * "Every man In the chambers of his lir* Vsry"ttkiel t chap. vlu. THE SCEPTIC. Ill To make the secrets of all ages thine, And commune with majestic thoughts that shine O'er Time's long shadowy pathway? hath thy mind Severed its lone dominions from mankind. For this to woo their homage ? Thou hast sought All, save the wisdom with salvation fraught, Won every wreath but that which will not die, Nor aught neglected save eternity ! And did all fail thee, in the hour of wrath, When burst th o'erwhelming vials on thy path? [then, Could not the voice of Fame inspire thee O spirit I sceptred by the sons of men. With an Immortal's courage, to sustain The transient agonies of earthly pain? One, one there was, all-powerful to have saved When the loud fury of the billow raved ; But Him thou knew'st not and the light he lent Hath vanished from its ruined tenement, But left thee breathing, moving, lingering yet, A thing we shrink from vainly to forget I .Lift the dread veil no further hide, oh I hide The bleeding form, the couch of suicide I The dagger, grasped in death the brow, the eye, Lifeless, yet stamped with rage and agony ; The soul s dark traces left in many a line Graved on his mien, who died " and made no sign t" [brain Approach not, gaze not lest thy fevered Too deep that image of despair retain. Angels of slumber I o'er the midnight hour Let not such visions claim unhallowed power, Lest the mind sink with terror, and above See but th' Avenger's arm, forget th' Atoner's love 1 O Thou 1 the unseen, the all-seeing I Tf'ou whose ways Mantled with darkness, mock all finite gaze, Before whose eyes the creatures of Thy hand, Seraph and m&j, alike in weakness stand, And countless ages, trampling into clay Earth's empires on their march, are but a day; Father of worlds unknown, unnumbered ! Thou, With whom all time is one eternal now, Who know'st no past nor future Thou whose breath [death, Goes forth, and bears to myriads life or Look on us, guide us ! wanderers of a sea Wild and obscure, what are we, reft of Thee? A thousartf rocks, deep hid, elude oursight, A star may set and we are lost in night ; A breeze may waft us to the whirlpool's brink, A treacherous song allure us and we sink 1 Oh ! by /ft? love, who, veiling Godhead's light, To moments circumscribed the Infinite, And Heaven and Earth disdained not to ally By that dread union Man with Deity ; Immortal tears o'er mortal woes who shed, And, ere he raised them, wept above the dead ; Save, or we perish I Let Thy word control The earthquakes of that universe the soul ; Pervade the depths of passion speak once more The mighty mandate, guard of every shore, 11 Here shall thy waves be stayed," in grief, in pain, [tain, The fearful poise of reason's sphere main- Thou, by whom suns are balanced ! thus secure In Thee shall Faith and Fortitude endure ; Conscious of Thee, unfaltering shall the just Look upward still, in high and holy trust, And, by affliction guided to Thy shrine, The first, last thoughts of suffering hearts be Thine. And oh ! be near when clothed with con- quering power, [hour : The King of Terrors claims his own dread When, on the edge of that unknown abyss Which darkly parts us from the realm of bliss, Awestruck alike the timid and the brave, Alike subdued the monarch and the slave, Must drink the cup of trembling* whec we see Nought in the universe but Death and Thee, Forsake us not if still, when life was young. [sprung, Faith to thy bosom, as hei home, hath * "Thou hast drunken the dregs of the cue of trembling, jwd wrung them out," /Wl<*% he chepti, 112 THE SCEPTIC. If Hope's retreat hath been, through all the past, The shadow by the Rock of Ages cast, Father, forsake us not 1 when tortures urge The shrinking soul to that mysterious verge, When from Thy justice to Thy love we fly, On Nature's conflict look with pitying eye, Bid the strong wind, the fire, the earth- quake cease, [Peace 1 * Come in the small still voice, and whisper For oh ! 'tis awful ! He that hatfc beheld The parting spirit, by its fears repelled, Cling in weak terror to its earthly chain, And from the dizzy brink recoil, in vain ; He that hath seen the last convulsive throe Dissolve the union formed and closed in woe, [pride Well knows that hour is awful. In the Of youth and health, by sufferings yet untried, ['twere sweet We talk of Death as something which .In Glory's arms exultingly to meet, A closing triumph, a majestic scene, Where gazing nations watch the hero's mien, As, undismayed amidst the tears of all, He folds his mantle, regally to fall 1 Hush, fond enthusiast 1 still, obscure, and lone, Vet not less terrible because unknown, Is the last hour of thousands they retire From life's thronged path, unnoticed to expire. As the light leaf, whose fall to ruin bears Some trembling insect's little world of cares, Descends in silence while around waves on The mighty forest, reckless what is gone ! Such is man's doom and, ere an hour be flown, [own. Start not, thon trifler 1 such may be thine But, as life's current in its ebb draws near The shadowy gulf, there wakes a thought of fear, [before, A thrilling thought, which, haply mocked We fain would stifle but it sleeps no more I * "And behold the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord ; but .the Lord was not in the wind : and after the wind an earthquake ; but the Lord was not in the earthquake : and after the earthquake a fire ; but the Lord wrs not in the fire : and after the Se 3 still snail voice. " Kingt, book I chap. 19. There are, who fly its murmurs midst the throng, That join the masque of revelry and song, Yet still Death's image, by its power restored, Frowns -'midst the roses of the festal board, And when deep shades o'er earth and ocean brood, And the heart owns the might of solitude, Is its low whisper heard a note profound, But wild and startling as the trurripet- sound, That bursts, with sudden blast, the dead repose Of some proud city, stormed by midnight foes! Oh I vainly reason's scornful voice would prove [love, That life had nought to claim such lingering And ask if e'er the captive, half unchained, Clung to the links which yet his step re- strained ? In vain philosophy, with tranquil pride, Would mock the feelings she perchance can hide, Call up the countless armies of the dead, Point to the pathway beaten by their tread, And say" What wouldst thou ? Shall the fixed decree, Made for creation, be reversed for thee f Poor, feeble aid 1 proud Stoic I ask not why, It is enough that nature shrinks to die I Enough that horror, which thy words up- braid, Is her dread penalty, and must be paid 1 Search thy deep wisdom, solve the scarce defined And mystic questions of the parting mind, Half checked, half uttered, tell her, what shall burst, In whelming grandeur, on her vision first. When freed from mortal films ? what viewless world Shall first receive her wing, but half uo- furled? What awful and unbodied beings guide Her timid flight through regions yet untried? Say, if at once,' her final doom to hear, Before her God the trembler must appear, Or wait that day of terror, when the sea Shall yield its hidden dead, and heaven and earth shall flee. Hast thou no answer? Then deride no more [explore The thoughts that shrink, yet cease uot to THE SCEPTIC. U3 Th' unknown, th' unseen, the future though the heart, As at unearthly sounds, before them start, Though the frame shudder, and the spirits sigh, They have their source in immortality 1 Whence, then, shall strength, which reason's aid denies, An equal to the mortal conflict rise? When, on the swift pale house, whose light- ning pace, Where'er we fly, still wins the dreadful race, The mighty rider comes -oh, whence shall aid Be drawn, to meet his rushing, undismayed? Whence, but from thee, Messiah I thou hast drained The bitter cup, till not the dregs remained, To thee the struggle and the pangs were known, The mystic horror all became thine own 1 But did no hand celestial succour bring, Till scorn and anguish haply lost their sting? Came not th' Archangel, in the final hour, To arm thee with invulnerable power? No, Son of God I upon thy sacred head The shafts of wrath their tenfold fury shed, From man averted and thy path on high, Passed through the strait of fiercest agony : For thus th' Eternal, with propitious eyes, Received the last, th' almighty sacrifice I , But wake I be glad, ye nations I from the tomb, Is won the victory, and is fled the gloom I The vale of death in conquest hath been trod, [God ; Break forth in joy, ye ransomed ! saith your Swell ye the raptures of the song afar, And hail with harps your bright and morning Star. He rose ! the everlasting gates of day Received the King of Glory on his way I The Hope, the Comforterof thosewhowept, And the first-fruits of them, in Him that slept, He rose, he triumphed 1 he will yet sustain Frail nature sinking in the strife of pain. Aided by Him, around the martyr's frame When fiercely blazedalivingshroud offlame, Hath the firm soul exulted, and the voice Raised the victorious hymn, and cried. Rejoice ! Aided by Him, though none the bed attend, Where tbe lone, suflej-erdic^ without a friend, He whom the busy world shall miss no more Than morn one dewdrop from her count- less store, [heart, Earth's most neglected child, with trusting Called to the hope of glory, shall depart I And say, cold Sophist I if by thee bereft Of that high hope, to misery what were left ? But for the vision of the days to be, But for the Comforter despised by thee, Should we not wither at theCbastener'slook, Should we not sink beneath our God's rebuke, When o'er our heads the desolating blast, Fraught with inscrutable decrees, hath passed, [prey And the stern power who seeks the noblest Hath called our fairest and our best away? Should we not madden when our eyes behold, All that we loved in marble stillness cold, No more responsive to our smile or sigh, Fixed frozen silent all mortality? But for the promise, all shall yet be well, Would not the spirit in its pangs rebel, Beneath such clouds as darkened, when the .hand Of wrath lay heavy on our prostrate land, And Thou,* just lent thy gladdened isles to bless, Then snatched from earth with all thy love- liness, , With all a nation's blessings on thy head, O England's flower I wert gathered to the dead ? [heart, But Thou didst teach us. Thou to every Faith's lofty lesson didst thyself impart I When fled the hope through all thy pangs which smiled, [child, When thy young bosom, o'er thy lifeless Yearned with vain longing still thy patient eye, To its last light, beamed holy constancy I Tom from a lot in cloudless sunshine cast, Amidst those agonies thy first and last, Thy pale lip, quivering with convulsive throes, Breathednot a plaint andsettled in repose ; While bowed thy royal head to Him, whose power Spoke in the fiat of that midnight hour, Who from the brightest vision of a throne, Love, glory, empire, claimed thee for his own, [coast, And spread such terror o'er the sea-girt As blasted Israel when her Ark was lost I The Princeu Charlotte of Wales, TEE SCEPTIC. " It is the will of God 1" yet, yet we hear The words which closed thy beautiful career, Yet should we mourn thee in thy blest abode, But for that thought " It is the will of Godl" Who shall arraign th' Eternal's dark decree, If not one murmur then escaped from thee? Dh 1 still, though vanishing without a trace, Thou hast not left one scion of thy race, Still may thy memory bloom our vales among, Hallowed by freedom and enshrined in song ! Still may thy pure, majestic spirit dwell, Bright on the isles which loved thy name so well, E'en as an angel, with presiding care, To wake and guard thine own high virtues there. [skies, For lo ! the hour when storm-presaging Call on the watchers of the land to rise, To set the sign of fire on every height,* And o'er the mountains rear, with patriot might, Prepared, if summoned, in its cause to die, The banner of our faith, the Cross of victory 1 By this hath England conquered field and flood Have owned her sovereignty alone she stood, [were thrown, When chains o'er all the sceptred earth In high and holy singleness, alone, But mighty, in her God and shall she now Forget before th' Omnipotent to bow ? From the bright fountain of her glory turn Or bid strange fire upon his altars burn ? "And set p No I severed land $t rocks and billows rude, Throned in thy majesty of solitude, Still in the deep asylum of thy breast Shall the pure elements of greatness rest, Virtue and faith, the tutelary powers, Thy hearths that hallow, and defend thy towers I [isle I Still, where thy hamlet-vales, O chosen In the soft beauty of their verdure smile, Where yew and elm o'ershade the lowly fanes, [mains, That guard the peasant's records and re- May the blest echoes of the Sabbath-bell Sweet on the quiet of the woodlands swell, And ' from each cottage dwelling of thy glades, When starlight glimmers through the deepening shades, Devotion's voice in choral hymns arise, And bear the Land's warm incense to the skies. There may the mother, as with anxious joy, To Heaven her lessons consecrate her boy, Teach his young accent still th' immorta.' lays Of Zion's bards, in inspiration's days, When Angels, whispering through the cedar's shade, Prophetic tones to Judah's harp conveyed ; And as, her soul all glistening in her eyes, She bids the prayer of infancy arise, Tell of His name, who left his Throne on high, Earth's lowliest lot to bear and sanctify, His love divine, by keenest anguish tried, And fondly say "My child, for thee He died r 115 1821. D ARTMOOK. A PRIZE POEM. * Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Tinvty And rule the spacious world from clime to clime I Thy handmaid Art, shall every wild explore, Trace every wave, and culture every shore. "-*CAMPBELL| " May ne'er That true succession fail of English hearts, That can perceive, not less than heretofore, Our ancestors did feelingly perceive, . . i . the charm Of pious sentiment, diffused afar, And human charity, and social love." WORDSWORTH. AMIDST the peopled and the regal Isle, Whose vales, rejoicing in their beauty, smile ; Whose cities, fearless of the spoiler, tower, And send on every breeze a voice of power ; Hath Desolation reared herself a throne, And marked a pathless region for her own? [wore, Ves 1 though thy turf no stain of carnage When bled the noble hearts of many a shore, Though not a hostile step thy heath-flowers bent, [rent ; When empires tottered, and the earth was Yet lone, as if some trampler of mankind Had stilled life's busy murmurs on the wind, And, flushed with power in daring Pride's excess, Stamped on thy soil the curse of barrenness, For thee in vain descend the dews of heaven, In vain the sunbeam and the shower are given ; [mountains rude, Wild DARTMOOR ! thou that, 'midst thy Hast robed thyself with haughty solitude, As a dark cloud on Summer's clear blue sky, A mourner, circled with festivity I For all beyond is life I the rolling sea, The rush, the swell, whose echoes reach not thee. Yet who shall find a scene so wild and bare, But man has left his lingering traces there? E'en on mysterious Afric's boundless plains, Where noon, with attributes of midnight, reigns, In gloom and silence, fearfully profound, As of a world unwaked to soul or sound ; Though the sad wanderer of the burning zone Feels, as amidst infinity, alone, And naught of life be near ; his camel's tread Is o'er the prostrate cities of the dead I Some column, reared by long-forgotten hands, Just lifts its head above the billowy sands- Some mouldering shrine still consecrates the scene, [been. And tells that Glory's footstep there hath There hath the Spirit of the Mighty passed, Not without record ; though the desert blast, [away Borne on the wings of Time, hath swept The proud creations, reared to brave decay. But thou, lone region ! whose unnoticed name [fame, No lofty deeds have mingled with their Who shall unfold thint annals ? who shall tell If on thy soil the sons of heroes fell, In those far ages, which have left nb trace, No sunbeam on the pathway of their race ? Though, haply, in the unrecorded days Of kings and chiefs, who passed without their praise, [the free, Thou mightst have reared the valiant and In history's page there is no tale of thee. Yet hast thou thy memorials. On the wild, Still rise the cairns, of yore, all rudely piled, But hallowed by that instinct, which reveres Things fraught with characters of elder years. [flown, And such are these. Long centuries have Bowed many a crest, and shattered many a throne, Mingling the urn, the trophy, and the bust, With what they hide their shrined and treasured dust. 116 DARTMOOR. Men traverse Alps and Oceans, to behold Earth's glorious works fast mingling with her mould ; But still these nameless chroniclers of death, 'Midst the deep ilence of th' unpeopled heath, Stand in primeval artlessness, and wear The same sepulchral mien, and almost share Th' eternity of nature, with the forms Of the crowned hills beyond, the dwellings of the storms. [heap Yet, what avails it, it each moss-grown Still on the waste its lonely vigils keep, Guarding the dust which slumbers well beneath [season's breath ? (Nor needs -such care) from each cold Where is the voice to tell their tale who rest, Thus rudely pillowed, on the desert's breast? Doth the sword sleep beside them ? Hath there been A sound of battle "midst the silent scene Where now the flocks repose? did the scythed car Here reap its harvest in the ranks of war ? And rise these piles in memory of the slain, And the red combat of the mountain-plain ? It may be thus : the vestiges of strife, Around yet lingering, mark the steps of life, And the rude arrow's barb remains to tell How by its stroke perchance the mighty fell, To be forg6tten. Vain the warrior's pride, The chieftain's power they had no bard, and died. [sphere, But other scenes, from their untroubled Th' eternal stars of night have witnessed here. There stands an altar of unsculptured stone, Far on the moor, a thing of ages gone, Propped on- its granite pillars, whence the rains, And pure bright dews, have laved the crimson stains Left by dark rites of blood : for here, of yore, When the bleak waste a robe of forest wore, And many a crested oak, which now lies low, Waved its wild wreath of sacred mistletoe ; Here, at dim midnight, through the haunted shade, [played, On Druid harps the quivering moonbeam And spells were breathed, that filled the deepening gloom, With the pale shadowy people of the tomb. Or, haply, torches waving through the night, Bade the red cairn-fires blaze from every height. Like battle-signals, whose unearthly gleams Threw o'er the desert's hundred hills and streams A savage grandeur ; while the starry skies Rung with the peal of mystic harmonies, As the loud harp its deep-toned hymns sent forth [of the North. To the storm-ruling powers, the war-gods But wilder sounds were there : th' im- ploring cry, That woke the forest's echo in reply, But not the heart's 1 Unmoved the wizard train Stood round their human victim, and in vain [glance His prayer for mercy rose ; in vain his Looked up, appealing to the blue expanse, Where, in their calm immortal beauty, shone [fainter moan, Heaven's cloudless orbs. With faint and Bound on the shrine of sacrifice he lay, Till, drop by drop, life's current ebbed away ; Till rock and turf grew deeply, darkly red, And the pale moon gleamed paler on the dead. [stillness dwells Have such things been, and here ? where 'Midst the rude barrows and the moorland swells, [time Thus undisturbed? Oh ! long the gulf of Hath clovjd in darkness o'er those days of crime, And v earth no vestige of their path retains, Save such as these, which strew her loneliest plains [doom, With records of man's conflicts and his His spirit and his dust the altar and the tomb. But ages rolled away : and England stood, '[flood, With her proud banner streaming o'er the And with a lofty calmness in her eye, And regal in collected majesty, To breast the storm of battle. Every breeze Bore sounds of triumph o'er her own blue seas ; [drank And other lands, redeemed and joyous, The life-blood of her heroes, as they sank On the red fields they won ; whose wild flowers wave Now, in luxuriant beauty, o'er their grave. 'Twas then the captives of Britannia's wax Here, for their lovely southern climes afar, In bondage pined ; the spell-deluded throng [long Dragged at Ambition ' chariot wheels so DARTMOOR. 117 To die because a despot could not clasp A sceptre, fitted to his boundless grasp I Yes I they whose march had rocked the ancient thrones [tones And temples of the world ; the deepening Of whose advancing trumpet, from repose Had startled nations, wakening to their woes, [some whose dreams Were prisoners here. And there were Were of sweet homes, by chainless moun- tain streams, [strain, And of the vine-clad hills, and many a And festal melody of Loire or Seine, And of those mothers who had watched and wept, [slept, When on the field th' unsheltered conscript Bathed with the midnight dews. And some were there, Of sterner spirits, hardened by despair ; Who, in their dark imaginings, again Fired the rich palace and the stately fane, Drank in their victim's shriek, as music's breath, And lived o'er scenes, the festivals of death 1 And there was mirth, too ! strange and savage mirth, More fearful far than all the woes of earth ! The laughter of colfi hearts, and scoffs that spring [thing, From minds for which there is no sacred And transient bursts of fierce, exulting glee The lightning's flash upon its blasted tree 1 But still, howe'er the soul's disguise were worn, If, from wild revelry, or haughty scorn, Or buoyant hope, it won an outward show, Slight was the mask, and all beneath it woe. Yet, was this all ? Amidst the dungeon- gloom, [doom, The void, the stillness, of the Captive's Were there no deeper thoughts? And that dark power, [hour, To whonv guilt owes one late, but dreadful The might > debt through years of crime delayed, But, as the grave's, inevitably paid ; Came he not thither, in his burning force, The Lord, the tamer of dark souls Remorse ? [and sky, Yes ! as the night calls forth from sea From breeze and wood, a solemn harmony, Lost, when the swift, triumphant wheels of day, [way : In light and sound, are hurrying on their Thus, from the deep recesses of the heart, The voice which sleeps, but never dies, might start, Called up by solitude, each nerve to thrill With accents heard not, save when all is still 1 The voice, inaudible, when Havoc's train Crushed the red vintage of devoted Spain ; Mute, when sierras to the war-whoop rung, And the broad light of conflagration sprung From the South 's marble cities ; hushed, 'midst cries That told the heavens of mortal agonies ; But gathering silent strength, to wake, at last, In concentrated thunders of the past I And there, perchance, some long-bewil- dered mind, Tom from its lowly sphere, its path confined Of village duties, in the alpine glen, Where nature cast its lot 'midst peasant- men ; [blent Drawn to that vortex, whose fierce ruler The earthquake-po'verof each wild element, To lend the tide which bore his throne on high One impulse more of desperate energy ; Might, when the billow's awful rush was o'er, Which tossed its wreck upon the storm-beat shore, Won from its wanderings past by suffering tried, Searched by remorse, by anguish purified, Have fixed at length its troubled hopes and fears On the far world, seen brightest through our tears 1 And, in that hour of triumph or despair, Whose secrets all must learn but none declare, When, of the things to come, a deeper sense Fills the dim eye of trembling penitence, Have turned to Him, whose bow is in the cloud, Around life's limits gathering, as a shroud ; The fearful mysteries of the heart who knows, And, by the tempest', calls it to repose I Who visited that death-bed ? Who can tell [dwell. Its brief *ad tale, on which the soul might tie DARTMOOR. And learn immortal lessons? Who beheld The struggling hope, by shame, by doubt repelled The agony of prayer the bursting tears The dark remembrances of guilty years, Crowding upon the spirit in their might ? He, through the storm who looked, and there was light I [tuous breast, That scene is closed I that wild, tumul- With all its pangs and passions, is at rest 1 He too is fallen, the master-power of strife, Who woke those passions to delirious life ; ft.nd days, prepared a brighter course to run, Unfold their buoyant pinions to the sun 1 It is a glorious hour when Spring goes forth [North, O'er the bleak 'mountains of the shadowy And with one radiant glance, one magic breath, [death ; Wakes all things lovely from the sleep of While the glad voices of a thousand streams, Bursting their bondage, triumph in her beams*! [the mind, But Peace hath nobler changes ! O'er The warm and living spirit of mankind, Her influence breathes, and bids the blighted heart, To life and hope from desolation start I She with a look dissolves the captive's chain, Peopling with beauty widowed homes again ; Around the mother, in her closing years, Gathering her sons once more, and from the tears Of the dim past, but winning purer light, To make the present more serenely bright. Nor rests that influence here. From clime to clime, In silence gliding with the stream of time, Still doth it spread, borne onwards, as a breeze [seas ; With healing on its wings, o'er isles and And, as Heaven's breath called forth, with genial power, [flower ; From the dry wand, the almond's living So doth its deep-felt charm in secret move The coldest heart to gentle deeds of love ; While round its pathway nature softly glows, And the wide desert blossoms as the rose.. Yes I. let the wsste lift up the exi\ing voice I Let the far-echoing solitude rejoice I And thou, lone moor I where no blithe reaper's song E'er lightly sped the summer hours along, Bid thy wild rivers, from each mountain- source Rushing in joy, make music on their course I Thou, whose sole records of existence mark The scene of barbarous rites, in ages dark, And of some nameless combat ; Hope's bright eye Beams o'er thee in the light of prophecy ! Yet shalt thou smile, by busy culture drest. And the rich harvest wave upon thy breast : Yet shall thy cottage-smoke at dewy morn, Rise, in blue wreaths, aoove the flowering thorn, [bosomed spire And 'midst thy hamlet-shades, the em- Catch from deep-kiudling heavens their earliest fire. Thee too that hour shall bless, the balmy close Of labour's day, the herald of repose, Which gathers hearts in peace ; while social mirth [hearth : Basks in the blaze of each free village- While peasant-songs are on the joyous gales, [all her vales, And merry England's voice floats up from Yet are there sweeter sounds ; and thou shalt hear [dear. Such as to Heaven's immortal hosts are Oh I if there still be melody on earth, Worthy the sacred bowers where man drew birth When angel-steps their paths rejoicing trod, And the air trembled with the breath ol God; It lives in those soft accents, to the sky Borne from the lips of stainless infancy, When holy strains, from life's pure fount which sprung, [tongue Breathed with deep reverence, falter on hi.' And such shall be thy music, when the cells, [dwells, Where guilt, the child of hopeless misery, (And, to wild strength by desperation wrought, [thought,) In silence broods o'er many a fearful Resound to pity's voice ; and childhood thence, [cence, Ere the cold blight hath reached its inno- Ere that soft rose-bloom of the soul be fled, Which vice but breathes on, and its hues are dead ; Shall at the call press forward, to be made A glorious offering, meet for Him who said. WELSH MELODIES. 119 ".Mercy not sacrifice 1" and when, of old, Cloudi of rich incense from his altars rolled, Dispersed the smoke of perfumes, and laid bare [there ! The heart's deep folds, to read its homage When some crowned conqueror, o'er a trampled world, His banner, shadowing nations, hath un- furled, And, like those visitations which deform Nature for centuries, hath made the storm His path-way to Dominion's lonely sphere, Silence behind before him, flight and fear; When kingdoms rock beneath his rushing wheels, Till each fair isle the mighty impulse feels, And earth is moulded but by one proud will, And sceptred realms wear fetters, and are still ; Shall the free soul of song bow down to pay The earthquake homage on its baleful way ? Shall the glad harp send up exulting strains O'er burning cities and forsaken plains ? And shall no harmony of softer close, Attend the stream of mercy as it flows, And, mingling with the murmur of its wave, Bless the green shores its gentle currents lave? Oh I there are loftier themes, for him, whose eyes Have searched the depths of life's realities, Than the red battle, or the trophied car, Wheeling the monarch-victor fast and far ; There are more noble strains than those which swell The triumphs Ruin may suffice to tell I Ye Prophet-bards, who sat in elder days Beneath the palms of Judah I ye whose lays With torrent rapture, from their source on high, Burst in the strength of immortality ! Oh 1 not alone, those haunted groves among, Of conquering hosts, of empires crushed, ye sung, But of that Spirit, destined to explore, With the bright day-spring, every distant shore, To dry the tear, to bind the broken reed, To Make the home of peace in hearts that bleed; With beams of hope to pierce the dungeon's gloom, And pour eternal star-light o'er the tomb. And blessed and hallowed be its haunts ! for there [despair 1 Hath man's high soul been rescued from There hath th' immortal spark for heaven been nursed, [burst, There from the rock the springs of hie have Quenchless and pure 1 and holy thoughts, that rise, [thies Warm from the source of human sympa- Where'er its path of radiance may be traced, Shall find their temple in the silent waste. WELSH MELODIES. 1832. THE HARP OF WALES. INTRODUCTORY STANZAS, INSCRIBED TO THE RUTHIN WELSH LITERARV SOCIETY. HARP of the mountain-land I sound forth again As when the foaming Hirlas horn was crowned, And warrior hearts beat proudly to the strain, And the bright mead at Owain's feast went round : Wake with the spirit and the power of yore I Harp of the ancient hills ! be heard once more I Thy tones are not to cease I The Roman cam> O'er the blue waters with his thousand oars Through Mona's oaks he sent UK wasting flaflft ; The Druid shrines lay prostrate on our shores : Ml gave their ashes to the wind and sea Ring out, thou harp ! he could not silence the* 123 WELSH MELODIES. Thy tones are not to cease I The Saxon passed, His banners floated on Eryri's gales ; But thou wert heard above the trumpet's blast, E'en when his towers rose loftiest o'er the vales I Tkine was the voice that cheered the brave and free ; They had their hills, their chainless hearts, and thea. Those were dark years IThey saw the valiant fall, The rank weeds gathering round the chieftain's board, The hearth left lonely in the ruined hall Yet power was thine -a. gift in every chord I Call back that spirit to the days of peace, Thou noble harp 1 thy tones are not to cease ! DRUID CHORUS ON THE LANDING OF THE ROMANS BY the dread and viewless powers Whom the storms and seas obey, From the Dark Isle's* mystic bowers, Romans ! o'er the deep away 1 Think ye, 'tis but nature's gloom O'er our shadowy coast which broods ? By the altar and the tomb, Shun these haunted solitudes I Know ye Mona's awful spells? She the rolling orbs can stay 1 She the mighty grave compels Back to yield its fettered prey, I Fear ye not the lightning-stroke ? Mark ye not the fiery sky ? Hence ! around our central oak Gods are gathering Romans, fly i THE GREEN ISLES OF OCEAN.f WHERE are they, those green fairy islands, reposing In sunlight and beauty on ocean's calm breast ? What spirit, the things which are hidden disclosing, Shall point the bright way to their dwellings of rest ? Oh ! lovely they rose on the dreams of past ages, The mighty have sought them, undaunted in faith ; But the land hath been sad for warriors and sages, For the guide to those realms of the blessed is death. *Ynys Dywyll, or the Dark luland an ancient name for Anglesey. f The "Green Islands of Ocean," _or "Green Spots of the Floods," failed in the Triads "Gwerddonan Llion," (respecting which some remarkable superstitions have been preserved in Wales,) were supposed to be the abode of the Fair Family, or souls of the virtuous Druids, who could not enter the Christian heaven, but were permitted to enjoy this paradise of their own. Gaf ran, a distinguished British chieftain of the fifth century, went on a voyage with his family to discover these islands ; but they were never heard of afterwards. This event, the voyage of Merddin Emrys with his twelve bards, and the expedition of Madoc, were called the three losses by disappearance of the Island of Britain. Vidt W. O. PUGHXS' Cambrian Biography: also Cambro- Briton, vol. L p 124. WELSH MELODIES. Where are they, the high-minded children of glory, Who steerea for those distant green spots on the wave ? To the w 1 cannot utter it My sons I my sons I Is it of them ? Oh I wouldst thou speak of them t Gon, A mother's heart divinetlrbuttoo well 1 Elm. Speak, I adjure thee I I can bear it ail- Where are my children ? Gon. In the Moorish camp Whose lines have girt the city. Xim. But they live? AH is not lost, my moths I Elm. Say, they live. Gon. Elmina, still they live. * " Serraaos," mountaineers. THE 8TEGE OF VALENCIA. 135 Elm. But captives ! They Whom my fond heart had imaged to itself Bounding from cliff to cliff amidst the wilds Where the rock-eagle seemed not more secure In its rejoicing freedom I And my boys Are captives with the Moor I Oh I how -was this ? Gon. Alas ! our brave Alphonso, in the pride Of boyish daring, left our mountain-halls, With his young brother, eager to behold The face of noble war. Thence on their wny Were the rash wanderers captured. Elm. 'Tis enough. And when shall they bo ransomed ? Gon. There is asked A ransom far too high. Elm. What I have we vtcalih Which might redeem a monarch, and our sons The while wear fetters? Take thou all for them, And we will cast our worthless grandeur from us, As 'twere a cumbrous robe ! Why, thou art one To whose high nature pomp hath ever been But as the plumage to a warrior s helm, Worn or thrown off as lightly. And for me, Thou knowest not how serenely 1 could take The peasant's lot upon me, so my heart, Amidst its deep affections undisturbed, May dwell in silence. Xim. Father I doubt thou not But we will bind ourselves to poverty, With glad devotedness, if this, but this, May win them back. Distrust us not, my father, We can bear all things. Gon. Can ye bear disgrace ? Xim. We were not born for this. Gon. No, thou sayest well I Hold to that lofty faith My wife, my child i Hath earth no treasures richer than the gems Tom from her becrei caverns ? If by them Chains may be riven, then let the captive spring Rejoicing to the light ) But he, for whom Freedom and life may but be worn with shame, Hath nought to do, save fearlessly to fix His steadfast look on the majestic heavens, And proudly die I Elm. Gonzalez, who must die ? Gon. (hurriedly}. They on whose lives a learful price Is set, But to be paid by treason I Is't enough ? Or must 1 yet seek words ? Elm. That look saith more I Thou canst not mean Gon. \ do ! why dwells there not Power in a glance to speak it ? they must die I They must their names be told Our ions must die Unless I yield the city I Xim. Oh I look up I My mother, sink not thus I Until the grave Shut from our sight its victims, there is hope. [not theirs ' Elm. (in a low voice}. Whose knell wa& in the breeze ? No, no 136 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Whose was the blessed voice that spoke of hope? And there is hope ? I will not be subdued I will not hear a whisper of despair I For Nature is all-powerful, and her breath Moves like a quickening spirit o'er the depths Within a father's heart. Thou too, Gonzalez. Wilt tell me there is hope? Gon. (solemnly). Hope but in Him Who bade the patriarch lay his fair young son Bound on the shrine of sacrifice, and when The bright steel quivered in the father's hand Just raised to strike, sent forth His awful voice Through the still clouds, and on the breathless air. Commanding to withhold ! Earth has no hope : It rests with. Him. Elm. Thou canst not tell me this I Thou father of my sons ; within whose hands Doth lie thy children's fate. Gon. If there have been Men in whose bosoms Nature's voice bath made Its accents as the solitary sound Of an o'erpowering torrent, silencing Th' austere and yet divine remonstrances Whispered by faith and honour, lift thy hands, And, to that Heaven which arms the brave with strength. Pray, that the father of thy sons may ne'er Be thus found wanting 1 Elm. Then their doom is sealed? Thou wilt not save thy children ? Gon. Hast thou cause, Wife of my youth 1 to deem it lies within The bounds of possible things, that I should link My name to that word traitor 9 They that sleep On their proud battle-fields, thy sires and mine. Died not for this I Elm. Oh, cold and hard of heart I Thou shouldst be bom for empire, since thy soul Thus lightly from all human bonds can free Its haughty flight ! Men I men ! too much is yours ' Of vantage : ye, that with a sound, a breath, A shadow, thus can fill the desolate space Of rooted up affections, o'er whose void Our yearning hearts must wither I So it is, Dominion must be won 1 Nay, leave me not My heart is bursting, and I must be heard I Heaven hath given power to mortal agony As to the elements in their hour of might And mastery o'er creation I Who shall dare To mock that fearful strength ? I must be heard 1 Give me my sons I Gon. That they may live to hide With covering hands th' indignant flush of shame On their young brows, when meb shall speak of him They called their father 1 Was the oath, whereby. On th' altar of my faith, I bound myself, With an unswerving spirit to maintain This free and Christian city for my God And for my king, a writing traced on sand ? TEL S1EQE OF VALENCIA. That passionate tears should wash it from the earth, Or e en the life-drops of a bleeding heart Efface it, as a billow sweeps away The last light vessel's wake ? Then never more Let man's deep vows be trusted ! though enforced By all th' appeals of high remembrances, And silent claims o' th' sepulchres, wherein His fathers with their stainless glory sleep, On their good swords I Thinkst thou / feel no pangs ? He that hath given me sons, doth know the heart Whose treasure she recalls. Of this no more. Tis vain. I tell thee that th' inviolate cross Still, from our ancient temples, must look up Through the blue heavens of Spain, though at its foot I perish, with my race. Thou darest not ask That I, the son of warriors men who died To fix it on that proud supremacy Should tear the sign of our victorious faith From its high place of sunbeams, for the Moor In impious joy to trample t Elm. Scorn me not In mine extreme of misery I Thou art strong Thy heart is not as mine. My brain grows wild ; 1 know not what I ask I And yet 'twere but Anticipating fate since it must fall, That cross must fall at last I There is no power, No hope within this city of the grave, To keep its place on high. Her sultry air Breathes heavily of death, her warriors sink Beneath their ancient banners, ere the Moor Hath bent his bow against them ; for the shafl Of pestilence flies more swiftly to its mark Than the arrow of the desert. E'en the skies O'erhang the desolate splendour of her domes With an ill omen's aspect, shaping forth, From the dull clouds, wild menacing forms and signs Foreboding ruin. Man might be withstood. But who shall cope with famine and disease. When leagued with armed foes ? Where now the aid, Where the long-promised lances of Castile ? We are forsaken, in our utmost need, By Heaven and earth forsaken I Gon. If this be. (And yet I will not deem it) we must fall As men that in severe devotedness Have chosen their part, and bound themselves to death, Through high conviction that their suffering land. By the free blood of martyrdom alone. Shall call deliverance down. Elm. Oh I I have stood Beside thee through the beating storms of life. With the true heart of unrepining love. As the poor peasant's mate doth cheerily. In the parched vineyard, or the harvest-field, Bearing her part, sustain with him the heat And burden of the day ; but now the hour, The heavy hour is come, when human strength Sinks down, a toil-worn pilgrim in the dust. 188 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Owning that woe is mightier I Spare me yet This bitter cup, my husband 1 Let not her, The mother of the lovely, sit and mourn In her unpeopled home, a broken stem, O'er its fallen roses dying I Gon. Urge me not, Thou that through all sharp conflicts hast been touud Worthy a brave man's love, oh ! urge me not To guilt, which through the midst of blinding tears, In its own hues thou seest not ! Death may scarce Bring^ aught like this 1 Elm. All, all thy gentle race, The beautiful beings that around thee grew, Creatures of sunshine I Wilt thou doom them all ? i She, too, thy daughter doth her smile unmarked Pass from thee, with its radiance, day by day ? Shadows are gathering round her seest thou not The misty dimness of the spoiler's breath Hangs o'er her beauty, and the face which made The summer of our hearts, now doth but send, With every glance, deep bodings through the soul Telling of early fate. Qon. I see a change Far nobler on her brow 1 She is as one Who, at the trumpet's sudden call, hath risen From the gay banquet, and in scom cast down The wine-cup, and the garland, and the lute Of festal hours, for the good spear and helm, Beseeming sterner tasks. Her eye hath lost The beam which laughed upon th' awakening heait, E'en as morn breaks o'er earth. But far within Its full dark orb, a light hath sprung, whose source Lies deeper in the soul. And let the torch Which but illumed the glittering pageant fade i The altar-flame, i' th' sanctuary's recess, Burns quenchless, being of heaven I She hath put on Courage, and faith, and generous constancy, E'en as a breastplate. Ay, men look on her, As she goes forth serenely to her tasks, Binding the warrior's wounds, and bearing fresh Cool draughts to fevered lips ; they look on her Thus moving in her beautiful array Of gentle fortitude, and bless the fair Majestic vision, and unmurmuring turn Unto their heavy toils. Elm. And seest thou not In that high faith and strong collectedness, A fearful inspiration? They have cause To tremble, who behold th' unearthly light Of high, and, it may be, prophetic thought, Investing youth with grandeur ! From the grave It rises, on whose shadowy brink thy child Waits but a father's hand to snatch her back Into the laughing sunshine. Kneel with me, Ximena, kneel beside me, and implore That which a deeper, more prevailing voice Than ours doth ask, and will not be denied, His children's h'vea I THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 139 Him. Alas 1 this may cot be, Mother ! I cannot. [Exit XlMENA. Gon. My heroic child ! A terrible sacrifice thou claim'st, O God, From creatures in whose agonizing heart* Nature is strong as death I Elm. Is't thus in thine ? Away I what time is given thee to resolve On I what I cannot utter I Speak, thou knowest Too well what I would say. Gan. Until ask not I The time is brief. Elm. Thou saidst I heard not right- Go*. The time is brief. Elm. What ! must we burst all ties Wherewith the thrilling chords of life are twined : And, for this task's fulfilment, can it be That man, in his cold heartlessness, hath dared To number and to mete us forth the sands Of hours nay, moments ? Why, the sentenced wretch. He on whose soul there rests a brother's blood Poured forth in slumber, is allowed more time To wean his turbulent passions from the world His presence doth pollute I It is not thus 1 We must have Time to school us. Gon. We have but To bow the head in silence, when Heaven s voice Calls back the things we love. Elm. Love 1 love I there are soft smiles and gentle words-, And there are faces, skilful to put on The look we trust in and 'tis mockery all ! A faithless mist, a desert-vapour, wearing The brightness of clear waters, thus to cheat The thirst that semblance kindled 1 There is none, In all this cold and hollow world, no fount Of deep, strong, deathless love, save that within A mother's heart. It is but pride, wherewith To his fair son the father's eye doth turn, Watching his growth. Ay, on the boy he looks, The bright glad creature springing in his path, But as the heir of his great name, the young And stately tree, whose rising strength ere long Shall bear his trophies well. And this is love I This is man's love ! What marvel ! You ne'er made Your breast the pillow of his infancy, While to the fulness of your heart's glad heavings His fair cheek rose and fell ; and his bright hair Waved softly to your breath I You ne'er kept watch fleside him, till the last pale star had set, And morn all dazzling, as in triumph, broke On your dim weary eye ; not yours the face Which, early faded through fond care for him, Hung o'er his sleep, and, duly as Heaven's light, Was there to greet his wakening 1 You ne'er smoothed His couch, ne er sang him to his rosy rest, Caught his least whisper, when his voice from yours Had learned soft utterance ; pressed your lip to his, When fever parched it ; hushed his wayward cries. 140 THE BIEGE OF VALENCIA. Wifn patient, vigilant, never-wearied love I No ! these are woman's tasks 1 In these her youth And bloom of cheek, and buoyancy of heart, Steal fron her all unmark'd ! My boys 1 my boys I Hath vain affection borne with all for this? Why were ye given me ? Gait. Is there strength in man Thus to endure ? That thou couldst read, through all Its depths of silent agony, the heart Thy voice of woe doth rend 1 Elm. Thy heart I thy heart ! Away I it feels not notof But an hour comes to tame the mighty man Unto the infant's weakness ; nor shall Heaven Spare you that bitter chastening ! May you live To be alone, when loneliness doth seem Most heavy to sustain ! For me, my voice Of prayer and fruitless weeping shalLbe soon With all forgotten sounds ; my quiet place Low with my lovely ones, and we shall sleep, Though kings lead armies o er us, we shall sleep, Wrapt in earth's covering mantle 1 you the while Shall sit within your vast, forsaken halls, And hear the wild and melancholy winds Moan through their drooping banners, never mote To wave above your race. Ay, then call up Shadows dim phantoms from ancestral tombs, But all all glorious conquerors, chieftains, kings- To people that cold void I And when the strength From your right arm hath melted, when the blast Of the shrill clarion gives your heart no more A fiery wakening ; if at last you pine For the glad voices, and the bounding steps, Once through your home re-echoing, and the clasp Of twining arms, and all the joyous light Of eyes that laughed with youth, and made your board A place of sunshine ; when those days are come, Then in your utter desolation, turn To the cold world, the smiling, faithless world, Which hath swept past you long, and bid it quench Your soul's deep thirst vriib/ame/ immortal fame/ Fame to the sick of heart ! a gorgeous robe, A crown of victory, unto him that dies I 1 th' burning waste, for water I Gon. This from thee / Now the last drop of bitterness is poured. Elmina I forgive thee 1 [Exit ELMINA, Aid me, Heaven 1 From whom alone is power 1 Oh ! thou hast set Duties, so stern of aspect, in my path, They almost, to my startled gaze, assume The hue of things less hallowed I Men have sunk Unblamed beneath such trials I Doth not He Who made- us know the limits of our strength ? My wife 1 my sons I Away 1 I must not pause To give my heart one moment's masterv thus I (Exit GONZALEZ. THE 8IEOE OF VALENCIA. 141 SCENE The Aisle of a Gothic Church. HERNANDEZ, GAP.CIAS, and other: Her. The rites are closed. Now, valiant men, depart. Each to his place I may not say, of rest ; Your faithful vigils for your sons may win What must not be your own. Ye are as those Who sow, in peril and in care, the seed Of the fair tree, beneath whose stately shade They may not sit. But blessed be they who tofl For after-days ! All high and holy thoughts Be with you, warriors, through the lingering hours Of the night-watch I Gar. Ay, father I we have need Of high and holy thoughts, wherewith to fence Our hearts against despair. Yet have I been From youth a son of war. The stars have lookod A thousand times upon my couch of heath, Spread 'midst the wild sierras, by some stream Whose dark-red waves looked e'en as though their source Lay not in rocky caverns, but the veins Of noble hearts ; while many a knightly crest Rolled with them to the deep. And in the years Of my long exile and captivity, With the fierce Arab, I have watched beneath The still, pale shadow of some lonely palm, At midnight, in the desert ; while the wind Swelled with the lion's roar, and heavily The fearfulness and might of solitude Pressed on my weary heart. Her. (thoughtfully.} Thou little know'st Of what is solitude 1 I tell thee, those For whom in earth's remotest nook howe'er Divided from their path by chain on chain Of mighty mountains, and the amplitude Of rolling seas there beats one human heart, There breathes one being unto whom their name Comes with a thrilling and a gladdening sound Heard o'er the din of life are not alone ! Not on the deep, nor in the wild, alone ; For there is that on earth with which they hold A brotherhood of soul ! Call him alone, Who stands shut out from this ! And let not those Whose homes are bright with sunshine and with low. Put on the insolence of happiness, Glorying in that proud lot ! A lonely hour Is on its way to each, to all ; for Death Knows no companionship. Gar. I have looked on Death In field, and storm, and flood. But never yet Hath aught weighed down my spirit to a mood Of sadness, dreaming o'er dark auguries, Like this, our watch by midnight. Fearful things Are gathering round us. Death upon the earth, Omens in Heaven 1 -The summer-skies put forth No clear bright stars above us, but at times, Catching some comet's 6erv hue of wrath, 143 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Marshal their clouds to armies, traversing Heaven with the rush of meteor-steeds, the array Of spears and banners, tossing like the pines Of Pyrenean forests, when the storm * Doth sweep the mountains. Her, Ay, last night I too Kept vigil, gazing on the angry heavens ; And I beheld the meeting and the shock Of those wild hosts i' th' air, when, as they closed. A red and sultry mist, like that which mantles The thunder's path, fell o'er them. Then were Sung Through the dull glare, broad cloudy banners forth, And chariots seemed to whirl, and steeds to sink, Bearing down crested warriors. But all this Was dim and shadowy ; then swift darkness rushed Down on th' unearthly battle, as the deep Swept o'er the Egyptian's armament I looked And all that fiery field of plumes and spears Was blotted from heaven's face 1 I looked again And from the brooding mass of cloud leaped forth One meteor-sword, which o'er the reddening sea Shook with strange motion, such as earthquakes give Unto a rocking citadel I I beheld, And yet my spirit sank not. Gar. Neither deem That mine hath blenched. But these are sights and sounds To awe the firmest. Knowest thou what we hear At midnight from the walls ? Were't but the deep Barbaric horn, or Moorish tambour's peal, Thence might the warrior's heart catch impulses, Quickening its fiery currents. But our 'ears Are pierced by other tones. We hear the knell For brave men in their noon of strength cut down, And the shrill wail of woman, and the dirge Faint swelling through the streets. Then e'en the air Hath strange and fitful murmurs of lament, As if the viewless watchers of the land Sighed on its hollow breezes 1 To my soul, The torrent-rush of battle, with its din Of trampling steeds and ringing panoply, Were, after these faint sounds of drooping woe, As the free sky's glad music unto him Who leaves a couch of sickness, Her. (with solemnity). If to plunge In the mid-waves of combat, as they bear Chargers and spearmen onwards ; and to make A reckless bosom's front the buoyant mark On that wild current, for ten thousand arrows ; If thus to dare were valour's noblest aim, Lightly might fame be won 1 but there are things Which ask a spirit of more exalted pitch, And courage tempered with a holier fire ! Well mayst thou say, that these are fearful times, Therefore be firm, be patient 1 There is strength, And a fierce instinct, e'en in common souls, To bear up manhood with a stormy joy, When red swords meet in lightning ! But our task Is more, and nobler ! We have to endure, THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. U3 And to keep watch, and to arouse a land, And to defend an altar I If we fall, So that our blood make but the millionth part Of Spain's great ransom, we may count it joy To die upon her bosom, and beneath The banner of her faith I Think but on this. And gird your hearts with silent fortitude, Suffering, yet hoping all things Fare ye well. Gar. Father, farewell [Exeunt GARCIAS and hit follower* Her. These men have earthly ties And bondage on their natures I To the cause Of God, and Spain's revenge, they bring but half Their energies and hopes. But he whom Heaven Hath called to be th' awakener of a land, Should have his soul's affections all absorbed In that majestic purpose, and press on To its fulfilment, as a mountain-born And mighty stream, with all its vassal-rills Sweeps proudly to the ocean, pausing not To dally with the flowers. Hark I What quic* step Comes hurrying through the gloom at this dead hour? ELMINA enters. Elm, Are not all hours as one to misery ? Why Should she lake note of time, for whom the day And night have lost their blessed attributes Of sunshine and repose ? Her. I know thy griefs ; But there are trials for the noble heart Wherein its own deep fountains must supply All it can hope of comfort. Pity's voice Comes with vain sweetness to th' unheeding ear Of anguish, e'en as music heard afar On the green shore, by him who perishes 'Midst rocks and edi lying waters. Elm. Think thou lot I sought thee but foi pity. I am come For that which grief is privileged to demand With an imperious claim, from all whose form, Whose human form, doth sesJl them unto suffering f Father 1 I ask thine aid. Her. There is no aid i For thee or for thy children, but with Him Whose presence is around us in the cloud, As in the shining and the glorious light Elm. There is no aid 1 Art thou a man of God I Art thou a man of sorrow (for the world Doth call thee such) and hast thou not been taught By God and sorrow mighty as they are, To own the claims of misery? Her. Is there power With me to save thy sons? Implore of Heaven I Elm. Doth not Heaven work its purposes by man ? I teU thee, thou canst save them I Art thou not Gonzalez' counsellor ? Unto him thy words Are e'en as oracles 144 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA jfitr. And therefore ? Speak I The noble daughter of Pelayo's line Hath nought to ask, unworthy of the name Which is a nation's heritage. Dost thou shrink ? Elm. Have pity on me, father ! I must speak That, from the thought of which, but yesterday. I had recoiled in scom ! But this is past. Oh 1 we grow humble in our agonies, And to the dust their birth-place bow the heads That wore the crown of glory ! I am weak My chastening is far more than I can bear. Her. These are no times for weakness. On our hills The ancient cedars, in their gathered might, Are battling.with the tempest ; and the flower Which cannot meet its driving blast must die. But thou hast drawn thy nurture from a stem Unwont to bend or break. Lift thy proud head, Daughter of Spain ! What wouldst thou with thy lord! Elm. Look not upon me thus ! I have no power To tell thee. Take thy keen disdainful eye Off from my soul 1 What ! am I sunk to this ? I, whose blood sprung from heroes I How my sons Will scom the mother that would bring disgrace On their majestic line ! My sons 1 my sons ! Now is all else forgotten 1 I had once A babe that in the early spring-tune lay Sickening upon my bosom, till at last, When earth's young flowers were opening to ths sun, Death sunk on his meek eyelid, and I deemed All sorrow light to mine I But now the fate Of all my children seems to brood above me In the dark thunder-clouds ! Oh I I have power And voice unfaltering now to speak my prayer, And ray last lingering hope, that thou shouldst win The father to relent, to save his sons I Her. By yielding up the city? Elm. Rather say By meeting that which gathers close upon us Perchance one day the sooner ! Is't not so? Must we not yield at last ? How long shall man Array his single breast against disease, And famine, and the sword ? Her. How long? While he, Who shadows forth his power more gloriously In the high deeds and sufferings of the soul Than in the circling heavens, with all their stars, Or the far-sounding deep, doth send abroad A spirit, which takes affliction for its mate, In the good cause, with solemn joy I How long? And who art thou, that, in the littleness Of thine own selfish purpose, wouldst set bounds To the free current of all noble thought And generous action, bidding its bright waves Be stayed, and flow no further ? But the Power .Whose interdict is laid on seas and orbs, To chain them in from wandering, hath assigned No limits unto that which man's high strength Shall, through its aid, achieve I THE BIEQE OF VALENCIA, 146 Elm. Oh ! there are times When all that hopeless courage can achieve But sheds a mournful beauty o'er the fate Of those who die in vain. Her. W Jes in vain Upon his country's war-fields, and within The shadow of her altars ? Feeble heart I I tell thee that the voice of noble blood, Thus poured for faith and freedom, hath a tone Which, from the night of ages, from the gulf Of death, shall burst, and make its high appeal Sound unto earth and heaven ! Ay, let the land, Whose sons, through centuries of woe, have striven, And perished by her temples, sink awhile. Borne down in conflict 1 But immortal seed Deep, by heroic suffering, hath been sown On all her ancient hills ; and generous hope Knows that the soil, in its good time, shall yet Bring forth a glorious harvest I Earth receives Not one red drop, from faithful hearts, in vain. Elm. Then it must be ! And ye will make those lives, Those young bright lives, an offering to retard Our doom one day ! Her. The mantle of that day May wrap the fate of Spain I Elm. What led me here ? Why did I turn to thee in my despair ? Love hath no ties upon thee ; what had I To hope from thee, thou lone and childless man ) Go to thy silent home 1 there no young voice Shall bid thee welcome, no light footstep spring Forth at the sound of thine ! What knows thy heart? Her. Woman I how dar'st thou taunt me with my woes? Thy children too shall perish, and I say It shall be well I Why tak'st thou thought for them? Wearing thy heart, and wasting down thy life Unto its dregs, and making night thy time Of care yet more intense, and casting health, Unprized, to melt away, i' th' bitter cup Thou minglest for thyself? Why, what hath earth To pay thee back for this? Shall they not live, (If the sword spare them now) to prove how soon All love "may be forgotten ? Years of thought, Long faithful watchings, looks of tenderness, That changed not, though to change be this world's law? Shall they not flush thy cheek with shame, whose blood Marks, e'en like branding iron ? to thy sick heart Make death a want, as sleep to weariness ? Doth not all hope end thus ? or e'en at best, Will they not leave thee-? far from thee seek room For th' overflowings of their fiery souls, On life's wide ocean? Give the bounding steed. Or the winged bark to youth, that his free course May be o'er hills and seas : and weep thou not In thy forsaken home, for the bright world Lies all before him, and be sure be wastes No thought on thee I Sim. 5*9*50! It to not so \ 140 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Thou dost but torture me I My sons are kind, And brave, and gentle. Her. Others too have worn The semblance of all good. Nay, stay thee yet ;. I will be calm, and thou shalt learn how earth, The fruitful in all agonies, hath woes Which far outweigh thine own. Elm. It may not be I Whose grief is like a mother's for her sons ? Her. My son lay stretched upon his battle-bier, And there were hands wrung o er him, which had caught Their hue from his young blood 1 Elm. What tale is this ? Her, Read you no records in this mien, of things Whose traces on man's aspect are not such As the breeze leaves on water ? Lofty birth, War, peril, power ? Affliction's hand is strong, If it erase the haughty characters They grave so deep ! I have not always been That which I am. The name I bore is not Of those which perish I I was once a chief A warrior ! nor as now, a lonely man I 1 was a father I Elm. Then thy heart can/// Thou wilt have pity I Her, Should I pity thee t JT4v sons will perish gloriouslytheir blood Elm. Their blood 1 my children's blood 1 then speak'st at 'twere Of casting down a wine-cup, in the mirth And wantonness of feasting ! My fair boys I- Man I hast thou been a father? Her. Let them die t Let them die now, thy children ! so thy heart Shall wear their beautiful image all undiramed, Within it, to the last I Nor shalt thou learn The bitter lesson, of what worthless dust Are framed the idols, whose false glory binds Earth's fetters on our souls ! Thou think'st it much To mourn the early dead ; but there are tears Heavy with deeper anguish I We endow Those whom we love, in our fond passionate blindness. With power upon our souls, too absolute To be a mortal's trust 1 Within their hands We lay. the flaming sword, whose stroke alone Can reach our hearts, and they are merciful. As they are strong, that wield it not to pierce us I Ay, fear them, fear the loved I Had I but wept O er my son's grave, as o'er a babe's, where teati Are as spring dew-drops, glittering in the sun, And brightening the young verdure, / might stl) Have loved and trusted ! Elm. (disdainfully}. But he fell in war I And hath not glory medicine in her cup For the brief pangs of nature ? Her. Glory I Peace, And listen !--By my side the stripling grew, Last of my line. I reared him to take joy I' th 1 blaie of arms, as eagles train their young THE 81EQE OF VALENCIA. To look upon the day-king 1 His quick blood Ev'n to his boyish cheek would mantle up, When the heavens rang with trumpets, and his eye Flash with the spirit of a race whose deeds But this availeth not I Yet he was brave. I've seen him clear himself a path in fight As lightning through a forest, and his plume Waved like a torch, above the battle-storm. The soldier's guide, when princely crests had sunk. And banners were struck down. Around my steps Floated his fame, like music, and I lived But in the lofty sound. But when my heart In one frail ark bad ventured all, when most He seemed to stand between my soul and heaven, Then came the thunder-stroke 1 Elm. Tis ever thus I And the unquiet and foreboding sense That thus 'twill ever be, doth link itself Darkly with all deep love 1 He died ? fftr. Not sol- Death I Death I Why, earth should be a paradise* To make that name so fearful I Had he died, With his young fame about him for a shroud, I had not learned the might of agony, To bring proud natures low I No 1 he fell off- Why do I tell thee this ? What right hast thou To learn how passed the glory from my house? Yet listen I He forsook me 1 He, that was As mine own soul, forsook me 1 trampled o'or The ashes of his sires ! Ay, leagued himself E'en with the infidel, the curse of Spain, And, for the dark eye of a Moorish maid, Abjured his faith, his God 1 Now talk of death 1 Elm. Oh 1 I can pity thee Her. There's more to hear. I braced the corslet o'er my heart's deep wound, And cast my troubled spirit on the tide Of war and high events, whose stormy waves Might bear it up from sinking ; Elm. And ye met No more ? Her. Be still I We did ! we met once more. God had his own high purpose to fulfil, Or think'st thou that the sun in his bright heaven Had looked upon such things? We met once mort~ That was an hour to leave its lightning-mark Seared upon brain and bosom 1 there had been Combat on Ebro's banks, and when the day Sank in red clouds, it faded from a field Still held by Moorish lances. Night closed round, A night of sultry darkness, in the shadow Of whose broad wing, ev'n unto death 1 strove Long with a turbaned champion ; but my sword Was heavy with God's vengeance and prevailed. He fell my heart exulted and 1 stood In gloomy triumph o'er him Nature gave No sign of horror, for 'twas Heaven's decree I He strove (Q speak but J bad done the work 148 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Of wrath too well yet in his last deep moan A dreadful something of familiar sound Came o'er my shuddering sense. The moon looked forth, And I beheld speak not ! 'twas he my son I My boy lay dying there I He raised one glance, And knew me for he sought with feeble hand To cover his glazed eyes. A darker veil Sank o'er them soon. I will not have thy look Fixed on me thus I Away ! Elm, Thou hast seen this, Thou hast done this and yet thou liv'st? ffer. I live I And know'st thou wherefore ? On my soul there feTl A horror of great darkness, which shut out All earth, and heaven, and hope. I cast away The spear and helm, and made the cloister's shade The home of my despair. But a d6ep voice Came to me through the gloom, and sent its tones Far through my bosom's depths. And I awoke, Ay, as the mountain cedar doth shake off Its weight of wintry snow, e'en so I shook Despondence from my soul, and knew myself .Sealed by that blood wherewith my hands were dyed* And set apart, and fearfully marked out Unto a mighty task ! To rouse the soul Of Spain, as from the dead : and to lift up The cross, her sign of vietory, on the hills, Gathering her sons to battle I And my voice Must be as freedom's trumpet on the winds, From Roncesvalles to the blue sea-waves Where Calpe looks on Afric'; till the land Have filled her cup of vengeance I Ask me rwu To yield the Christian city, that its fanes May rear the minaret in the face of Heaven I But death shall have a bloodier vintage-feast Ere that day come 1 Elm. I ask thee this no more, For I am hopeless now. But yet one boon- Hear me, by all thy woes 1 Thy voice hath power Through the wide city here I cannot rest : Aid me to pass the gates 1 Her. And wherefore? Elm. Thou, That vert a father, and art now alone I Canst thou ask " wherefore?" Ask the wretch whose sandJ Have not an hour to run, whose failing limbs Have but one earthly journey to perform, Why, on his pathway to the place of death, Ay, when the very axe is glistening cold Upon his dizzy sight, his pale, parched li.p Implores a cup of water? Why, the stroke Which trembles o'er him in Itself shall bring Oblivion of all wants, yet who denies Nature's last prayer ? I tell thee that the thirst Which burns my spirit up is agony To be endured no more"1 And I must look Upon my children's faces, 1 oust hear Their voices, ere they perish I But hath. Heaven THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Decreed that they must perish ? Who shall say If in yon Moslem camp there beats no heart Which prayers and tears may melt ? Her. There ! With the Moor ! Let him fill up the measure of his guilt I Tis madness all 1 How wouldst thou pass th array Of armed foes ? Elm. Oh ! free doth sorrow pass, Free and unquestioned, through a suffering world I Her. This must not be. Enough of woe is laid E'en now, upon my lord's heroic soul, For man to bear, unsinking. Press thou not Too heavily th' o'erburthened heart. Away 1 Bow down the knee, and send thy prayers for strength Up to Heaven's gate. Farewell I [Exit HERNANDEZ Elm. Are all men thus ? Why, wer't not better they should fall e'en now Than live to shut their hearts, in haughty scorn, Against the sufferer's pleadings? But no, no I Who can be like this man, that slew his son, Yet wears his life still proudly, and a soul Untamed upon his brow ? (After a pause.) There's one, whose arms Have borne my children in their infancy, And on whose knees they sported, and whose hand Hath led them oft a vassal of their sire's ; And I will seek him ; he may lend me aid, When all beside pass on. DIRGE HEARD WITHOUT. Thou to thy rest art gone, High heart I and what are we, While o'er our heads the storm sweeps o> That we should mourn for thee ? Free grave and peaceful bier To the buried son of Spain ! To those that live, the lance and spear, And well if not the chain 1 Be theirs to weep the dead As they sic beneath their vines, Whose flowery land hath borne no tread Of spoilers o'er its shrines I Thou hast thrown off the load Which we must yet sustain, And pour our blood w? ere thine hath flowed, Too blest if not in vain t We give thee holy rite, Slow knell, and chanted strain I- For those that fall to-morrow night, May be left no funeral-train. Again, when trumpets wake, We must brace our armour on ; But a deeper note thy sleep must break Thou to thy rest art gone I 150 THE 8IEOE OP VALENCIA. Happier in this than all, That, now thy race is ran, Upon thy name no stain may fall, Thy work hath well been done ! Elm. " Thy work hath well been done 1 "to tLoti uiayst rest I There is a solemn lesson in those words But now I may not pause. \ Rxit EJLMINA. SCENE A Street in the City. HERNANDEZ, GONZALEZ. Her. Would they not hear ? Gort. They heard, as one that stands By the cold grave which hath but newly closed O'er bis la"t friend, doth hear some passer-by Bid him te comforted 1 Their hearts have died Within them I We must perish, not as those That fall when battle's voice doth shake the hills, And peal through Heaven's great arch, but silently, And with a wasting of the spirit down, A quenching, day by day, of some bright spark, Which lit us on our toils I Reproach me not ; My soul is darkened with a heavy cloud Yet fear not I shall yield 1 Her. Breathe not the word, Save in proud scorn 1 Each bitter day, o'erpassed By slow endurance, is a triumph won For Spain's red cross. And be of trusting heart I A few brief hours, and those that turned away In cold despondence, shrinking from your voice, May crowd around their leader, and demand To be arrayed for battle. We must watch For the swift impulse, and await its tune, As the bark waits the ocean's. You have chosen . To kindle up their souls, an hour, perchance, When they were weary ; they had cast aside Their Arms to slumber ; or a knell, just then With its deep hollow tone, had made the blood Creep shuddering through their veins ; or they had caught A glimpse of some new meteor, and shaped forth Strange omens from its blaze. Gon. Alas I the cause Lies deeper in their misery 1 I have seen, In my night's course through this beleaguered dry Things whose remembrance doth not pass away As vapours from the mountains. There were some That sat beside their dead, with eyes, wherein Grief had ta'en place of sight, and shut out all But its own ghastly object. To my voice Some answered with a fierce and bitter laugh, As men whose agonies were made to pass rhe bounds of sufferance, by some reckless word, Dropt from the light of spirit. Others lay Why should I tell thee, father 1 how despair Can bring the lofty brow of manhood down THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 15] Unto the very dust ? and yet for this, Fear not that I embrace my doom O God I That 'twere my doom alone I with less of fixed And solemn fortitude. Lead on, prepare The holiest rites of faith, that I by them Once more may consecrate my sword, my life, But what are these ? Who hath not dearer lives Twined with his own ? I shall be lonely soon Childless I Heaven wills it so. Let us begone. Perchance before the shrine my heart may beat With a less troubled motion. [Exeunt GONZALEZ and HERNANDEZ. SCENE. A Tent in Uu Moorish Camp. ABDULLAH, ALPHONSO, CARLOS. Abd. These are bold words : but hast thou looked on death; Fair stripling 7 On thy cheek and sunny brow Scarce fifteen summers of their laughing course Have left light traces. If thy shaft hath pierced The ibex of the mountains, if thy step Hath climbed some eagle's nest, and thou hast made His nest thy spoil 'tis much I And fear'st thou not The leader of the mighty ? Alpk. I have been Reared amongst fearless men, and midst the rocks And the wild hills, whereon my fathers fought And won their battles. There are glorious tales Told of their deeds, and I have learned them alL How should I fear thee. Moor ? Abd. So, thou hast seen Fields, where the combat's roar hath died away Into the whispering breeze, and where wild flowers Bloom o'er forgotten graves ! But know'st thou aught Of those, where sword from crossing sword strikes fu, And leaders are borne down, and rushing steeds Trample the life from out the mighty hearts That ruled the storm so late ? Speak not of death. Till thou hast looked on such. Alph. I was not bom A shepherd's son, to dwell with pipe and crook, And peasant-men, amidst the lowly vales ; Instead of ringing clarions, and bright spears, And crested knights I I am of princely race, And, if my father would have heard my suit, I tell thee, infidel 1 that long ere now I should have seen how lances meet, and sword? Do the field's work. Abd. Boy I know'st thou there are sights A thousand times more fearful? men may die Full proudly, when the skies and mountains ring To bkttlc-horn and tecbir.* But not all *Tecbir. tht war-cry of the Moors and Art&. 152 THE 8IEOE OF VALENCIA. . So pass away in glory. There are those 'Midst the dead silence of pale multitudes, Led forth in fetters dost thou mark me, boy ? To take their last look of th; all-gladdening sun, And bow, perchance, the stately head of youth Unto the death of shame I Hadst thou seen this Alph. (to Carlos). Sweet brother, God is with us fear thou not! We have had heroes for our sires this man Should not behold us tremble. Aid. There are means To tame the loftiest natures. Yet again I ask thee, wilt thou, from beneath the walls, Sue to thy sire for life ; or wouldst thou die, With this, thy brother ? Alph. Moslem 1 on the hills, Around my father's castle, I have heard The mountain-peasants, as they dressed the vines, Or drove the goats, by rock and torrent home, Singing their ancient songs ; and these were all Of the Cid Campeador ; and how his sword Tizona cleared its way through turbaned hosts, And captured Afric's kings, and how he won Valencia from the Moor. I will not shame The blood we draw from him I (A Moorish Soldier enttrt.) Soldier. Valencia's lord Sends messengers, my chief. A bd. Conduct them hither. {The Soldier goes out, and re-enters with ELMINA, disguised, and an Attendant Carlos (springing forward to the Attendant). Ob 1 take me hence, Diego ; take me hence With thee, that I may see my mother's face At morning, when I wake. Here dark-browed men Frown strangely, with their cruel yes, upon us. Take me with thee, for thou art good and kind, And well I know thou lov'st me, my Diego I Abd. Peace, boy ! What tidings, Christian, from thy lord ? Is he grown humbler, doth he set the lives Of these fair nurslings at a city's worth ? Alph. (rushing forward impatiently). Say not he doth Yet wherefore art thou here ? If it be so I could weep burning tears For very shame I If this can be, return" I Tell him, of all his wealth, his battle-spoils, I will but ask a war-horse and a sword, And that beside him in the mountain chase, And in his halls and at his stately feasts, My place shall be no more I but no ! I wrong, I wrong my father I Moor ! believe it not 1 He is a champion of the cross and Spain, Sprung from the Cid ; and I too, I can die As a -warrior's high-born child 1 Elm. Alas ! alas ! And wouldst thou die, thus early die, fair boy? v What hath life done to thee, that thou shouldst cast TJTE 8IEGE OF VALENCIA. 153 (ts flower away, in very scorn of heart, Ere yet the blight be come ? Alph. -That voice doth sound A od. Stranger, who art thou ? this is mockery ! speak I Sim. (throwing off a mantle and helmet and embracing het 0) My boys 1 whom I have reared through many hours Of silent joys and sorrows, and deep thoughts Untold and unimagined ; let me die With you, now I have held you to my heart, And seen once more the faces, in whose light My soul hath lived for years ! Carlos. Sweet mother I now Thou shall not leave us more. Abd. Enough of this I Woman I what seek'st thou here ? How hast thou dared To front the mighty thus amidst his hosts ? Elm. Think 'st thou there dwells no courage but in breasts That set their mail against the ringing spears, When helmets are struck down ? Thou little know'sz Of nature's marvels ! Chief I my heart is nerved To make its way through things which warrior-men, Ay, they that master death by field or flood, Would look on, ere they braved I I have no thought, No sense of fear ! Thou'rt mighty I but a soul Wound up like mine is mightier, in the power Of that one feeling, poured through all its depths, Than monarchs with their hosts I Am I not come To die with these, my children ? Abd. Doth thy faith Bid thee do this, fond Christian ? Hast thou not* The means to save them ? Elm. I have prayers and tears, And agonies I and He my God the God Whose hand, or soon or late, doth find its hour To bow the crested head hath made these things Most powerful in a world where all must learn That one deep language, by the storm called forth From the bruised reeds of earth I For thee, perchance, Affliction's chastening lesson hath not yet Been laid upon thy heart, and thou may'st love To see the creatures, by its might brought low, Humbled before thee. [She throws herself at hit/eet. Conqueror I 1 can kneel I I, that drew birth from princes, bow myself E'en tp thy feet I Call in thy chiefs, thy slaves, If this will swell thy triumph, to behold The blood of kings, of heroes, thus abased I Do this, but spare my sons 1 Alph. (attempting to raise her). Thou shouldst not kned Unto this infidel I Rise, rise, my mother I This sight doth shame our house ! Abd. Thou daring boy I They that in arms have taught thy father's land How chains are worn, shall school that haughty mien Unto another language. Elm. Peace, my son I Have pity on my heart 1 Oh, pardon, chief i He is of noble blood I Hear, bear me yet I 154 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA Are there no lives through which the shafts of Heaven May reach your soul ? He that loves aught on earth, Dares far too much, if he be merciless I Is it for those whose frail mortality Must one day strive alone with God and death, To shut their souls against th' appealing voice Of nature, in her anguish ? Warrior 1 man ! To you too, ay, and haply with your hosts, By thousands and ten thousands marshalled round, And your strong armour on, shall come that stroke Which the lance wards not ! Where shall your high haart, Find refuge then, if in the day of might Woe hath lain prostrate, bleeding at your feet, And you have pitied not ? Abd. The are vain words. Elm. Have you no children? fear you not to bring The lightning their heads ? In your own land Doth no fond mother, from the tents beneath Vour native palms, look o'er the deserts out, To greet your homeward step ? You have not yet Forgot so utterly, her patient love For is not woman's, in all climes, the same ? That you should scorn my prayer I Oh, Heaven I his eye Doth wear no mercy I Abd. Then it mocks you not. I have swept o'er the mountains of year land. Leaving my traces, as the visitings Of storms upon them I Shall I now be stayed I Know, unto me it were as light a thing, In this, my course, to quench your children's lives, As, Journeying through a forest, to break off The young wild branches that obstruct the way With their green sprays and leaves. Elm. Are there such hearts Amongst Thy works, O God ? Abd. Kneel not to me, Kneel to your lord 1 on his resolves doth hang His children's doom. He may be lightly won By a few bursts of passionate tears and words. Elm. (rising indignantly). Speak not of noble men ! he bears n soul Stronger than love or death. Alpk. (with exultation). I knew 'twas thus ! He could not fail 1 Elm. There is no mercy, none, On this cold earth ! To strive with such a world, Hearts should be void of love I We will go hence, My children I we are summoned. Lay your heads, In their young radiant beauty, once again To rest upon this bosom. He that dwells Beyond the clouds which press us darkly round. Will yet have pity, and before His face We three will stand together I Moslenj I now Let the stroke fall at once 1 Abd. 'Tis thine own will. These might e'en yet be spared. Elm. Thou wilt not spare 1 And he beneath whose eye their childhood grew, And in whose paths they sported, and whose ear THE SIEQE OF VALENCIA. 155 From their first lisping accents caught the sound > Of that word Father once a name of love- Is Men shall call him steadfast. Aid. Hath the blast Of sudden trumpets ne'er at dead of night, When the land's watchers feared no hostile step, Startled the slumberers from their dreamy worldly In cities, whose heroic lords have been Steadfast as thine. ' Elm. There's meaning in thine eye, More than thy words. Abd. (pointing to the city). Look to yon towers and walls. Think you no hearts within their limits pine, Weary of hopeless warfare, and prepared To burst the feeble links which bind them still Unto endurance? Elm. Thou hast said too well. But what of this ? Abd. Then there are those to whom The Prophet's armies not as foes would pass Yon gates, but as deliverers. Might tliey not In some still hour, when weariness takes rest, Be won to welcome us ? Your children's steps May yet bound lightly through their father's hall*. A Iph. (indignantly). Thou treacherous Mow ! Elm. Let me not thus be tried Beyond all strength, oh, Heaven 1 Abd. Now, 'tis for thee, Thou Christian mother I on thy sons to pass The sentence life or death 1 the price is set On their young blood, and rests within thy hands. A Iph. Mother I thou tremblest 1 Abd. Hath thy heart resolved ? Elm. (covering her face with her hands). My boy's proud eye is on me, and the things Which rush, in stormy darkness, through my soul, Shrink from his glance. 1 cannot answer hen. Abd. ComeJbrth. We'll commune elsewhere. Carlos (to his mother). Wilt thou go ? Oh I let me follow thee ! Elm. Mine own fair child 1 Now that thine eyes have poured once more on mine The light of their young smile, and thy sweet voice Hath sent its gentle music through my soul. And I have felt the twining of thine arms How shall I leave thee? Abd. Leave him, as 'twere but For a brief slumber, to behold his face At morning, with the sun's. Alph. Thou hast no look For me, my mother 1 Elm. Oh I that I should live To say, I dare not look on thee I Farewel My first born, fare thee well I A Iph. Yet, yet beware I It were a grief more heavy on thy soul. That I should blush for thee, than o'er my grave That thou shouldst proudly weep ! 156 THE RTEOE OF VALENCIA. AM. Away I we trifle here. The night wanes fast* Come forth i Elm. One more embrace ! My sons, farewell ! [Exeunt ABDULLAH with ELMINA and her Atttndanl Alpk. Hear me yet once, my mother I Art thou gone ? But one word more I \He rushes out, followed by CARLOS. SCENE The Garden of a Palace in Valencia. XIMENA, THERESA. Ther. Stay yet awhile. A purer air doth rove Here through the myrtles whispering, and the limes, And shaking sweetness from the orange boughs, Than waits you in the city. Xim. There are those In their last need, and on their bed of death, At which no hand doth minister but mine That wait me in the city. Let us hence. Ther. You have been wont to love the music made By founts, and rustling foliage, and soft winds, Breathing of citron-groves. And will you turn From these to scenes of death ? Xim. To me the voice Of summer, whispering through young flowers and leaves, Now speaks too deep a language 1 and of all Its dreamy and mysterious melodies, The breathing soul is sadness ! I have felt That summons through my spirit, after which The hues of earth are changed, and all her sounds Seem fraught with secret warnings? There is caus-t That I should bend my footsteps to the scenes Where Death is busy, taming warrior-hearts, And pouring winter through the fiery blood, And fettering the strong arm ! For now no sigh In the dull air, nor floating cloud in heaven, No, not the lightest raurmur of a leaf, But of his angel's silent coming bears Some token to my soul. But nought of this Unto my mother I These are awful hours I And oa their heavy steps, afflictions crowd With such dark pressure, there is left no room For one grief more. Ther. Sweet lady, talk not thus i Your eye this morn doth wear a calmer light, There's more of life in its clear tremulous ray Than I have marked of late. Nay, go not yet ; Rest by this fountain, where the laurels dip Their glossy leaves. A fresher gale doth spring From the transparent waters, dashing round Fheir silvery spray, with a sweet voice of coolness O'er the pale glistening marble. 'Twill call up Faint bloom, if but a moment's, to your, cheek. Rest here, ere you go forth, and I will sing The melody you love THE SIEQE OF VALENCIA. 157 THERESA sings. Why is the Spanish maiden's grave So far from her own bright land? The sunny flowers that o'er it wave Were sown bv no kindred hand. Tis not the orange-bough that sends Its breath on the sultry air, Tis not the myrtle-stem that bends To the breeze of evening there 1 But the Rose of Sharon's eastern bloom By the silent dwelling fades, And none but strangers pass the tomb Which the Palm of ludah shades. The lowly Cross, with flowers o'ergrown, Marks well that place of rest ; But who hath graved, on its mossy stone, A sword, a helm, a crest ? These are the trophies of a chief, A lord of Jhe axe and spear ! Some blossom plucked, some faded leaf, Should grace a maiden's bier 1 Scorn not her tomb deny not her The honours of the brave I O'er that forsaken sepulchre, Banner and plume might wave. She bound the steel, in battle tried, Her fearless heart above, And stood with brave men, side by side. In the strength and faith of love I That strength prevailed that faith was blesio-j True was the javelin thrown ; Yet pierced it not her warrior's breast, She met it with her own 1 And nobly won, where heroes fell In arms for the holy shrine, A death which saved what she loved so well, And a grave in Palestine. Then let the Rose of Sharon spread Its breast \o the glowing air, And the Palm of Judah lift its head, Green and immortal there ! And let yon grey stone, undefaced, With its trophy mark the scene, Telling the pilgrim of the waste. Where Love and Death have been. JCttt. Those notes were wont to make my heart beat quick. A3 at a voice of victory ; but to-day The spirit of the song u changed, and seems 158 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. All mournful. Oh ! that ere my early grave Shuts out the sunbeam, I may hear one peal Of the Castilian trumpet, ringing forth Beneath my father's banner 1 In that sound Were life to you, sweet brothers 1 But for me- Come on our tasks await us. They who know Their hours are numbered out, have little time To give the vague and slumberous languor way, Which doth steal o'er them in the breath of flovrci^ And whisper of soft winds. ELMINA enters hurriedly. Elm. This air will calm my spirit, ere yet I meet His eye, which must be met. Thou here, Ximena i [Ske starts back on seeing XIMENA, Xim. Alas t my mother ! In that hurrying step And troubled glance I read Elm. (wildly). Thou read'st it not 1 Why, who would live, if unto mortal eye The things lay glaring, which within our hearts We treasure up for God's? Thou read'st it not I I say, thou canst not I There's not one on earth Shall know the thoughts, w en for themselves have made And kept dark places in the very breast Whereon he hath laid his slumber, till the hour When the graves open 1 Xim, Mother ! what is this ? Alas 1 your eye is wandering, and your cheek Flushed, as with fever t To your woes the night Hath brought no rest. Elm. Rest ? who should rest? not he That holds one earthly blessing to his heart Nearer than life ! No 1 if this world have aught- Of bright or precious, let not him who calls Such things his own, take rest 1 Dark spirits keep watch, And they to whom fair honour, chivalrous fame, Were as heaven's air, the vital element Wherein they breathed, may wake, and find their souls Made marks for human scorn I Will they bear on With life struck down, and thus disrobed of all Its glorious drapery? Who shall tell us this? Will he so bear it? Xim. Mother 1 let us kneel, And blend our hearts in prayer ! What else is left To mortals when the dark hour's might is on them ? Leave us, Theresa. Grief like this doth find Its balm in solitude. [Exit THERESA. My mother 1 peace Is heaven's benignant answer to the cry Of wounded spirits. Wilt thou kneel with me? Elm. Away 1 'tis but for souls unstained to wear Heaven's tranquil image on their depths. The stream Of my dark thoughts, all broken by the storm, Reflects but clouds and lightnings ! Didst thou speak Of peace ? 'tis fled from earth 1 but there is joy I Wild, troubled joy 1 Ajad who shall know, my child I TEE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 15.9 It is not happiness ? Why, our own hearts Will keep the secret close I Joy, joy I if but To leave this desolate city, with its dull Slow knells and dirges, and to breathe again Th' untainted mountain-air But hush ! the trees, The flowers, the waters, must hear nought of this I They are full of voices, and will whisper things We'll speak of it no more. Xtm. Oh 1 pitying Heaven ! This grief doth shake her reason I Elm. (starting). Hark 1 a step 1 Tis 'tis thy father's ! come away not now He must not see us now I Xim. Why should this be ? GONZALEZ tnters, and detains ELM IN A. Gon. Elmina, dost thou shun me ? Have we not, E'en from the hopeful and the sunny time When youth was as a glory round our brows, Held on through life together ? And is this, When eve is gathenng round us, with the gloor Of stormy clouds, a time to part our steps Upon the darkening wild ? ' Elm. (coldly). There needs not this. Why shouldst thou think I shunned thee ? Gon Should the love That shone o'er many years, th' unfading love, Whose only change hath been from gladdening smiles To mingling sorrows and sustaining strength, Thus lightly be forgotten ? Elm. Speak'st thou thus? I have knelt before thee with that very plea, When it availed me not I But there are things Whose very breathings on the soul erase All record of past love, save the chill sense, Th' unquiet memory of its wasted faith, And vain devotedness ! Ay I they that fix Affection's perfect trust on aught of earth, Have many a dream to start from ! Gon. This is but The wildness and the bitterness of gnef, Ere yet th' unsettled heart hath closed its long Impatient conflicts with a mightier power, Which makes all conflict vain. Hark I was there not A sound of distant trumpets, far beyond The Moorish tents, and of another tone Than th' Afnc horn, Ximena? Xtm. Oh, my father I I know that hom too well.- Tis but the wind. Which, with a sudden rising, bears its deep And savage war-note from us, wafting it O'er the far hills. Gon. Alas I this woe must be ! I do but shake my spirit from its height So startling it with hope 1 But the dread hou Shall be met bravely still.' I can keep down Yet for a luite while and Heaven will ask 160 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. No more the passionate workings of my heart ;- And thine Elmina ? Elm. Tis J am prepared. I have prepared for all. Gon. Oh, well I knew Thou wouldst not fail me I Not in vain my souJ, Upon thy faith and courage, hath built up Unshaken trust. Elm. (wildly). Away ! thou know'st me not I Man dares too far, his rashness would invest This our mortality with an attribute Too high and awful, boasting that he knows One human heart 1 Gon. These are wild words, but yet I will not doubt thee ! Hast thou not been found Noble in all things, pouring thy soul's light Undimm'd o'er every trial ? And, as our fates, So must our names be, undivided ! Thine, I' th' record of a warrior's life, shall find Its place of stainless honour. By his side Elm. May this be borne ? How much of agony Hath the heart room for ? Speak to me in wraih I can endure it 1 But no gentle words I No words of love I no praise 1 Thy sword might slay. And be more merciful I Gon. Wherefore art thou thus ? Elmina, my beloved I Elm. No more of love 1 Have I not said there's that within my heart, Whereon it falls as living fire would fall Upon an unclosed wound ? Gon. Nay, lift thine eyes, That I may read their meaning 1 Elm. Never more With a free soul What have I said ? 'twas nought I Take thou no heed ! The words of wretchedness Admit not scrutiny. Wouldst thou mark the speech Of troubled dreams ? Gon. I have seen thee in the hour Of thy deep spirit's joy, and when the breath Of grief hung chilling round thee ; in all change, Bright health and drooping sickness ; hope and fear : Youth and decline ; but never yet, Elmina, Ne'er hath thine eye till now shrunk back perturbeJ With shame or dread, from mine 1 Elm. Thy glance doth search A wounded heart too deeply. Gon. Hast thou there Aught to conceal ? Elm. Who hath not? Gon. Till this hour Thou never hadst I Yet hear me I by the free\ And unattainted fame which wraps the dust Of thine heroic fathers Elm. This to me I Bring your inspiring war-notes, and your sounds; Of festal music round a dying man 1 Will his heart echo them ? But if thy words THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Were spells, to call up, with each lofty tone. The grave's most awful spirits^ they would stand Powerless before my anguish ! Gon. Then, by her Who there looks on thee in the purity Of her devoted youth, and o'er whose name No blight must fall, and whose pale cheek must ne'er Burn with that deeper tinge, caught painfully From the quick feeling of dishonour Speak I Unfold this mystery ! By thy sons Elm. My sons ! And canst thou name them ? Gon. Proudly ! Better far They died with all the promise of their youth. And the fair honour of their house upon them, Than that with manhood's high and passionate soul To fearful strength unfolded, they should live. Barred from the lists of crested chivalry, And pining, in the silence of a woe, Which from the heart shuts daylight ; o'er the shame Of those who gave them birth 1 But thou couldst ne'er Forget their lofty claims I Elm. (wildly). 'Twas but for them I Twas for them only ! Who shall dare arraJgn Madness of crime ? And He who made us. knows There are dark moments of all hearts and lives, Which bear down reason ! Gon. Thou whom 1 have loved With such high trust, as o'er our nature threw A glory, scarce allowed ; what hast thou done ^ Xirnena, go thou hence I Elm. No.no! my child \ There's pity in thy look ! All other eyes Are full of wrath and scorn ! Oh I leave me not t Gon. That I should live to see thee thus abased ! Yet speak ! What hast thou done? Elm. Look to the gate ! Thou'rt worn with toil but take no rest to-night ! The western gate I Its watchers have been won The Christian city hath been bought and sold 1 They will admit the Moor 1 Gon. They have been won 1 Brave men and tried so long ! Whose work was this? Elm. Think'st thou all hearts like thine ? Can mothers suuc To see their children perish ? Gon. Then the guilt Was thine ? Elm. Shall mortal dare to call it guilt ? I tell thee. Heaven, which made all holy things, Made nought more holy than the boundless love Which fills a mother's heart ! I say, 'tis woe Enough, with such an aching tenderness To love aught earthly 1 and in vain ! in vain I We are pressed down too sorely ! Gon. (in a low desponding voice). Now my (iff Is struck to worthless ashes ! In my soul Suspicion hath ta'en root. The nobleness Henceforth is blotted from all human brows. THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA And fearful power, a dark and troublous gift, Almost like prophecy, is poured upon me, To read the guilty secrets in each eye That once looked bright with truth 1 Why then I have gained What men call wisdom I A new sense, to which All tales that speak of high fidelity, And holy courage, and proud honour, tried, Searched, and found steadfast, even to martyrdom, Are food for mockery 1 Why should I not cast From my thinned locks the wearing helm at once. And in the heavy sickness of my soul Throw the sword down for ever ? Is there aught In all this world of gilded hollowness, Now the bright hues drop off its loveliest things, Worth striving for again ? Xim. Father ! look up I Turn Unto me, thy child I Gon. Thy face is fair ; And hath been unto me, in other days, As morning to the journeyer of the deep ; But now 'tis too like hers I Elm. (falling at his feet). Woe, shame and woe, Are on me in their might ! forgive, forgive ! Gon. (starting up}. Doth the Moor deem that / have part or share, Or counsel in this vileness? Stay me not ! Let go thy hold 'tis powerless on me now \ I linger here, while treason is at work I [Pjeit GONZALEZ Elm. Ximena, dost thou scorn me ? Xim. I have found 'In mine own heart too much of feebleness, Hid. beneath many foldings, from all eyes But His whom nought can blind ; to dare do aught But pity thee, dear mother I Elm. Blessings light On thy fair head, my gentle child, for this I Thou kind and merciful ! My soul is faint Worn with long strife ! Is there aught else to do, Or suffer, ere we die ? O God I my sons I I have betrayed them ! All their innocent blood Is on my soul Xim. How shall I comfort thee t Oh I hark I what sounds come deepening on the wind, So full of solemn hope 1 A fnctwvn of Nuns pastes across the Scene, bearing relict t and chanttr CHANT. A sword is on the land ! He that bears down young tree and glorious flower. Death is gone forth, he walks the wind in power I Where is the warrior's hand ? Our steps are in the shadows of the grave, Hear us, we perish I Father, hear, and save I If, in the days of song, The days of gladness, we have called on The?, When mirthful voices rang from sea to sea, And joyous hearts were strong ; THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA 163 Now, that alike the feeble and the brave Mtist cry, "We perish 1" Father I hear, and save I The days of song are fled I The winds come loaded, wafting dirge-notes by But they that linger soon unmourned must die'; The dead weep not the dead I Wilt thou forsake us midst the stormy wave ? We sink, we pensh ! Father, hear, and save I Helmet and lance are dust I Is not the strong man withered from our eye ? The arm struck down that held our banners high 7 Thine is our spirit s tnlst I Look through the gathenng shadows of the grave ! Do we not perish ? Father, hear, and save ! HERNANDEZ enter). Elm. Why comest thou. man of vengeance ? What have i Tc do with thee ? Am 1 not bowed enough ? Thou art no mourner s comforter I Her. Thy lord Hath sent me unto thee. Till tras day s tasV Be closed, thou daughter of the feeble heart He bids thee seek him not, but lay thy woes Before Heaven's altar and in penitence Make thy souls peace with God Elm. Till this days Usl< Be closed I there is strange triumph in thine eye* (s it that I have fallen from that high place Whereon I stood in fame? But 1 can feel A wild and bitter pnde in thus being past The power of thy dark glance 'My spirit cow Is wound about by one sole mighty grief Thy scorn hath lost its sting. Thou mayst reproach Her. \ come not to reproach thee. Heaven doth work By many agencies ; and in its hour There is no insect which the summer breeze From the green leaf shakes trembling, but may serve Its deep unsearchable purposes, as well As the great ocean, or th eternal fires. Pent in earth's caves I Thou hast but speeded that Which, in th 1 infatuate blindness of thy heart, Thou wouldst have trampled o'er all holy ties. But lo avert one day I Elm. My senses fail Thou saidst speak yet again 1 I could not catch The meaning of thy words. Her. E'en now thy lord Hath sent our foes defiance. On the walls He stands in conference with the boastful Moor. And awful strength is with him. Through the blood Which this day must be poured in sacrifice Shall Spam be free. On all her olive-hills Shall men set up the-battle-sign of fire, And round its blaze, at midnight, keep the Of vengeance wakeful in each other s hearts E'en with thy children's tale I Xim Peace, father ! peace I 164 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Behold she sinks I the storm hath done its work Upon the broken reed. Oh ! lend thine aid To bear her hence. [They lead her avoay. SCENE A Street in Valencia. Several Groups of Citizens and Soldiers, many of them lying on the Steps of a Church. Arms scattered on the Ground around them. An old Citizen. The air is sultry, as with thunder-clouds. I left my desolate home, that 1 might breathe More freely in heaven's face, but my heart feels With this hot gloom o'erburthened. I have now No sons to tend me. Which of you, kind friends, Will bring the old man water from the fount, To moisten his parched lip ? [A citizen goes out Second Cit. This wasting siege, Good Father Lopez, hath gone hard with you I 'Tis sad to hear no voices through the house, Once peopled with fair sons ! Third Cit. Why, better thus, Than to be haunted with their famished cries, E'en in your very dreams I 'Old Cit. Heaven's will be done 1 These are dark times ! I have not been alone In my affliction. Third Cit. (with bitterness). Why, we have but this thought Left for our gloomy comfort ! And 'tis well I Ay, let the balance be awhile struck even Between the noble's palace and the hut, Where the worn peasant sickens I They that bear The humble dead unhonoured to their homes. Pass now i' th' streets no lordly bridal train, With its exulting music ; and the wretch - Who on the marble steps of some proud hall Flings himself down to die, in his last need And agony of famine, doth behold No scornful guests, with their long purple robes. To the banquet sweeping by. Why, this is just I These are the days when pomp is made to feel Its human mould'. Fourth Cit. Heard you last night the sound Of Saint Jago's bell I How sullenly From the great tower it pealed ! Fifth Cit. Ay, and 'tis said No mortal hand was near when so it seemed To shake the midnight streets. Old Cit. Too well I know The sound of coming fate ! 'Tis ever thus When Death is on his way to make it night In the Cid's ancient house. Oh ! there are things, In this strange world of which we have all to learn When its dark bounds are passed. Yon bell, untouchfiu (Save by the hands we see not), still doth speak- - When of that line some stately head is marked, With a wild hollow peal, at dead of night, Rocking Valencia's towers. I have heard it oft. Nor known its warning false. Fourth Cit. And will our chief THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 165 3uy with the price of his fair children's blood A few more days of pining wretchedness For this forsaken city ? Old Cit. Doubt it not ! But with that ransom he may purchase still Deliverance for the land ! And yet 'tis sad To think that such a race, with all its fame, Should pass away ! For she, his daughter too, Moves upon earth as some bright thing whose time To sojourn there is short. Fifth Cit. Then woe for us When she is gone ! Her voice the very sound Of her soft step was comfort, as she moved Through the still house of mourning 1 Who like her Shall give us hope again ? Old at. Be still ! she comes. And with a mien how changed I A hurrying step, . And a flushed cheek ! What may this bode ? Be still XiMENA enters, with Attendants carrying a banner. Xim. Men of Valencia ! in an hour like this, What do ye here ? A at. We die ! Xim. Brave men die now Girt for the toil, as travellers suddenly By the dark night o'ertaken on their way I These days require such death I It is too much Of luxury for our wild and angry times. To fold the mantle round us, and to sink From life, as flowers that shut up silently. When the sun's heat doth scorch them ! Hear ye not / A Cit. Lady I what wouldst thou with us ? Xim. Rise and arm ! E'en r now the children of your chief are led Forth by the Moor to perish ! Shall this be, Shall the high sound of such a name be hushed, I" th' land to which for ages it hath been A battle-word, as 'twere some passing note Of shepherd-music? Must this work be done. And ye lie pining here, as men in whom The pulse which God hath made for noble thought Can be so thrilled no longer ? Cit. 'Tis even so I Sickness, and toil, and grief, have breathed UDOO us. Our hearts beat faint and low. Xim. Are ye so poor Of soul, my countrymen ! that ye can draw Strength from no deeper source than that which sends The red blood mantling through the joyous veins. And gives the fleet step wings? Why, how have age And sensitive womanhood ere now endured. Through pangs of searching fire, in some proud cause Blessing that agony ? Think ye the Power Which bore them nobly up, as if to teach The torturer where eternal Heaven hd set Bounds to his sway, was earthy, of this earth. This dull mortality ? Nay. then'look on me ! Death s touch hath marked me, and I stand amongst yov 166 THE 8IEOE OF VALENCIA. As one whose place, i' th' sunshine of your world, Shall soon be left to fill ! I say, the breath Of th' incense, floating through yon fane, shall scarce Pass from your path before me 1 But even now 1 have that within me, kindling through the dust. Which from all time hath made high deeds its voice And token to the nations : Look on me ! Why hath Heaven poured forth courage, as a flame Wasting the womanish heart, which must be stilled Yet sooner for its swift consuming brightness, If not to shame your doubt, and your despair, And your soul's torpor? Yet, arise and arm I It may not be too late. A Cit. Why, what are we, To cope with hosts? Thus faint, and worn, and few, O'ernumbered and forsaken, is't for us To stand against the mighty? Xim. And for whom Hath He, who shakes the mighty with a breath From their high places, made the fearfulness, And ever-wakeful presence of his power, To the pale startled earth most manifest, But for the weak? Was 't for the helmed and crowned That suns were stayed at noonday ? Stormy seas As a rill parted ! Mailed archangels sent To wither up the strength of kings with death ? I tell you, if these marvels have been done, 'Twas for the wearied and th' oppressed of men, They peeded such 1 And generous faith hath power By her prevailing spirit, e'en yet to work Deliverances, whose tale shall live with those Of the great elder time 1 Be of good heart I Who is forsaken ? He that gives the thought A place within his breast I 'Tis not for you. Know ye this banner? Citizens (murmuring to each other). Is she not inspired ? Doth not Heavn call us by her fervent voice? Xim. Know ye this banner? Cits. 'Tis the Cid's. Xim. The Cid's I Who breathes that name but in th' exulting tone Which the heart rings to? Why, the very wind As it swells out the noble standard's fold Hath a triumphant sound ! The Cid's 1 it moved Even as a sign of victory through the land, From the free skies ne'er stooping to a foe ! Old Cit. Can ye still pause, my brethren? Oh 1 that youth Through this worn frame were kindling once again I Xim. Ye linger still I Upon this very air, He that was born in happy hour for Spain Poured forth his conquering spirit ! 'Twas the breeze From your own mountains which came down to wave This banner of his battles, as it drooped Above the champion's death-bed. Nor even then Its tale of glory closed. They made no moan O'er the dead Ivero, and no dirge was sung, But the deep tambour and shrill horn of war Told when the mighty passed I They wrapt him not THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 167 With the pale shroud, but braced the warrior's forni In war-array, and on his barbed steed, As for a triumph, reared him ; marching forth In the hushed midnight from Valencia's walls, Beleaguered then, as now. All silently The stately funeral moved : but who was he That followed, charging on the tall white horse, And with the solemn standard, broad and pale, Waving in sheets of snow-light ? And the cross, The bloody cross, far-blazing from his shield, And the fierce meteor-sword I They fled, they fled I The kings of Afric, with their countless hosts, Were dust in his red path 1 The scimitar Was shivered as a reed ! for in that hour The warrior-saint that keeps the watch for Spain, Was armed betimes 1 And o'er that fiery field" The Cid's high banner streamed all joyously, For still its lord was there I Cits, (rising tvmultuously). Even unto death Again it shall be followed 1 Xim. Will, he see The noble stem hewn down, the beacon-light Which from his house for ages o'er the land Hath shone through cloud and storm, thus quenched at once? Will he not aid his children in the hour Of this their utmost peril ? Awful power Is with the holy dead, and there are times When the tomb hath no chain they cannot burst I Is it a thing forgotten, how he woke From its deep rest of old, remembering Spain In her great danger? At the night's mid-watch How Leon started, when the sound was heard That shook her dark and hollow-echoing streets, As with the heavy-tramp of steel-clad men, By thousands marching through 1 For he had risen ! The Campeador was on his march again, And in his arms, and followed by his hosts Of shadowy spearmen ! He had left the world From which we are dfmly parted, and gone forth,, And called his buried warriors from their sleep, Gathering them round him to deliver Spain ; For Afric was upon her I Morning broke Day rushed through clouds of battle ; but at eve Our God had triumphed, and the rescued land Sent up a shout of victory from the field, That rocked her ancient mountains. .The Cit;. Arm 1 to arms ! On to our chief ! We have strength within us yet To die with our blood roused I Now, be the word, For the Cid's house ! [ They begin to arm themselves Xim. Ye know his battle-song ? The old rude strain wherewitn his bands went forth To strike down Paynim swords ! (She sings.) THE CID'S BATTLE SONQ. The Moor is on his way ! With the tambour-peal and the tecbir-shouL 168 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. And the horn o'er the blue seas ringing out; He hath marshalled his dark array 1 Shout through the vine-clad land 1 That her sons on all their hills may hear, And sharpen the point of the red wolf-spear, And the sword for the brave man's hand I (The CITIZENS join in the song, -while they continue arming themselves.) Banners are in the field The chief must rise from his joyous board, And turn from the feast ere the wine be poured, And take up his father's shield I The Moor is on his way I Let the peasant leave his olive-ground, And the goats roam wild through the pine-woods round I- There is nobler work to-day 1 Send forth the trumpet's call I Till the bridegroom cast the goblet down, And the marriage-robe and the flowery crown, And arm in the banquet-hall ! And stay the funeral-train I Bid the chanted mass be hushed awhile, And the bier laid down in the holy aisle, And the mourners girt for Spain I (They take up the banner, and follow XIMENA out. Their voices are heard gradually dying away at a distance.) Ere night, must swords be red 1 It is not an hour for knells and tears, But for helmets braced t and serried spears ! To-morrow for the dead I The Cid is in array I His steed is barbed, his plume waves high, His banner is up in the sunny sky, Now, joy for the Cross to-day I SCENE The walls of the City. The flam beneath, -with the Moorish Camp and Army. GONZALEZ, GARCIAS, HERNANDEZ. {A wild sound of Moorish music heard from below.) Her. What notes are these in their deep mournfulness So strangely wild ? Gar. Tis the shrill melody Of the Moor's ancient death-song. Well I know The rude barbaric sound, but, till this hour, It seemed not fearful. Now, a shuddering chill' Comes o'er me with its tones. Lo 1 from yon tent They lead the noble boys I Her. The young, and pure. And beautiful victims ! Tis on things like these We cast our hearts in wild idolatry. THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA, 16Q Sowing the winds with hope ! Yet this is well. Thus brightly crowned with life's most gorgeous flovveri, And all unblemished, earth should offer up Her treasures unto Heaven I Gar. (to Gonzalez}. My chief, trie Moor Hath led your children forth. Gbn. (starting). Are my sons there ? I knew they r,ould not perish ; for yon Heaven Would ne'er behold it ! Where is be that said 1 was no nlore a father ? They look changed "Pallid and worn, as from a prison-house 1 Or is't mine eye sees dimly ? But their steps Seem heavy as with pain. I hear the clank O God I their limbs are fettered I Aid. (coming forward beneath the walls). Christian ! look Once more upon thy children. There is yet One moment for the trembling of the sword ; Their doom is still with thee. Gon. Why should this man So mock us with the semblance of our kind ? Moor 1 Moor I thou dost too daringly provoke, In thy bold cruelty, th' all-judging One, Who visits for such things I Hast thou no seiu Of thy frail nature? Twill be taught thee yet, And darkly shall the anguish of my soul, Darkly and heavily, pour itself on thine, When thou shall cry for mercy from the dust. And be denied I Add. Nay, is it not thyself That hast no mercy and no love within thee ? These are thy sons, the nurslings of thy bouse : Speak I must they live or die ? Gon. (in violent emotion). Is it Heaven's will To try the dust it kindles for a day, With infinite agony? How have I drawn This chastening on my head ? They bloomed around me. And my heart grew too fearless in its joy, Glorying in their bright promise ! If we fall, Is there no pardon for our feebleness ? (Her. without speaking, holds up a Cross before him ) Abd. Speak ! Gon. (snatching the Cross and lifting it up). Let the earth be shaker through its depths, But this must triumph I Abd. (coldly). Be it as thou wilt. Unsheath the scimitar I \To hts Guards. Gar. (to Gonzalez). Away, my chief i This is your place no longer. There are things No human heart, though battle-proof as yours, Unmaddened may sustain. Gon. Be Still 1 I have now No place on earth but this I Alph. (from beneath). Men I give me way. That I may speak fortli once before I die I Gar. The princely boy I how gallantly his brow Wears its high nature in the face of death I 170 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Alpk. Father! Gon. My son I my son ! Mine eldest-born ! Alph. Stay but upon the ramparts ! Fear thou not There is good courage in me : oh I my father ! I will not shame thee 1 only let me fall Knowing thine eye looks proudly on thy child, So shall my heart have strength. Gon. Would, would to God, That I might-die for thee, my noble hoy I Alphonso, my fair son I Alph. Could I have lived, I might have been a warrior 1 Now, farewell I But look upon me still ! I will not blench When the keen sabre flashes Mark me well ! Mine eyelids shall not quiver as it falls, So thou wilt look upon me ! Gar. (to Gonzalez]. Nay, iny lord ! We must begone 1 Thou canst not bear it ! Gon. Peace ! Who hath told thte how much man's heart can bear \~ Lend me thine arm my brain whirls fearfully How thick the shades close round 1 my boy I my boy J Where art thou in this gloom ? Gar. Let us go hence 1 This is a dreadful moment I Gon. Hush ! What saidst thou ? Now let me look on him ! Dost thou see aught Through the dull mist which wraps us ? Gar. I behold Oh ! for a thousand Spaniards to rush down Gon. Thou seest My heart stands still to hear thee speak i There seems a fearful hush upon the air, As 'twere the dead of night 1 Gar. The hosts have closed Around the spot in stillness. Through the spears, Ranged thick and motionless, J see him not ; But now Gon. He bade me keep mine eye upon him, And all is darkness round me ! Now ? Gar. A sword, A sword, springs upward, like a lightning burst, Through the dark serried mass ! Its cold blue glare Is wavering to and fro 'tis vanished hark I Gon. I heard it, yes I I heard the dull dead sound That heavily broke the silence ! Didst thou speak ? I lost thy words come nearer I Gar. 'Twas 'tis past ! The sword fell then I Her. (with exultation). Flow forth, thou noble blood I Fount of Spain's ransom and deliverance, flow Unchecked and brightly forth I Thou kingly stream ? Blood of our heroes I blood of martyrdom. I Which through so many warrior-hearts hast poured Thy fiery currents, and hast made our hills Free, by thine own free offering I Bathe the land. But there thou shalt not sink ! Our very air Shall take thy colouring, and. our loaded skies O'er th' infidel hcuiu dark and ominous. TEE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 171 With battle-hues of thee I and thy deep voice Rising above them to the judgment-seat Shall call a burst of gathered vengeance down, To sweep th' oppressor from us ! For thy wave Hath made his guilt run o'er ! Gen. (endeavouring to rouse himself). "Tis all a dream There is not one no hand on earth could harm That fair boy's graceful head ! Why look you thus? Abd, (pointing- to Carlos) Christian 1 e'en yet thou hast a son I Gon. E'en yet ! Car. My father ! take me from these fearful men I Wilt thou not save me, father ? Gon. (attempting to unsheath his sword). Is the strength From mine arm' shivered ? Garcias, follow me I Gar. Whither, my chief? Gon. "Why, we can die as well On yonder plain, ay, a spear's thrust will do The little that our misery doth require, Sooner than e'en this anguish ! Life is best Thrown from us in such moments. [ Vows heard at a distance Her. Hush I what strain Floats on the wind ? Gar. Tis the Cid's battle-song I What marvel hath been wrought ? [ Voicti approaching heard in c horns The Moor is on his way I With the tambour -peal and the tecbir-shout, And the horn o er the blue seas ringing out. He hath marshalled his dark array I KIMENA enters, followed by the CITIZENS, with the Banner. Xim. Is it too late ? My father, these are men Through life and death prepared to follow thee Beneath this banner ! Is their zeal too late ? Oh 1 there's a fearful history on thy brow I What hast thou seen ? Gar. It is not- all too late. Xim My brothers I Her. All is well. (To Garcias.) Hush I wouldst thou chill That which hath sprung within them, as a flame From th' altar-embers mounts in sudden brightness ? I say, 'tis not too late, ye men of pain I On to the rescue I Xim. Bless me, oh, my father I And I will hence, to aid thee with my prayers, Sending my spirit with thee through the storm, Lit up by flashing swords I Gon. (falling upon her neck). Hath aught been sotimt Am 1 not all bereft ? Thou rt left me still ' Mine own, my loveliest one, thou'rt left me still I Farewell I thy father's blessing, and thy God's, Be with thee, my Ximena I Xim. Fare thee well I If, ere thy steps turn homeward frorn the field. The voice is hushed that still hath welcomed itjce Think of me in thy victory I 172 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. Her. Peace I no more ! This is no time to melt our nature down To a soft stream of tears I Be of strong heart ' Give me the banner I Swell the song again 1 THE CITIZENS. Ere night, must swords be red ! It is not an hour for knells and tears, But for helmets braced and serried spears ! To-morrow for the dead I {Exeunt cmna. SCENE Before the Altar of a Church. ELMINA rises from the steps of the Altar. Elm. The clouds are fearful that o'erhang thy ways, Oh, thou mysterious Heaven ! It cannot be That I have drawn the vials of thy wrath, To burst upon me through the lifting up Of a proud heart, elate in happiness I No I in my day's full noon, for me life's flowers But wreathed a cup of trembling ; and the love, The boundless love, my spirit was formed to bear, Hath ever, in its place of silenoe, been A trouble and a shadow, tinging thought With hues too deep for joy I I never looked On my fair children, in their buoyant mirth, Or sunny sleep, when all the gentle air Seemed glowing with their quiet blessedness, But o'er my soul there came a shuddering sense Of earth, and its pale changes ; even like that Which vaguely mingles with our glorious dreams, A restless and disturbing consciousness That the bright things must fade ! How have I shrunk From the dull murmur of th' unquiet voice, With its low tokens of mortality, Till my heart fainted 'midst their smiles I their smiles I Where are those glad looks now ? Could they go down. With all their joyous light, that seemed not earth's, To the cold grave ? My children I Righteous Heaven ! There floats a dark remembrance o'er my brain Of one who told me, with relentless eye, That this should be the hour I XIMENA enters. Xim. They are gone forth Unto the rescue ! strong in heart and hope, Faithful, though few 1 My mother, let thy prayers Call on the land's good saints to lift once more The sword and cross that sweep the field for Spaiu As in old battle ; so thine arms e'en yet May clasp thy sons 1 For me my'part is done ! The flame, which dimly might have lingered yet A little while, hath gathered all its rays Brightly to sink at once ; and it is well I The shadows are around me ; to thy heart Fold me, that I may die. THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 173 Elm. My child ! What dream Is on thy soul ? Even now thine aspect wears Life's brightest inspiration I Xim. Death's! Elm. Away ! Thine eye hath starry clearness, and thy check Doth glow beneath it with a richer hue Than tinged its earliest flower I Xim. It well may be ! There are far deeper and far warmer hues Than those which draw their colouring from the founts Of youth, or health, or hope. Elm. Nay, speak not thus I There's that about thee shining which would send E'en through my heart a sunny glow of joy, Were't not for these sad words. The dim cold air And solemn light, which wrap these tombs and shrines As a pale gleaming shroud, seem kindled up With a young spirt of ethereal hope Caught from *'.y irncin I Oh no I this is not death I Xim. Why should not He, whose touch dissolves our chtdn Put on his robes of beauty when He comes As a deliverer : He hath many forms, They should not all be fearful 1 If his call Be but our gathering to that distant land For whose sweet waters we have pined with thirst, Why should not its prophetic sense be borne Into the heart's deep stillness, with a breath Of summer-winds, a voice or melody, Solemn, yet lovely ! Mother 1 I depart 1 Be it thy comfort, in the after-days, That thou hast seen me thus ! Elm. Distract me not With such wild fears I Can I bear on with life When thou art gone ? Thy voice, thy step, thy smile, Passed from ray path ? Alas I even now thine eye Is changed thy cheek is fading I Xim. Ay, the clouds Of the dim hour are gathering o'er my sight, And yet I fear not, for the God of Help Comes in that quiet darkness ! It may soothe Thy woes, my mother I if I tell thee now, With what glad calmness I behold the veil Falling between me and the world, wherein My heart so ill hath rested. Elm. Thine.' Xim. Rejoice For her, that, when the garland of her life Was blighted, and the springs of hope were, dried, Received her summons hence ; and had no time, Bearing the canker at th' impatient heart, To wither, sorrowing for that gift of Heaven, Which lent one moment of existence light, That dimmed the rest for ever 1 Elm. How is this? My child, what meanest thou? Xim. Mother! I have loved, And been beloved ! the sunbeam of an htur TEE SIEGE OF VALENCIA, " Which gave life's hidden treasures to mine eye, As they lay shining in their secret founts, Went out, and left them colourless. Tis past And what remains on earth ? the rainbow mist, Through which I gazed, hath melted, and my sight Is cleared to look on al! things as they are ! But this is far too mournful 1 Life's dark gift Hath fallen too early and too cold upon me 1 Therefore I would go hence I Elm. And thou hast loved Unknown Xim. Oh I pardon, pardon that I veiled My thought? from thee ! But thou hadst woes enough And mine came o'er me when thy soul had need Of more than mortal strength I For I had scarce Given the deep consciousness that I was loved A treasure's place within my secret heart, When earth's brief joy went from me ! Twas at mom I saw the warriors to their field go forth, And he my chosen was there amongst the rest With his young glorious brow ! I looked again- The strife grew dark beneath me but his plume Waved free above the lances. Yet again It had gone down 1 and steeds were trampling o'er The spot to which mine eyes were riveted, Till blinded by th' intenseness of their gaze ! And then at last I hurried to the gate, And met him there ! I met him ! on his shield. And with his cloven helm, and shivered sword, And dark hair steeped in blood 1 They bore him past Mother ! I saw his face 1 Oh 1 such a death Works fearful changes on the fair of earth, The pride of woman's eye ! Rim. Sweet daughter, peace ! Wake not the dark remembrance ; for thy frame Xim. There will be peace ere long. I shut my heart Even as a tomb, o'er that lone silent grief, That I might spare it thee ! But now the hour Is come when that which would have pierced thy soul Shall be its healing balm. Ob I weep thou not, Save with a gentle sorrow 1 Elm. Must it be? Art thou indeed to leave me ? Xim. (exultingly). Be thou glad ! I say, rejoice above thy favoured child ! Joy, for the soldier when his field is fought. Joy, for the peasant when his vintage-task Is closed at eve 1 But, most of all for her Who, when her life had changed 'is glittering robes For the dull garb of sorrow, which doth cling So heavily around the joumeyers on,. Cast down its weight and slept I Elm. Alas ! thine eye Is wandering yet how brightly ! Is this death, Or some high wondrous vision? Speak, my child J How is it with thee now ? Xim. (wildly). I see it still I THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 173 Tis floating, like a glorious cloud on high, My father's banner ! Hear'st thou not a sound? The trumpet of Castile ? Praise, praise to Heaven i Now may the weary rest 1 Be still I Who calls The night so fearful? l_SJU diet, Elm. No ! she is not dead ! Ximena I speak to me I OhJ yet a tone From that sweet voice, that I may gather in Ore more remembrance of its lo'vely sound, Ere the deep silence fall ! What I is all hushed > No, no ! it cannot be ! How should we bear The dark misgivings of our souls, if Heaven Left not such beings with us? But is this Her wonted look ? too sad a quiet lies , On its dim fearful beauty ! Speak, Ximena I Speak ! my heart dies within me ! She is gone, With all her blessed smiles ! My child ! my child I Where art thou ? Where is that which answered me, From thy soft shining eyes? Hush I doth she move? One light lock seemed to tremble on her brow, As a pulse throbbed beneath ; 'twas but the voice Of my despair that stirred it ! She is gone 1 {She throws herself on the body, GONZALEZ enters, alone, and u#unalon I- Where are my sons ? Con. {solemnly). We were too late I Elm. Too late 1 Hast thou nought else to tell me ? Gon. I brought back From that last field the banner of my sires, And rriy own death-wound. Elm. Thine! Gon. Another hour Shall hush its throbs for ever. I go hencet And with me Elm. No 1 Man could not lift his hands Where hast thou left thy sons ? Gon. I have no sons. Elm. What hast thou said ? Gon. That now there lives not one To wear the glory of mine ancient house, When I am gone to rest.' Elm. (throwing herself on the ground, and speaking ' a low hurried voice). In one brief hour, all gone ! and such a death I I see their blood gush forth I their graceful heads- 'Take the dark vision from me, oh, my God 1 And such a death for them I I was not there 1 They were but mine in beauty and in joy, Not in that mortal anguish I All, all gone I Why should I struggle more ? What is this Power, Against whose might, on all sides pressing us, We strive with fierce impatience, which but lays Our own frail spirits prostrate ? (After a long pause.) Now I know Thy hand, my Go'd ! and they are soonest crushed That most withstand it 1 I resist no more. (She rises.) A light, a light springs up from grief and death, Which with its solemn radiance doth reveal Why we have thus been tried I Qon. Then I may still Fix my last look on thee, in holy love, Parting, but yet with hope I Elm. (falling at his feet). Canst thou forgive? Oh I I have driven the arrow to thy heart, That should have buried it within mine own, And borne the pang in silence ! I have cast Thy life's fair honour, in my wild despair, As an unvalued gem upon the waves, Whence thou hast snatched it back, to bear from etvtti TEE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 177 All stainless, on thy breast. Well hast thou done But I canst thou forgive? Gon. Within this hour I have stood upon that verge whence mortals fall, And learned how 'tis with one whose sight grows dim And whose foot trembles on the gulf's dark side. Death purifies all feeling, we will part In pity and in love. Elm. Death ! And thou 100 Art on thy way I Oh, joy for fhee, high heart I Glory and joy for thee I The day is closed, And well and nobly hast thou borne thyself Through its long battle-toils, though many swords Have entered thine own soul I But on my head Recoil the fierce invokings of despair, And I am left far distanced in the race, The lonely one of earth ! Ay, this is just. I am not worthy that upon my breast In this, thine hour of victory, thou shouldst yield Thy spirit unto God I Gon. Thou art I thou art I Oh t a life's love, a heart's long faithfulness, E'en in the presence of eternal things, Wearing their chastened beauty all undimmed, Assert their lofty claims ; and these are not For one dark hour to cancel I We are here, Before that altar which received the vows Of our unbroken youth, and meet it is For such a witness, in the sight of Heaven, And in the face of death, whose shadowy arm Comes dim between us, to record th' exchange Of our tried hearts' forgiveness. Who are they, That in one path have journeyed, needing ncl Forgiveness at its close ? (A CITIZEN enters hastily.) Cit. The Moors I the Moors 1 Gon. Howl is the city stormed ? Oh ! righteous Heaven ! for this I looked not yet ! Hath all been done in vain ? Why, then, 'tis time* For prayer, and then to rest I Cit. The sun shall set, And not a Christian voice be left for prayer, To-night within Valencia ! Round our walls The Paynim host is gathering for th' assault, And we have none to guard them. Gon. Then my place Is here no longer. I had hoped to die Ev*n by the altar and the sepulchre Of my brave sires but this was not to be ! Give me my sword again, and lead me hencfl Back to the ramparts. I have yet an hour, And it hath still high duties. Now, my wife, The mother of my children of the dead Whom I name unto thee in steadfast hops- Fare well 1 Elm. No, not farewell I My soul hath risen TP mate itself with thin ; and by thy siie 178 THE SIEQE OF VALENCIA. Amidst the hurtling lances I will stand, As one on whom a brave man's love hath been Wasted not utterly. Gon. I thank thee, Heaven ! That I have tasted of the awful joy Which thou hast given to temper hours like this, With a deep sense of thee, and of thine ends In these dread yisitings 1 ( To Elm.) We will not part, But with the spirit's parting 1 Elm. One farewell To her that, mantled with sad loveliness, Doth slumber at our feet ! My blessed child ! Oh I in thy heart's affliction thou wert strong, And holy courage did pervade thy woe, As light the troubled waters ! Be at peace ! Thou whose bright spirit made itself the soul Of all that were around thee I And j thy life E'en then was struck, and withering! at the core I- Farewell I thy parting look hath on me fallen, E'en as a gleam of heaven, and I am now More like what thou hast been 1 My soul is hushed, For a still sense of purer worlds hath sunk And settled on its depths with that last smile Which from thine eye shone forth. Thou hast not lived In vain my child, farewell I Gon, Surely for thee Death had no sting, Ximena ! We are blest,' To learn one secret of the shadowy pass, From such an aspect's calmness. Yet once mort I kiss thy pale young cheek, my broken flower I In token of th' undying love and hope, Whose land is far away. [Exeunt SCENE- The Walls of the City. HERNANDEZ. A few CITIZENS gathered round Aim. Her. Why, men have cast the treasures, which their lives Had been worn down in gathering, on the pyre, Ay, at their household hearths have lit the brand, Even from that shrine of quiet love to bear The flame which gave their temples and their homes, In ashes, to the winds ! They have done this, Making a blasted void where once the sun Looked upon lovely dwellings ; and from earth Razing all record that on such a spot Childhood had sprung, age faded, misery wept, And frail Humanity knelt before her God ; They have done this, in their free nobleness, Rather than see the spoiler's tread pollute Their holy places ! Praise, high praise be theirs, Who have left man such lessons 1 And these things, Made your own hills their witnesses 1 The sky, Whose arch bends o'er you, and the seas, wherein Your rivers pour their gold, rejoicing saw The altar, and the birthplace, and the tomb, And all memorials of man's heart and faith, TEE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 1 Thus proudly honoured ! Be ye not outdone By the departed ! Though the godless foe Be close upon us, we have power to snatch The spoils of victory from him. Be but strong ! A few bright torches and brief moments yet Shall baffle his flushed hope, and we may die, Laughing him unto scorn. Rise, follow me, And thou, Valencia ! triumph in thy fate, { The ruin', not the yoke; and make thy towers A beacon unto Spain ! Cit. We'll follow thee ! Alas ! for our fair city, and the homes Wherein we reared our children ! But away I The Moor shall plant no crescent o'er our fanes ! Voice (from a, Tower on the Walls). Succours ! Castile I Castile I Cits, (rushing to the spot). It is even so ! Now blessing be to Heaven, for we are saved t Castile, Castile ! Voice (from the Tower). Line after line of spears, Lance after lance, upon the horizon's verge, Like festal lights from cities bursting up, Doth skirt the plain I In faith, a noble host ! Another Voice. The Moor hath turned him from .our walls, to front Th' advancing might of Spain ! , Cits, (shouting). Castile 1 Castile ! (GONZALEZ enters, supportedby ELMINA and a CITIZEN.) Gon. What shouts of joy are these? Her. Hail, chieftain ! hail I Thus even in death 'tis given thee to receive The conqueror's crown ! Behold our God hath heard, And armed Himself with vengeance I Lo 1 they corns 1 The lances of Castile ? Gon. I knew, I knew Thou wouldst not utterly, my God, forsake Thy servant in his need 1 My blood and tears Have not sunk vainly to th' attesting earth 1 Praise to Thee, thanks and praise, that I have lived To see this hour I Elm. And I too bless Thy name, Though Thou hast proved me unto agony ! God 1 Thou God of chastening ! Voice (from the Tower). They move on ! 1 see the royal banner in the air, With its emblazoned towers 1 Gon. Go, bring ye forth The banner of the Cid, and plant it here, To stream above me, for an answering sign That the good cross doth hold its lofty place Within Valencia still 1 What see ye now? Her. I see a kingdom's might upon its path, Moving, in terrible magnificence, Unto revenge and victory 1 With the flash Of knightly swords, up-springing from the ranks, As meteors from a still and gloomy deep, And with the waving of ten thousand plumes, Like a land's harvest in the autumn wind, Xnd with fierce lij?ht, which is rt"t of the sup 180 THE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. But flung from sheets of steel it comes, it comes, The vengeance of our God ? Gon. I hear it now, The heavy tread of mail-clad multitudes, Like thunder-showers upon the forest-paths. Her. Ay, earth knows well the omen of that sound, And she hath echoes, like a sepulchre's, Pent in her secret hollows, to respond Unto the step of death I Gon. Hark 1 bow the wind Swells proudly with the battle-march of Spain ! Now the heart feels its power 1 A little while Grant me to live, my God I What pause is this? Her. A deep and dreadful one 1 the serried files Level their spears for combat ; now the hosts Look on each other in their brooding wrath, Silent, and face to face. VOICES HEARD WITHOUT, CHANTING. Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit I rest thee now 1 E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod. His seal was on thy brow. Dust, to its narrow house beneath I Soul, to its place on high t They that have seen thy look in dej No more may fear to die. Elm. (to Gon.). It is the death-hymn o'er thy daughter's bier I But I am calm, and e'en like gentle winds, That music, through the stillness of my heart Sends mournful peace. Gon. Oh 1 well those solemn tones Accord with such an hour, for all her life Breathed of a hero's soul ! \A sound of trumpets and shouting from the plain, Her. Now, now they close I Hark I what a dull dead sound Is in the Moorish war-shout 1 I-have known Such tones prophetic oft. The shock is given Lo 1 they have placed theii shields before their hearts, And lowered their lances with the streamers on, And on their steeds bend forward ! God for Spain t The first bright sparks of battle have been struck From spear to spear, across the gleaming field I There is no sight on which the bine sky looks To match with this 1 'Tis not the gallant crests, Nor banners with their glorious blazonry ; The very nature and high soul of man Doth now reveal itself ! Gon. Oh 1 raise me up. That I may look upon the noble scene I It will not be 1 That this dull mist would pasa A moment from my sight I Whence rose that shout As in fierce triumph ? Her. (clasping his fiands). Must I look on this? The banner sinks 'tis taken ! TSE SIEGE OF VALENCIA. 181 Gon. Whose? Her. Castile's I Gon. Oh, God of Battles ! Elm. Calm thy noble heart f Thou wilt not pass away without thy meed. Nay, rest thee on my bosom. Her. Cheer thee yet ! Our knights have spurred to rescue. There is now A whirl, a mingling of all terrible things, Yet more appalling than the fierce distinctness Wherewith they moved before I I see tall plumes All wildly tossing o'er the battle's tide, Swayed by the wrathful motion, and the press Of desperate men, as cedar-boughs by storms. Many a white streamer there is dyed with blood. Many a false corslet broken, many a shield Pierced through ! Now, shout for Santiago, shout I Lo ! javelins withike a lion's tread on the burning sands ; -And they gave no battle-shout. But the deep hills pealed with a cry ere long, " When the Christians burst on the Paynim throng ! With a sudden flash of the lance and spear, And a charge of the war-steed in full career, It was Alvar Fafiez came ! He that was wrapt with no funeral shroud, Had passed before like a threatening cloud! And the storm rushed down on the tented plain, [slain ; And the Archer-Queen, with her bands, lay For the Cid upheld his fame. Then a terror fell on the King Bucar, And the Libyan kings who had joined his war ; And their hearts grew heavy, and died away, And their hands could not wield an assagay, For the dreadful things they saw I For it seemed where Minaya his onset made, There were seventy thousand knights arrayed, All white as the snow on Nevada's steep, And they came like the foam of & roaring deep ; 'Twas a sight of fear and awe I And the crested form of a warrior tall, With a sword of fire went before them all ; With a sword of fire, and a banner pale, And a blood-red cross on his shadowy mail; He rode fn the battle's van 1 There was fear in the path of his dim white horse, [course I There was death in the giant-warrior's Where his banner streamed with its ghostly light. [ing flight- Where hissword blazed out, therewas hurry For it seemed not the sword of man I The field and the river grew darkly red, As the kings and leaners of Afric fled ; 186 GREEK 80NQ8. T here was work for the men of the Cid that day I They were weary at eve, when they ceased to slay, As reapers whose task is done 1 The kings and the leaders of Afric fled I The sails of their galleys in haste were spread , But the sea had its share of the Paynim slain, And the bow of the desert was broke in Spain, v So the Cid to his grave passed on I THE CID'S RISING. 'TWAS the deep mid-watch of the silent night, And Leon in slumber lay, When a sound went forth in rushing might, Lake an army on its way I . In the stillness of the hour, When the dreams of sleep have power, And men -forget the day. Through the dark and lonely streets it went, Till the slumberers woke in dread ; The sound of a passing armament, With the charger's stony tread. There was heard no trumpet's peal, But the heavy tramp of steel, As a host's to combat led. Through the darkandlonelystreetsitpassed, And the hollow pavement rang, And the towers, as with a sweeping blast, Rocked to the stormy clang ! But the march of the viewless train Went on to a royal fane, . Where a priest his night-hymn sang. There was knocking : that shook the marble floor. And a voice at the gate, which said " That the Cid Ruy Diez, the Campeador Was there in his arms arrayed ; And that with him, from the tomb, Had the Count Gonzalez come With a host, uprisen to aid 1 " And they came for the buried king that lay At rest in that ancient fane ; For he must be armed on the battle-day, With them to deliver Spain !" Then the march went sounding on, And the Moors by noontide sun Were dust on Tolosa's plain. 1823, GREEK SONGS. THE STORM OF DELPHI. FAR through the Delphian shades An Eastern trumpet rung I And the started eagle rushed on high, With a sounding flight through the fiery sky, And banners, o'er the shadowy glades, To the sweeping winds were flung. Banners, with deep-red gold All waving, as a flame, [head And a fitful glance from the bright spear- On the dim wood-paths of the mountain shed, And a peal of Asia's war-notes told That in arms the Persian came, He came, with starry gems On his quiver and las crest ; With starry gems, at whose heart the day Of the cloudless Orient burning Jay ; And they cast a gleam on the laurel-stems, As onward his thousands pressed. But a gloom fell o'er their way, And a heavy moan went by ! A moan, yet not like the wind's low swell, When its voice grows wild amidst cave and dell, But a mortal murmur of dismay, Or a warrior's dying sigh I A gloom fell o'er their way ! Twas not the shadow cast By the dark pine-boughs, as they crossed the blue [hue ; Oi the Grecian heavens with their solemn The air was filled with a mightier sway, But on the spearmen passer! i GREEK SONGS. 187 And hollow, to their tread. Came the echoes of the ground, And banners drooped, as with the dew o'er- borne, And the wailing blast of the battle-horn Had an altered cadence dull and dead, Of strange foreboding sound. But they blew a louder strain When the steep defiles were passed ! And afar the crowned Parnassus rose, To shine through heaven with his radiant snows, And in golden light the Delphian fane Before them stood at last I In golden light it stood, 'Midst the laurels gleaming lone, For the Sun-God yet, with a lovely smile, O'er its graceful pillars looked awhile, Though the stormy shade on cliff and wood Grew deep round its mountain-throne. And the Persians gave a shout I But the marble walls replied, With a clash of steel, and a sullen roar Like heavy wheels on the ocean shore, And a savage trumpet's note pealed out, Till their hearts for terror died 1 On the armour of the god Then a viewless hand was laid ; There were helm and spear, with a clanging din, And corslet brought from the shrine within, From the inmost shrine of the dread abode, And before its front arrayed. And a sudden silence fell Through the dim and loaded air ! On the wild bird's wing, and the myrtle- spray, And the very founts, in their silvery way, With a weight of sleep came down the spell, Till man grew breathless there. But the pause was broken soon t 'Twas not by song or lyre ; For the Delphian maids had left their bowers, [towers, And the hearths were lone in the city's But there burst a sound through the misty noon, That battle-noon of fire I It burst from earth and heaven I It rolled -from crag and cloud 1 For a moment of the mountain-blast, With a thousand stormy voices passed : And the purple gloom of the sky was riven, When the thunder pealed aloud. And the lightnings in their play Flashed forth, like javelins thrown ; Like sun-darts winged from the silver-bow, They smote thespearand the turbaned brow, And the bright gems flew from the crest like spray, And the banners were struck down ! And the massy oak-boughs crashed To the fire-bolts from on high ; And the forest lent its billowy roar, While the glorious tempest onward bore, And lit the streams, as they foamed and dashed, With the fierce rain sweeping by. Then rushed the Delphian men On the pale and scattered, host ; Like the joyous burst of a flashing wave, They rushed from the dim Corycian cave, And the singing blast o'er wood and glen Rolled on, with the spears they tossed. There were cries of wild dismay, There were shouts of warrior-glee, There were savage sounds of the tempest's mirth, That shook the realm of their eagle-birth But the mount of song, when they died away, Still rose, with its temple, free 1 ' And the Paean swelled ere long,. lo Psean 1 from the fane ; lo Paean I for the war array, On the crowned Parnassus riven that day ! Thou shalt rise as free, thou mount of song With thy bounding streams again. n. THE BOWL OF LIBERTY. BEFORE the fiery sun, [less eye The sun that looks on Greece with cloud- In the free air, and on the war-field won, Our fathers crowned the Bowl of Liberty. Amidst the tombs they stood, The tombs of heroes 1 with the solemn skies. And the wide plain around, where patriot- blood Had steeped the soil in hues of sacrifice. They called the glorious dead, In the sticng faith which brings the view leas nigh, 188 GREEK SON09. And poured rich odours o'er the battle-bed, And bade them to the rite of Liberty. They called them from the shades, The golden-fruited shades, where minstrels ten How softer light th' immortal clime pervades, And music floats o'er meads of Asphodel. Then fast the bright-red wine Rowed to their names who taught the world to die, {shrine, And made the land's green turf a living Meet for the wreath and Bowl of Liberty. So the rejoicing earth [gave, Took from her vines again the blood she And richer flowers to deck the tomb drew birth [brave. From the free soil, thus hallowed to the We have the battle-fields, The tombs, the names, the blue majestic sky, [yields ; We have the founts the purple vintage When shall we crown the Bowl of Liberty? THE VOICE OF SCIO. A VOICE from Scio's isle A voice of song, a voice of old, Swept far as cloud or billow rolled ; And earth was hushed the whfle The souls of nations woke i Where lies the land whose hills among That voice of Victory hath not rung, As if a trumpet spoke ? To sky, and sea, and shore Of those whose blood, on Ilion's plain, Swept from the rivers to the main, A glorious tale it bore. Still, by our sun-bright deep, With all the fame that fiery lay Threw round them, in its rushing way, The sons of battle sleep. And kings their turf have crowned ! And pilgrims o'er the foaming wave Brought garlands there : so rest the brave, Who thus their bard have found ! A Where'er his path of thorns may lead, Whate'er his doom by heaven decreed. If there be guardian powers above To nerve the heart of filial love, If courage may be won by prayer, Or strength by duty I can bear I Farewell I though in that sound be years Of blighted hopes and fruitless tears, Though the soul vibrate to its knell Of joys departed yet, farewell 1" Was this the maid who seemed, erewhile, Born but to meet life's vernal smile ? A being almost on the wing, As an embodied breeze of spring ? A child of beauty and of bliss, Sent from some purer sphere to thia Not, in her exile, to sustain The trial of one earthly pain ; But as a sunbeam on to move, Wakening all hearts to joy and love ? That airy form, with footsteps free, And radiant glance could this be she ? From her fair cheek the rose was gone, Her eyes' bhie sparkle thence had flown ; Of all its vivid glow bereft. Each playful charm her lip had left. But what were these ? On that young face, Far nobler beauty filled their place 'Twas not the pride that scorns to bend, Though all the bolts of heaven descend : Not the" fierce grandeur of despair, That half exults its fate to dare ; Nor that wild energy which leads Th* enthusiast to fantastic deeds Her mien, by sorrow unsubdued, Was fixed in silent fortitude ; Not in its haughty strength elate. But calmly, mournfully sedate. Twas strange yet lovely to behold That spirit in so fair a mould, As if a rose-tree's tender form, Unbent, uubroke. should meet the storm. One look she cast where firmness strove With the deep pangs of parting love ; One tear a moment in her eye Dimmed the pure light of constancy ; And pressing, as to still, her heart, She turned in silence to depart. But Ulnc, as with frenzy wrought, Then started from his trance of thought. ".Stay thee I oh, stay ! It must not be: All, all were well resigned for thee ! Stay ! till my soul eacli vow disown, But those which make me thine alone. If there be guilt there is no shrine More holy thart that heart of thine. There be my crime absolved : I take The cup of shame for thy dear sake. Oh sfiamt. oh no ! to virtue true, Where them ait, there is glory too. Go now I and to thy sire impart, He hath a shield in Ulric's heart, And thou a home. Remain, or flee, In life, in death I follow thee 1" " There shall not rest one cloud of shame, O Ulric ! on thy lofty name , There shall not one accusing word Against thy spotless faith be heard I Thy path is where the brave rush on, Thy course must be where palms are won : Where banners wave, and falchions glare, Son of the mighty ! be thou there. Think on the glorious names that shine Along thy sire's majestic line ; Oh, last of that illustrious race ! Thou wert not born to meet disgrace. Well, well I know each grief, each pain, Thy spirit nobly could sustain ; Even I, unshrinking, see them near, And what hast thou to do with fear? But when have warriors calmly borne The cold and bittei smile of scorn ? 'Tis not for thee I Thy soul hath force To cope with all things but remorse ; And this my brightest thought shall be, Thou hast not braved its pangs for me. Go I break thou not one solemn vow ; Closed be the fearful conflict now ; Go I but forget not how my heart Still at thy name will proudly start, 200 When chieftains hear and minstrels tell Thy deeds of glory. Fare thee well I" And thus they parted. Why recall The scene of anguish known to all ? The burst of tears, the blush of pride, That fain those fruitless tears would hide ; The lingering look, the last embrace. Oh 1 what avails it to retrace ? They parted in that bitter word A thousand tones of grief are heard, Whose deeply-seated echoes n>st In the fair cells of every breast. Who hath not known, who shall not know, That keen yet most familiar woe ? Where'er affection's home is found, It meets her on the holy ground ; The cloud of every summer hour, The canker-worm of every flower. Who but hath proved, or yet shall prove, The mortal agony of love ? The autumn moon slept bright and still On fading wood and purple hill ; The vintager had hushed his lay, The fisher shunned the blaze of day, And silence o'er each green recess Brooded in misty sultriness. But soon a low and measured sound Broke on the deep repose around ; From Lindheim's tower a glancing oar Bade the stream ripple to the shore. Sweet was that sound of waves which parted The fond, the true, the noblerhearted ; And smoothly seemed the bark to glide, And brightly flowed the reckless tide, Though, mingling with its current, fell The last warm tears of love's farewell. PART SECOND. SWEET is the gloom of forest shades, Their pillared walks and dim arcades, With all the thousand flowers that blow A waste of loveliness, below, To him whose soul the world would fly For nature's lonely majesty : To bard, when wrapt in mighty themes, To lover, lost in fairy dreams, To hermit, whose poetic thought By fits a gleam of heaven hath -caught, And in the visions of his rest Held bright communion with the blest. 'Tis sweet but solemn ! There alike Silence and sound with awe can strike, The deep Eolian murmur made By sighing breeze and rustling shade, And caverned fountain gushing nigh, And wild-bees plaintive lullaby : Or the dead stillness of the bowers, When dark the summer tempest lours ; When silent nature seems to wait The gathering thunder's voice of fate ; When the aspen scarcely waves in air, And the clouds collect for-the lightning's glare- Each, each alike is awful there. And thrills the soul with feelings high As some majestic harmony. But she, the maid, whose footsteps traced Each green retreat in breathless haste Young Ella lingered not to hear The wood-notes, .lost on mourner's ear. The shivering leaf, the breeze's play, The fountain's gush, the wild-bird's lay These charm not now. Her sire she sought, [thought, With trembling frame, with anxious And, starting if a forest deer But moved the rustling branches near, First felt that innocence may fear. She reached a lone and shadowy dell, Where the free sunbeam never fell. 'Twas twilight there at summer noon, Deep night beneath the harvest moon. And scarce might one bright star be seen Gleaming the tangled boughs between : For many a giant rock around Dark in terrific grandeur frowned, And the ancient oaks that waved on high, Shut out each glimpse of the blessed sky. Then the cold spring, in its shadowy cave, Ne'er to heaven's beam one sparkle gave. And the wild flower on its brink that grew Caught not from day one glowing hue. 'Twas said, some fearful deed untold Had stained that scene in days of old ; Tradition o'er the haunt had thrown A shade yet deeper than its own ; And still, amidst the umbrageous gloom, Perchance above some victim's tomb, O'ergrown with ivy and with moss, There stood a rudely sculptured Cross, Which, haply silent record bore, Of guilt and penitence of yore. Who by that holy sign was kneeling, With brow unuttered pangs revealing, Hands clasped convulsively in prayer, And lifted eyes and streaming hair. And cheek all pale, as marble mould, Seen by the moonbeam's radiance cold? 201 Was it some image of despair Still fixed that stamp of woe to bear? Oh ! ne'er could Ait her forms have wrought To speak such agonies of thought ! Those deathlike features gave to view A mortal's pangs too deep and true. Starting he rose, with frenzied eye, As Ella's hurried step drew nigh : He turned, with aspect darkly wild, Trembling he stood before his child ! On, with a burst of tears she sprung, And to her father's bosom clung. "Away! what seek'st thou here?" he cried, "Art thou not now thine Ulric's bride? Hence, leave me leave me to await In solitude the storm of Fate. Thou know'st not what my doom may be, Ere evening comes in peace to thee." "My father 1 shall the joyous throng Swell high for me the bridal song ? Shall the gay nuptial board be spread, The festal garland bind my head, And thou in grief, in peril, roam, And make the wilderness thy home ? No ! I am here with thee to share All suffering mortal strength may bear. And, oh 1 whate'er thy foes decree, In life, in death, in chains, or free Well, well I feel, in thee secure ; Thy heart and hand alike are pure 1" Then was there meaning in his look, Which deep that trusting spirit shook ; So wildly did each glance express The strife of shame and bitterness, As thus he spoke: "Fond dreams, oh hence! Is this the mien of Innocence ? This furrowed brow, this restless eye Read thou the fearful tale, and fly ) Is it enough ? or must I seek . For words, the tale of guilt to speak ? Then be it so I will not doom Thy youth to wither in its bloom ; I will not see thy tender frame Bowed to the earth with fear and shame. No ! though I teach thee to abhor The sire so fondly loved before ; Though the dread effort rend my breast, Yet shall thou leave me and be blest !' Oh ! bitter penance I Thou wilt turn Away in horror and in scorn ; Thy looks, that still through all the past Affection's gentlest beams have casfj As lightning on my heart shall fall, And I must mark and bear it all. Yet, though of life's best ties bereaved, Thou shall not, must not, be deceived. " I linger let me speed the tale Ere voice, and thought, and memory fail. Why should I falter thus to tell What Heaven so long hath known too well? Yes ! though from mortal sight concealed, There hath a brother's blood appealed ! He died 'twas not where banners wave, And war-steeds trample on the bnve ; He died it was in Holy Land Yet fell he not by Paynim hand ; He sleeps not with his sires at rest, With trophied shield and knightly crest ; Unknown his grave to kindred eyes, But I can tell thee where he lies t It was a wild and savage spot, But once beheld and ne'er forgot ! I see it now I That haunted scene My spirit's dwelling still hath been. And he is there I see him laid Beneath that palm-tree's lonely shade. The fountain-wave that sparkles nigh Bears witness with its crimson dye. I see th' accusing glance he raised, Ere that dim eye by death was glazed; Ne'er will that parting look forgive 1 I still behold it and I live 1 I live ! from hope, from mercy driven, A mark for all the shafts of Heaven ! "Yet had I wrongs. By fraud he won My birthright ; and my child, my son, Heir to high name, high fortune born, Was doomed tq penury and scorn, An alien 'midst his father's halls, An exile from his native walls. Could I bear this ? the rankling thought, Deep, dark within my bosom wrought. Some serpent kindling hate and guile, Lurked in my infant's rosy smile, And when his accents lisped my name, They woke my inmost heart to flame 1 I struggled are there evil powers That claim their own ascendant hours ? Oh 1 what should thine unspotted sout Or know or fear of their control ? Why on the fearful conflict dwell ? Vainly I struggled, and I fell: Cast down from every hope of b/iss Too well thou know st to what abyss ! " 'Twas done i that moment hurried by, To darken ajl eternity. 202 A TALE OF THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. Vears rolled away, long evil years, Of woes, of fetters, and of fears ; Nor aught hut vain remorse I gained By the deep guilt my soul which stained, For, long a captive in the lands Where Arabs tread their burning sands, The haunted midnight of the mind Was round me while ir^hains I pined, By all forgotten, save by one Dread presence which I could not shun. How oft, when o'er the silent waste Nor path nor landmark might be traced, When slumbering by the watch-fire's ray The Wanderers of the Desert lay, And stars as o'er an ocean shone, Vigil I kept but not alone ! Tjhat form, that image from the dead, Still walked the wild with soundless tread ! I've seen it in the fiery blast, I've seen it when the sand-storms passed ; Beside the Desert's fount it stood, Tinging the clear cold wave with blood I And even when viewless, by the fear Curdling my veins, I knew 'twas near. Was near I I feel the unearthly thrill. Its power is on my spirit still : A mystic influence, undefined, The spell, the shadow of my mind ! " Wilt thou yet linger ? Time speeds on ; One last farewell, and then begone I Unclasp the hands that shade thy brow, And let me read thine aspect now I No ! stay thee yet, and learn the meed Heaven's justice to my crime decreed. Slow came the day that broke my chain. But I at large was free again ; And freedom brings a burst of joy, Even guilt itself can scares destroy. I thought upon my own fair towers, My native Rhine's gay vineyard bowers, And in a father's visions pressed Thee and thy brother to my breast. 11 Twas but in visions. Canst thou yet Recall the moment when we met ? Thy step to greet me lightly sprung, Thy arms around me fondly clung ; Scarce aught than infant seraph less Seemed thy poor childhood's loveliness. But he was gone that son for whom I rushed on guilt's eternal doom ; He for whose sake alone were given My peace on earth my hope in heaven He met me riot. . A ruthless band Whose name with terror filled the land, Fierce outlaws of the wood and wild, Had reft the father of his child. Foes to my race, the hate they nursed Full on that cherished scion burst. Unknown his fate. No parent nigh, My boy ! my first-borndidst thou die ? Or did they spare thee for a life Of shame, of rapine, and of strife? Livest thou unfriended, unallied, A wanderer lost, without a guide? Oh I to thy fate's mysterious gloom Blest were the darkness of the tomb I " Ella I 'tis done. My guilty heart Before thee all unveiled depart I Few pangs 'twill cost thee now to fly From one so stained so lost as I. Yet peace to thine untainted breast, Even though it hate me be thou blest 1 Farewell ! thou shall not linger here Even now the avenger may be near. Where'er I turn, the foe, the snare, The dagger may be ambushed there ^ One hour and haply all is o'er, And we must meet on earth no more. No, nor beyond ! to those pure skies Where thou shall be, I may not rise. Heaven's will for ever parts our lot, Yet, O my child 1 abhor me not ! Speak once, to soothe this broken heart- Speak to me once 1 and then depart." But still as if each pulse were dead, Mute as the power of speech were fled, Pale as if life-blood ceased to warm The marble beauty of her form ; On the dark rocks she leaned her head. That seemed as there 'twere riveted, And dropped the hands, till then which pressed Her burning brow or throbbing breast. There beamed no tear-drop in her eye, And from her lip there breathed no sigh, And on her brow no trace there dwelt That told she suffered or she felt. All that once glowed, or smiled, or beamed, Nowfixed.andquenched.andfrozenseemed; And long her sire, in wild dismay, Deemed her pure spirit passed away. But life returned. O'er that cold frame One deep convulsive shudder came ; And a faint light her eye relumed, And sad resolve her mien assumed, But there was horror in the gaze, Which yet to his she dared not raise ; And her sad accents, wild and low, As rising from a depth of woe. At first with hurried trembling broke, But Rathered firmness as she spoke. A TALE OF THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. 203 " I leave theeot whate'er betide, My footsteps shall not quit thy side ; Pangs keen as death my soul may thrill, But yet thou art my father still ! And, oh ! if stained by guilty deed, For some kind spirit tenfold need, To speak of Heaven's absolving love, And waft desponding thought above. Is there not power in mercy's wave The blood^ain from thy soul to lave? Is there not balm to heal despair, In tears, in penitence, and prayer ? My father ! kneel at His pure shrine, Who died to expiate guilt like thine ; Weep and my tears with thine shall blend, Pray while my prayers with thine ascend, And, as our mingling sorrows rise, Heaven will relent, though earth despise !" " My child, mychild, these bursting tears, The first my eyes have shed .for years, Though deepest conflicts they express, Yet flow not all in bitterness. Oh ! thou hast bid a withered heart From desolation's slumber start ; Thy voice of pity and of love, Seems o er its icy depths to move Even as a breeze of health, which brings Life, hope, and healing on its wings. And there is mercy ye.t I feel Its influence o'er my spirit steal ; How welcome were each pang below, If guilt might be atoned by woe. Think'st thou I yet may be forgiven? Shall prayers unclose the gate of heaven ? Oh ! if it yet avail to plead, If judgment be not yet decreed, Our hearts shall blend their suppliant cry, Till pardon shall be sealed on high. Yet still I shrink ? Will mercy shed Her dews upon this fallen head? Kneel, Ella, kneel 1 till foil and free, . Descend forgiveness, won by thee." They knelt before the Cross, that sign Of love eternal and divine ; That symbol, which so long hath stood A rock of strength on time's dark flood, Clasped by despairing hands, and laved By the warm tears of nations saved. In one deep prayer their spirits blent, The guilty and the innocent. Youth, pure as if from heaven its birth, Age, soiled with every stain of earth, Knelt, offering up one heart, one cry, One sacrifice of agony. Oh ! blest, though bitter be their source Though dark the fountain of remorse, Blest are the tears which pour from thence, The atoning stream of penitence. And let not pity check the tide By which the heart is purified ; Let not vain comfort turn its course. Or timid love repress its force. Go ! bind the flood, whose waves expand To bear luxuriance o'er the land ; Forbid the life-restoring rains To fall on Afric's burning plains ; Close up the fount that gushed to cheer The pilgrim o'er the waste who trode , But check thou not one holy tear Which penitence devotes to God. II. THROUGH scenes so lone the wild-deer ne'ei Was roused by huntsman's bugle there So rude that scarce might human eye Sustain their dread sublimity So awful that the timid swain, Nurtured amidst their dark domain, Had peopled with unearthly forms Their mists, their forests, and their storms, She, whose blue eye of laughing light Once made each festal scene more bright ; Whose voice in song of joy was sweetest, Whose step in dance of mirth was fleetest, By torrent-wave and mountain-brow Is wandering as an outcast now, To share with Lindheim's fallen chief His shame, his terror, and his grief. Hast thou not marked the ruin's flower. That blooms in solitary grace, And, faithful to its mouldering tower, Waves in the banner's place? [passed, From those grey haunts renown hath Time wins his heritage at last ; The day of glory hath gone by, With all its pomp and minstrelsy ; Yet still the flower of golden hues There loves its fragrance to diffuse, To fallen and forsaken things With constancy unaltered clings, And smiling o'er the wreck of state, With beauty clothes the desolate. Even such was she, the fair-haired maid, In all her light of youth arrayed, Forsaking every joy below To Soothe a guilty parent's woe, And clinging thus, in beauty's prime, To the dark ruin made by crime. Oh ! ne'er did Heaven's propitious eyes Smile on a purer sacrifice ; Ne'er did young love at duty's shrine, More nobfy brightest hopes resign I 204 A TALE OF THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. O'er her own paiigs she brooded not, Nor sank beneath her bitter lot ; No ! that pure spirit's lofty worth Still rose more buoyantly from earth, And drew from an eternal source Its gentle, yet triumphant force ; Roused by affliction's chastening might To energies more calmly bright, Like the wild harp of airy sigh Woke by 'the storm to harmony. He that in mountain-holds hath sought A refuge for unconquered thought, A chartered home, where freedom's child Might rear her altars in the wild, And fix her quenchless torch on high, A beacon for eternity ; Or they, whose master-spirits wage Proud war with Persecution's rage, And to the deserts bear the faith That bids them smile on chains and death ; Well may they draw, from all around, Of grandeur clothed in form or sound, From the deep power of earth and sky, Wild nature's might of majesty, Strong energies, immortal fires, High hopes, magnificent desires 1 But dark, terrific, and austere, To him doth Nature's mien appear, Who 'midst her wilds would seek repose From guilty pangs and vengeful foes ! For him the wind hath music dread, A dirge-like voice that mourns the dead \ The forest's whisper breathes a tone Appalling, as from worlds unknown ; The mystic gloom of wood and cave Is filled with shadows of the grave ; In noon's deep calm the sunbeams dart A blaze that seems to search his heart ; The pure eternal stars of night Upbraid him with their silent light ; And the dread spirit, which pervades And hallows earth's most lonely shades, In every scene, in every hour, Surrounds him with chastising power With nameless fear his soul to thrill, Heard, felt, acknowledged, present still 1 'Twas the chilly close of an autumn day, And the leaves fell thick o'er the wanderers' way; The rustling pines with a hollow sound Foretold the tempest gathering round ; And the skirts of the western clouds were spread With a tinge of wild and stormy red, That seemed, through the twilight forest- bowers, Uke the glare of a city's blaziug towers. But they who far from cities fled, And shrank from the print of human tread- Had reached a desert scene unknown, So strangely wild, so deeply lone, That a nameless feeling, unconfessed And undefined, their soub oppressed. Rocks piled on rocks, around them hurled, Lay like the ruins of a world, Left by an earthquake's final throes In deep and desolate repose Things of eternity whose forms Bore record of ten thousand storms I While rearing its colossal crest In sullen grandeur o'er the rest, One, like a pillar, vast and rude, Stood mouaich of the solitude. Perchance by Roman conqueror's hand The enduring monument was planned ; Or Odin's sons, in days gone by, Had shaped its rough immensity, To rear, 'midst mountain, rock, and wood, A temple meet.for rites of blood. But they were gone who might have told That secret of the times of old ; And there in silent scorn it frowned O'er all its vast coevals round. Darkly those giant masses loured, Countless and motionless they towered ; No wild-flower o er their summits hung, No fountain from their caverns sprung ; Yet ever on the wanderer's ear Murmured a sound of waters near. With music deep of lulling falls, And louder gush at intervals. Unknown its source nor spring nor stream Caught the red sunset's lingering gleam ; But ceaseless, from its hidden caves, Arose that mystic voice of waves. Yet, bosomed 'midst that savage scene, One chosen spot of gentler mien Gave promise to the pilgrim's eye Of shelter from the tempest nigh. Glad sight ! the ivied Cross it bore, The sculptured saint that crowned its door. Less welcome now were monarch's dome Than that low cell, some hermit's home. Thither the outcasts bent their way, By the last lingering gleam of day ; When from a cavemed rock, which cast Deep shadows o'er them as they past, A form, a warrior form of might, As from earth's bosom, sprang to sight. His port was lofty yet the heart Shrank from him with recoiling start ; His mien was youthful yet his face Had naught of youth's ingenuous grace ; A TALE OF TEE SECRET TRIBUNAL. 205 Nor chivalrous nor tender thought Its traces on his brow had wrought. . Yet dwelt no fierceness in his eye, But calm and cold severity, A spirit haughtily austere, Stranger to pity as to fear. It seemed as pride had thrown a veil O'er that dark brow and visage pale, Leaving the searcher naught to guess, All was so fixed and passionless. He spoke and they who heard the tone Felt, deeply felt, all hope was flown. " I've sought thee far in forest-bowers, I've sought thee long in peopled towers, I've borne the dagger of the UNKNOWN Through scenes explored by me alone ; My search is closed nor toils nor fears Repel the servants of the Seers. We meet tis vain to strive or fly : Albert of Lindheim, thou must die !" Then with clasped hands the fair-haired maid Sank at his feet, and wildly prayed : " Stay, stay thee ! sheath that lifted steel 1 Oh I thou art human, and canst feel 1 Hear me ! -if e'er 'twas thine to prove , The blessing of a parent's love ; By thine own father's hoary hair, By her who gave thee being, spare I ' Did they not, o'er thy infant years, Keep watch in sleepless hopes and fears ? Young warrior 1 thou wilt hear my prayers, As thou wouldst hope for grace to theirs I" But cold the Avenger's look remained, His brow its rigid calm maintained : " Maiden I 'tis vain my bosom ne'er Was conscious of a parent's care ; The nurture of my infant years Froze in my soul the source of tears ; 'Tis not for me to pause or melt, Or feel as happier hearts have felt. . Away I the hour of-fate goes by 1 Thy prayers are fruitless he must die I" " Rise, Ella ! rise!" with steadfast brow The father spoke unshrinking now, As if from Heaven a martyr's strength Had settled on his soul at length : " Kneel thou no more, my noble child ! Thou by no taint of guilt defiled ; Kneel not to man ! for mortal prayer, Oh t when did mortal vengeance spars ? Since hope of earthly aid is flown, Lift thy pure hands to Heaven alone. And know, to calm thy suffering heart, My spirit is rec-igned to part, Trusting in Him who reads and knows This guilty breast, with all its woes. Rise I I would bless thee once again, Be still, be firm for all is vain 1" And she was still. She heard him not Herprayers were hushed, her pangs forgot ; All thought, all memory, passed away, Silent and motionless she lay, In a brief death, a blest suspense Alike of agony and sense. She saw not when the dagger gleamed In the last red light from the west that streamed ; She marked not when the life-blood's flow Came rushing to the mortal blow ; While, unresisting, sank her sire, Yet gathered firmness to expire, Mingling a warrior's courage high With a penitent's humility. And o'er him there the Avenger stood, And watched the victim's ebbing blood, Still calm, as if his faithful hand Had but obeyed some just command, Some power whose stem yet righteous will He deemed it virtue to fulfil, And triumphed when the palm was won, For duty's task austerely done. But a feeling dread and undefined, A mystic presage of the mind, With strange and sudden impulse ran Chill through the heart of the dying man , And his thoughts found voice, and his bosom breath, And it seemed as fear suspended death, And nature from her terrors drew Fresh energy and vigour new. " Thou saidst thy lonely bosom ne'er 'Was conscious of a parent's care ; Thou saidst thy lot, in childhood's years, Froze in thy soul the source of tears : The time will come, when thou, with me, The judgment throne of God will see Oh ! by thy hopes of mercy, then, By His blest love who died for men, By each dread rite, and shrine, and vow, Avenger I I adjure thee now I To him who bleeds beneath thy steel, Thy lineage and thy name reveaL And haste thee t for his closing ear Hath little more on earth to hear Haste I for the spirit, almost flown. Is lingering for thy words alone." Then first a shade, resembling fear, Passed o'er th' Avenger's mien austere ; 206 A TALE OF THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. A nameless awe his features crossed. Soon in their haughty coldness lost. " What wouldst thou ? Ask the rock and wild, And bid them tell thee of their child I Ask the rude winds, and angry skies, Whose tempests were his lullabies I His chambers were the cave and wood, His fosterers men of wrath and blood ; Outcasts alike of earth and heaven, By wrongs to desperation driven. Who, in their pupil, now could trace The features of a nobler race ? Yet such was mine ! if one who cast A look of anguish o'er the past, Bore faithful record on the day When penitent in death he lay. But still deep shades my prospects veil ; He died and told but half the tale. With him it sleeps I only know Enough for stern and silent woe, For vain ambition's deep regret, For hopes deceived, deceiving yet. For dreams of pride, that vainly tell How high a lot had suited well The heir of some illustrious line, Heroes and chieftains of the Rhine !" Then swift through Albert's bosom passed One pang, the keenest and the last, Ere with his spirit fled the fears, The sorrows, and the pangs of years ; And, while his grey hairs swept the dust, Faltering he murmured, " Heaven is just 1 For thee that deed of guilt was done, By thee avenged, my son! my son 1" The day was closed the moonbeam shed Light on the living and the dead ; And as through rolling clouds it broke, Young Ella from her trance awoke Awoke to bear, to feel, to know Even more than all an orphan's woe. Oh ! ne'er did moonbeam's light serene I With beauty clothe a sadder scene I There, cold in death, the father slept There, pale in woe, the daughter wept [ Yes ! she might weep but one stood nigh, With horror in his tearless eye, That eye which ne er again shall close In the deep quiet of repose : No more on earth beholding aught Save ona dread vision, stamped on thought. But, lost in grief, the Orphan Maid His deeper woe had scarce surveyed, Till his wild voice revealed a tale Which seemed to bid the heavens turn pale ! He called her, " Sister !" and the word In anguish breathed, in terror heard, Revealed enough ; all else were weak That sound a thousand pangs could speal; He knelt beside that breathless clay, Which fixed in utter stillness lay Knelt, till his soul imbibed each trace, Each line of that unconscious face ; Knelt, till his eye could bear no more Those marble features to explore ; Then, starting, turning, as to shun The image thus by Memory won, A wild farewell to her he bade, Who by the dead in silence prayed ; And, frenzied by his bitter doom, Fled thence to find all earth a tomb ! in. DAYS passed away and Rhine's fair shore In the light of summer smiled once more ; The vines were purpling on the hill, And the corn-fields waved in the sunshine still. There came a bark up the noble stream, With pennons that shed a golden gleam, With the flash of arms and the voice of song, Gliding triumphantly along ; For warrior-forms were glittering there, Whose plumes waved light in the whisper- ing air ; And as the tones of oar and wave Their measured cadence mingling gave, 'Twas thus the exulting chorus rose, While many an echo swelled the close : " From the fields where dead and dying On their battle-bier are lying, Where the blood unstanched is gushing, Where the steed unchecked is rushing, Trampling o'er the noble-hearted, Ere the spirit yet be parted ; Where each breath of heaven is swaying Knightly plumes and banners playing, And the clarion's music swelling Calls the vulture from his dwelling ; He comes with trophies worthy of his line, The son of heroes, Ulric of the Rhine 1 To his own fair woods, enclosing Vales in sunny peace reposing, Where his native stream is laving Banks, with golden harvests waving, And the summer light is sleeping On the grape, through tendrils peeping ; To the halls, where harps are ringing, Bards the praise of warriors singing, Graceful footsteps bounding fleetly. Joyous voices mingling sweetly ; A TALE OF THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. .207 Where the cheek .of mirth is glowing, And the wine-cup brightly flowing, He comes, with trophies worthy of his line, The son, of heroes, Ulric of the Rhine !" He came he sought his Ella's bowers, He traversed Lindheim's lonely towers ; But voice and footstep thence had fled, As from the dwellings of the dead. And the sounds of human joy and woe Gave place to the moan of the wave below. The banner still the rampart crowned, But the tall rank grass waved thick around ; Still hung the arms of a race gone by In the blazoned halls of their ancestry; But they caught no more, at fall of night. The wavering flash of the torch's light, And they sent their echoes forth no more To the Minnesinger's* tuneful lore. For the hands that touched the harp were gone, And the hearts were cold that loved its tone ; And the soul of the chord lay mute and still, Save when the wild wind bad it thrill, And woke from itsdepth a dream-like moan, For life, and power, and beauty gone. The warrior turned, from that silent scene, vVhere a voice of woe had welcome been ; And his heart was heavy with boding thought, As the forest paths alone he sought. He reached a convent's fane, that stood Deep bosomed in luxuriant wood ; Still, solemn, fair it seemed a spot Where earthly care might be all forgot, And sounds and dreams of heaven alone To musing spirit might be known. And sweet even then were the sounds that rose On the holy and profound repose. Oh ! they came o'er the warrior's breast Like a glorious anthem of the blest ; And fear and sorrow died away Before the full majestic lay. He entered the secluded fane, Which sent forth that inspiring strain ; He gazed the hallowed pile's array Was that of some high festal day ; Wreaths of all hues its pillars bound, Flowers of all scents were strewed around ; The rose exhaled its fragrant sigh, Blest on the altar to smile and die ; And a fragrant cloud from the censer's breath Half hxi the sacred pomp beneath ; * Gemvun minstreL And still the peal of choral song Swelled the resounding aisles along ; Wakening, in its triumphant flow, Deep echoes from the graves below. Why, from its woodland birthplace torn, Doth summer's rose that scene adorn ? Why breathes the incense to the sky ? Why swells the exulting harmony? And see'st thou not yon form, so light It seems half floating on the sight, As if the whimper of a gale, That did but wave its snowy veil, Might bear it from the earth afar. A lovely but receding star ? Know that devotion's shrine even now Receives that youthful vestal's vow For this, high hymns, sweet odours rise, A jubilee of sacrifice. Mark yet a moment ! from her brow Yon priest shall lift the veil of snow, Ere yet z. darker mantle hide The charms to heaven thus sanctified: Stay thee ! and catch their parting gleam, That ne'er shall fade from memory's dream. A moment? Oh ! to Ulric's soul, Poised between hops and fenr's control, What slow unmeasured houis went by, Ere yet suspense grew certaiiUy ! It came at length. Once more that face Revealed to man its mournful grace : A sunbeam on its icatures fell, As if to bear the world's farewell ; And doubt was o er. His heart grew chill, Twas she though changed 'twas Ella still I Though now her once-rejoicing mien. Was deeply, mournfully serene ; Though clouds her eye's blue lustre shaded, And the young cheek beneath had faded, Well, well he knew the form which cast Light on his soul through all the past 1 'Twas with him on the battle-plain ; 'Twas with him on the stormy main ; 'Twas in his visions, when the shield Pillowed his head on tented field ; 'Twas a bright beam that led him oa Where'er a triumph might be won In danger as in glory nigh, An angel-guide to victory I She caught his pale bewildered gaze Of grief half lost in fixed amaze. Was it some vain illusion, wrought By frenzy of impassioned thought ? Some phantom, such as Grief hath power To summon in her wandering hour ? 208 THE CARAVAN W TEE DE8EET. No ! it was he ! the lost, the mourned Too deeply loved, too late returned^ ! A feverish blush, a sudden start, Spoke the last weakness of her heart : 'Twas vanquished soon the hectic red A moment flushed her cheek and fled. Once more serene, her steadfast eye Looked up as to eternity ; Then gazed on Ulric, with an air That said the home of Love is there I Yes ! there alone it smiled for him, Whose eyes before that look grew dim. Not long 'twas his even thui to view The beauty of its calm adieu ; Soon o'er those features, brightly pale, Was cast the impenetrable veil ; And, if one human sigh were given By the pure bosom vowed to Heaven, 'Twas lost, as many a murmured sound Of grief, ' ' not loud but deep'j " is drowned^ In hymns of joy, which proudly rise To tell the calm untroubled skies That earth hath banished care and woe, And man holds festival below 1 THE CARAVAN IN THE DESERT. CALL it not loneliness to dwell In woodland shade or hermit dell, Or the deep forest to explore, Or wander Alpine regions o'er ; For nature there all joyous reigns, And fills with life her wild domains : A bird's-light wing may break the air, A wave, a leaf, may murmur there ; A bee the mountain flowers may seek, A chamois bound from peak to peak ; An eagle, rushing to the sky, Wake the deep echoes with his cry ; And still some sound, thy heart to cheer, Some voice though not of man is near. But he whose weary step hath traced Mysterious Afric's awful waste Whose eye Arabia's wilds hath viewed, Can tell thee what is soljtude ? It is to traverse lifeless plains, Where everlasting stillness reigns, And billowy sands and dazzling sky Seem boundless as infinity 1 It is to sink, with speechless dread, In scenes unmeet for mortal tread, Severed from earthly being's trace, Alone amidst eternal space I 'Tis noon and, fearfully profound Silence is on the desert round ; Alone she reigns, above, beneath, With all the attributes of death ! No bird the blazing heaven may dare, No insect bide the scorching air ; The ostrich, though of sunborn race, Seeks a more sheltered dwelling-place ; The lion slumbers in his lair, The serpent shuns the noontide glare. But slowly winds the patient train Of camels o'er the blasted plain. Where they and man may brave alone The terrors of the burning zone. Faint not, O pilgrims ! though on high As a volcano flames the sky : Shrink not, though as a furnace glow The dark-red seas of sand below ; Though not a shadow, save your own. Across the dread expanse is thrown. Mark where, your feverish lips to lave, Wide spreads the fresh transparent wave I Urge your tired camels on, and take Your rest beside yon glistening lake ; Thence, haply, cooler gales may spring, And fan your brows with lighter wing. Lo 1 nearer now, its glassy tide Reflects th6 date-tree on its side. Speed on ! pure draughts and genial air, And verdant shade, await you there. Oh I glimpse of heaven, to him unknown That hath not trod the burning zone ! Forward they press they gaze dismayed- The waters of the desert fade 1 Melting to vapours that elude The eye, the lip, they vainly wooed.* What meteor comes ? A purple haze Hath half obscured the noontide rays : Onward it moves in swift career, A blush upon the atmosphere. Haste, haste I avert th' impending doom : Fall prostrate I 'tis the dread Simoom ! Bow down your faces till the blast On its red wing of flame hath passed, Far bearing o'er the sandy wave The viewless Angel of the Grave. It came 'tis vanished but hathleft The wanderers even of hope bereft ; * ?hemiig*. THE CARAVAN IN THE DESERT. The ardent heart, the vigorous frame, Pride, courage, strength, its power could tame. Faint with despondence, worn with toil, They si il. upon the burning soil, Resigned, amidst those realms of gloom, To find their deathbed and their tomb. But onward still I yon distant spot Of verdure can deceive you not ; Yon palms, which tremulously seemed Reflected as the waters gleamed, Along the horizon's verge displayed, Still rear their slender colonnades A landmark, guiding o'er the plain The Caravan's exhausted train. Fair is that little Isle of Bliss, The desert's emerald oasis I A rainbow on the torrent's wave, A gem e mbosomed in the grave, A sunb.ara on the stormy day, Its beauty's image might convey I Beauty, in horror's lap that sleeps, While silence round her vigil keeps. Rest, weary pilgrims ! calmly laid To slumber in the acacia shade : Rest, where the shrubs your camels bruise Their aromatic breath diffuse ; Where softer light the sunbeams pour Through the tall palm and sycamore ; And the rich date luxuriant spreads Its pendant clusters o er your heads. Nature once more, to seal your eyes, Murmurs her sweetest lullabies ; Again each heart the music hails Of rustling leaves and sighing gales : And oh ! to Afric's child how dear The voice of fountains gushing near ! Sweet be your slumbers I and your dreams Of waving groves and rippling streams 1 Far be the serpent's venomed coil From the brief respite won by toil ; Far be the awful shades of those Who deep beneath the sands repose The hosts, to whom the desert's breath Bore swift and stern the call of death. Sleep I nor may scorching blast invade The freshness of the acacia shade, But gales of heaven your spirits bless With life's best balm forgetfulness I Till night from many an urn diffuse The treasures of her world of dews. The day h'ath closed the moon on high Walks in her cloudless majesty, A thousand stars to Afric's heaven Serene magnificence have given Pure beacons of the sky, whose flame Shines forth eternally the same. Blest be their beams, whose holy light Shall guide the camel's footsteps right. Rise ! bid your Isle of Palms adieu 1 Again your lonely march pursue. While airs of night are freshly blowing, And heavens with softer beauty glowing. 'Tis silence all. The solemn scene Wears at each step a ruder mien ; For giant-rocks, at distance piled, Cast their deep shadows o'er the wild. Darkly they rise what eye hath viewed The caverns of their solitude ? Away ! within those awful cells The savage lord of Afric dwells. Heard ye his voice? the lion's roar Swells as wnen billows break on shore, Well may the camel shake with fear, And the steed pant his foe is ilear. Haste I light the torch ; bid watchfires throw Far o'er the waste a ruddy glow ; Keep vigil guard the bright array Of flames that scare him from his prey ; Within their magic circle press, O wanderer of the wilderness ! Heap high the pile, and by its blaze Tell the wild tales of elder days, Arabia's wondrous lore, that dwells On warrior deeds and wizard spells ; Enchanted domes 'mid scenes like these Rising to vanish with the breeze ; Gardens, whose fruits are gems, that shed Their light where mortal may not tread ; And spirits, o'er whose pearly halls The eternal billow heaves and falls. With charms like these, of mystic power, Watchers I beguile the midnight hour. Slowly that hour hath rolled away, And star by star withdraws its ray. Dark children of the sun ! again Your own rich orient hails his reign, He comes, but veiled with sanguine glare Tinging the mists that load the air ; Sounds of dismay and signs of flame The approaching hurricane proclaim . 'Tis death's red banner streams on high Fly to the rocks for shelter ! fly ! Lo ! darkening o'er the fiery skies, The pillars of the desert rise ! On, in terrific grandeur wheeling, A giant-host, the heavens concealing, They move like mighty genii-forms Towenng immense 'midst clouds and storms. 210 MARIUS AMONGST TEE RVINS OF CARTHAGE. Who shall escape? With awful force The whirlwind bears them on their course ; They join, they rush resistless on The landmarks of the plain are gone ; The steps, the forms, from each effaced, Of those who trod the burning waste All whelmed, all hushed 1 none left to bear Sad record how they perished there I No stone their tale of death shall tell The desert guards its mysteries well ; And o'er the unfathomed sandy deep, Where low their nameless relics sleep, Oft shall the future pilgrim tread, Nor know his steps are on the dead. MARIUS AMONGST THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE. {" Marius, during the time of his exile, seeking refuge In Africa, had landed at Carthage, when an officer, sent by the Roman governor of Africa, came and thus addressed him : ' Marius, I come from the Prsetor Sextillius, to tell you that he forbids you to set foot in Africa. If you obey not, he will support the Senate's decree, and treat you as a public enemy.' Marius upon hearing this, was struck dumb with grief and indignation. He uttered not a word for some time, but re- garded the officer with a menacing aspect. At length the officer inquired what answer he should carry to the governor. ' Go and tell him,' said she unfortunate man, with a sigh, ' that thou hast seen the exiled Marius sitting on the ruins of Carthage.' " PLUTARCH.] 'TWAS noon, and Afric's dazzling sun on high [clouded sky ; With fierce resplendence filled the un- No zephyrs waved the palm's majestic head, [spread ; And smooth alike the seas and deserts While desolate, beneath a blaze of light, Silent and lonely, as at dead of night, The wreck of Carthage lay. Her prostrate fanes [plains. Had strewed their precious marble o'er the Dark weeds and grass the column had o'er- grown, The lizard basked upon the altar-stone ; Whelmed by the ruins of their own abodes, Had sunk the forms of heroes and of gods ; While near dread offspring of the burning day ! Coiled 'midst forsaken halls the serpent lay. There came an exile, long by fate pur- sued, To shelter in that awful solitude. Well did that wanderer's high yet faded mien Suit the sad grandeur of the desert scene. Shadowed, not veiled, by locks of wintry snow, [brow ; Pride sat, t still mighty, on his furrowed Time hath not quenched the terrors of his eye, Nor 'tamed his glance of fierce ascendancy ; While the deep meaning of his features told Ages of thought had o'er his spirit rolled, Nor dimmed the fire that might not be controlled; And still did power invest his stately form, Shattered, but yet unconquered, by the storm. [o'erthrown, But slow his step and where, not yet Still towered a pillar 'midst the waste alone, Faint with long toil, his weary limbs he laid, To slumber in its solitary shade. He slept and darkly, on his brief repose, The indignant Genius of the scene arose. Clouds robed his dim unearthly form, and spread [head, Mysterious gloom around his crownless Crownless, but regal still. With stem dis- dain, The kingly shadow seemed to lift his chain, Gazed on the palm, his ancient sceptre torn, And his eye kindled with immortal scorn. " And sleep's! thou, Roman?" cried his voice austere ; " Shall son of Latium find a refuge here f Awake I arise ! to speed the hour of Fate, When Rome shall fall, as Carthage deso- late, [the brave, Go ! wjth her children's flower, the free, People the silent chambers of the grave : So shall the course of ages yet to be More swiftly waft the day, avenging me. " Yes I from the awful gulf of years to come, I heaa a. voice that prophecies her doom ; I see the trophies of her pride decay, And her long Ime of triumphs rss away, A TALE OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 211 Lost in the depth of time while sinks the star That led her march of heroes from afar. Lo ! from the frozen forests of the North, The sons of slaughter pour in myriadsforth. Who shall awake the mighty ? will thy woe, City of thrones ! disturb the realms below ? CaU on the dead to hear thee I let thy cries Summon their shadowy legions to arise, Array the ghost of conquerors on thy walls I Barbarians revel in their ancient halls, And their lost children bend the subject knee, [free. "Midst the proud tombs and trophies of the Bird of the sun 1 dread eagle 1 born on high, [eye A creature of the empyreal thou, whose Was lightning to the earth whose pinion waved In haughty triumph o'er a world enslaved ; Sink from thy heavens 1 for glory's noon is o'er, [more. And rushing storms shall bear thee on no Closed is thy regal course thy crest is torn, And thy plume banished from the realms of mom. [chiefs and kings, The shaft hath reached thee : rest with Who conquered in the shadow of thy wings. [prey, Sleep ! while thy foes exult around their And share thy glorious heritage of day. But darker years shall mingle with the past, And deeper vengeance shall be mine at last. O'er the seven hills I see destruction spread, And Empire's widow veils with dust her head. Her gods forsake each desolated shrine, Her temples moulder to the earth like mine : 'Midst fallen palaces she sits alone, Calling heroic shades from ages gone, Or bids the nations 'midst her deserts wait To learn the fearful oracle of Fate. "Still sleep 'st thou, Roman? Son of Victory, rise 1 Wake to obey the avenging Destinies. Shed by thy mandate, soon thy country's blood Shall swell and darken Tiber's yellow flood. My children's manes call. Awake ! prepare The feast they claim I exult in Rome's despair ! [cries, Be thine ear closed against her suppliant Bid thy soul triumph in her agonies ; Let carnage revel even her shrines among ; Spare not the valiant, pity not the young ! Haste I o'er her hills the sword's libation shed, [head !" And wreak the curse of Carthage on her The vision flies. A mortal step is near Whose echoes vibrate on the slumberer's ear. [stands He starts he wakes to woe. Before him The unwelcome messenger of harsh com- mands, Whose faltering accents tell the exiled chief To seek on other shores a home for grief. Silent the wanderer sat but on his cheek The burning glow far more than words might speak ; [broke And, from the kindling of his eye, there Language where all the indignant soul awoke, Till his deep thought found voice : thec calmly stern, And sovereign in despair, he cried, "Return I [seen Tell him who sent thee hither, thou hast Marius, the exile, rest where Carthage once hath been 1" A TALE OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. A FRAGMENT. THE moorfbeam, quivering o'er the wave, Sleeps in pale gold on wood and hill, The wild wind slumbers in its cave, And heaven is cloudless earth is still. The pile that crowns yon savage height With battlements of Gothic might, Rises in softer pomp arrayed, Its massy towers half lost in shade, Half touched with mellowing lignt. The rays of night, the tints of time, Soft-mingling on its dark-grey stone, O'er its rude strength and mien sublime, A placid smile have thrown. And far beyond, where wild and high. Bounding the pale-blue summer sky, A mountain vista meets the eye, Its dark, luxuriant woods assume A pencilled shade, a softer gloost : , 212 A TALE OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. Its jutting cliffs have caught the light, Its torrents glitter through the night, While every cave and deep recess Frowns in more shadowy awfulness. Scarce moving on the glassy deep Yon gallant vessel seems to sleep ; But darting from its side, How swiftly does ifs boat design A slender, silvery, waving line Of radiance o'er the tide 1 No sound is on the summer seas But the low dashing of the oar, And faintly sighs the midnight breeze Through woods that fringe the rocky shore. That boat had reached the silent bay The dashing oar has ceased to play ; The breeze has murmured and has died In forest shades, on ocean's tide. No step, no tone, no breath of sound Disturbs the loneliness profound ; And midnight spreads o'er earth and main A calm so holy and so deep, That voice of mortal were profane To break on nature's sleep. It is the hour for thought to soar High o'er the cloud of earthly woes ; For rapt devotion to adore For passion to repose ; And virtue to forget her tears In visions of sublimer spheres. For oh ! those transient gleams of heaven, To calmer, purer spirits given, Children of hallowed peace, are known In solitude and shade alone. Like flowers that shun the blaze of noon To blow beneath the midnight moon, The garish world they will not bless, But only live in loneliness. Hark I did some note of plaintive swell Melt on the stillness of the air ? Or was it fancy's powerful spell That woke such sweetness there ? For wild and distant it arose, Like sounds that bless the bard's repose, When in lone wood or mossy cave He dreams beside some fountain-wave, And fairy worlds delight the eyes Wearied with life's realities. Was it illusion ? Yet again Rises and falls' the enchanted strain, Mellow, and sweet, and faint As if some spirit's touch had given The soul of sound to harp of heaven, To soothe a dying saint. Is it the mermaid's distant shell, Warbling beneath the moonlit wave? Such witching tones might lure full well The seaman to his grave. Sure from no mortal touch ye rise, Wild, soft, aerial melodies ! Is it the song of woodland-fay From sparry grot, or haunted bower ? Hark ! floating on the magic lay Draws near yon livid tower ! Now nearer still, the listening ear May catch sweet harp-notes, faint yet clear ; And accents low, as if in fear. Thus murmur, half-suppressed : "Awake 1 the moon is bright on high, The sea is calm, the bark is nigh, The world is hushed to rest !" Then sinks the voice the strain is o'er, Its last low cadence dies along the shore. Fair Bertha hears the expected song, Swift from her tower she glides along ; No echo to her tread awakes, Her fairy step no slumber breaks ; And, in that hour of silence deep, While all around the dews of sleep O'erpower each sense, each eyelid steep, Quick throbs her heart with hope and fear, Her dark eye glistens with a tear. Half-wavering now, the varying cheek And sudden pause her doubts bespeak, The lip now flushed, now pale as death, The trembling frame, the fluttering breath 1 Oh 1 in that moment, o'er her soul What struggling passions claim control I Fear, duty, love, in conflict high, By turns have won the ascendancy ; And as, all tremulously bright, Streams o'er her face the beam of night What thousand mixed emotions play O'er that fair face, and melt away ! Like forms whose quick succession gleams O'er fancy's rainbow-tinted dreams ; Like the swift glancing lights that rise 'Midst the wild, cloud of stormy skies, And traverse ocean o'er ; So in that full, impassioned eye The changeful meanings rise and die, Just seen and then no more. But oh ! too short that pause. Again Thrills to her heart that witching strain : "Awake I the midnight moon is bright : Awake I the moments wing their flight ; Haste 1 or they speed in vain I" O call of Love I thy potent spell O'er that weak heart prevails too well. The " still small voice" is heard no more That pleaded duty's cause before, A TALE OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 213 And fear is bushed, and doubt is gone, And pride forgot, and reason flown ! Her cheek, whose colour came and fled. Resumes its warmest brightest red, Her step its quick elastic tread, Her eye its beaming smile. Through lonely court and silent hall, Flits her light shadow o'er the wall ; And still that low harmonious call Melts on her ear the while, Though love's quick ear alone could tell The words its accents faintly swell : 1 ' Awake ! while yet the lingering night And stars and seas befriend our flight : Oh ! haste, while all is well 1" The halls, the courts, the gates, are past, She gains the moonlit beach at last. Who waits to guide her trembling feet? Who flies the fugitive to greet? He, to her youthful heart endeared By all it e'er had hoped and feared, Twined with each wish, with every thought, Each day-dream fancy e'er had wrought. Whose tints portray with flattering skill What brighter worlds alone fulfil. Alas 1 that aught so fair should fly Thy blighting wand, Reality I A chieftain's mien her Osbert bow, A pilgrim's lowly robes he wore Disguise that vainly strove to hide Bearing and glance of martial pride : For he in many a battle-scene, On many a rampart breach had been ; Had sternly smiled at danger nigh, Had seen the valiant bleed and die, And proudly reared on hostile tower, 'Midst falchion's clash and arrowy shower, Britannia's banner high. And though some ancient feud had taught His Bertha's sire to loathe his name, More noble warrior never fought For glory's prize or England's fame. And well his dark commanding eye, And form and step of stately grace, Accorded with achievements high, Soul of emprise and chivalry, Bright name, and generous race I His cheek, embrowned by many a sun, Tells a proud tale of glory won, Of vigil, march, and conrtbat rude, Valour, and toil, and fortitude. Even while youth's earliest blushes threw Warm o'er that cheek their vivid hue, His gallant soul, his stripling form, Had braved the battle's rudest storm 1 When England's conquering archers stood, And dyed thy plain, Poitiers 1 with blood ; When shivered axe and cloven shield And shattered helmet strewed the field, And France around her king in vain Had marshalled valour's noblest train. In that dread strife his lightning eye Had flashed with transport keen and high, And 'midst the battle's wildest tide Throbbed his young heart with hope and pride. Alike that fearless heart could brave Death on the war-field or the wave ; Alike in tournament or fight That ardent spirit found delight. Yet oft, 'midst hostile scenes afar, Bright o'er his soul a vision came, Rising like some benignant star On stormy seas or plains of war, To soothe, with hopes more dear than fame, The heart that throbbed to Bertha's name, And 'midst the wildest rage of fight, And in the deepest calm of night, To her his thoughts would wing their flight With fond devotion warm. Oft would those glowing thoughts portray Some home, from tumults far away, Graced with that angel form I And now his spirit fondly deems Fulfilled its loveliest dearest dreams. Who, with pale cheek and locks' of snow, In minstrel garb attends the chief? The moonbeam on his thoughtful brow Reveals a shade of grief. Sorrow and time have touched his face With mournful yet majestic grace, Soft as the melancholy smile Of sunset on some ruined pile. It is the bard, whose song had power To lure the maiden from her tower The bard, whose wild inspiring lays, Even in gay childhood's earliest days, First woke in Osbert 's kindling breast The flame that will not be represt, The pulse that throbs for praise. Those lays had banished from his eye The bright soft tears of infancy, Had soothed the boy to calm repose, Had hushed his bosom's earliest woes ; And when the light of thought awoke, When first young reason's day-spring broke, More powerful still, thev bade arise His spirit's burning energies. Then the bright dream 01 glory warmed, Then the loud pealing war-song charmed, The legends of each martial line, The battle-tales of Palestine : And oft; since then, his deeds had proved. Themes of the lofty lays, he loved. 214 A TALE OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. Now, at triumphant love's command. Since Osbert leaves his native land, Forsaking glory's high career For her than glory far more dear ; Since hope's gay dream and meteor ray To. distant regions point his way, That there Affection's hands may dress A fairy bovver for happiness ; That fond devoted bard, though now Time's wintry garland wreathes his brow, Though quenched the sunbeam of his eye, And fled his spirit's buoyancy, And strength and enterprise are past, Still follows constant to the last. Though his sole wish was but to die "Midst the calm scenes of days gone by, And all that hallows and endears The memory of departed years Sorrow, and joy, and time, have twined To those loved scenes his pensive mind : Ah I what can tear the links apart That bind his chieftain to his heart ? What smile but his with joy can light The eye obscured by age's night ? Last of a loved and ho-.ioured line, Last tie to earth in life s decline. Till death its lingering spark shall dim, That faithful eye mast gaze on him t Silent and swi/c, with footstep light Haste on those fugitives of night. They reach the boat the rapid oar Soon wafts them from the wooded shore. The bark is gained 1 A gallant few, Vassals of Osbert, form the crew ; The pennant, in the moonlight beam, With soft suffusion glows ; From the white sails a silvery gleam Falls on the wave's repose ; Long shadows undulating play, From mast and streamer, o'er the bay ; But still so hushed the summer air, They tremble, 'midst the scene so fair, Lest morn's first beam behold them there. Wake, viewless wanderer! breeze of night! From river-wave or mountain-height, Or dew-bright couch of moss and flowers, By haunted spring in forest-bowers. Or dost thou lurk in pearly cell, In amber grot, where mermaids dwell. And caverned gems their lustre throw O'er the red sea-flowers' vivid glow Where treasures, not for mortal gaze, T n solitary splendour blaze, ACld sounds, ne'er heard by mortal ear, through the deep's uuTatitonic'i sphere? What grove of that mysterious world Holds thy light wing in slumber furled ? Awake 1 o'er glittering seas to rove ; Awake 1'to guide the bark of love 1 Bwift fly the midnight hours, and soon shall fade the bright propitious moon ; Soon shall the waning stars grow pale, Even now but lo I the rustling sail swells to the new-sprung ocean gale. The bark glides on their fears are o'er , Recedes the bold romantic shore, Its features mingling fast. Graze, Bertha I gaze I Thy lingering eye May still each lovely scene descry Of years fo> ever past ! [shade There wave the woods, beneath whose With bounding step thy childhood played, 'Midst ferny glades and mossy lawns, Free as their native birds and fawns ; Listening the sylvan sounds, that float On each low breeze, 'midst dells remote The ringdove's deep-melodious moan, The rustling deer in thickets lone : The wild bee's hum, the aspen's sigh, The wood-stream's plaintive harmony. Dear scenes of many a sportive hour, There thine own mountains darkly tower : 'Midst their grey rocks no glen so rude But thou hast loved its solitude : No path so wild but thou hast known, And traced its rugged course alone : The earliest wreath that bound thy hair Was twined of glowing heath-flowers there. There in the day-spring of thy years, Undimmed by passions or by tears ; Oft, while thy bright enraptured eye Wandered o'er ocean, earth, or sky, While the wild breeze that round thee blew, Tinged thy warm cheek with richer hue ; Pure as the skies that o'er thy head Their clear and cloudless azure spread ; Pure as that gale whose light wing drew Its freshness from the mountain dew, Glowed thy young heart with feelings high, A heaven of hallowed ecstasy. Such days were thine, ere love had drawn A cloud o'er that celestial dawn 1 As the clear dews in morning's beam With soft reflected colouring stream, Catch every tint of eastern gem To form the rose's diadem, But vanish when the noontide hour Glows fiercely on the shrinking flower Thus in thy soul each calm delight, Lake morn's first dewdrops, pure and bright, F'etL swift from passion's blighting fu, Or lingered only to expire. A TALE OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 215 Spring on thy native hills again Shall bid neglected wild flowers rise, And call forth in each grassy glen Her brightest emerald dyes. There shall the lonely mountain rose, Wreath of the cliffs, again disclose ; 'Midst rocky dells, each well-known stream Shall sparkle in the summer beam ; The birch, o'er precipice and cave, Its feathery foliage still shall wave; The ash 'midst rugged clefts unveil Its choral clusters to the gale ; And autumn shed a warmer bloom O'er the rich he. th and glowing broom. But thy light footstep there no more Each path, each dingle shall explore. In vain may smile each green recess Who now shall pierce its loneliness? The stream through shadowy glens may stray Who now shall trace its glistening way ? In solitude, in silence deep, Shrined 'midst her rocks shall Echo sleep ; No lute's wild swell again shall rise To wake her mystic melodies. All soft may blow the mountain air It will not wave thy graceful hair ! The mountain-rose may bloom and die It will not meet thy smiling eye 1 But like those scenes of vanished days, Shall others ne'er delight ; Far lovelier lands shall meet tby gaze, Yet seem not half so bright . O'er the dim woodlands' fading hue Still gleams yon Gothic pile on high ; Gaze on, while yet 'tis thine to view That home of infancy ! Heed not the night-dew's chilling power, Heed not the sea-wind's coldest hour, But pause and linger on the deck, Till of those towers no trace, no speck, Is gleaming o'er the main ; For when the mist of mom shall rise, Blending the sea, the shore, the skies, That hpme once vanished from thine eyes, Shall bless them ne'er again. There the dark tales and songs of yore First with strange transport thrilled thy soul, Even while their fearful mystic lore From thy warm cheek the life-bloom stole. There, while thy father's raptured ear Dwelt fondly on a strain so dear, And in his eye the trembling tear Revealed his spirit's trance ; How oft, those echoing halls along, Thy thrilling voice has swelled the amp Tradition wild of other days, Or troubadour's heroic lay?, ' Or legend of romance I Oh ! many an hour has there been thine. That memory's pencil oft shall dress In softer shades, and tints that shine In mellowed loveliness ! While thy sick heart and fruitless tears Shall mourn, with fond and deep regre The sunshine of thine early years, Scarce deemed so radiant till it set I The cloudless peace, unprized till gone, The bliss, till vanished hardly known f On rock and turret, wood and hill, The fading moonbeams linger still ; Still, Bertha ! gaze on yon grey tower, At evening's last and sweetest hour, While varying still, the western skies Flushed the clear seas with rainbow dyes, Whose warm suffusions glowed and passed Each richer, lovelier than the last. How oft,: while gazing on the deep, That seemed a heaven of peace to sleep, As if its wave, so still, so fair, More frowning mien might never wear, ,The twilight calm of mental rest Would steal in silence o'er thy breast, And wake that dear and balmy sigh That breathes the spirit's harmony ! Ah I ne'er again shall hours to thee given Of joy on earth, so near allied to heaven ! Why starts the tear to Bertha's eye ? Is not her long-loved Osbert nigh ? Is there a grief his voice, his smile, His words, are fruitless to beguile? Oh I bitter to the youthful heart, That scarce a pang, a care has known, The hour when first from scenes we part, Where life's bright spring has flown, Forsaking, o'er the world to roam, That little shrine of peace our home ! E'en if delighted fancy throw O'er that cold world her brightest glow, Painting its untried paths with flowers That will not live in earthly bowers, (Too frail, too exquisite, to bear One breath of life's ungenial air ;) E'en if such dreams of hope arise As heaven alone can realize, Cold were the breast that would not heave One sigh, the home of youth to leave ; Stern were the heart that would not swell To breathe life's saddest word farewell ! Though earth has many a deeper woe, Thouah tears more bitter far must flow. 216 A TALE OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY. That hour, whate'er our future lot, That first fond grief, is ne'er forgot ! Such was the pang of Bertha's heart, The thought, that bade the tear-drop start ; And Osbert by her side Heard the deep sigh, whose bursting swell Nature's fond struggle told too well ; And days of future bliss portrayed, And love's own eloquence essayed, To soothe his plighted bride ! Of bright Arcadian scenes he tells, In that sweet land to which they fly ; The vine-clad rocks, the fragrant dells Of blooming Italy. For he had roved a pilgrim there, And gazed on many spots so fair, It seemed like some enchanted grove, Where only peace, and joy, and love, Those exiles of the world, might rove, And breathe its heavenly air ; And all unmixed with ruder tone, Their "wood-notes wild" be heard alone ; Far from the frown of stem control, That vainly would subdue the soul, There shall their long-affianced hands Be joined in consecrated bands. And in some rich romantic vale, Circled with heights of Alpine snow, Where citron-woods enrich the gale. And scented shrubs their balm exhale, And flowering myrtles blow ; And 'midst the mulberry boughs on high Weaves the wild vine her tapestry ; On some bright streamlet's emerald side, Where cedars wave in graceful pride, Bosomed in groves, their home shall rise, A sheltered bower of paradise ! Thus would the lover soothe to rest With tales of hope her anxious breast ; Nor vain that dear enchanting lore Her soul's bright visions to restore, And bid gay phantoms of delight Float in soft colouring o'er her sight. O Youth ! sweet May-mom, fled so soon, Far brighter than life's loveliest noon, How oft thy spirit's buoyant power Will triumph e'en in sorrow's hour, Prevailing o'er regret ! As rears its head the elastic flower, Though the dark tempest's recent shower Hang on its petals yet 1 Ah t not so soon can hope's gay smile The aged bard to j'oy beguile ; Those silent years that steal away [ra>, The cheek's warm rose, the eye's bright Win from the mind a nobler prize. Even all its buoyant energies I For him the April days are past, When grief was but a fleeting cloud ; No transient shade. will sorrow cast,' When age the spirit's might has bowed : And, as he sees the land grow dim, That native land now lost to him, Fixed are his eyes and clasped his hands, And long in speechless grief he stands ; So desolately calm his air, He seems an image wrought to bear The stamp of deep, though hushed despail Motion and life no sign bespeaks, Save that the night-breeze o'er his cheeks Just waves his silvery hair : Naught else could teach the eye to know His was no sculptured form of woe. Long gazing o'er the darkened flood, Pale in that silent grief he stood, Till the cold moon was waning fast, And many a lovely star had died, And the grey heavens deep shadows cast Far o'er the slumbering tide ; And, robed in one dark solemn hue, Arose the distant shore to view. Then, starting from his trance of woe, Tears, long suppressed, in freedom flow, While thus his wild and plaintive strain Blends with the murmur of the main : THE BARD'S FAREWELL. " THOU setting moon ! when next thy ray? Are trembling on the shadowy deep, The land now fading from thy gaze, These eyes in vain shall weep ; And wander o'er the lovely sea, And fix their tearful glance on thee On *hee ! whose light so softly gleams Through the green oaks that fringe my native streams. " But 'midst those ancient groves no more Shall I thy quivering lustre hail ; Its plaintive strain my harp must pour To swell a foreign gale. The rocks, the woods, whose echoes woke When in full tones their stillness broke, Deserted now, shall hear alone The brook's wild voice, the wind's myste- rious moan. "And oh ! ye fair forsaken halls, Left by your lord to slow decay, Soon shall the trophies on your walls Be mouldering fast away ! There shall no choral songs resound, There shall no festal board be crowned ; BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 217 But ivy wreathe the silent gate, And all be hushed, and cold, and desolate. " No banner from the stately tower Shall spread its blazoned folds on high ; There the wild briar and summer flower Unmarked shall wave and die. Home of the mighty ! thou art lone, The noonday of thy pride .is gone, And midst thy solitude profound A step shall echo like unearthly sound I " From thy cold hearths no festal blaze Shall fill the hall with ruddy light, Nor welcome with convivial rays ^ome pilgrim of the night. But there shall grass luxuriant spread, As o'er the dwellings of the dead ; And the deep swell of every blast Seem a wild dirge for years of grandeur past " And I my joy of life is fled, My spirit's power, my bosom's glow ; The raven locks that graced my head Wave in a wreath of snow 1 And where the star of youth arose I deemed life's lingering ray should close, And those loved trees my tomb o'ershade JBeneath whose arching bowers my child- hood played. " Vain dream 1 that tomb in distant earth Shall rise, forsaken and forgot ; And thou, sweet land that gavest me birth! A grave must yield me not. Yet, haply, he for whom I leave Thy shores, in life's dark winter eve, When cold the hand, and closed the lays, And mute the voice he loved to praise, O'er the hushed harp one tear may shed, And one frail garland o'er the minstrel's bed I" 1823. BELSHAZZAR'S FEAST. 'TWAS night in Babylon : yet many a beam Of lamps, far-glittering from her domes on high. Shone, brightly mingling in Euphrates' stream, With the clear stars of that Chaldean sky Whose azure knows no cloud ; each whispered sigh Of the soft night-breeze through her terrace-bowers Bore deepening tones of joy and melody O'er an illumined wilderness of flowers ; And the glad city's voice went up from all her tower?. But prouder mirth was in the kingly hall, Where, 'midst adoring slaves, a gorgeous band ! High at the stately midnight festival, Belshazzar sat enthroned. There Luxury's hand . Had showered around all treasures that expand Beneath the burning East ; all gems that pour The sunbeams back ; all sweets of many a land Whose gales waft incense from their spicy shore ; But mortal Pride looked on, and still demanded more. With richer zest the banquet may be fraught, A loftier theme may swell th' exulting strain I The Lord of nations spoke, and forth were brought The spoils of Salem's devastated fane : Thrice holy vessels I pure from earthly stain. And set apart, and sanctified to Him, Who deigned within the oracle to reign, Revealed, yet shadowed ; making noonday dim, To that most glorious cloud between the Cherubim. 218 BELSHAZZAR'8 FEAST. They came, and louder pealed the voice of song, And pride flashed brighter from the kindling eye, And He who sleeps not heard th' elated throng, In mirth that plays with thunderbolts, defy The Rockxrf Zion ! Fill the nectar high, High in the cups of consecrated gold I And crown the bowl with garlands, ere they die, And bid the censers of the Temple hold Offerings to Babel's gods, the mighty ones of old ' Peace ! is it but a phantom of the brain, Thus shadowed forth the senses to appal. Von fearful vision P^Who shall gaze again To search its cause ? Along the illumined wall. Startling, yet riveting the eyes of all, Darkly it moves, a hand, a human hand, O'er the bright lamps of that resplendent hall In silence tracing, as a mystic wand, Words all unknown, the tongue of some far distant land. There are pale cheeks around the regal board, And quivering limbs, and whispers deep and low, And fitful starts ! the wine, in triumph poured, Untasted foams, the song hath ceased to flow, The waving censer drops to earth and lo ! The King of Men, the Ruler, girt with might, Trembles before a shadow ! Say not so ! The child of dust, with guilt's foreboding sight, Shrinks from the Dread Unknown, th' avenging Infinite I But haste ye ! bring Chaldea's gifted seers, The men of prescience ! haply to their eyes, Which track the future through the rolling spheres. Yon mystic sign may speak in prophecies. They come the readers of the midnight skies, They that give voice to visions but in vain-1 Still wrapt in clouds the awful secret lies, It hath no language 'midst the starry train, Earth has no gifted tongue Heaven's mysteries to explain. Then stood forth one, a child of other sires, And other inspiration ! One of those Who on the willows hung their captive lyres, And sat, and wept, where Babel's river flows. His eye was bright, and yet the deep repose Of his pale features half o'erawed the mind, And imaged forth a soul, whose joys and woes Were of a loftier stamp than aught assigned To Earth ; a being sealed and severed from mankind. Yes ! what was earth to him, whose spirit passed Time's utmost bounds ? on whose unshrinking sight Ten thousand shapes of burning glory cast Their full resplendence ? Majesty and might Were in his dreams ; for him the veil of light Shrouding heaven's inmost sanctuary and throne, The curtain of th' unutterably bright Was raised ! to him, in fearful splendour shown, Ancient of days I 'en Thou, mad'st Thy dread presence known. BELtiHAZZAR'S t'EAST. 219 He spoke : the shadows of the things to come Passed o'er his soul : " O King, elate in pride i God hath sent forth the writing of thy doom, The one, the living God, by thee defied 1 He, in whose balance earthly lords are tried, Hath weighed, and found thee wanting. 'Tis decreed The conqueror's hands thy kingdom shall divide, The stranger to thy throne of power succeed ! The days are full, they come ; the Persian and the Medt !" There fell a moment's thrilling silence round, A breathless pause ! the hush of hearts that beat And limbs that quiver ; is there not a sound, A gathering cry, a tread of hurrying feet ? Twas but some echo, in the crowded street, Of far-heard revelry ; the shout, the song, The measured dance to music wildly sweet, That speeds the stars their joyous course along ; Away 1 nor let a dream disturb the festal throng ! Peace yet again I Hark ! steps in tumult flying. Steeds rushing on, as o'er a battle-field t The shout of hosts exulting or defying, The press of multitudes that strive or yield I And the loud startling clash of spear and shield, Sudden as earthquake's burst ! and, blent with lhes*r, The last wild shriek of those whose doom is sealed In their full mirth ! all deepening on the breeze As the long stormy roar of far-advancing seas I And nearer yet the trumpet's blast is swelling, Loud, shrill, and savage, drowning every cry I And lo 1 the spoiler in the regal dwelling, Death bursting on the halls of revelry I Ere on their brows one fragile rose-leaf die, The sword hath raged through joy's devoted train, Ere one bright star be faded from the sky, Red Sames, like banners, wave from dome and fane ; Empire is lost and won, Belshazzar with the slain. Fallen is the golden city ! in the dust, Spoiled of her crown, dismantled of her state, She that hath made the Strength of Towers her trust, Weeps by her dead, supremely desolate I She that beheld the nations at her gate, Thronging in homage, shall be called no more Lady of kingdoms I Who shall mourn her fate ? Her guilt is full, her march of triumph o'er ; What widowed land shall now her widowhood deplore. Sit thou in silence I Thou that wert enthroned On many waters 1 thou, whose augurs read The language of the planets, and disowned The mighty name it blazons 1 Veil thy head, Daughter of Babylon I the sword is red From thy destroyers' harvest, and the yoke Is on thee, O most proud ! for thou hast said, " I am, and none beside I" Th' Eternal spoke, Thy glory was a spoil, thine idol-gods were broke. S20 THE LAST CONSTANTINO. But go thou forth, O Israel I wake ! rejoice ! Be clothed with strength, as in thine ancient day. Renew the sound of harps, th' exulting voice, The mirth of timbrels ! loose the chain, and say God hath redeemed his people ! from decay The silent and the trampled shall arise ; Awake ; put on thy beautiful array ; O long-forsaken Zion ! to the skies 'Send up on every wind thy choral melodies I And lift thy head ! Behold thy sons returning, Redeemed from exile, ransomed from the chain 3 Light hath revisited the house of mourning ; She that on Judah's mountains wept in vain Because her children were not dwells again Girt with the lovely 1 through thy streets once more, City of God ! shall pass the bridal train, And the bright lamps their festive radiance pour, ' And the triumphal hymns thy joy of youth restore I THE LAST CONSTANTJNE. . . . . " Thou strivest nobly, When hearts of sterner stuff perhaps had sunk ; And o'er thy fall, if it be so decreed, Good men will mourn, and brave men will shed tears; .... Fame I look not for ; But to sustain, in Heaven's all-seeing eye, Before my fellow-men, in mine own sight, With graceful virtue and becoming pride, The dignity and honour of a man. Thus stationed as I am, I will do all That man may do." Constantine Palteolagus. I. THE fires grew pale on Rome's deserted shrines ; In the dim grot the Pythia's voice had died. Shout for the city of the Constantines, The rising city of the billow-side, The City of the Cross I great Ocean's bride, [ages past, Crowned from her birth she sprang ! Long And still she looked in glory o'er the tide, Which at her feet barbaric riches cast, Poured by the burning East all joyously and fast. n. Long ages passed ! They left her porphyry haUs [gold Still trod by kingly footsteps. Gems and Broidered her mantle, and her castled walls Frowned in her strength ; yet there were signs which told [of old The days were full. The pare high faith Was changed ; and on her silken couch of sleep She lay, -and murmured if a rose-leafs fold Disturbed her dreams ; and called her slaves to keep Their watch, that no rude sound might reach her o'er the deep. in. But there are sounds that from the regal dwelling Free hearts and fearless only may exclude ; 'Tis not alone the wind at midnight swelling Breaks on the soft repose by luxury wooed. There are unbidden footsteps, which intrude Where the lamps glitter and the wine-cup flows ; [strewed And darker hues have stained the marble, With the fresh myrtle and the short-lived rose ; [march of foes. And Parian walls have rung to the dread: THE LAST CONSTANTINO. 221 rv. A voice of multitudes is on the breeze, Remote, yetjsolemn as the night-storm's roar Through Ida's giant-pines. Across the seas A murmur comes, like that the deep winds bore From Tempe's haunted river to the shore Of-the reed-crowned Eurotas ; when of old Dark Asia sent her battle-myriads o'er The indignant wave, which would not be controlled, [freedom rolled. But past the Persian's chain in boundless v. And it is thus again ! Swift oars are dashing The parted waters, and a light is cast On their white foam-wreaths, from the sudden flashing [ing fast. Of Tartar spears, whose ranks are thicken- There swells a savage trumpet on the blast, A music of the deserts, wild and deep, Wakening strange echoes, as the shores are passed Where low ' 'midst Ilion's dust her con- querors sleep, D'ershadowing with high names each rude sepulchral heap. VI. War from the West ! The snows on Thracian hills [the lands Are loosed by Spring's warm breath; yet o'er Which Haemus girds, the chainless moun- tain-rills [bands. Pour down less swiftly than the Moslem War from the East 1 'Midst A.-aby's lone sands, [be, More lonely now the few bright founts may While Ismael's bow is bent in warrior-hands Against the Golden City of the sea. Oh I for a soul to fire thy dust, Ther- mopylae 1 VII. Hear yet again, ye mighty ! Where are they [crowned, Who, with their green Olympic garlands Leaped up in proudly beautiful array, As to a banquet gathering, at the sound Of Persia's- clarion ? Far and joyous round, From the pine forests and the mountain snows And the low sylvan valleys, to the bound Of the bright waves, at freedom's voice they rose I Hath it no thrilling tone to break the tomb's repose ? VIII. They slumber with their swords ! The olive shades In vain are whispering their immortal tale ; In vain the spirit of the past pervades The soft winds, breathing through each Grecian vale. [and pale, Yet must thou wake, though all unarmed Devoted City 1 Lo ! the Moslem's spear, Red from its vintage, at thy gates ; his sail Upon thy waves, his trumpet in thine ear ! Awake 1 and summon those who yet per- chance may hear. Be hushed, thou faint and feeble voice of weeping ! Lift ye the banner of the Cross on high, Apd call on chiefs, whose noble sires are sleeping In their proud graves of sainted chivalry, Beneath the palms and cedars, where they sigh [line To Syrian gales 1 The sons of each brave From their baronial halls shall hear your cry, [Salem's shrine, And seize the arms which flashed round- Aad wield for you the swords once waved for Palestine. x. All still, all voiceless ! and the billow's roai Alone replies ! Alike their soul is gone Who shared the funeral feast on (Eta's shore, And theirs that o'er the field of Ascalon Swelled the Crusaders' hymn 1 Then gird thou on [the hour Thine armour, Eastern Queen I and meet Which waits thee ere the day's fierce work is done [tower With a strong heart : so may thy helmet Unshivered through the storm, for generous hope is power ! XI. But linger not, array thy men of might ! The shores, the seas, are peopled with thy foes. Arms through thy cypress groves are gleaming bright, And the dark huntsmen of the wild repose Beneath the shadowing marble porticoes Of thy proud villas. N earer and more near, Around thy walls the sons of battle close ; Each hour, each moment, hath its sound of fear, [not to hear. Which the deep grave alone is chartered THE LAST CONSTANTINE. Away! bring wine, bring odours to the shade [high ! Where (he tall pine and poplar bend on Bring roses, exquisite, but soon to fade I Snatch every brief delight, since we must die! Yet is the hour, degenerate Greeks! gone by, For feast in vine-wreathed bower or pillared hall ; [sky, Dim gleams the torch beneath yon fiery And deep and hollow is the tambour's call, And from the startled hand th' untested cup will fall. XIII. The night the glorious Oriental night Hath lost the silence of her purple heaven, With its clear stars. The red artillery's light, [driven, Athwart her worlds of tranquil splendour To the still firmament's expanse had given Its own fierce glare, wherein each cliff and tower Starts wildly forth ; and now the air is riven With thunder-bursts, and now dull smoke- clouds lour, Veiling the gentle moon in her most hal- lowed hour. XIV. Sounds from the waters, sounds upon the earth, [these Sounds in the air, of battle ! Yet with A voice is mingling, whose deep tones give birth To faith and courage. From lujoirious case A gallant few have started. O'er the seas, From the Seven Towers, their banner waves its sign ; And hope is whispering in the joyous breeze, Which plays amidst its folds. That voice was thine [stantine ! Thy soul was on that band, devoted Con- XV. Was Rome thy parent ? Didst thou catch from her The fire that lives in thine undaunted eye? That city of the throne and sepulchre [die. Hath given proud lessons how to reign and Heir of the Caesars I did that lineage high, Which, as a triumph to the grave, hath passed, With its long march of spectred imagery, The heroic mantle o'er thy spirit cast ? Thou of an eagle race the noblest and the last! XVI. Vain dreams I Upon that spirit hath de- scended [each thought Light from the living Fountain, whence Springs pure and holy. In that eye is blended A spark, with earth's triumphal memories fraught And, far within, a deeper meaning, caught From worlds unseen. A hope, a lofty trust, Whose resting-place on buoyant wind is sought [the dust) (Though through its veil seen darkly from In realms where Time no more hath power upon the just. XVII. Those were proud days, when on the battle-plain, [array And in the sun's bright face, and 'midst th' Of awe-struck hosts, and circled by the slain, The Roman cast his glittering mail away, And while a silence as of midnight lay O'er breathless thousands at his voice who started, [sway Called on the unseen terrific powers that The heights, the depths, the shades ; then fearless-hearted [departed. Girt on his robe of death, and for the grave XVIII. But then, around him as the javelins rushed. From earth to heaven swelled up the loud acclaim ; And, ere his heart's last free libation gushed, With a bright smile the warrior caught his name Tcame, Far-floating on the winds ! And Victory And made the hour of that immortal deed A life, in fiery feeling. Valour's aim Had sought no loftier guerdon. Thus to bleed [and had his meed. Was to be Rome's high star. He died XIX. But praise and dearer, holier praise be theirs, Who, in the stillness and the solitude Of hearts pressed earthwards by a weight of cares, [real food Uncheered by Fame's proud hope, hisethe- Of restless energies, and only viewed By Him whose eye, from his eternal throne, Is on the soul's dark places have subdued And vowed themselves, widi strength till then unknown, [alone. To some high martyr-task, in secret and THE LAST CONSTANTINE. xx Theirs be the bright and sacred names, en- shrined Far in the bosom I For their deeds belong, Not to the gorgeous faith which charmed mankind With its rich pomp of festival and song, Garland, and shrine, and incense-bearing throng ; But to that Spirit, hallowing, as it tries Man's hidden soul in whispers, yet more strong [thence arise Than storm or earthquake's voice ; for All that mysterious world's unseen sub- limities. XXI. Well might thy name, brave Constantino 1 / awake [again Such thought, such feeling ! But the scene Bursts on my vision, as the day-beams break Through the red sulphurous mists: the camp, the plain, The terraced palaces, the dome-capt fane, With its bright cross fixed high in crowning grace; Spears on the ramparts, galleys on the main, And, circling all with arms, that turbaned race [haughty face. The sun, the desert, stamped in each dark XXII. Shout, ye seven hills I Lo ! Christian pen- nons streaming [hail 1 Red o'er the waters 1 Hail, deliverers, Along your billowy wake the radiance gleaming [ing sail- In Hope's own smile. They crowd the swell- On with the foam, the sunbeam, and the gale, [pour Borne as a victor's car ! The batteries Their clouds and thunders ; but the rolling veil [fore ; Of smoke floats up the exulting winds be- And oh ! the glorious bur^t of that bright sea and shore 1 XXIII. The rocks, waves, ramparts, Europe's, Asia's coast, All thronged, one theatre for kingly war 1 A monarch, girt with his barbaric host. Points o'er the beach his flashing scimitar. Dark tribes are tossing javelins from afar, Hands waving banners o'er each battle- ment, [bar Decks with their serried guns arrayed to The promised aid : but hark 1 a shout is sent [is rent 1 Up from the noble barks; the Moslem line XXIV. On, on through rushing flame and arrowy shower [way ; The welcome prows have cleft their rapid And, with (he shadows of the vesper hour, Furled their white sails and anchored in the bay. [fire gay, Then were the streets with song and torch- Then the Greek wines flowed mantling in the light Of festal halls ; and there was joy the ray Of dying eyes, a moment wildly bright The sunset of the soul, ere lost to mortal sight, XXV. For vain that feeble succour ! Day by day The imperial towers are crumbling, and the sweep Of the vast engines in their ceaseless play - Comes powerful, as when heaven unbinds -the deep. [steep, Man's heart is mightier than the castled Yet will it sink when earthly hope is fled ; Man's thoughts work darkly in such hours, and sleep [tread, Flies far ; and in their mien, the walls who Things by the brave untold 'may fearfully be read. XXVI. It was a sad and solemn task, to hold Their midnight watch on that beleaguered wall! As the sea-wave beneath the bastions rolled, A sound of fate was in its rise and fall ; The heavy clouds were as an empire's pall, The giant shadows of each tower and fane Lay like the graves ; a low mysterious call Breathed in the wind, and from the tented plain [strain. A voice of omens rose with each wild martial XXVII. For they might catch the Arab chargers neighing, [song ; The Thracian drum, the Tartar's drowsy Might almost hear the Soldan's banner swaying, [tongue. The %vatchword muttered in some Eastern Then flashed the gun's terrific light along The marble streets, all stillness not repose ; And boding thoughts came o er i'n<-. , Hark and strong ; 224 THE LAST CONSTANTINO. For heaven, earth, air, speak auguries to those Who see their numbered hours fast pressing to the close. XXVHI. But strength is from the Mightiest I There ' is one Still in the breach and on the rampart seen, Whose cheek shows paler with each morn- ing sun, And tells in silence how the night hath been In kingly halls a vigil. Yet serene The ray set deep within his thoughtful eye ; And there is that in his collected mien, To which the hearts of noble men reply With fires, partaking not this frame's mor- tality. XXIX. Yes ! call it not of lofty minds the fate To pass o'er earth in brightness but alone : High power was made their birthright, to create A thousand thoughts responsive to their own ! A thousand echoes of their spirit's tone Starts into life, where'er their path maybe, Still following fast ; as when the wind hath blown [free, O'er Indian groves, a wanderer wild and Kindling and bearing flames afar from tree to tree. XXX. And it is thus with thee I Thy lot is cast On evil days, thou Caesar. Yet the few, That set their generous bosom to the blast Which rocks thy throne the fearless and the true, [renew Bear hearts wherein thy glance can still The free devotion of the years gone by, When from bright dreams the ascendant Roman drew Enduring strength I States vanish, ages fly, But leave one task unchanged to suffer and to die. XXXI. These are our nature's heritage. But thou, The crowned with empire 1 thou wert called to share A cup more bitter ; on thy fevered brow The semblance of that buoyant hope to wear, Which long had passed away ; alone to bear The rush and pressure of dark thoughts, that came As a strong billow in their weight of care ; And with all this to smile I For earth-born frame [known to Fame. These are stern conflicts, yet they pass un- xxxn. Her glance is on the triumph, on the field, On the red scaffold ; and where'er, in sight Of human eyes, the human soul is steeled To deeds that seem as of immortal might, Yet are proud Nature's. But her meteor- light Can pierce no depths, no clouds ; it falls not where In silence, and in secret, and in night, The noble heart doth wrestle with despair, And rise more strong than death from its unwitnessed prayer. Men have been firm in battle ; they have stood With a prevailing -hope on ravaged plains, And won the birthright of their hearths with blood, And died rejoicing 'midst theirancient fanes, That so their children, undefiled with chains, Might worship there in peace. But they that stand When not a beacon o'er the wave remains, Linked but to perish with a ruined land, Where freedom dies with them call these a martyr-band. But the world heeds them not. Or if, per- chance, Upon their strife it bend a careless eye. It is but as the Roman's stoic glance Fell on that stage where man's last agony Was made his sport, who, knowing one must die, [the strain. Recked not which champion ; but prepared And bound the bloody wreath of victory To greet the conqueror ; while, with calm disdain, The vanquished proudly met the doom he met in vain. XXXV. The hour of Fate comes on ; and it is fraught With this of liberty that now the need Is past to veil the brow of anxious thought, And clothe the heart, which still beneath must bleed, [freed With Hope's fair-seemiag drapery. We are From tasks like these by misery. One alone Is left the brave ; and rest shall be thy meed, Prince, watcher, wearied one 1 when thou bast shown How brief the cloudy space which parts the grave and throne. THE LAST CONSTANTINE. 225 XXXVI. The signs are full. They are not in the sky, Nor in the many voices of the air, Nor the swift clouds. No fiery hosts on high [glare ; Toss their wild spears ; no meteor banners No comet fiercely shakes its blazing hair. And yet the signs are full : too truly seen In the thinned ramparts, in the pale despair Which lends one language to a people's mien, And in the ruined heaps where wall and towers have been. XXXVII. It is A night oi beauty : such a night As from the sparry grot or laurel-shade, Or wave in marbled cavern rippling bright, Might woo the nymphs of Grecian fount and glade [pervade To sport beneath Its moonbeams, which Their forest haunts : a night to rove alone Where the young, leaves by vernal winds are swayed, And the reeds whisper with a dreamy tone Of melody that seems to breathe from worlds unknown. A night to tall from green Elysium's bowers The shades of elder bards ; a night to hold Unseen communion with the inspiring powers [place of old ; .That made deep groves their dwelling- A night for mourners o'er the hallowed mould To strew sweet flowers for revellers to fill And wreathe the cup for sorrows to be told Which love hath cherished long. Vain thoughts, be still t It is a night of fate, stamped with Almighty Will* XXXIX. It should come sweeping in the storm, and rending The ancient summits in its dread career j^ And with vast billows wrathfully con tending, And with dark clouds o'ershadowing every sphere. [with fear, But He, whose footstep shakes the earth Passing to lay the sovereign cities low, Alike in his omnipotence is near When the soft winds o'er 'Spring's green pathway blow, ft^d when his thunders cleave the'-nnocarch- ' XL. The heavens in still magnificence look down On the hushed Bosphorus, whose ocean- stream Sleeps with its paler stars : the snowy crown Of far Olympus in the moonlight gleam Towers radiantly, as when the Pagan's dream [knee. Thronged it with gods, and bent the adoring But that is past and now the One Supreme Fills not alone those haunts, but earth, air, sea, [decree. And Time, which presses on to finish His XLI. Olympus, Ida, Delphi ! ye, the thrones And temples of a visionary might, Brooding in clouds above your forest zones, And mantling thence the realms beneath with night ; [and .Flight, Ye have looked down on battles Fear And armed Revenge, all hurrying past below. But there is yet a more appalling sight For earth, prepared, than e'er with tranquil brow [and snow. Ye gazed on from your world of solitude XLH. Last night a sound was in the Moslem camp, And Asia's hills re-echoed to a cry Of savage mirth. Wild horn and war- steeds' tramp Blent with the shout of barbarous revelry, A hue of menace and of wrath put on, Caught from red watch-fires, blazing far and high, And countless as the flames in ages gone, Streaming to heaven's bright queen from shadowy Lebanon. XLIII. But all is stillness now. May this be sleep Which wraps those Eastern thousands? Yes ! perchance [deep, Along yon moonlit shore and dark-blue Bright are their visions with the Houri's glance, [dance. And they behold the sparkling fountains Beneath the bowers of paradise that shed i Rich odours o'er the Faithful; but the Jance, [berers spread, : The bow, the spear, now round the slum- Ere Fate fulfil such dreams, must rest be^icte the dead, THE LAST COKtiTAKTINE. XLIV. May this be sleep, Uiis hush ? A sleepless eye Doth hold its vigil 'midst that dusky race : One that would scan the abyss of destiny Even now is gazing on the ski-as to trace In those bright worlds, the burning isles of space, [serene. Fate's mystic pathway. They the while, Walk in their beauty ; but Mohammed's face Kindles beneath their aspect, and his mien All fired with stormy joy by that soft light is seen. XLV. Oh 1 wild presumption of a conqueror's dream, To gaze on those pure altar-fires, enshrined In depths of blue infinitude, and deem They shine to guide the spoiler of mankind O'er fields of blood 1 But with the restless mind It hath been ever thus ; and they that weep For worlds to conquer, o'er the bounds as- signed [sweep To human search in daring pride would As o'er the trampled dust wherein they soon must sleep. XLVI. But ye that beamed on Fate's tremendous night. When the storm burst o er golden Babylon : And ye that sparkled with your wonted light O'er burning Salem, by the Roman won ; And ye that calmly viewed the slaughter done [trumpet-blast In Rome's own streets, when Alaric's Rang through the Capitol : bright spheres ! roll on 1 [man cast Still bright, though empires fall ; and bid His humbled eyes to earth, and commune with the past. XLVII. For it hath mighty lessons. From the tomb, And from the ruins of the tomb, and where, Midst the wrecked cities in the desert's gloom, [lair, All tameless creatures make Iheir. savage Thence comes its voice, that shakes the midnight air, [day, And calls up clouds to dim the laughing And thrills the soul ; yet bids us not despair, [stay. But make one Rock OUT shelter and our Beneath whose shade all f Ise is passing to decay. The hours move on. I see a wavering gleam O'er the hushed waters tremulously fall. Poured from the Caesars' palace. Now the beam Of many lamps is brightening in the hall, And from its long arcades and pillars tall Soft graceful shadows undulating lie On the wave's heaving bosom, and recall A thought of Venice, with her moonlight sky, [pageantry. And festal seas and domes, and fairy XL1X. But from that dwelling floats no mirthful sound. The swell of flute and Grecian lyre no more, Wafting an atmosphere of music round, Tell the hushed seaman, gliding past .the shore. [o'er How monarchs revel there. Its feasts are Why gleam the lights aVong its colonnade? I see a train of guests in silence pour Through its long avenues of terraced shade, Whose stately founts and bowers for joy alone were made. la silence and in arms .'with helm, with sword 1 [now These are no marriage garments. Yet even Thy nuptial feast should grace the regal board, Thy Georgian bride should wreathe her 'lovely brow With an imperial diadem. But thou, O fated prince I art called, and these with thee, [to bow To darker scenes ; and thou hast learned Thine Eastern sceptre to the dread decree, And count it joy enough to perish, being free. LI. On through long vestibules, with solemn trea'd, As men that in some time of fear and woe Bear darkly to their rest the noble dead ; O'er whom by day their sorrows may not flow, [are slow, The warriors pass. Their measured steps And hollow echoes fill the marble halls, Whose long-drawn vistas open as they go In desolate pomp ; and from the pictured walls, [armour falls. Sad seems the light itself wbicb on then THE LAST GON8TANTJNB. 227 LII. And they have reached a gorgeous chamber, bright [gloom With all we dream of splendour : yet a Seems gathered o'er it to the boding sight, A shadow that anticipates the tomb. ' Still from its fretted roof the lamps illume A purple canopy, a golden throne ; But it is empty ; hath the stroke of doom Fallen there already? Where is he, the one, Born that high seat (o fill, supremely and alone? LIII. Oh I there are times whose pressure doth efface [beats loud, Earth's vain distinctions, when the storm When the strong towers are tottering to the base, [crowd ? And the streets rock. Who mingle in the Peasant and chief, the lowly and the proud, Are in that throng. Yes, life hath many an hour [bowed, Which make us kindred, by one chastening And feeling but, as from the storm we cower, [bounded power. What shrinking weakness feels before un- tlT. Vet then that Power whose dwelling is on high, Its loftiest marvels doth reveal, and speak In the deep human hea# more gloriously Than in the bursting thunder. Thence the weak, They that seemed formed as flower-stems but to break With the first wind, have risen to deeds whose name [cheek Still calls up thoughts that mantle to the And thrill the pulse. Ay, strength no pangs could tame [sword and flame. Hath looked from woman's eye upon the tv. And tb is is of such hours I That throne is void, [him stand And its lord comes uncrowned. Behold With a calm brow, where woes have not destroyed The Greek's heroic beauty, 'midst his band, The gathered virtue of a sinking land Alas ! how scanty I Now is cast aside All form of princely state ; each noble hand Is pressed by turns in his : for earthly pride There is no room in hearts where earthly hope batb died, LVI. A moment's hush and then he speaks. He speaks I [gone by t But not of hope that dream hath long His words are full of memory as he seeks By the strong name of Rome and Liberty, Which yet are living powers that fire the eya And rouse the heart of manhood, and by all The sad but grand remembrances that lie Deep with earth's buried heroes, to recall The soul of other years, if but to grace their fall. LVII. His words are full of faith : and thoughts more high [with light ; Than Rome e'er knew now fill his glance Thoughts which give nobler lessons how to die, [haughty might. Than e'er were drawn from Nature'g And to that eye, with all the spirit bright, Have theirs replied, in tears which may not shame The bravest in such moments. 'Tis a sight To make all earthly splendours cold and tame, [flame. That generous burst of soul, with its electric LVNI. They weep, those champions of the Cross they weep, [that train Yet vow themselves to death. Ay, 'midst Are martyrs, privileged in tears to steep Their lofty sacrifice. The pang is vain, And yet its gush of sorrow shall not stain A warrior's sword. Those men are strangers here : The homes they never may behold again Lie far away, with all things blest and dear Oh laughing shores, to which their barks no more shall steer. Know'st thou the land where bloom the orange bowers ? Where through dark foliage gleam the citron's dyes ? It is their own. They see their father's towers 'Midst its Hesperian groves in sunlight rise : They meet in soul, the bright Italian eyes Which long and vainly shall explore the main For their white sails' return : the melodies Of that sweet land are floating o'er their brain : [may contain 1 Obi what 9 crowded world one moment 228 THE LAST CONSTANTINO. IOC. Such moments come to thousands. Few i nay die [brave, Amid st their native shades. The young, the The b eautiful, whose gladdening voice and eye Made summer in a parent's heart, and gave Light to their peopled homes ; o'er land an d wave [fall Are scattered fast and far, as rose-leaves From the deserted stem. They find a grave Far from the shadow of the ancestral hall : A lonely bed is theirs, whose smiles were hope to all. LXI. But life flows on, and bears us with its tide, Nor may we lingering by the slumberers dwell, [our side Though they were those once blooming at In youth's gay home. Awayl what sound's deep swell Comes on the wind? It is an empire's knell, Slow, sad, majestic, pealing through the night. [bell For the last time speaks forth the solemn Which calls the Christians to their holiest rite. With a funereal voice of solitary might. LXIl. Again, and yet again I A startling power In sounds like these lives ever ; for they bear Full on remembrance each eventful hour Checkering life's crowded path. Tfiey fill the air [wear When conquerors pass, and fearful cities A mien like joy's ; and when young brides are led [glare From their paternal homes ; and when the Of burning streets on midnight's cloud waves red, [~ l ^e dead. And when the silent house receives its guest But to those tones what thrilling soul was given On that last night of empire I As a spell Whereby the life-blood to its source is driven, On the chilled heart of multitudes they fell. Each cadence seemed a prophecy, to tell Of sceptres passing from the line away. An angel-watcher's long and sad farewell, The requiem of a faith's departing sway, A throne's, a nation's diige, a wail for earth's decay. Lxrv. Again, and yet again ! From yon high dome, Still the slow peal comes awfully^ and they Who never more, to rest in mortal home, Shall throw the breastplate off at fall of day, The imperialband, in close and armed array, As men that from the sword must part no more, [silent way, Take through the midnight streets their Within their ancient temple to adore, Ere yet its thousand years of Christian pomp are o er. LXV. It is the hour of sleep : yet few the eyes O'er which forgetfulness her balm hath shed In the beleaguered city. Stillness lies, With moonlight, o'er the hills and waters spread ; [dread But not the less with signs and sounds of The time speeds on. No voice is raised to greet [tread The last brave Constantino ; and yet the Of many steps is in the. echoing street, And pressure of pale crowds, scarce con- scious why they meet. Their homes are luxury's yet : why pour they thence With a dim terror in each restless eye ? Hath the dread car which bears the pesti- lence, [by, In darkness, with its heavy wheels rolled And rocked their palaces, as if on high The whirlwind passed ? From couch and joyous board [die ? Hath the fierce .phantom beckoned them to No 1 what are these ? For them a cup is poured [spoiler and the sword. More dark than wrath. Man comes the Still, as the monarch and his chieftains pass Through those pale throngs, the streaming torchlight throws On some wild form amidst the living mass Hues deeply red like lava's, which disclose What countless shapes are worn by mortal woes. [clasped in prayer. Lips bloodless-, quivering limbs, hands Starts, tremblings, hurryings, tears; all outward shows Betokening inward agonies, were there : Greeks 1 Romans 1 all but such as image brave despair. THE LAST CONSTANTINE. 229 LXVIII. But high above that scene, in bright re- pose, [gleams And beauty borrowing from the torches' A mien of life, yet where no life-blood flows, But all instinct with loftier being seems, Pale, grand, colossal 1 lo I th^ embodied dreams '[wrought, Of yore ! Gods, heroes, bards, in marble Look down, as powers, upon the wild ex- tremes [caught, Of mortal passion. Yet 'twas man that And in each glorious form enshrined im- mortal thought. LXIX. Stood ye not thus amidst the streets of Rome [days, That Rome which witnessed, in her sceptred So much of noble death? When shrine and dome [lays, 'Midst clouds of incense rang with choral As the long triumphs passed, with all its blaze Of regal spoil, were ye not proudly borne, O sovereign forms 1 concentring all the rays Of the soul's lightnings ? did ye not adorn The pomp which earth stood still to gaze on, and to mourn ? LXX. Hath it been thus? Or did ye grace the halls Once peopled by the Mighty? Haply there, In your still grandeur, from the pillared walls Strene ye smiled on banquets of despair, Where hopeless courage wrought itself to dare [glow The stroke of its deliverance, 'midst the Of living wreaths, the sighs of permraed air, [goblet's flow, The sound of lyres, the flower-crowned Behold again ! high hearts make nobler offerings now. LXXT. The stately fane is reached, and at its gate The warriors pause. On life's tumultuous tide" A stillness falls, while he whom regal state Hath marked from all to be more sternly tried [hath died, By suffering, speaks. Each ruder voice While his implores forgiveness. " If there be [in pridt One 'midst your throngs, my people ! whom Or passion I have wronged ; such pardon free [man to me I" As mortal hope from heaven, accord that LXXII But all is silence ; and a gush of tears Alone replies. He hath not been of those Who, feared by many, pine in secret fears Of all ; th' environed but by slaves and foes, [repose, To whom day brings not safety, night For they have heard the voice cry, "Sleep no more f [close Of them he hath not been, nor such as Their hearts to misery, till the time is o'er When it speaks low .and kneels the oppres- sor's throne before. LXXIII. He hath been loved. But who may trust the love Of a degenerate race ? In other mould Are cast the free and lofty hearts that prove Their faith through fiery trials. Yet behold, And call him not forsaken 1 Thoughts un- told [tread Have lent his aspect calmness and his Moves firmly to the shrine. What pomps unfold [shed Within its precincts ! Isles and seas have Their gorgeous treasures there around the imperial dead. LXXIV. "Tis a proud vision, that most regal pile Of ancient days ( The lamps are streaming bright From its rich altar down each pillared aisle, Whose vista fades in dimness ; but the sight Is lost in splendours, as the wavering light Develops on those walls the thousand dyes Of the veined marbles which array their height, [eyes, And from yon dome,, the loadstar of all Pour such an iris-glow as emulates the skies. LXXV. But gaze thou not on these. Though heaven's own hues [vie In their soft clouds and radiant tracery Though tints of sun-bom glory may suffuse Arch, column, rich mosaic pass thou by The stately tomb, where Eastern Caesars he Beneath their trophies. Pause not here ; for know, A deeper source of all sublimity 230 T7TE LAST CONSTANTINO. : Lives in man's bosom, than the world can show In nature or in art above, around, below. i LXXVI. furn thou to mark (though tears may dim j thy gaze) The steel-clad group before yon altar-stone ; Heed not though gems and gold around it blaze ; [forms alone, Those heads unhelmed, those kneeling Thus bowed, look glorious here. The. light is thrown [lord, Full from the shrine on one, a nation's A sufferer 1 but bis task shall soon be done [poured, Even now, as Faith's mysterious cup is See to that noble brow peace, not of earth restored 1 LXXVII. The rite is o'er. The band of brethren part, [again ; Once, and but once, to meet on earth Each, in the strength of a collected heart, To dare what man may dare and know 'tis vain. The rite is o'er : and thou, majestic fane ! The glory is departed from thy brow : Be clothed with dust 1 The Christian's farewell strain [must bow, Hath died within these walls ; thy cross Thy kingly tombs be spoiled, the golden shrines laid low. LXXVIH. The streets grow still and lonely and the star, The last bright lingerer in the path of morn, Gleams faint ; and in the very lap of war, As if young Hope with twilight's rays were born, Awhile the citysleeps : herthrongs, p'erworn With fears and watchings to their homes retire. Nor is the balmy air of dayspring torn With battle-sounds : the winds . in sighs expire, [beam's fire. And quiet broods in mists that veil the sun- LXXIX. The city sleeps. Ay ! on the combat's eve, And by the. scaffold's brink, and 'midst the swell Of angry seas, hath nature won reprieve Thus from her cares. The brave have slumbered well. And even the fearful, in their dungeon cell, Chained between life and death. Such rest be thine, [tell, For conflicts wait thee still : yet who can In that brief hour, how much of heaven may shine [Constantine 1 Full on thy spirit's dream? Sleep, weary LXXX. Doth the blast rise ? The clouded east is red. As if a storm were gathering ; and I hear What seeir.s like heavy rain-drops, or the tread, [fear The soft and smothered step of .those that Surprise from ambushed foes. Hark I yet more near It conies, a many-toned and mingled sound; A rustling, as of winds where boughs are sere A rolling, as of wheels that shake the ground From far ; a heavy rush, like seas that burst their bound. LXXXI. Wake I wake 1 They come from sea and shore ascending In hosts your ramparts. Arm ye for the day 1 Who now may sleep amidst the thunder's rending, [array? Through tower and wall, a path for their Hark 1 how the trumpet cheers them to the prey With its wild voice, to which the seas reply ; And the earth rocks beneath their engines' sway. And the far hills repeat their battle-cry, Till that fierce tumult seems to shake the vaulted sky I LXXXIL They fail not now, the generous band that long Have ranged their swords around a falling throne ; Still in those fearless men the walls are strong. Hearts, such asrescueempires.aretheirown. Shall those high energies be vainlyshovvn? No I from their towers the invadipg tide is driven [blown Back like the Red Sea waves, when God had With His strong winds. The dark-browed ranks are riven ; [of heaven I Shout, warriors of the Cross I for victory is Stand firm 1 Again the Crescent host is rushing. [sweep And the waves foam, as on the galleys THE LAST CONSTANTINE. 231 With all their fires and darts, though blood is gushing Fast o'er their sides, as rivers to the deep. Stand firm ! there is yet hope ; the ascent is steep, And from on high no shaft descends in vain. But those that -fall sweep up the mangled heap, In the red moat, the dying and the slain, And o'er that fearful bridge the assailants mount again. LXXXIV. Oh ! the dread mingling, in that awful hour, Of all terrific sounds I the savage tone Of the wild horn, the cannon's peal, the shower Of hissing darts, the crash of walls o'er- thrown, The deep dull tambour's beat. Man's voice alone Is there unheard. Ye may not catch the* cry Of trampled thousands : prayer, and shriek, and moan, [by, All drowned as that fierce hurricane sweeps But swell the unheeded sum earth pays for victory, LXXXV. War-clouds have wrapt the city. Through their dun O'erloaded canopy, at times a blaze As of an angry storm-presaging sun From the Greek fire shoots up ! and light- ning-rays Flash from the shock of sabres through the haze, And glancing arrows cleave the dusky air. Ay ! this is in the compass of our gaze, But fearful things unknown, untold, are there [and despair ! Workings of wrath and death, and anguish, LXXXVI. Woe, shame and woe ! A chief, a warrior flies, [pale. A Red-cross champion, bleeding, wild and O God ! that nature's passing agonies Thus o'er the spark that dies not should prevail ! Ves ! rend the arrow from thy shattered mail, And stanch the blood-drops, Genoa's fallen son ; Fly swifter yet ! the javelins pour as hail. But there are tortures which thou canst not shun : [begun. The spirit is their prey thy pangs are not Oh, happy in their homes, the noble dead ! The seal is set on their majestic fame ; Earth has drunk deep the generous blood they shed, [name. Fate has no power to dim their stainless They may not in one bitter moment shame Long glorious years. From many a lofty stem [tame, Fall graceful flowers, and eagle hearts grow And stars drop, fading from the diadem : But the bright past is theirs ; there is no change for them. LXXXVIH. Where art thou, Cc-nstantine ? Where death is reaping [light, His sevenfold harvest ! where the storrny Fast as the artillery's thunderbolts are sweeping, [night ; Throws meteor-bursts o'er battle's noonday- Where the towers rock and crumble from their height As to the earthquake, and the engines ply Like red Vesuvio ; and wheje human might Confronts all this, and still brave hearts beat high, [panoply. While scimitars ring loud on shivering LXXXIX. Where art thou, Constantino ? Where Christian blood [vain ; Hath bathed' the walls- in torrents, and in Where faith and valour perish in the flood, Whose billows, rising o'er their bosoms, gain Dark strength each moment ; where the gallant slain Around the banner of the Cross lie strewed Thick as the vine-leaves on the autumnal plain; Where all save one high spirit is subdued, And through the breach press on the o'er- whelming multitude. xc. Now is he battling 'midst a host alone, As the last cedar stems awhile the sway Of mountain storms, whose fury hath o'er- thrown Its forest brethren in their green array. And he hath cast his purple robe away, With his imperial bearings, that his sword An iron ransom from the chain may. pay, And win what haply fate may yet accord, A soldier's death- the all now left an em pire's lord. 232 THE LAST CONSTANTINE. Search for him uow where bloodiest lie the files [brave 1 Which once were men, the faithful and the Search for him now where loftiest rise the piles [not save, Of shattered helms and shields which could And crests and banners never more to wave In the free winds of heaven ! He is of those O'er whom the host may rush, the tempest rave, [close, And the steeds trample, and the spearmen Yet wake them not so deep their long and last repose. xcn. Woe to the vanquished I thus it hath been still [people's cry 1 Since Time's first march. Hark, hark, a Ay, now the conquerors in the street fulfil Their task of wrath. I n vain the victims fly ; Hark how each piercing tone of agony Blends in the city's shriek 1 The lot is cast. Slaves I 'twas your choice thus, rather thus, to die, [and fast, Than where the warrior's blood flows warm And roused and mighty hearts beat proudly to the last. xcin. Oh, well doth freedom battle 1 Men have made Even 'midst their blazing roofs a noble stand, And on the floors where once their children played, And by the hearths jound which their household band [hand \t evening inut ; ay, struggling hand to Within the very chambers of their sleep, There have they taught the spoilers of the land [deep In chainless hearts what fiery strength lies To guard free homes. But ye 1 kneel, tremblers ! kneel and weep I XCIV. Tis eve. The storm hath died, the valiant rest [is done, txiw on their shields ; the day's fierce work And blood-stained seas and burning towers attest Its fearful deeds. An empire's race is run. Sad, 'midst his glory, looks the parting sun Upon the captive city. Hark I a swell (Meet to proclaim barbaric war-fields won) Of fierce triumphal sounds, that wildly tell The Soldan convjs within the Ccssar's halls to dwell. xcv. Yes I with the peal of cymbal and of gong, He comes : the Moslem treads those an- cient halls. But all is stillness there, as death had long Been lord alone within these gorgeous walls ; And half that silence of the grave appals The conqueror's heart. Ay 1 (hus, with triumph's hour, [calls Still comes the boding whisper, which re- A thought of those impervious clouds that lour [mightier Power O'er grandeur's path, a sense of some fai 1 ' The owl upon Afrasiab's towers hath sung Her watch-song, and around the imperial throne [hung The spider weaves his webl" Still darkly That verse of omen, as a prophet's tone, O'er his flushed spirit. Years on years have flown [in air. To prove its truth. Kings pile their domes That the coiled snake may bask on sculp- tured stone, And nations clear the forest, to prepare For the wild fox and wolf more stately dwellings there. But thou, that on thy ramparts proudly dying, [die, As a crowned leader in such .hours should Upon thy pyre of shivered spears art lying, With the heavens o'er thee for a canopy, And banners for thy shroud 1 no tear, no stgb, [nov. Shall mingle with thy dirge ; for thou ar< Beyond vicissitude. Lo ! reared on high. The Crescent blazes, while the Cross must bow ; [stantine, art thou. But where no change can reach thee, Con- " After life's fitful fever thou sleep'st well !" We may not mourn thee. Sceptred chiefs, from whom The earth received her destiny and fell Before them trembling, to a sterner doom Have oft been called. For them the dun- geon's gloom, [made With its cold starless midnight, hath been More fearful darkness, where, as in a tomb Without a tomb's repose, the chain hath weighed [decayed. The very soul to dust, with each high power TEE LAST CONSTANTINE. 233 XCIX. Or in the eye of thousands they have stood, To meet the stroke of death ; but not like thee. [their blood From bonds and scaffolds hath appealed But thou didst fall unfettered, armed, and free, And kingly to the last. And if it.be That from the viewless world, whose mar- vels none Return to tell, a spirit's eye can see The things of earth, still may'st thou hail the sun [dom's fight is won. Which o'er thy land shall dawn when free- And the hour comes, in storm. A light is glancing [shades : Far. through the forest-god's Arcadian Tis not the moonbeam, tremulously danc- ing, [glades. Where lone Alpheus bathes his haunted A murmur, gathering power, the'-air per- vades [steep : Round dark Cithseron and by Delphi's Tis not the song and lyre of Grecian maids, Nor pastoral reed that lulls the vales to sleep, [sounding deep. Nor yet the rustling pines, nor yet the Arms glitter on the mountains which of old Awoke to freedom's first heroic strain, And- by the streams, once crimson as they rolled The Persian helm and standard to the main ; And the blue waves of Salamis again Thrill to the trumpet ; and the tombs reply With their ten thousand echoes from each plain, Far as- Platsea's, where the mighty lie, Who crowned so proudly there the Bowl of Liberty. CH. Bright land, with glory mantled o'er by song I Land of the vision-peopled hills and streams And fountains, whose deserted banks along Still the soft air with inspiration teems 1 Land of the graves, whose dwellers shall be themes To verse for ever ; and of ruined shrines, That scarce look desolate beneath such beams [pines ! As bathe in gold thine ancient rocks and When shall thy sons repose in peace beneath their vines ? cm. Thou wert not made for bonds, nor shame, nor fear. [wave Do the hoar oaks and dark green laurels O'er Mantinea's earth? doth Pindus rear His snows, the sunbeam and the storm to brave? And is there yet on Marathon a grave ? And doth Eurotas lead his silvery line By Sparta's ruins ? And shall man, a slave, Bowed to the dust, amid such scenes repine? If e'er a soil was marked for freedom's step, 'tis thine. CIV. Wash from that soil the stains with battle- showers ! Beneath Sophia's dome the Moslem prays, The Crescent gleams amidst the olive- bowers, In the Comneni's halls the Tartar sways : But not for long. The spirit of those days, When the Three Hundred made their funeral pile Of Asia's dead, is kindling like the rays Of thy rejoicing sun, when first his smile Warms the Parnassian rock and gilds the Delian isle. cv. If then 'tis given thee to arise in might, Trampling the scourge and dashing down the chain, Pure be thy triumphs as thy name is bright ! The cross of victory should not know astain. So may that faith once more supremely reign, [dust, Through which we lift our spirits from the And deem not, even when virtue dies in vain, She dies forsaken ; but repose our trust On Him whose ways are dark, r.ns*>arch able, but just. THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS 5 OK, HE MEETING ON THE FIELD OF GRUTLL AD VBRTISEMENT. IT was in the year 1308, that the Swiss rose against the tyranny of the Bailiffs appointed over them by Albert of Austria. The field called the Griitli, at the foot of the Seelisberg, and near the boundaries of Un and Ur.terwalden, was fixed upon by three spirited yeomen, Walter Fiirst (the father-in-law of William Tell), Werner Stauffacher, and Erni (or Arnold) Melchthal, as their place of meeting, to deliberate on the accomplishment of their projects. " Hither came Fiirst and Melchthal, along secret paths over the heights, and Stauf- facher in his boat across the Lake of the Four Cantons. On the night preceding the nth of November, 1307, they, met here, each with ten associates, men of approved worth ; and while at this solemn hour they were wrapt in the contemplation that on their success depended the fate of their whole posterity, Werner, Walter, and Arnold held up their hands to heaven, and in t! THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS. 235 The night in its mid-watch ; it was a time E'en marked and hallowed unto Slumber's reign. But thoughts were stirring, restless and sublime, And o'er his white Alps moved the Spirit of the clime. III. For there, where snows, in crowning glory spread, High and unmarked by mortal footstep lay ; And there, where torrents, 'midst the ice-caves fed, Burst in their joy of. light and sound away ; And there, where Freedom, as in scornful play, Had hung man's dwellings 'midst the realms of air, O'er cliffs, the very birth-place of the day Oh 1 who would dream that Tyranny could dare To lay her withering hand on God's bright works e'en there IV Yet thus it was amidst the fleet streams gushing To bring down rainbows o'er their sparry cell, And the glad heights, through mist and tempest rushing Up where the sun's red fire-glance earliest fell, ' And the fresh pastures, where the herd's sweet bell Recalled such life as Eastern patriarchs led ; There peasant-men their free thoughts might not Ull Save in the hour of shadows and of dread, And hollow sounds that wake to Guilt's dull, stealthy tread. V. But in a land of happy shepherd-homes, On its green hills in quiet jr.y reclining, With their bright hearth-fires, 'midst the twilight glooms, From bowery lattice through the fir-woods shining ; A land of legends arid wild songs, entwining Their memory with all memories loved and blest In such a land there dwells a power, combining The strength of many a calm, but fearless breast ! And woe to him who breaks the sabbath of its rest 1 A sound went up the wave's dark sleep was broke*- On Uri's lake was heard a midnight oar Of man's brief course a troubled moment's token Th' eternal waters to their barriers bore ; And then their gloom a flashing image wore Of torch-fires streaming out o'er crag and wood, And the wild falcon's wing was heard to soar In startled haste and by that moonlight flood, A band of patriot men on Griitli's verdure stood. VII. They stood in arms the wolf-spear and the bow Had waged their war on things of mountain-race : Might not their swift stroke reach a mail-clad foer Strong hands in harvest, daring feet in chase, True hearts in fight, were gathered on that place Of secret council. Not for fame or spoil So met those men in Heaven's majestic face ; 236 THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS. To guard free hearths they rose, the sons of tcfi. The hunter of the rocks, the tiller of the soil. O'er their low pastoral valleys might the tide Of years have flowed, and still, from sire to son, Their names and records on the green earth died, As cottage-lamps, expiring, one by one, .In the dim glades, when midnight hath begun To hush all sound. But silent on its height, The snow-mass, full of death, while ages run Their course, may slumber, bathed in rosy light, Till some rash voice or step disturb its brooding might,. So were they roused th invading step had past Their cabin-thresholds, and the lowly door, Which well had stood against the Fohnwind's* blast, Could bar Oppression from their homes no more. Why, what had she to do where all things wore Wild Grandeur's impress ? In the storm's free way, How dared she lift her pageant crest before Th' enduring and magnificent array Of sovereign Alps, that winged their eagles with the day This might not long be borne the tameless hills Have voices from the cave and cataract swelling, Fraught with His name, whose awful presence fills Their deep lone places, and for ever telling That He hath made man free ! and they whose dwelling Was in those ancient fastnesses, gave ear ; The weight of sufferance from their hearts repelling, They rose the forester, the mountaineer Oh 1 what hath earth more strong than the good peasant-speat XI. Sacred be Griitli's field ! their vigil keeping Through many a blue and starry summer-night, There, while the sons of happier lands were sleeping. Had these brave Switzers met ; and in the sight Of the just God, who pours forth burning might To gird the oppressed, had given their deep thoughts way : And braced their spirits for the patriot-fight, With lovely images of homes, that lay Bcwered 'midst the rustling pines, or by their torrent-spray. Xit. Now had endurance reached its bounds ! They came With courage set in each bright, earnest eye, The day, the signal, and the hour to name, . - When they should gather on their hills to die, Or shake the Glaciers with their joyous cry For the land's freedom. 'Twas a scene, combining All glory in itself the solemn sky, The south-aaai wind TEE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS. 23* The stars, the waves their softened light enshrining, And'Mari's high soul supreme o'er mighty nature shining. XIII. Calmly they stood, and with collected mien, Breathing their souls in voices firm but low, As if the spirit of the hour and scene, ' With the wood's whisper, and the wave's sweet flow, Had tempered in their thoughtful hearts the glow Of all indignant feeling. To the breath Of Dorian flute, and lyre note soft and slow, E'en thus, of old, the Spartan from its sheath Drew his devoted sword, and girt himself for death. XIV. And three, that seemed as chieftains of the band, Were gathered in the midst on that lone shore By Uri's lake a father of the land,* One on'his brow the silent record wore, Of many days whose shadows had passed o'er His path amongst the hills, and quenched the dreams. Of youth with sorrow. Yet from memory's lore Still his life's evening drew its loveliest gleams, For he had walked with God, beside the mountain streams. XV. And his grey hairs, in happier times, might well To their last pillow silently have gone, As melts a wreath of snow. But who shall tell How life may task the spirit ? He was one, Who from its morn a freemanjs work had done. And reaped his harvest, and his vintage pressed, Fearless of wrong ; and now, at set of sun, He bowed not to his years, for on the breast Of a still chainless land, he deemed it much to rest. XVI. But for such holy rest strong hands must toil, Strong hearts endure ! By that pale elder's side, Stood one that seemed a monarch of the soil, Serene and stately in his manhood's pride, Werner, t the brave and true ! If men have died, Their hearths and shrines inviolate.to keep, He was a mate for such. The voice, that cried Within his breast, "Arise !" came still and deep' From his far home, that smiled, e'en then, in moonlight sleep. XVII. It was a home to die for ! as it rose, Through its vine-foliage sending forth a sound Of mirthful childhood, o'er the green repose And laughing sunshine of the pastures round ; And he whose life to that sweet spot was bound. Raised unto Heaven a glad, yet thoughtful eye, And set his free step firmer on the ground, * Walter Furst, the father-in-law of TelL W*nyr Stauffechor, who had boe? urged by Ms wife to rowsc b countrymen to Rims. 238 THE LEAGUE OF THE ALPS. When o'er his soul its melodies went by, As through some Alpine pass, a breeze of Italy. XVTH. But who w3 he, thnt on his hunting-spear Leaned with a prouder and more fiery bearing ? His was a brow for tyrant-hearts to fear, Within the shadow of its dark locks wearing That which they may not tame a soul declaring War against earth's oppressors. 'Midst that throng. Of other mould he seemed, and loftier daring, One whose blood swept high impulses along, One that should pass, and leave a name for warlike song. A memory on the mountains ! one to stand, When the hills echoed with the deepening swell Of hostile trumpets, foremost for the land, And in some rock-defile, or savage dell, Array her peasant-children to repel Th' invader, sending arrows for his chains I Ay, one to fold around him, as he fell, Her banner with a smile for through his veins The joy of danger flowed, as torrents to the plains. There was at times a wildness in the light Of his quick-flashing eye ; a something, bor:< Of the free Alps, and beautifully bright, And proud, and tameless, laughing Fear to scorn 5 It well might be ! Young Erni's* step had worn The mantling snows on their most regal steeps, And tracked the lynx above the clouds of morn. And followed where the flying chamois leaps Across the dark-blue rifts, th' unfathomed glacier-deeps. He was a creature of (he Alpine sky, A being, whose bright spirit had been fed 'Midst the crowned heights with joy and iibeny, And thoughts of power. He knew each path which led To the rock's cieasure-caves, whose crystals shed Soft light o'er secret fountains. At the lone Of his loud horn, the Lammer-Geyert had spread A startled wing ; for oft that pral had blown Where the free cataract's voice was wont to sound alone, His step had tracked the waste, his soul had stirred The ancient solitudes his voice had told Of wrongs to call down Heaven.J That (ale was heard In Hasli's dales, and where the shepherds fold Their flocks in dark ravine and craggy hold Arnold Melchthal. t Largest Alpine eagle. I His aged fetner'i cye iwd been put ptrt Vy wter of the Austrian governor TEE LEAGUE OF THE ALP& 239 On the bleak Ob.erland ; and where the light Of Day's last footstep bathes in burning gold Great Righi's cliffs ; and where Mount Pilate's height Casts o'er his glassy lake the darkness of his might. XXIII. Nor was it heard in vain. There all things press High thoughts on man. The fearless hunter passed, And, from the bosom of the wilderness, There leapt a spirit and a power to cast The weight of bondage down and bright and fast. As the clear waters, joyousiy and free, Burst from the desert-rock, it rushed, at last, Through the far valleys ; till the patriot-three Thus with their brethren stood, beside the Forest Sea. 1 XXIV. They linked their hands, they pledged their stainless faith, In the dread presence of attesting Heaven They bound their hearts to suffering and to death, With the severe and solemn transport given To bless such vows. How man had striven, How man might strive, and vainly strive, they knew, And called upon their God, whose arm had nven The crest of many a tyrant, since He blew > The foaming sea-wave on, apd Egypt's might o'erthrow. They knelt, and rose in strength. The valleys lay Still in the dimness, but the peaks which darted Into the bright mid-air, had caught Horn day A flush of fire, when those true Switzcrs parted, Each to his glen or forest, steadfast-hearted, And full of hope. Not many suns had worn , Their setting glory, ere from slumber started Ten thousand voices, of the mountains born So far was heard the blast of Freedom's echoing horn I XXVI. The ice- vaults trembled, when that peal came rending The frozen stillness which around them hung ; From cliff to cliff the avalanche descending. Gave answer, till the sky's blue hollows rung ; And the flame-signals through the midnight sprung, From the Surennen rocks like banners streaming To the far Scelisberg ; whence light wa,s flung On Griitli's field, till all the red lake gleaming Shone out, a meteor-heaven in its wild splendour seeming. XXVJI. And the winds tossed each summit's blazing crest, As a host's plumage ; and the giant pines, Felled where they waved o'er crag and eagle's nest. Heaped up the flames. The clouds grew fiery signs, As o'er a city's burning towers and shrines, Lak* of tbc Pour Can*w, 240 THE YESPERS OF PALERMO. Reddening .the distance. Wine-cups, crowned and bright, In Werner's dwelling flowed ; through leafless vines, From Walter's hearth streamed forth the festive light, And Erui's blind old sire gave thanks to Heaven that nigbt xxvm. Then, on the silence of the snows there lay A Sabbath's quiet sunshine, and its bell Filled the hushed air awhile, with lonely sway ; For the stream's voice was chained by Winter's spell, The deep wood-sounds had ceased. But rock and delt Rung forth, ere long, when strains of jubilee Pealed from the mountain-churches, with a swell Of praise to Him who stills the raging sea, For now the strife was closed, the glorious Alps were fre< I 1&22. THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. A TRAGEDY. IN FIVE ACTS. DRAMATIS PERSONS. COUNT DI PROCIDA. RAIMOND DI PROCIDA, his SOH. ERIBERT, Viceroy. DE Couci. MONTALBA. GUIDO. ALBERT!. ANSELMO, a Monk. VlTTORIA. CONSTANCE, Sister to Eribert. Nobles, Soldiers, Messengers, Vassals, Peasants,- &c, &*c. SCENE PALERMO. ACT THE FIRST. SCENE I. A Valley, with Vineyards and Cottages. Groups of Peasants PROCIDA, disguised as a. Pilgrim, amongst them. First Peas. Ay, this was wont to be a festal time Iii days gone by ! I can remember well The old familiar melodies that rose At break of morn, from all our purple hills, To welcome in the vintage. Never since Hath music seemed so sweet 1 But the light hearts Which to those measures beat so joyously Are tamed to stillness now. There is no voice Of joy through all the land. Second Peas. Yes 1 there are sounds Of revelry within the palaces, And the fair castles of our ancient lords, Where' now the stranger banquets. Ye may hear From thence the peals of song and laughter rise At midnight's deepest hour. Third Peas. Alas I we sat In happier days, so peacefully beneath The olives and the vines our fathers reared, Encircled byourchildren, whose quick step THE VESPERS OF PALERMO 241 Flew by as in the dance ! The time hath been When peace was in the hamlet, wheresoe'er The storm might gather. But this yoke of France Falls on the peasant's neck as heavily As on the crested chieftain's. We are bowed E'en to the earth. Peas.'s Child. My father, tell me when Shall the gay dance and song again resound Amidst our chestnut-woods, as in those days Of which thou'rt wont to tell the joyous tale ? First Peat. When there are light and reckless heart; once more In Sicily's green vales. Alas ! my boy, Men meet not now to quaff the flowing bowl, To hear the mirthful song, and cast aside The weight of work-day care : they meet to speak Of wrongs and sorrows, and to whisper thoughts They dare not breathe aloud. Pro. (from tht background). Ay, it is well Bo to relieve th' o'erburdened heart, which pants Beneath its weight of wrongs ; but better far In silence to avenge them. An old Peas. What deep voice Came with that startling tone ? First Peas. It was our guest's, The stranger pilgrim, who hath sojourned here Since yester-morn. Good neighbours, mark him well ; He hath a stately bearing, and an eye Whose glance looks through the heart. His mien accords 111 with such vestments. How be folds around him His pilgrim-cloak, e'en as it were a robe Of knightly ermine! That commanding step Should have been used in courts and camps to move. Mark him I Old Peas. Nay, rather, mark him not : the times Are fearful, and they teach the boldest hearts A cautious lesson. What should bring him here? A Youth. He spoke of vengeance I Old Peas. Peace I we are beset By snares on every side, and we must learn In silence and in patience to endure; Tali not of vengeance, for the word is death. Pro. (coming forward indignantly). The word is death l"\ And what hath life for thee, That thou shouldst cling to it thus ? thou abject thing I Whose very soul is moulded to the yoke, And stamped with servitude. What 1 is it life. Thus at a breeze to start, to school thy voice Into low fearful whispers, and to cast Pale jealous looks around thee, lest, e'en then, Strangers should catch its echo ? Is there aught In /Aw-so precious, that thy furrowed cheek Is blanched with terror at the passing thought Of hazarding some few and evil days. Which drag thus poorly on ? Some of the Peas. Away, away! Leave us, for there is danger in thy presence. Pro. Why, what is danger? Are there deeper ills Than those ye bear thus calmly ? Ye have drained The cup of bitterness, till nought remains To fear or shrink from therefore, be ye strong ! Power dwelleth with despair. Why start ye thus At words which are but echoes of the thoughts Locked in your secret souls? Full well I know, [nursed There is not one amongst you, but hath Some proud indignant feeling, which doth make One conflict of his life. I know thy wrongs, And thine and thine, but if within your breasts There is no chord that vibrates to my voice, Then fare ye well, A Youth (coming forward). No, no I say on, say on ! - [here, There are still free and fiery hearts e'en That kindle at thy words. Peas. If that indeed Thou hast a hope to give us. Pro. There is hope For all who suffer with indignant thoughts Which work in silent strength. What I think ye Heaven O'erlooks jth' oppressor, if he bear awhile His crested head on high? I tell you, no ! Th' avenger will not sleep. It was an hour Of triumph to the conqueror, when our king, Our young brave Cor.radin, in life's fail room, 242 TEE VESfEJRS OF PALERMO. On the red scaffold died. Yet not the less Is justice throned above ; and her good time Comes rushing on in Storms : that royal blood Hath lifted an accusing voice from earth, And hath been heard. The traces of the past Fade in man's heart, but ne'er doth Heaven forget. Peas. Had we but arms and leaders, we are men Who might earn vengeance yet ; but want- ing these, What wouldsc thou have us do ? Peas. Be vigilant ; And when the signal wakes the land, arise ! The peasant's arm is strong, and there shall be A rich and noble harvest, Fare ye well. [Exit PROCIDA. First Ptas. This man should be a pro- phet : how he seemed To read our hearts with his dark searching glance And aspect of command I And yet his garb Is mean as ours. Second Peas. Speak low ; I know him well. fit first his voice disturbed me like a dream Of other days ; but I remember now His form, seen oft when in my youth I served Beneath the banners of our kings. Tis he Who hath been exiled and proscribed so long, The Count di Procida. Peas. And is this he ? [steps Then Heaven protect him 1 for around his Will many snares be set. First Peas. He comes not thus But with some mighty purpose ; doubt it not: Perchance to bring us freedom. He is one Whose faith, through many a trial, hath been proved True to our native princes. But away ! The noon-tide heat is past, and from the seas Light gales are wandering through the vine- yards I now We may resume our toil. [Exeunt PEASANTS. SCENE U.The Terrace of a Castle. ERIBERT. VITTORIA. VU. Have T not told thee thai i bear a heart Blighted and cold? Th' affections of my youth Lie slumbering in the grave ; their fount is closed, And all the soft and playful tenderness Winch hath its home in woman's breast, ere yet Deep wrongs have seared it : all is fled from mine. Urge me no more. Erib. O lady I doth the flower That sleeps entombed through the long wintry storms Unfold its beauty to the breath of spring ; And shall not woman's heart, from chill despair, Wake at love's voice ? Vit, Love I make love's name thy spell, And I am strong I the very word calls up From the dark past, thoughts, feelings, powers, arrayed In arms against thee 1 Know'st thou whom I loved, While my soul's dwelling-place was still on earth ? One who was born for empire, and endowed With such high gifts of princely majesty As bowed all hearts before him 1 Was ht not Brave, royal, beautiful ? And such he died ; He died ! hast thou forgotten ? And thou'rt here, Thou meet'st my glance with eyes which coldly looked, Coldly ! nay, rather with triumphant gaze, Upon his murder ! Desolate as I am, Yet in the mien of thine affianced bride, Oh, my lost Conradin I there should be still Somewhat of loftiness, which might o'erawe The hearts of thine assassins. Erib. Haughty dame ! If thy proud heart to tenderness be closed, Know, danger is around thee : thou hasl foes That seek thy ruin, and my power alone Can shield thee from their arts. Vit. Provencal, teil Thy tale of danger to some happy heart, Which hath its little world of loved ones round, For whom to tremble ; and its tranquil joys That make earth Paradise. I stand alone ; They that are blest may fear. Erib. Is there not one Who ne'er commands in vain?-~proad lady, bend Thy spirit to thy fate ; for know that he Wh^se car of triumph in i ts earthquake patb THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 243 O'er the bowed neck of prostrate Sicily, Hath borne him to dominion ; he, my king, Charles of Anjou, decrees thy hand the boon My deeds have well deserved ; and who hath power Against his mandates ? Vit. Viceroy, tell thy. lord, That e'en where chains lie heaviest on the land. Souls may not all be fettered. Oft, ere now, Conquerors have rocked the earth, yet failed to tame Unto their purposes that restless fire Inhabiting man's breast. A spark bursts forth, And so they perish I 'tis the fate of those Whosport with lightning andit mayjehis. Tell him I fear him not, and thus am free. Erib. Tis well. Then nerve that lofty heart to bear The wrath which is not powerless. Yet again Bethink thee, lady ! Love may change hath changed To vigilant hatred oft, whose sleepless eye .Still finds what most it seeks for. Fare thee well. Look to it yet 1 To-morrow I return. [Exit -EiUBERT. Vit. To-morrow ! Some ere now have slept, and dreamt OJ morrows which ne'er dawned or ne'er for them ; SO silently their deep and still repose iath melted into death 1 Are there not balms In nature's boundless realm, to pour out sleep Like this, on me ? Yet should my spirit still Endure its earthly bonds, till it could bear To his a glorious tale of his own isle, Free and avenged. Thou should'st be now at work, In wrath, my native Etna ! who dost lift Thy spiry pillar of dark smoke so high, Through the red heaven of sunset sleep's! thou still, With all thy founts of fire, while spoilers tread The glowing vales beneath ? (PROCIDA enters, disguised.) Ha I who art thou, Unbidden guest, that with so mute a step Doth steal upon me? Pro. One o'er whom hath passed All that can change man's aspect I Yet not Shalt thou find safety in forgetfulness. I am he to breathe whose name is perilous, Unless thy wealth could bribe the winds to silence. K no west thou this, lady? [He shows a ring. Vit. Righteous Heaven ! the Pledge Amidst his people from the scaffold thrown By him who perished, and whose kingly blood E'en yet is unatoned, My heart beats high Oh, welcome, welcome 1 thou art Procida, Th' Avenger, the Deliverer t Pro. Call me so [tell When my great task is done. Yet who can If the returned bt welcome ? Many a heart Is changed since last we met. Vit. Why dost thou gaze, Wilh such a still and solemn earnestness, Upon my altered mien? Pro. That I may read If to the widowed love of Conradin, Or the proud Eribert's triumphant bride, I now entrust my fate. Vit. Thou, Procida! That thou shouldst wrong me thus ! Pro- long thy gaze Till it hath found an answer. Pro. 'Tis enough. I find it in thy cheek, whose rapid change Is from death's hue to fever's ; in the wild Unsettled brightness of thy proud dark eye And in thy wasted form. Ay, 'tis a deep And solemn joy, thus in thy looks to trace, Instead of youth's gay bloom, the characters Of noble suffering ; on thy brow the same Commanding spirit holds its native state Which could not stoop to vileness. Yet the voice Of Fame hath told afar' that thou shouldst wed This tyrant, Eribert. Vit. And told it not- A tale of insolent love repelled with scorn Of stern commands and fearful menaces Met with indignant courage ? -Procida 1 It was but now that haughtily I braved His sovereign's mandate, which decrees nu hand, With its fair appanage of wide domains And wealthy vassals, a most fitting boon, To recompense his crimes. I smued ay, smiled In proud security ! for the high of heart Have still a pathway to escape disgrace, Though it be dark and lone. 244 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. Pro. Thou shalt not need To tread its shadowy mazes. Trust my words : I tell thee that a spirit is abroad Which will not slumber till its path be traced By deeds of fearful fame. Vittoria, live ! It is most meet that thou shouldst live to see The mighty expiation ; for thy heart (Forgive me that I wronged its faith) hath nursed A high, majestic grief, whose seal is set Deep on thy marble brow. Vit. Then thou canst tell By gazing on the withered rose, that there Time, or the blight, hath worked ! Ay, this is in Thy vision's scope ; but oh 1 the things unseen, Untold, undreamt of, which like shadows pass Hourly o'er that mysterious world, a mind To ruin struck by grief ! Yet doth my soul, Far, 'midst its darkness, nurse one soaring hope, Wherein is bright vitality. 'Tis to see His blood avenged, and his fair heritage, My beautiful native land, in glory risen, Like a warrior from his slumbers ! Pro. Hear'st thou not With what a deep and ominous moan the voice [be soon Of our great mountain swells ? There will A fearful burst ! Vittoria ! brood no more In silence o'er thy sorrows, but go forth Amidst thy vassals (yet be secret still), And let thy breath give nurture to the spark Thou'lt find already kindled. I move on In shadow, yet awakening in my path That which shall startle nations. Fare thee well. Vit. When shall we meet, again? Are we not those Whom most he loved on earth, and think'st thou not That love e'en yet shall bring his spirit near While thus we hold communion? Pro. Yes, I feel Its breathing influence whilst I look on thee, Who wert its light in life. Yet will we not Make womanish tears our offering on his tomb ; He shall have nobler tribute! I must hence, But thou shalt soon hear more. Await the time, [Exeunt separately. SCENE III. The Sea-snore. RAIMOND DI PROCIDA. CONSTANCE, Con. There is a shadow far within youi eye, Which hath of late been deepening. You were wont Upon the clearness of your open brow To wear a brighter spirit, shedding round Joy, like our southern sun. It is not well, If some dark thought be gathering o'er your soul, To hide it from affection. Why is this, My Raimond, why is this? Rai. Oh ! from the dreams Of youth, sweet Constance, hath not man hood still A wide and stormy wakening? They depart ; Light after light, our glorious visions fade, The vaguely beautiful I till earth, unveiled, Lies pale around ; and life's realities Press on the soul, from its unfathomed- j depth Rousing the fiery feelings, and proud thoughts, In all their fearful strength! Tis ever thus, And doubly so with me ; for I awoke With high aspirings, making it a curse To breathe where noble minds are bowed, as here. To breathe ! it is not breath ! Con. I knew thy grief, And is't not mine ? for those devoted men Doomed with their life to expiate some wild word, Born of the social hour. Oh ! I have knelt E'en at my brother's feet, with fruitless tears, Imploring him to spare. His heart is shut Against my voice ; yet will I not forsake The cause of mercy. Rai. Waste not thou thy prayers, Oh, gentle love, for them. There is little need For Pity, though the galling chain be worn By some few slaves the less. Let them depart ! There is a world beyond th' oppressor's; reach, And thither lies their way. Con. Alas I I see That some new wrong hath pierced you to [ the soul. [words, Rai. Pardon, beloved Constance, if my From feelings hourly stung, have caught, perchance, THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 245 Atone of bitterness. Oh ! when thine eyes. With their sweet eloquent thoughtful ness, are fixed Thus tenderly on mine, I should forget All else in their soft beams ! and yet I came To tell thee Con. What? What wouldst thou say? O speak ! Thou wouldst not leave me ! Rai. \ have cast a cloud, The shadow of dark thoughts and ruined fortunes. O'er thy bright spirit. Haply, were I gone, Thou wouldst resume thyself, and dwell once more In the clear sunny light of youth and joy. E'en as before we met before we loved I Con. This is but mockery. Well thou know'st thy love Hath given me nobler being ; made my heart A home for all the deep sublimities Of strong affection ; and I would not change [source>> Th' exalted life I draw from that pure With all its chequered hues of hope and fear, Even for the brightest calm. Thou most unkind ! Have I deserved this ? Rai. Oh ! thou hast deserved A love less fatal to thy peace than mine. Think not 'tis mockery ! But I cannot rest To be the scorned and trampled thing 1 am In this degraded land. Us very skies, That smile as if but festivals were held Beneath their cloudless azure, weigh me down With a dull sense of bondage, and 1 pine For freedom's chartered air. I would go forth To seek my noble father ; he hath been Too long a lonely exile, and his name Seems fading in the dim obscurity Which gathers round my fortunes. Con. Must we part ? And is it come to this ? Oh ! I have still Deemed it enough of joy with thee to share E'en grief itself and now but this is vain ; Alas 1 too deep, too fond, is woman's love, Too full of hope, she casts on troubled waves The treasures of her soul ! Rai. Oh, speak not thus ! Thy gentle and desponding tones fall cold Upon my inmost heart. I leave thee but To be more worthy of a love like thine, For I have dreamt of fame 1 A few short years, And we may yet be blest. I Con. A few short years ! Less time may well suffice for death and fate To work all change on earth 1 To break the ties Which early love had formed ; and to bow down Th' elastic spirit, and to blight each flowei Strewn in life's crowded path ! But be it so! Be it enough to know that happiness Meets thee on other shores. Rai. Where'er I roam Thou shall be with my soul I Thy soft low voice Shall rise upon remembrance, like a strain Of music heard in boyhood, bringing back Life's morning freshness. Oh ! that there should be Things, which we love with such deep tenderness, But, through that love, to learn how much of woe Dwells in one hour like this ! Yet weep thou not I [love, We shall meet soon ; and many days, deal Ere I depart. Con. Then there's a respite still. Days ! not a day but in its course may bring Some strange vicissitude to turn aside Th' impending blow we shrink from. Fare thee well. (Returning.) Oh, Raimond ! this is not our last farewell ? Thou wouldst not so deceive me ? Rai. Doubt me not, Gentlest and best beloved ! we meet again. [Exit CONSTANCE. Rai. (after a pause) . When shall I breathe in freedom, and give scope To those untameable and burning thoughts, And restless aspirations, which consume My heart i' th' land of bondage? Ohl with you, Ye everlasting images of power And of infinity I thou blue-rolling deep, And you, ye stars I whose beams are cha- racters Wherewith the oracles of fate are traced ; With you my soul finds room, and casts aside The weight that doth oppress her. But my thoughts Are wandering far ; there should be one to share This awful and majestic solitude Of sea and heaven with me. 246 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. (FROCTDA enters, unobserved.) It is the hour He named, and yet he comes not Pro. (coming forward). He is here. Kai. Now, thou mysterious stranger, thou, whose glance Doth fix itself on memory, and pursue Thought, like a spirit, hauntirig its lone hours ; Reveal thyself ; what art thou ? Pro. One, whose life Has been a troubled stream, and made its way Through rocks and darkness, and a thou- sand storms, With still a mighty aim. But now the shades Of eve are gathering round me, and I come To this, my native land, that I may rest Beneath its vines in peace. Rai. Seek'st thou for peace ? This is no land of peace ; unless that deep And voiceless terror, which doth freeze men's thoughts Back to their source, and mantle its pale mien With a dull hollow semblance of repose, May so be called. Pro. There are such calms full oft Preceding earthquakes.. But I have not been So vainly schooled by 'fortune, and inured To shape my course on peril's dizzy brink, That it should irk my spirit to put on Such guise of hushed submissiveness as best May suit the troubled aspect of the times. Rai. Why, then, thou art welcome, stranger ! to the land Where most disguise is needful. He were bold Who now should wear his thoughts upon his brow Beneath Sicilian skies. The brother's eye Doth search distrustfully the brother's face ; And friends whose undivided lives hare drawn From the same past their long remem- brances, Now meet in terror, or no more ; lest hearts Full to o'erflowing, in their social hour, Should pour out some rash word, which roving winds Might whisper to our conquerors. This it is To M-ear a foreign yoke. Pro. It matters not To him who holds the mastery o'er his spirit, And can suppress its workings, till en- durance Becomes as nature. We can tame our- selves To all extremes, and there is that in life To which we cling with most tenacioui grasp, Even when its lofty claims are all reduced To the poor common privilege of breath- ing. Why dost thou turn away? Rai. What wouldst thou with me? I deemed thee, by th' ascendant soul which lived. And made its throne on thy commajiding brow, One of a sovereign nature, which would scorn So to abase its high capacities For aught on eaith. But thou art like the rest. What wouldst thou with me? Pro. I would counsel thee. Thou must do that which men ay, valiant men Hourly submit to do ; in the proud court, And in the stately camp, and at the board Of midnight revellers, whose flushed mirth is all A strife, won hardly. Where is he whose heart Lies bare, through all its foldings, to the gaze Of mortal eye? If vengeance wait the foe, Or fate th' oppressor, 'tis in depths con- cealed Beneath a smiling surface. Youth 1 I say, Keep thy soul down I Put on a mask I 'tis worn Alike by power and weakness, and the smooth And specious intercourse of life requires Its aid in every scene. Rai. Away, dissembler I Life hath its high and its ignoble tasks, Fitted to every nature. Will the free And royal eagle stoop to learn the arts By which the serpent wins his spell-bound prey? It is because I will not clothe myself In a vile garb of coward semblances, That now, e'en now, I struggle with my heart, To bid what most I love a long 1 farewell, And seek my country on some distant shore Where such things are unknown ! Pro. (exultingly). Why, this is joy 1 After long conflict with the doubts and fears, And the poor subtleties of meaner minds. THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 24? To meet a spirit whose bold elastic wing Oppression hath not crushed. High- hearted youth I Thy father, should his footsteps e'er again Visit these shores Rai. My father ! what of him * Speak I was he known to thee 1 Pro. In distant lands With him I've traversed many a wild, and looked On many a danger ; and the thought that thou Wert smiling then in peace, a happy boy, Oft through the storm hath cheered him. Rai. Dost thou deem That still he lives ? Oh ! if it be in chains, In woe, in poverty's obscurest cell, Say but he lives and I will track his steps E'en to the earth's verge ! Pro. It may be that he lives ; Though long his name hath ceased to be a word Familiar in man's dwellings. But its sound Mayyet be heard ! Raimond di Procida, Rememberest thou thy father ? Rai. From my mind His form hath faded long, for years have passed Since he went forth to exile : but a vague, Yet powerful, image of deep majesty. Still dimly gathering round each thought of him, Doth claim instinctive reverence ; and my love For his inspiring name hath long become Part of my being Pro. Raimond I doth no voice Speak to thy soul, and tell thee whose the arms That would enfold thee now ? My son : my son I Rai. Father I O God I my father ! Now I know Why my heart woke before thee ! Pro. Oh 1 this hour Makes hope reality ; for thou art all My dreams had pictured thee ! Rai. Yet why so long, Even as a stranger, hast thou crossed my paths, One nameless and unknown? and yet I felt Each pulse within me thrilling to thy voice; Pro. Because I would not link thy fate with mine, Till I could hail the day-spring of that hope Which now is gathering round us.' Listen, youth I Thou hast told me of a subdued, and scorned, And trampled land, whose very soul is bowed And fashioned to her chains: but /tell thee Of a most generous and devoted land, A land of kindling energies ; a land Of glorious recollections I proudly true To the high memory of her ancient kings, And rising, in majestic scorn, to cast Her alien bondage off I Rat. And where is this? Pro. Here, in our isle, our own fair Sicily I Her spirit is awake, and moving on, In its deep silence, mightier, to regain Her place amongst the nations ; and the hour Of that tremendous effort is at hand. Rai. Can it be thus indeed? Thou pouiest new life Through all my burning veins ! I am as one Awakening from a chill and death-like sleep To the full glorious day. Pro. Thou shalt hear more I Thou shalt hear things which would, -\ which will arouse The proud, free spirits of our ancestors E'en from their marble rest. Yet mark me well ! Be secret ! for along my destined path I yet must darkly move. Now, follow me; And join a band of men in whose high hearts There lies a nation's strength. Rai. My noble father 1 Thy words haVe given me all for which 1 pined An aim, a hope, a purpose 1 And the blood Doth rush in warmer currents through my veins, As a bright fountain from its icy bonds Bv the quick sun-stroke freed. Pro. Ay, this is well I Such natures burst men's chains ! Now, follow me. [Exeunt. ACT THE SECOND. SCENE I. Apartment in a Palate. ERIBERT. CONSTANCE. Con. Will you not hear me ? Oh 1 that they who need i Hourly forgiveness, they who do but live, 248 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO.' While Mercy's voice, beyond th' eternal stars, Wins the great Judge to listen, should be thus, In their vain exercise of pageant power, Hard and relentless ! Gentle brother, yet Tis in your choice to imitate that Heaven Whose noblest joy is pardon. Eri. Tis too late. You have a soft and moving voice, which pleads With eloquent melody but they must die. Con. What, die! for words? for breath, which leaves no trace To sully the pure air, wherewith it blends. And is, being uttered, gone ? Why, 'twere enough For such a venial fault, to be deprived One little day of man's free heritage, Heaven's warm and sunny light ! Oh ! if you deem That evil harbours in their souls, at least Delay the stroke, till guilt, made manifest, Shall bid stern Justice wake. Eri. I am not one Of those weak spirits, that timorously keep watch For fair occasions, thence to borrow hues Of virtue for their deeds. My school hath been Where power sits crowned and armed. And, mark me, sister ! To a distrustful.nature it might seem Strange that your lips thus earnestly should plead For these Sicilian rebels. O'er -my being Suspicion holds no power. And yet take note. I have said, and they must die. Con. Have you no fear ? Eri. Of what ? that heaven should fall? Con. No I but that earth Should arm in madness. Brother ! I have seen Dark eyes bent on you, e'en 'midst festal throngs, [glance, With such deep hatred settled in their My heart hath died within me. Eri Am I then To pause, and doubt, and shrink, because a girl, A dreaming girl, hath trembled at a look? Con. Oh I looks are no illusions, when the soul, Which may not speak in words, can find no way But theirs to liberty I Have not these me*n Brave sons or noble brothers ? Eri. Yes I whose name It rests with me to make a word of fear, A nound forbidden 'midst the hauntsof men, Con. But not forgotten ! Ah I beware, beware I Nay, look not sternly on me. There is one Of that devoted band, who yet will need Years to be ripe for death. He is a youth, A very boy, on whose unshaded cheek The spring-time glow is lingering. 'Twas but now His mother left me, with a timid hope Just dawning in her breast ; and I I dared To foster its faint spark. You smile? Oh I then He will be saved ! Eri. Nay, I but smiled to think What a fond fool is hope 1 She may be taught To deem that the great sun will change his course To work her pleasure ; or the tomb give back Its inmates to her arms. In sooth, 'tis strange I Yet, with your pitying heart, you should not thus Have mocked the boy's sad mother. I have said You should not thus have mocked her I Now, farewell. [Exit ERIBERT. Con. Oh, brother I hard of heart ! for deeds like these There must be fearful chastening, if on high Justice doth hold her state. And I must tell Yon desolate mother that her fair young son Is thus to perish ! Haply the dread tale May slay her too; for Heaven is merciful. Twill be a bitter task ! [Exit CONSTANCE. SCENE. II. A ruined Tower, surrounded by Woods. PROCIDA. VITTORJA. Pro. Thy vassals are prepared, then ? Vit. Yes, they wait Thy summons to their task. Pro. Keep the flame bright, But hidden, till its hour. Wouldst thoo dare, lady, To join our councils at the night's mid- watch, In the lone cavern by the rock-hewn cross? Vit. What should I shrink from ? Pro. Oh I the forest paths Are dim and wild, e'en when the sunshine streams THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 249 Through their high arches: butwhen^ower- ful night Comes, with her cloudy phantoms, and hef pale Uncertain moonbeams, and the hollow sounds Of her mysterious winds ; their aspect then- Is of another and more fearful world ; A realm of indistinct and shadowy forms, Wakening strange thoughts, almost too much for this, Our frail terrestrial nature. Vit. Well I know All this, and more. Such scenes have been th' abodes Where through the silence of my soul have passed Voices, and visions from the sphere of those That have to die no more 1 Nay, doubt it not! If such unearthly intercourse hath e'er Been granted to our nature, 'tis to hearts Whose love is with the dead. They, they alone, Unmaddened could sustain the fearful joy And glory of its trances I at the hour Which makes guilt tremulous, and peoples earth And air with infinite,' viewless multitudes, I will be with thee, Procida, Pro. Thy presence [souls Will kindle nobler thoughts, and, in the Of suffering and indignant men, arouse That which may strengthen our majestic cause [the spot ? With yet a deeper power, Know'st thou Vit. Full wdll. There is no scene so wild and lone In these dim woods, but I have visited Its Dangled shades. Pro. At midnight, then, we meet. [Exit PROCIDA. Vit. Why should I fear ? Thou wilt be with me, thou, Th' immortal dream and shadow of my soul, Spirit of him I love ! that meet'st me still In loneliness and silence ; in the noon Of the wild night, and in the forest-depths, Known but to me ; for whom thou givV the winds And sighing leaves a cadence of thy voice, Till my heart faints with that o'erthrilling joy I Thou wilt be with me there, and lend my lips Words, fiery words, to flush dark cheeks with shame, That thou art unavenged I [Exit VrrrORiA. SCENE III. A Chapel, with a Monument on which is laid a Sword. Moonlight. PROCIDA. RAIMOND. MONTALBA. Man. And know you not my story ? Pro. In the lands Where I have been a wanderer, your deep wrongs Were numbered with our country's ; but their tale Came only in faint echoes to mine ear. I would fain hear it now. Man. Hark ! while you spoke, There was avoice-like murnmr in the breeze, Which even like death came o'er me : 'twas a night Like this, of clouds contending with the moon, A night of sweeping winds, of rustling leaves, And swift wild shadows floating o'er the earth, Clothed with a phantom-life ; when, after years Of battle and captivity, I spurred My good steed homewards. Oh ! what lovely dreams Rose on my spirit 1 There were tears and smiles, But all of joy I And there were bounding steps, And clinging arms, whose passionate clasp of love Doth twine so fondly round the warrior's neck. When his plumed helm is doffed. Hence, feeble, thoughts 1 I am sterner now, yet once such dreams were mine I JRai. And were they realized ? Man. Youth I Ask me not, But listen ! I drew near my own fair home ; There was no light along its walls, no sound Of bugle pealing from the watch-tower's ' height At my approach, although my trampling steed Made the earth ring ; yet the wide gates were thrown All open. Then my heart misgave me first, And on the threshold of my silent hall I paused a momemt, and the wind swept by With the same deep and dirge-like tone which pierced My soul e'en now. I called my struggling ) voice Gave utterance to my wife's, my children's, names ; [strength, They answered not I roused my failing 250 THE VESPES8 OF PALERMO. And wildly rushed within and they were there. Rai. And was all well ? Man. Ay, well ! for death is well, And they were all at rest 1 I see them yet, Pale in their innocent beauty, which had failed To stay th' assassin's arm ! Rai. Oh, righteous Heaven I Who had done this ? Man. Who? Pro. Canst thou question, who 1 Whom hath the earth to perpetrate such deeds, In the cold-blooded revelry of crime, But those whose.yoke is on us? Rai. Man of woe ! What words hath pity for despair like thine? Man. Pity ! fond youth ! My soul dis- dains the grief Which doth unbosom its deep secrecies, To ask a vain companionship of tears, And so to be relieved ! Pro. For woes like these There is no sympathy but vengeance. Man. None I Therefore I brought you hither, that your hearts Might catch the spirit of the scene ! Look round t We are in the awful presence of the dead ; Within yon tomb they sleep, whose gentle blood Weighs down the murderer's soul. They sleep I but I Am wakeful o'er their dustj I laid my sword, Without its sheath, on their sepulchral stone, As on an altar ; and th' eternal stars, And heaven, and night, bore witness to my vow, No more to wield it save in one great cause, The vengeance of the grave ! And now the hour Of that atonement comes ! [He takes the sword from the tomb. Rai. My spirit bums I And my full heart almost to bursting swells. Oh ! for the day of battle Pro. Raimond ! they Whose souls are dark with guiltless blood must die ; But not in "battle. Rai. How, my father ! Pro. No! Look on that sepulchre, and it will teach Another lesson. But th' appointed hour Advances. Thou wilt join our chosen band, Noble Montalba ? Man. Leave me'for a time, That I may calm my soul by intercourse With the still dead, before I mix with men, And with their passions. I have nursed for years, In silence and in solitude, the flame Which doth consume me ; and it is not used Thus to be looked or breathed on. Procida ! I would be tranquil or appear so ere I join your brave confederates; Through my heart There struck a pang but it will soon have passed. [cross. Pro. Remember I in the cavern by the Now, follow me, my son. [Exeunt PROCIDA and RAIMOND. Man. (after a pause, leaning on the tomb}: Said he, " my son?" Now, why should this man's life Go down in hope, thus resting on a son, And I be desolate ? How strange a sound Was that " my son I" I had a boy, who might Have worn as free a soul upon his brow As doth this youth. Why should the thought of him Thus haunt me ? when I tread the peopled ways Of life again, I shall be passed each hour By fathers with their children, and I must Learn calmly to look on. Methinks 'twere now A gloomy consolation to behold All men bereft, as I am ! But away. Vain thoughts ! One task is left for blighted hearts, And it shall be fulfilled. [Exit MONTALBA. SCENE IV. Entrance of a Caw sur~ rounded by Rocks and Forests. A rude Cross seen amongst the JRocks. PROCIDA. RAIMOND. Pro. And is it thus, beneath the solemn skies Of midnight, and in solitary caves, Where the wild forest-creatures make theii lair, Is't thus the chiefs of Sicily must hold The councils of their country ? Rai. Why, such scenes In their primeval majesty, beheld Thus by faint starlight, and the partial glare Of the red-streaming lava, will insphe THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 2&1 Far deeper thoughts than pillared halls, wherein Statesmen hold weary vigils. Are we not O'ershadowed by that Etna, which of old, With its dread prophecies, hath struck dis- may Through tyrants' hearts, and bade them seek a home In other climes ?-^Hark I from its depths e'en pow What hollow moans are sent ! Enter MONTALBA, GUIDO, and other SICILIANS. Pro. Welcome, my brave associates ! We can share The wolf's wild freedom here I Th' oppres- sor's haunt Is not 'midst rocks and caves. Are we all met? Si. All, all I [gust, Pro. The torchlight, swayed by every But dimly shows your features: Where is he Who from his battleshad returned to breathe Once more, without a corslet, and to meet The voices, and the footsteps, and the smiles, Blent with his dreams of home? Of that dark tale The rest is known to vengeance ! Art thou here, With thy deep wrongs and resolute despair, Childless Montalba ? Mon. (advancing). He is at thy side. Call on that desolate father, in the hour When his revenge is nigh. Pro. Thou, too, come forth, From thine own halls an exile I Dost thou make The mountain-fastnesses thy dwelling still, While hostile banners, q|er thy rampart walls, Wave their proud blazonry ? First Sic. Even so. I stood Last night before my own ancestral towers An unknown outcast, while the tempest beat On my bare head what recked it ? There was joy Within, and revelry ; the festive lamps . Were streaming from each turret, and gay songs, I* th' stranger's tongue, made mirth. They little deemed Who heard their melodies ! but there are thoughts Best nurtured in the wild ; there are dread Known to the mountain-echoes. Procida 1 Call on the outcast when revenge is nigh. Pro. I knew a young Sicilian, one whcse heart Should be all fire. On that most guilty day, When, with our martyred Conradin, the flower Of the land's knighthood perished ; he, of whom I speak, a weeping boy, whose innocent tears Melted a thousand hearts that dared not aid, Stood by the scaffold, with extended arms, Calling upon his father, whose last look Turned full on him its parting agony. That father's blood gushed o'er him ! and the boy Then dried his tears, and, with a kindling eye, And a proud flush on his young cheek, looked up To the bright heaven. Doth he remember still That bitter hour? Second Sic. He bears a sheathlesa sword ! Call on the orphan when revenge is nigh. Pro. Our band shows gallantly but there are men Who should be with us now, had they not dared In some wild moment of festivity To give their full hearts way, and breathe a wish For freedom ! and some traitor it might be A breeze perchance bore the forbidden sound To Eribert : so they must die unless Fate (who at times is wayward) should select Some other victim first ! But have they not Brothers or sons amongst us ? GUI. Look on me ! I have a brother, a young high-souled boy, And beautiful 'as a sculptor's dream, with brow That wears, amidst its dark rich curls, the stamp Of inborn nobleness. In truth, he is A glorious creature I But his doom is sealed With theirs of whom you spoke ; and I have knelt Ay, scorn me not 1 'twas for his life I knelt E'en at the viceroy's feet, and he put on That heartless laugh of cold malignity 252 THE VESPERS OF PALEEMO. We know so well, and spurned me. But the stain Of shame like this, takes' blood to wash it off, And thus it shall be cancelled ! Call on me, When the stern moment of revenge is nigh. Pro. I call upon thee now I The land's high soul Is roused, and moving onward, like a breeze Or a swift sunbeam, kindling nature's hues To deeper life before it. In his chains, The peasant dreams of freedom I ay, 'tis thus Oppression fans th' imperishable flame With most unconscious hands. No praise be hers For what she blindly works ! When sla- very's cup O'erflows its bounds, the creeping poison, meant To dull our senses, through each burning vein Pours fever, lending a delirious strength To burst man's fetters and they shall be burst I I have hoped, when hope seemed frenzy ; but a power Abides in human will, when bent with strong Unswerving energy on one great aim, To make and rule its fortunes ! I have been A wanderer in the fulness of my years, A restless pilgrim of the earth and seas, Gathering the generous thoughts of other lands, To aid our holy cause. And aid is near : But we must give the signal. Now, before The majesty of yon pure Heaven, whose eye Is on our hearts, whose righteous arm be- friends The arm that strikes for freedom ; speak 1 decree The fate of our oppressors. Man. Let them fall When dreaming least of peril 1 When the heart, Basking in sunny pleasure, doth forget That hate may smile, but sleeps not. Hide the sword With a thick veil of myrtle, and in halls Of banqueting, where the full wine-cup shines Red in the festal torchlight ; meet We there, And bid them welcome to the feast of death. Pro. Thy voice is low and broken, and thy words Scarce meet our ears. Mon. Why, then, I thus repeat Their import. Let th' avenging sword burst forth In some free festal hour, and woe to him Who first shall spare I Rai. Must innocence and guilt Perish alike ? Man. Who talks of innocence ? When hath their hand been stayed fct innocence ? Let them all perish ! Heaven will choose its oWn. Why should their children live ? The earthquake whelms Its undistinguished thousands, making graves Of peopled cities in its path and this Is Heaven's dread justice ay, and it is well! Why then should we be tender, when the skies Deal thus with man ? What, if the infant bleed ? Is there not power to hush the mother's pangs ? What, if the youthful bride perchance should fall In her triumphant beauty? Should we pause ? As if death were not mercy to the pangs Which make our lives the records of our foes ? Let them all perish I And if one be found Amidst our band, to stay th' avenging steel For pity, or remerse, or boyish love, Then be his doom as theirs J \A pause. Why gaze ye thus ? Brethren, what means your silence? Sic. Be it so ! If one amongst us stay th' avenging steel For love or pity, be his doom as theirs 1 Pledge we our faith to this I RAIMOND (rushing forward, indig- nantly}. Our faith to this I No ! I but dreamt I heard it ! Can it be ? My countrymen, my father ! Is it thus That freedom should be won ? Awake 1 awake To loftier thoughts ! Lift up, exultingly, On the crowned heights, and to the sweep- ing winds, Your glorious banner ! Let your trumpet's blast Make the tombs thrill with echoes 1 Call aloud, Proclaim from all your hills, the land shall bear The stranger's yoke no longer ! What is he Who carries on his practised lip a smile, Beneath his vest a dagger, which but waits THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 253 Till the heart bounds with joy, to still its beatings ? fhat which our nature's instinct doth recoil from, And our blood curdle at ay, yours and mine A murderer ! Heard ye ? Shall that name with ours Go down to after days ? Oh, friends ! a cause Like that for which we rise, hath made bright names Of the elder-time as rallying-words to men, Sounds full of might and immortality 1 And shall not ours be such ? Man, Fond dreamer, peace ' Fame 1 What is fame ? Will our uncon- scious dust Start into thrilling rapture from the grave At the vain breath of praise 1 I tell thee, youth, Our souls are parched with agonizing thirst, Which must be quenched though death were in the draught : We must have vengeance, for our foes have left No other joy unblighted. Pro. Oh I my son, The time is past for such high dreams as thine. Thou know'st not whom we deal ; with. Knightly faith And chivalrous honour are but things whereon They cast disdainful pity. We must meet Falsehood with wiles, and insult with re- venge. And, for our names whate'er the deeds, by which We burst our bondage is it not enough That in the chronicle of days to come, We, through a bright " For ever," shall be called The men who saved their country ? Rai. Many a land Hath bowed beneath the yoke, and then arisen, As a strong lion rending silken bonds, And on the open field, before high Heaven, Won such majestic vengeance, as hath made Its name a power on earth. Ay, nations own It is enough of glory to be called The children of the mighty, who redeemed Their native soil but rot by means like these.. Man. I v have no children* Of Mon- ' tr -Ifoa's blood Not one red drop doth circle through the veins [/ to do Of aught that breathes ! Why, what have With far futurity ? My spirit lives But in the past. Away ! when thou dos stand On this fair earth, as doth a blasted tree Which the warm sun revives not, then return, Strong in thy desolation ; but, till then, Thou art not for our purpose ; we have need Of more unshrinking hearts. Rai. Montalba, know, I shrink from crime alone. Oh 1 if my voice Might yet have power amongst you, I would say, Associates, leaders, be avenged I but yet As knights, as warriors ! Mon. Peace I have we not borne Th indelible taint of contumely and chains* We are not knights and warriors. OUT bright crests Have been denied and trampled to the earth. L 06 Boy ! we are slaves and our revenge shall Deep as a slave's disgrace. Rai. Why, then, farewell : I leave you to your counsels. He that still Would hold his lofty nature undebased, And his name pure, were but a loiterer here. Pro. And is it thus indeed ? dost thou. forsake Our cause, my son ? Rai. Oh, father ! what proud hopes This hour hath blighted ! yet, whate'er betide, It is a noble privilege to look up Fearless in heaven's bright face and this is mine, And shall be still. {Exit RAIMOND. Pro. He's gone 1 Why, let it be 1 I trust our Sicily hath many a son Valiant as mine. Associates" 1 'tis decreed Our.foes shall perish. We have but to name The hour, the scene, the signal. Mon. It should be In the full city, when some festival Hath gathered throngs, and lulled infatuate hearts To brief security. Hark ! is there not A sound of hurrying footsteps on the breeze? We are betrayed. Who art thou? ViTTORlA enters. Pro. One alone Should be thus daring. Lady, lift the veil That shades thy noble brow. [Ske raises her veil, the Sicilian! draw lack with resfcct. 254 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. Sic. Th' affianced bride Of our lost King ! Pro. And more, Montalba ; know Within this form there dwells a soul as high, As warriors in their battles e'er have proved, Or patriots on the scaffold. Vit. Valiant men ! I come to ask your aid. Ye see me, one Whose widowed youth hath all been consecrate To a proud sorrow, and whose life is held In token and memorial of the dead. Say, is it meet that, lingering thus on earth, But to behold one great atonement made, And keep one name from fading in men's hearts, A tyrant's will should force me to profane Heaven's altar with unhallowed vows and live. Stung by the keen, unutterable scorn Of my own bosom, live another's bride? Sic. Never, oh never 1 fear not, noble ladyj Worthy of Conradin ! Vit. 'Yet hear me still. [tears His bride, that Eribert's, vrho notes our With his insulting eye of cold derision, And could he pierce the depths where feel- ing works, Would number e'en our agonies as crimes. Say, is this meet ? Gut. We deemed these nuptials, lady, Thy willing choice ; but 'tis a joy to find Thou art noble still. Fear not ; by all our wrongs This shall not be. Pro, Vittoria, thou art come To ask our aid, but we have need of thine. Know, the completion of our high designs Requires a festival ; and it must be Thy bridal ! Vit. Procidal Pro. Nay, start not thus. Tis no hard task to bind your raven hair With festal garlands, and to bid the song Rise, and the wine-cup rnantje. No noryet To meet your suitor at the glittering shrine, Where death, not love, awaits him I Vit. Can my soul Dissemble thus ? Pro. We have no other means Of winning our great birthright back from those Who have usurped it, than so lulling them Into vain confidence, that they may deem All wrongs forgot ; and this may best be done By what I ask of thee. Man. Then will we mix ,Vith the flushed revellers, making then gay feast The harvest of the grave. Vit. A bridal day ! Must it be so ? Then, chiefs,of Sicily, [ bid you to my nuptials ! but be there With your bright swords unsheathed, for thus alone My guests should be adorned. Pro. And let thy banquet Be soon announced, for there aru noble men Sentenced to die, for whom we fain would purchase Reprieve with other blood. Vit. Be it then the day Preceding that appointed for their doom. Gui. My brother, thou shalt live I Oppression boasts No gift of prophecy ! It but remains To name our signal , chiefs 1 Man. The Vesper-bell. Pro. Even so, the Vesper-bell, whos< deep-toned peal Is heard o'er land and wave. Part of ovu band, Wearing the guise of antic revelry, Shall enter, as in some fantastic pageant/ The halls of Eribert. ; and at. the hour Devoted to the sword's tremendous task, I follow with the rest. The Vesper-bell ! That sound shall wake th' avenger ; for 'tis come, The time when power is in a voice, a breath, To burst the spell which bound us. But the night Is waning, with her stars, which, one by one. Warn us to part. Friends, to your homes ! your homes ? That name is yet to win. Away, prepare For our next meeting in Palermo's walls. The Vesper-bell ! Remember 1 Sic. Fear us not. The Vesper-bell I \Exeunt omnu. ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I. Apartment in a Palaft. ERIBERT. VITTORIA. Vit. Speak not of love it is a word with deep, Strange magic in its melancholy sound, To summon up the dead ; and they should rest, At such an faour forgotten. Tberf ar things THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 255 We must throw from us,, when the heart would gather Strength to fulfil its settled purposes : Therefore, no more-of love ! But, if to robe This form in bridal ornaments, to smile (I can smile yet) at thy gay feast, and stand At th' altar by thy side ; if this be deemed Enough, it shall be done. Eri. My fortune's star Doth rule th' ascendant still I (apart.) If not of love, Then pardon, lady, that 1 speak tf.joy, And with exulting heart Vit. There is no joy ! Who shall look through the far futurity, And, as the shadowy visions of events Develope on his gaze, 'midst their dim throng, Dare, with oracular mien to point, and say, "This will bring happiness ?" Who shall do this ? Why, thou, and I, and all ! There's One, who sits In his own bright tranquillity enthroned High o'er all storms, and looking far beyond Their thickest clouds ; but we, from whose dull eyes A grain of dust hides the great sun, e'en we Usurp his attributes, and talk, as seers, Of future joy and grief I Eri. Thy words are strange. Yet will I hope that peace at length shall settle Upon thy troubled heart, and add soft grace To thy majestic beauty. Fair Vittoria ! Oh ! if my cares Vit. I know a day shall come Of peace to all. Even from my darkened spirit Soon shall each restless wish be exorcised, Which haunts it now, and I shall then lie down Serenely to repose. Of this no more I have a boon to ask. Eri. Command my power, And deem it thus most honoured. Vit. Have I then Soared such an eagle-pitch, as to command The mighty Eribert ? And yet 'tis meet ; For I bethink me now, I should have worn A crown upon this forehead. Generous lord! Since thus you give me freedom, know, there is An hour I have loved from childhood, and a sound, [bearing SVb.cs* tones, o'er earth and ocean sweetly A sense of deep repose, have lulled me oft To peace which is forgetfulness : I mean The Vesper-bell. I pray you, let it be The summons toourbridal Hear you not? To our fair bridal ? Eri. Lady, let your will Appoint each circumstance. I am but too blessed, Proving my homage thus. Vit. Why, then, 'tis mine To rule the glorious fortunes of the day, And I may be content. Yet much remains For thought to brood on, and I would be left Alone with my resolves. Kind Eribert I (Whom 1 command so absolutely), now Part we a few brief hours ; and doubt not, when I am at thy side once more, but I shall stand There to the last. Eri. Your smiles are troubled, lady ; May they ere long be brighter. Time will seem Slow till the Vesper-bell. Vit. 'Tis lovers' phrase To say time lags ; and therefore meet for you : But with ap equal pace the hours move on, Whether they bear, on their swift silent wing, Pleasure or fate. Eri. Be not so full of thought On such a day. Behold, the skies them- selves Look on my joy with a triumphant smile, Unshadowed by a cloud. Vit. 'Tis very meet That Heaven (which loves the just) should wear a smile In honour of his fortunes. Now, my lord, Forgive me if I say, farewell, until Th' appointed hour. Eri. Lady, a brief farewell. [Exeunt separately. SCENE II. The Sea-shore. PROCIDA. RAIMOND. Pro. And dost thou still refuse to share the glory Of this our daring enterprise ? Hat. Oh, father ! I too have dreamt of glory, and the word Hath to my soul been as a trumpet's voioe, Making my nature sleepless. But the deed! Whereby 'twas won, the high, exploits* whose tale 256 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. Bids the heart burn, were of another cosl Than such as them requirest. Pro. Every deed Hath sanctity, if bearing for its aim The freedom of our country ; and the sword Alike is honoured in the patriot's hand, Searching, 'midst warrior-hosts, the heart which gave Oppression birth ; or flashing through the gioom Of the still chamber, o'er its troubled couch, At dead of night. Kai, (turning away). There is no path but one For noble natures. l Pro. Wouldst thou ash the man Who to the earth hath dashed a nation's chains, Rent as with Heaven's own lightning, by what means The glorious end was won ? Go, swell th' acclaim 1 Bid the deliverer hail ! and if his path To that most bright and sovereign destiny Hath led o'er trampled thousands, be it called A stern necessity, and not a crime ! Kai. Father 1 my soul yet kindles at the thought Of nobler lessons in my boyhood learned Even from thy voice. The high remem- brances Of other days are stirring in the hc^rt Where thou didst plant them ; and they speak of men Who needed no vain sophistry to gild Acts that would bear Heaven's light. And such be mine 1 Oh, father 1 is it yet too late to draw The praise and blessing of all valiant hearts On our most righteous cause? Pro. What wouidst thou do ? Kai. I would go forth, and rouse th' indignant land t To generous combat. Why should freedom strike [strength Mantled with darkness? Is there not more E'en in the waving of her single arm Than hosts can wield against her? I would rouse That spirit, whosefire doth press resistless on To its proud sphere, the stormy field of fight! Pro". Ay 1 and give time and warning to the foe To gather all his might 1 It is too late. There is a work to be this eve begun, When rings the Vesper-bell 1 and, loty* before To-morrow's sun hath reach'd i 1 th' noon- day heaven His throne of burning glory, every sound Of the Provencal tongue within our walls, As by one thunderstroke (you are pale, my son) Shall be for ever silenced. Kai. What ! such sounds As falter on the lip of infancy In its imperfect utterance? or are breathed By the fond mother, as she lulls her babe? Or in sweet hymns, upon the twilight air Poured by the timid maid ? Must all alike Be stilled in death ; and wouldst thou tell my heart There is no crime in this ? Pro. Since thou dost feel Such horror of our purpose, in thy power Are means that might avert it. Kai. Speak ! Oh, speak I Pro. How would those rescued thou- sands bless thy name Shouldst thou betray us I Rat. Father I I can bear Ay, proudly woo the keenest questioning Of thy soul-gifted'eye ; which almost seema To clairrj a part of Heaven's dread royalty The power that searches thought 1 Pro. (after a pause). Thou hast a brow Clear as the day and yet I doubt thee; Raimond 1 Whether it be that I have learned distrust From a long look through man's deep- folded heart ; [crossed Whether my paths have been so seldom By honour and fair mercy, that they seem But beautiful deceptions, meeting thus My unaccustomed gaze ; howe'er it be I doubt fhee I See thou waver not t;ike heed I Time lifts the veil from all things I [Exit PROCrDA. Kai. And 'tis thus [robes Youth fades from off our spirit ; and the Of beauty and of majesty, wherewith We clothed our idols, drop 1 Oh I bitter day, When, at the crushing of our glorious world, We start, and find men thus I Yet be it so 1 Is not my soul still powerful, in itself To realize its dreams? Ay, shrinking not From the pure eye of Heaven, my brow may well Undaunted meet my father's. But, away 1 Thou shall be saved, sweet Constance I Love is yet Mightier than vengeance. [Exit RAIMOND, THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 257 SCENE III. Gardens of a Palace. CONSTANCE alone. Con. There was a time when my thoughts wandered not Beyond these fairy scenes ; when, but to catch The languid fragrance of the southern breeze From the rich-flowering citrons, or to rest, Dreaming of some wild legend, in the shade Of the dark laurel-foliage, was enough Of happiness. How have these calm de- lights Fled from before one passion, as the dews, The delicate gems of morning, are exhaled By the great sun ! (RAIMOND enters.) Rai^ond 1 oh ! now thou'rt come, I read it in thy look, to say farewell For the last time the last 1 Rai. No, best beloved I I come to tell thee there is now no power To part us but in death. Con. I have dreamt of joy, But never aught like this. Speak yet again 1 Say, we shall part no more I Rai. No more, if love Can strive with darker spirits, and he is strong In his immortal nature 1 all is changed Since last we met. My father keep the tale Secret from all, and most of all, my Con- stance, From Eribert my father is returned : I leave thee not. Con. Thy father I blessed sound ! Good angels be his guard I Oh ! if he knew How my soul clings to thine, he could not hate [now Even a Provencal maid I Thy father ! Thy soul will be at peace, and I shall see The sunny happiness of earlier days Look from thy brow once more t But how is this? Thine eye reflects not the glad soul of mine ; And in thy look is that which ill befits A tale of joy. Rai. A dream is on my soul. I see a slumberer, crowned with flowers, and smiling As in delighted visions, on the brink Of a dread chasm ; and this strange phan tasv Hath cast so deep a shadow o'er my thoughts, I cannot but be sad. Con. Why, let me sing One of the sweet wild strains you love so well, And this will banish it. Rai. It may not be. Oh ! gentle Constance, go not forth to-day : Such dreams are ominous. Con. Have you then forgot < My brother's nuptial feast ? I must be one Df the gay train attending to the shrine His stately bride. In sooth, my step of joy Will print earth lightly now. What fear'st thou, love ? Look all around 1 these blue transparent skies, And sunbeams pouring a more buoyant life Through each glad thrilling vein, will brightly chase All thought of evil. Why, the very air Breathes of delight 1 Through all its glow- ing realms Doth music blend with fragrance, and e'en here The city's voice of jubilee is heard Till each light leaf seems trembling unto sounds Of human joy I Rai. There lie far deeper things, Things, that may darken thought for life, beneath That city's festive semblance. I have passed [marked Through the glad multitudes, and I have A stern intelligence in meeting eyes, Which deemed their flash unnoticed, and a quick, Suspicious vigilance, too.intent to clothe Its mien with carelessness ; and, now and then, A hurrying start, a whisper, or a hand Pointing by stealth to some one, singled out Amidst the reckless throng. O'er all is spread A mantling flush of revelry, which may hide Much from unpractised eyes ; but lighter signs Have been prophetic oft. Con. I tremble ! Raimond ! What may these things portend ? Rai. It was a day Of festival, like this ; the city sent Up through her sunny firmament a voice joyous as now ; when, scarcely heralded By one deep moan, forth from his cavern- ous depths 258 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. The earthquake burst ; and the wide splendid scene Became one chaos of all fearful things, Till the brain whirled, partaking the sick motion Of rocking palaces. Con. And then didst thou, My noble Raimond ! through the dreadful paths Laid open by detraction, past the chasms, Whose fathomless clefts, a moment's work, had given One burial unto thousands, rush to save Thy trembling Constance! she who lives to bless Thy generous love, that still the breath of heaven Wafts gladness to her soul I Rai. Heaven ! Heaven is just I. And being so, must guard thee, sweet one, still. Trust none beside. Oh I the omnipotent skies Make their wrath manifest, but insidious man Doth compass those he hates with secret snares. Wherein lies fate. Know, danger walks abroad, [all Masked as a reveller. Constance ! oh ! by Our tried affection, all the vows which bind Our hearts together, meet me in these bowers ; Here, 1 adjure thee, meet me, when the bell Doth sound for vesper-prayer ! Con. And know'st thou not Twill be the bridal hour? Rai. It will not, love I That hour will bring no bridal ! Nought . of this To human ear : but speed thou hither, fly, When evening brings that signal. Dost thou heed ? This is no meeting by a lover sought To breathe fond tales, and make the twilight groves And stars attest his vows ; deem thou not so, Therefore denying it 1 I tell thee, Con- stance I If thou wouldst save me from such fierce despair As falls on man, beholding all he loves Perish before him, while his strength can but Strive with his agony thou'lt meet me then ? [moved Look on me, love 1 I am not oft so Tbou'lt meet me ? Con. Oh I what mean thy words? If then My steps are free, I will. Be thou but calnr Rai, Be calm ! there is a cold and sullen caitti, And, were my wild fears made realities, It might be mine ; but, in this dreao. suspense, This conflict of all terrible phantasies, There is no calm. Yet fear thou not. dear love I I will watch o'er thee still. Ard now, farewell Until that hour ! COM. My Raimond. fare tuee well. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Room in the Citadel of Palermo. ALBERTI. DE Couci. De Con. Said'st thou this night? Alb. This very night and lo 1 E'en now the sun declines. De Cou. What I are they armed ? Alb. All armed, and strong in vengeance and despair. De Cou. Doubtful and strange the tale I Why was not this Revealed before ? Alb. Mistrust me not, my lord ! That stern and jealous Procida hath kept O'er all my steps (as though he did suspect The purposes, which oft his eye hath sought To read in mine) & watch so vigilant, I knew not howto warn thee, though for this- Alone I mingled with his bands, to learn Their projects and their strength. Thou know'st my faith To Anjou's house full well. De Coti. How may we now Avert the gathering storm? The viceroy holds His bridal feast, and all is revelry. 'Twas a true-boding heaviness of heart, Which kept me from these nuptials. Alb. Thou thyself Mayst yet escape, and, haply of thy bands Rescue a part, ere long to wreak full ven- geance Upon these rebels. 'Tis too late to dream Of saving Eribert. E'en shouldst thou rush Before him with the tidings, in his pride And confidence of soul, he would but laugh Thy tale to scorn. De Cou. He must not die unwarned, Though it be ail in vain. But thou, Albert!, THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 259 'Rejoin thycomrades, lest thineabsence wake Suspicion in their hearts. Thou hast done well, And shall not pass unguerdoned, should I live [night. Through thedeep horrors of th'approaching Aid. Noble De Couci, trust me still. Anjou Commands no heart more faithful than Alberti's. [Exit ALBERTI. De Cou. The grovelling slave ! And yet he spoke too true ! For Eribert, in blind elated joy, Will scorn the warning voice. The day wanes fast, And through the city, recklessly dispersed, Unarmed and unprepared, my soldiers revel, E'en on the brink of fate. I must away. [Exit DE Couci. SCENE V. A Banqueting Hall. PROVENCAL NOBLES assembled. First Noble. Joy be to this fair meeting I Who hath seen The viceroy's bride ? Second Noble. I saw her, as she passed The gazing throngs assembled in the city. 'Tis said she hath not left for years, till now, Her castle's wood-girt solitude. Twill gall These proud Sicilians, that her wide domains Should be the conqueror's guerdon. Third Noble. Twas their boast With what fond faith she worshipped still the name Of the boy, Conradin. How will the slaves Brook this new triumph of their lords ? Second Noble. In sooth It stings them to the quick. In the full streets They mix with Our Provencals, and assume A guise of mirth, but it sits hardly on them. 'Twere worth a thousand festivals, to see With what a bitter and unnatural effort They strive to smile I First Noble. Is this Vittoria fair? Second Noble. Of a most noble mien ; but yet her beauty Is wild and awful, and her large dark eye, In its unsettled glances, hath strange power, From which thou'lt shrink, as I did. First Noble. Hush 1 they come. Enter ERIBERT, VITTORIA, CONSTANCE, and others. Eri. Welcome, my noble friends I there must not lower One clouded brow to-day in Sicily I BehoU my bride 1 Nobles. Receive our homage, lady ! Vit. I bid all welcome. May the fens) we offer Prove worthy of such guests 1 Eri. Look on her, friends 1 And say if that majestic brow is not Meet for a diadem ? Vit. 'Tis well, my lord ! When memory's pictures fade, 'tis kindty done To brighten their dimmec! hues I First Noble (apart). Marked you her glance ? Second Noble (apart). What eloquent scorn was there ! yet he, th' elate Of heart, perceives it not, Eri. Now to the feast ! Constance, you look not joyous. I have said That all should smile to-day. Con. Forgive me, brother ! The heart is wayward, and its garb of pomp At times oppresses it. Eri. Why how is this ? Con. Voices of woe, and prayers of agony Unto my soul have risen, and left sad sounds There echoing still. Yet would I fain be gay, Sin e 'tis your wish. In truth, I should have been A village-maid I Eri. But, being as you are, Not thus igno,bly free, command your looks (They may be taught obedience) to reflect The aspect of the time. Vit. And know, fair maid I That if in this unskilled, you stand alone Amidst our court of pleasure. Eri. To the feast I Now let the red wine foam I There should be mirth When conquerors revel ! Lords of this fair isle 1 Your good swords' heritage, crown each bowl, and pledge The present and the future ! for they both 1 -ook brightly on us. Dost thou smile, my bride ? Vit. Yes, Eribert ! thy prophecies of joy Eiave taught e'en me to smile. Eri. 'Tis well. To-day '. have won 1 a fair and almost royal bride ; To-morrow let the bright sun speed his course, To waft me happiness ! my proudest foes Must die and then my slumber shall be laid On rose-leaves, with no envious fold, to mat 260 TEE VESPERS OF PALERMO. The luxury of Its visions I Fair Vittoria, Your looks are troubled ! Vit. It is strange, but oft, 'Midst festal songs and garlands, o'er my soul Deatli comes, with some dull image 1 as you spoke Of those whose blood is claimed, I thought for them Who, in a darkness thicker than the night E'er wove with all her clouds, have pined so long : How blessed were the stroke which makes them things Of that invisible world, wherein, we trust, There is, at least, no bondage I But should we From such a scene as this, where all earth's joys Contend for mastery, and the very sense Of life is rapture ; should we pass, I say, At once from such excitements to the void And silent gloom of that which doth await us Were it not dreadful ? Eri. Banish such dark thoughts I They ill beseem the hour. Vit. There is no hour Of this mysterious world, in joy or woe, But they beseem it well 1 Why, what a slight, Impalpable bound is that, th' unseen, which severs [near Being from death ! And who can tell how Its misty brink he stands ? First Noble (aside). What mean her words ? Second Noble. There's some dark mys- tery here. Eri. No more of this I Pour the bright juice which Etna's glowing vines [voice Yield to the conquerors 1 And let music's Dispel these ominous dreams I Wake, harp, and song I Swell out your triumph I (A MESSENGER enters, bearing a letter.) Mis. Pardon, my good Lord I But this demands Eri. What means thy breathless haste ? And that ill-boding mien ? Away I such looks Befit not hours like these. Mes. The Lord De Couci Bade me bear this, and say, 'tis fraught with tidings , Of life and death. Vit. (hurriedly). Is this a time r or aught But revelry? My lord, these du'U intrusions Mar the bright spirit of the festal scene 1 Eri. (to the Mes.) Hence 1 tell the Lord De Couci we will talk Of life and death to-morrow. {Exit MESSENGER. Let there be Around me none but joyous looks to-day, And strains whose very echoes wake to mirth ! [A band of the Conspirators enter, to the sound of music, disguised as shepherds, bacchanals, &c. Eri. What forms are these? what means this antic triumph ? Vit. 'Tis but a rustic pageant, by my vassals Prepared to grace our bridal. Will you not Hear their wild music ? Our Sicilian vales Have many a sweet and mirthful melody, To which the glad heart bounds. Breathe ye some strain Meet for the time, ye sons of Sicily I (One of the Masquers sings.) The festal eve, o'er earth and sky, In her sunset robe, looks bright ; And the purple hills of Sicily, With their vineyards, laugh in light ; From the marble cities of her plains Glad voices mingling swell ; But with yet more loud and lofty strains, They shall hail the Vesper-bell I Oh ! sweet its tones, when thesummer breeze Their cadence wafts afar, To float o'er the blue Sicilian seas, As they gleam to the first pale star ! The shepherd greets them on his height, The hermit in his cell ; But a deeper power shall breathe to-night, In the sound of the Vesper-bell I [The bell rings. Eri. It is the hour ! Hark, hark I my bride, our summons I The altar is prepared and crowned with flowers That wait Vit. The victim! [A tumult heard without, PROCIDA and MONTALBA enter with others, armed. Pro. Strike-! the hour is come ! Vit. Welcome, avengers, welcome I Now, be strong I THE VESPERS OF PALERMO 261 [The Conspirators throw o/ their dis- guise, and rush -with tfieir swords , drawn, upon the Provencals. ERIBERT is wounded and falls. Pro. Now hath fate reached thee in thy mid career, Thou reveller in a nation's agonies 1 {The Provencals are driven, off, and pursued by the Sicilians. Con. (supporting ERIBERT). My bro- ther ! oh ! my brother ! Eri. Have I stood A leader in the battle-fields of kings, To perish thus at last? Ay, by these pangs, And this strange chill, that heavily doth creep, Like a slow poison, through my curdling veins, This should be death I In sooth a dull exchange For the gay bridal feast 1 Voices (without). Remember Cbnradin 1 spare none, spare none ! Vit. (throwing off her bridal wreath and ornaments). This is proud freedom I Now my soul may cast, In generous scorn, her mantle of dissembling To earth for ever ! And it is such joy, As if a captive, from his dull, cold cell, Might soar at once on chartered wing to range The realms of starred infinity ! Away 1 Vain mockery of a bridal wreath 1 The hour For which stem patience ne'er kept watch in vain Is come ; and I may give my bursting heart *ull and indignant scope. Now, Eribert 1 Believe in retribution 1 What, proud man I Prince, ruler, conqueror ! didst thou deem Heaven slept ? " Or that the unseen, immortal ministers, Ranging the world, to note e'en purposed crime In burning characters, had laid aside Their everlasting attributes for thee f Oh 1 blind security t He, in whose dread hand The lightnings vibrate, holds them back until The trampler of this goodly earth bath reached His pyramid-height of power ; that so his fall May, with more fearful oracles, make pale Man's crowned oppressors I Con. Oh ! reproach him not ! His soul is trembling on the dizzy brink Of that dim world where passion may not enter. Leave him in peace I Voices (without). Anjou, Anjou ! De Couci to the rescue 1 Eri. (half-raising himself ). My brave Provenfals ! do ye combat still ? And I, your chief, am here 1 Now, now I feel That death indeed is bittei ! Vit. Fare thee well 1 Thine eyes so oft, with their insulting smile, Have looked on man's last pangs, thou shouldst, by this, Be perfect how to die I [Exit VITTORIA. RAIMOND enters. Rai. Away, my Constance ! Now is the time for flight. Our slaughtering bands Are scattered far and wide. A little while And thou shall be in safety. Know'st thou not [man, That low sweet vale, where dwells the holy Anselmo ? He whose hermitage is reared 'Mid some old temple's ruin? Round the spot His name hath spread so pure and deep a charm, Tis hallowed as a sanctuary, wherein Thou shalt securely bide, till this wild storm Hath spent its fury. Haste I Con. I will not fly I While in his heart there is one throb of life, One spark in his dim eyes, I will not leave The brother of my youth to perish thus. Without one kindly bosom to sustain His dying head. Eri. The clouds are darkening round. There are strange voices ringing in my ear That summon me to what?. But I have been Used to command I Away I I will not die But on the field [He dies. Con. (kneeling by him). O Heaven ! be merciful, As thou art just ! for he is now where nought But mercy can avail him ! It is past I GUIDO enters, with his sword drawn. Gui. (to RAIMOND). I've sought thee long why art thou lingering here ? Haste, follow me! Suspicion with thy name Joins that word Traitor/ 262 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. Rai. Traitor 1 . Guido ? Gtti. Yes! Hast thou not heard that, with his men-at- arms, After vain conflict with a people's wrath, De Couci hath escaped? And there are those Who murmur that from thet the warning came Which saved him from our vengeance. But e'en yet In the red current of Provencal blood That doubt may be effaced. Draw thy good sword, And follow me ! Rai. And thou couldst daubt me, Guido 1 'Tis come to this ! Away ! mistrust me still. I will not stain my sword with deeds like thine. Thou know'st me not ! Gui. Raimond di Procida ! I/ thou art he whom once I deemed so noble Call me thy friend no more 1 [Exit GUIDO. Rai. (after a pause) . Rise, dearest, rise! Fhy duty's task hath nobly been fulfilled, E'en in the face of death ; but all is o'er, And this is now no place where nature's tears In quiet sanctity may freely flow. Hark ! the wild sounds that wait on fearful deeds Are swelling on the winds, as the deep roar Of fast-advancing billows ; and for thee I shame not thus to tremble. Speed, oh, speed I [Exeunt. ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I. A Street in Palermo. PROCIDA enters. Pro. How strange and deep a stillness loads the air, As with the power of midnight ! Ay, where death Hath passed, there should be silenc", But this hush Of nature's heart, this breathlessness of all things, Doth press on thought too heavily, and the sky, With its dark robe of purple thunder-clouds Brooding in sullen masses, o'er my spirit, Weighs like an omen 1 Wherefore should this be? Is not our task achieved, the mi^utv work Of our deliverance ! Yes ; I should be joyous : But this our feeble nature, with its quick Instinctive superstitions, will drag down Th' ascending soul. And 1 have fearful bodings That treachery lurks amongst us. Raimond 1 Raimond I Oh I Guilt ne'er made a mien like his its garb ! . It cannot be ! MONTALBA, GUIDO, and other Sicilians enter. Pro. Welcome ! we meet in joy ! Now may we bear ourselves erect, resuming The kingly port of freemen I Who shall dare, After this proof of slavery's dread recoil, To weave us chains again ? Ye have done well. We have done well. There needs no choral song, No shouting multitudes to blazon forth Our stern exploits. The silence of our foes Doth vouch enough, and they are laid to rest Deep as the sword could make it. Yet our task Is still but half achieved, since, with his bands, De Couci hath escaped, and, doubtless, leads Their footsteps to Messina, where our foes Will gather all their strength. Determined hearts, And deeds to startle earth, are yet required To make the mighty sacrifice complete. Where is thy son ? Pro. I know not. Once last night He crossed my path, and with one stroke beat down A sword just raised to smite me, and restored Myown, which in that deadly strife had been Wrenched from my grasp : but when I would have pressed him To my exulting bosom, he drew back, And with a sad, and yet a scornful, smile, Full of strange meaning, left me. Since that hour I have not seen him. Wherefore didst thou ask ? Man. It matters not. We have deepei things to speak of.- Know'st thou that we have traitors in om councils ? Pro. I know some voice in secret must have warned De Couci ; or bis scattered bands had ne'er THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 263 So soon been marshalled, and in close array Led hence as from the field. Hast thou heard aught That may develope this ? Man. The guards we set To watch the city-gates have seized, this mom, One whose quick, fearful glance and hur- ried step Betrayed his guilty purpose. Mark I he bore (Amidst the tumult deeming that his flight Might all unnoticed pass) these scrolls to him, The fugitive Provencal. Read and judge I Pro. Where is this messenger? Man. Where should he be ? They slew him in their wrath. Pro* Unwisely done I Give me the scrolls. [He reads. Now, if there be such things As may to death add sharpness, yet delay The pang which gives release ; if there be power In execration, to call down the fires Of yon avenging heaven, whose rapid shafts But for such guilt were aimless ; be they heaped Upon the traitor's head 1 Scorn make his name Her mark for ever 1 Man. In our passionate blindness, We send forth curses whose deep stings recoil Oft on ourselves. Pro. Whate'er fate hath of ruin Fall on his house 1 What 1 to resign again That freedom for whose sake our souls have now Engrained themselves in blood I Why, who is he That hath devised this treachery ? To the scroll Why fixed he not his name, so stamping it With an immortal infamy, whose brand Might warn men from him ? Who should be so vile ? Alberti ? In his eye is that which ever Shrinks from encountering mine 1 But no I his race Is of our noblest oh I he could not shame That high descent ! Urbino ? Conti ? No! They are too deeply pledged. There's one name more 1 1 cannot utter it I Now shall I read ach face with cold suspicion, which doth blot I From man's high mien its native royalty, ' And seal his noble forehead with the impress Of its own vile imaginings 1 Speak your thoughts, Montalba I Guido ! Who should this man be? Man. Why what Sicilian youth un- sheathed, last night, His sword to aid our foes, and turned its edge Against his country's chiefs ? He that did this, May well be deemed for guiltier treason ripe. Pro. And who is he ? Mon. Nay, ask thy son. Pro. My son 1 What should he know of such a recreant heart ? Speak, Guido ! thou'rt his friend 1 Gui. I would not wear The brand of such a name I Pro. How 1 what means this ? A flash of light breaks in upon my soul ! Is it to blast me ? Yet the fearful doubt Hath crept in darkness through my thoughts before, And been flung from them. Silence I Speak not yet ! I would be cairn, and meet the thunder- burst With a strong heart. [A pause. Now, what have I to hear ? Your tidings ? Gui. Briefly, 'twas your son did thus ; He hath disgraced your name. Pro. My son did thus ! Are thy words oracles, that I should search Their hidden meaning out ? What did my son ? I have forgot the tale. Repeat it, quick ! Gui. Twill burst upon thee all too soon. While we Were busy at the dark and solemn rites Of retribution ; while we bathed the earth In red libations, which will consecrate The soil they mingled with to freedom's step Through the long march of ages ; 'twas hit task To shield from danger a Provencal maid, Sister of him whose cold oppression stung Our hearts to madness. Man. What 1 should she be spared To keep that name from perishing on earth? * crossed them in then- path, and raised my sword To smite her in her champion's arms. We fought 264 THE VESPER9 OF PALERMO. The boy disarmed me 1 And I live to tell My shame, and wreak my vengeance I Gui. Who but he Could warn De Couci, or devise the guilt These scrolls reveal ? Hath not the traitor still Sought, with his fair and specious elo- quence, To win us from our purpose ? All things seem Leagued to unmask him. Man. Know you not there came, E'en in the banquet's hour, from this De Couci, One, bearing unto Eribert the tidings Of all our purposed deeds I And have we not Proof, as the noonday clear, that Raimond loves The sister of that tyrant ? Pro. There was one Who mourned for being childless I Let him now Feast o'er his children's graves, and I will join The revelry I. Man. {apart). You shall be childless too 1 Pro. Was't you, Montalba? Now re- joice, I say. There is no name so near you that its stains Should call the fevered and indignant blood To your dark cheek 1 But I will dash to earth The weight that presses on my heart, and then Be glad as thou arj. Man. What means this, my lord ? Who hath seen gladness on Montalba's mien? Pro. Why, should not all be glad who have- no sons To tarnish their bright name ? Man. I am not used To beat with mockery. Pro. Friend 1 By yon high heaven, I mock thee not ! 'tis a proud fate, to live Alone and unallied. Why, what's alone ? A word whose sense is free/ Ay, free from all The venomed stings implanted in the heart By those it loves. Oh I I could laugh to think O' th' joy that riots in baronial halls, When the word comes " A son is born r" A son I They should say thus " He thai shall knit your brow To furrows, not of years ; and bid your eye Quail its proud glance ; to tell the earth its shame, Is born, and so, rejoice 1" Then might we feast, And know the cause : Were it not excel- lent? Man. This is all idle. There are deeds to do ; Arouse thee, Procida I Pro. Why, am I not Calm as immortal justice ? She can strike, And yet be passionless and thus will I. I know thy meaning. Deeds to do 1 'tis well. They shall be done ere thought on. Go ye forth ; There is a youth who calls himself my son, His name is Raimond in his eye is light That shows like truth but be not ye de- ceived ! Bear him in chains before us. We will sit To-day in judgment, and the skies shall see The strength which girds our nature. Will not this Be glorious, brave Montalba ? Linger not, Ye tardy messengers 1 for there are things Which ask the speed of storms. [Exeunt GuiDO and others. Is not this well ? Man. 'Tis noble. Keep thy spirit to this proud height, [Aside. And then be desolate like me I my woes Will at the thought grow light. Pro. What now remains To be prepared ? There should be solemn pomp To grace a day like this. Ay, breaking hearts Require a drapery to conceal their throbs From cold inquiring eyes ; and it must be Ample and rich, that so their gaze may not Explore what lies beneath. [Exit PROCIDA. Man. Now this is well ! I hate this Procida ; for he hath won In all our councils that ascendancy And mastery o'er bold hearts, which should have been Mine by a thousand claims. Had he the strength Of wrongs like mine? No 1 for that name his country He strikes my vengeance hath a deeper fount : But there's dark jojHn this 1 And fate hath barred My soul from every other. [Exit MONTALBA. THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 265 SCENE II. A Hermitage, surrounded by the Ruins of an ancient Temple. CONSTANCE. ANSELMO. Con. Tis strange he comes not ! Is not this the still And sultry hour of noon? He should have been Here by the daybreak. Was there not a voice ? No I 'tis the shrill Cicada, with glad life Peopling these marble ruins, as it sports Amidst them, in the sun. Hark ! yet again ! No ! no ! Forgive me, father I that I bring Earth's restless griefs and passions to disturb The stillness of thy holy solitude ; My heart is full of care. Am. There is no place So hallowed as to be unvisited By mortal cares. Nay, whither should we go, With our deep griefs and passions, but to scenes Lonely and still ; where he that made our hearts Will speak to them in whispers ? I have known Affliction too, my daughter. Con. Hark ! his step I I know it well he comes my Raimond, welcome I (VICTORIA enters, CONSTANCE shrinks back on perceiving her.) O Heaven I that aspect tells a fearful tale. Vit. (not observing her). There is a cloud of horror ou my soul ; And on thy words, Anselmo, peace doth wait, Even as an echo, following the sweet close Of some divine and solemn harmony : Therefore I sought thee now. Oh 1 speak to me Of holy things, and names, in whose deep sound Is power to bid the tempest of the heart Sink, like a storm rebuked. Ans. What recent grief Darkens thy spirit thus ? Vit. I said not grief. We should rejoice to-day, but joy is not That which it hath been. In .the flowers which wreathe Its mantling cup there is a scent unknown, Fraught with some strange delirium. All things now Have changed theii nature ; still, I say, rejoice ! There is a cause, Anselmo I We are free, Free and avenged ! Yet on my soul there hangs A darkness, heavy as th' oppressive gloom Of midnight phantasies. Ay, for this, too, There is a cause. Ans. How say'st thou, we are free? There may have raged, within Palermo's walls, Some brief wild tumult, but too well 1 know They call the stranger, lord. Vit. Who' calls the dead Conqueror or lord ? Hush 1 breathe it not aloud, The wild winds must not hear it ! Yet, again, I tell thee, we are free ! Ans. Thine eye hath looked On fearful deeds, for still their shadows hang O'er its dark orb. Speak ! I adjure thee, say, How hath this work been wrought ? Vit. Peace ! ask me not ! Why shouldst thou hear a tale to send thy blood Back on its fount ? We cannot wake them now I The storm is in my soul, but they are all At rest ! Ay, sweetly may the slaughtered babe By its dead mother sleep ; and warlike men Who 'midst the slain have slumbered oft before, , Making the shield their pillow, may repose Well, now their toils are done. Is't not enough ? Con. Merciful Heaven I have such things been ? And yet There is no shade come o'er the laughing sky! I am an outcast now. Ans. O Thou, whose ways Clouds mantle fearfully ; of all the blind, But terrible, ministers that work thy wrath. How much is man the fiercest 1 Others "know Their limits. Yes I the earthquakes, and the storms, And the volcanoes ! He alone o'erleaps The bounds of retribution 1 Couldst thou gaze, Vittoria ! with thy woman's heart and eye, On such dread scenes unmoved ? Vit. Was it for** To stay th' avenging sword ! No, though it pierced My very soul 1 Hark, hark, what thrilling shrieks [thou not Ring through the. air around me 1 Canst 266 VESPERS OF PALERMO. Bid them be hushed? Oh I look not on me thus 1 Ans. Lady, thy thoughts lend sternness to the looks Which are but sad I Have all then perished? all? Was there no mercy ? Vit. Mercy I it hath been A word forbidden as th" unhallowed names Of evil powers. Yet one there was who dared To own the guilt of pity, and to aid The victims ; but in vain. Of him no morel He is a traitor, and a traitor's death Will be his meed. Con. (coming forward), O Heaven ! his name, his name ? Is it it cannot be ! Vit. (starting). Thou here, pale girl ! I deemed thee with the dead 1 How hast thou 'scaped The snare ? Who saved thee, last of all thy race ? Was it not he of whom I spake e'en now, Raimond di Procida? Con. It is enough. Now the storm breaks upon me, and I sink ! Must he, too, die? Vit. Is it even so ? why then, Live on thou hast the arrow at thy heart ! Fix not on me thy sad reproachful eyes, I mean not to betray thee. Thou may'st livel Why should death bring thee his oblivious balms ? He visits but the happy. Didst thou ask If Raimond too must die? It is as sure As that his blood is on thy head, for thou Didst win him to this treason. Con. When did man Call mercy, treason ? Take my life, but save My noble Raimond ! Vit. Maiden 1 he must die. E'en now the youth before his judges stands, And they are men who, to the voice of prayer, Are as the rock is to the murmured sigh Of summer- waves ; ay, though a father sit On their tribunal. Bend thou not to >Je. What wouldst thou ? Con. Mercy 1 Oh I wert thou to plead But with a look, e'en yet he might be saved 1 If thou hast ever loved Vit. If I have loved? I is that love forbids me to relent , I am what it hath made me. O'er my soul Lightning hath passed, and seared it. Could I weep, I then might pity but it will not be. Con. Oh ! thou wilt yet relent, for woman's heart Was formed to suffer and to melt. Vit. Away ! Why should I pity thee ? Thou wilt but prove What I have known before and yet I live I Nature is strong, and it may all be borne The sick impatient yearning of the heart For that which is not ; and the weary sense Of the dull void, wherewith our homes have been Circled by death ; yes, all things may be borne ! All, save remorse. But I will not bow down My spirit to that dark power : there was no guilt ! Anselmo ! wherefore didst thou talk of guilt? Ans. Ay, thus doth sensitive conscience quicken thought, Lending reproachful voices to a breeze, Keen lightning to a look. Vit, Leave me in peace I Is't not enough that I. should have a sense Of things thou canst not see, all wild and dark, And of unearthly whispers, haunting me With dread suggestions, but that thy cold words, [conspire Old man, should gall me too ? Must all Against me ? Oh 1 thou beautiful spirit I wont [love, To shine upon my dreams with looks of Where art thou vanished ? Was it not the thought Of thee which urged me to the fearful task, And wilt thou now forsake me ? I must seek [chance, The shadowy woods again, for there, pcr- Still may thy voice be in my twilight- paths ; Here I. but meet despair ! [Exit, VITTORIA. Ans. (to CONSTANCE). Despair not thou, My daughter ? he that purifies the heart With grief, will lend it strength. Con. (endeavouring to roust herself). Did she not say That some one was to die ? Ans. I tell thee not Thy pangs are vain for nature Will have way. THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 267 Earth must have tears ; yet in a heart like thine, Faith may not yield its place. Con. Have I not heard Some fearful tale? Who said, that there should rest Blood on my soul? What blood? I never bore Hatred, kind father, unto aught that breathes ; Raimond doth know it well. Raimond I High heaven, It bursts upon me now ! and he must die ! For my sake e'en for mine 1 Arts. Her words were strange, And her proud mind seemed half to frenzy wrought Perchance this may not be. Con. It must not be. Why do I linger here ? [She riftt te depart. Ans. Where wouldst thou go? Con. To give their stern and unrelenting hearts A victim in his stead. Am. Stay I wouldst thou rush On certain death? Con. 1 may not falter now, Is not the life of woman all bound up In her affections? What hath she to do In this bleak world alone ? It may be well For man on his triumphal course to move Uncumbered by soft bonds ; but we were bom For love and grief. Ans. Thou fair and gentle thing, Unused to meet a glance which doth not speak [thou Of tenderness or homage ! how shouldst Bear the hard aspect of unpitying men, Or face the king of terrors ? Cdu. There is strength Deep bedded in our hearts, of which we reck But little, till the shafts of Heaven have pierced Itsfragile dwelling. Must not earth be rent Before her gems are found ? Oh I now I feel Worthy the generous love whirh hath not shunned [given To look ofl death for me ! My heart hath Birth to as deep a courage, and a faith As high in its devotion. [Exit CONSTANCE. Ans. She is gone I Is it to perish ? God of mercy ! lend Power to my voice, that so its prayer may save This pure and lofty creature t I will follow But her young footstep and heroic heart Will bear her to destruction faster far Than I can track her path. [Exit ANSELMO. SCENE III. Hall of a Public Building. PROCIUA, MONTALBA, GuiDO, andothers, \eated as on a Tribunal. Pro. The morn lowered darkly, but the sun hath now, With fierce and angry -splendour, through the clouds Burst forth, as if impatient to behold This, our high triumph. Lead the prisoner in. {RAIMOND is brought in, fettered and guarded.) Why, what a bright and fearless brow is here I Is this man guilty? Look on him, Mon- talba ? Man. Be firm. Should justice falter at a look? Pro. No, thou say'st well. Her eyes are filleted, Or should be so. Thcu, that dost call thyself But no I I will not breathe a traitor's name Speak I thou art arraigned of treason. Rai. I arraign You, before whom I stand, of darker 'guilt, In the bright face of heaven ; and your own hearts Give echo to the charge. Your very looks Have ta'en the stamp of crime, and seem to shrink, With a perturbed^ and haggard wildness, back From the too-searching light. Why, what hath wrought This change on noble brows? There is a voice, With a .deep answer, rising from the blood Your hands have coldly shed 1 Ye are of those From whom just m'en recoil, with curdling veins, All thrilled by life's abhorrent conscious- ness, And sensitive feeling of a murderer i pre- sence. Away 1 come down from your tribunal-seat, Put off your robes of state, and let you! mien 268 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. Be pale and humbled ; for ye bearabout you That which repugnant earth doth sicken at, More than the pestilence. That I should live To see my father shrink ! Pro. Montalba, speak 1 There's something chokes my voice but fear me not. Man. If we must plead to vindicate our acts, Be it when thou hast made thine own look clear I Most eloquent youth 1 What answer canst thou make To this our charge of treason ? Kai. I will plead That cause before a mightier judgment- throne, Where mercy is not guilt. But here, I feel Too buoyantly the glory and the joy Of my free spirit's whiteness ; for e'en now Tli' embodied hideousness of crime doth seem Before me glaring out. Why, 1 saw ihee, Thy foot upon an aged warrior's breast, Trampling our nature's last convulsive heavings. And thou thy sword oh! valiant chief 1 is yet Red from the noble stroke which pierced, at once, A mother and the babe, whose little life Was from her bosom drawn 1 Immortal deeds For bards to hymn 1 Gui. (aside). I look upon his mien, And waver. Can it be? My boyish heart Deemed him so noble once 1 Away, weak thoughts 1 Why should I shrink, as if the guilt were mine, From his proud glance ? Pro. Oh, thou dissembler I thou, So skilled to clothe with virtue's generous flush The hollow cheek of cold hypocrisy, That, with thy guilt made manifest, I can scarce Believe thee guilty I look on me, and say Whose was the secret warning voice, that saved De Couci with his bands, to join our foes, And forge new fetters for th' indignant land ? Whose was this treachery? [Shows him papers. Who hath promised here, (Belike to appease the manes of the dead,) At midnight to unfold Palermo's gates. And welcome in the foe ? Who hatli done this, But thou, a tyrant's friend ? Rai. Who hath done this ? Father 1 if I may call thee by that name- Look, with thy piercing eye, on those whose smiles Were masks that hid theirdaggers. There, perchance, May lurk what loves not light too strong. For me, I know but this there needs no deep research To prove the truth that murderers may be traitors E'en to each other. Pro. (to MONTALBA). His unaltering cheek Still vividly doth hold its natural hue, And his eye quails not 1 Is this innocence? Man. No I 'tis th' unshrinking hardihood of crime. Thou bear'st a gaflant mien ! But where is she Whom thou hast bartered fame and life to save, The fair Provencal maid ? What ! know'st thou not That this alone were guilt, to death allied I Was't not our law that he who spared a foe (And is she not of that detested race ?) Should thenceforth be amongst us as a foe? Where hast thou borne her ? speak I Rai. That Heaven, whose eye Burns up thy soul with its far-searching glance, Is with her ; she is safe. Pro. And by that word [died Thy doom is sealed. O God ! that I had Before this bitter hour, in the full strength And glory of my heart I CONSTANCE enters, and rushes to RAIMOND. Con. Oh 1 art thou found ? But yet, to find thee thus 1 Chains, chains for thee I My brave, my noble love 1 Off with these bonds ; Let him be free as air : for I am come To be your victim now. Rai. Death has no pang More keen than this. Oh I wherefore art thou here ? I could have died so calmly, deeming thee Saved, and at peace. Con,. At'peac 1 And thou bast thought TEE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 269 Phtis poorly of my love ! But woman's breast Hath strength to suffer too. Thy rather sits On this tribunal ; Raimond, which is he ? Rai. My father 1 who hath lulled thy gentle heart With that false hope ? Beloved I gase around See, if thine eye can trace a father's soul In the dark looks bent on us. CONSTANCE, after earnestly examining the countenances of the Judges, falls at the feet of PROCIDA. Con, Thou art he ! Nay, turn thou not away I for I beheld Thy proud lip quiver, and a watery mist Pass o'er thy troubled eye ; and then I knew Thou wert his father 1 Spare him 1 take my life, In truth a worthless sacrifice for his, But yet mine all. Oh ! he hath still to run A long bright race of gloijy. Rai. Constance, peace ! I look upon thee, and my failing heart Is as a broken reed. Con. (still addressing PROCIDA). Oh, yet relent ! If 'twas his crime to rescue me, behold I come to be the atonement I Let him live To crown thine age with honour. In thy heart [pleads There's a deep conflict ; but great nature With an o'ermastering voice, and thou wilt yield ! Thou art his father ! Pro. (after a pause). Maiden, thou'rt deceived I I am as calm as that dead pause of nature Ere the full thunder bursts. A judge is not Father or friend. Who calls this man my son? My son ! Ay I thus his mother proudly smiled But she was noble ! Traitors stand alone, Loosed from all ties. Why should I trifle thus? Bear her away 1 Rai. (starting forward). And whither? Afon, Unto death. Why should she live when all her race have perished? Con. (sinking into tkearms ^RAIMOND). Raimond, farewell ! Oh 1 when thy star hath risen To its bright noon, forget not, best beloved, I rtiwi for thee I Rai. High heaven ! thou seest these things ; And yet endur'st them 1 Shalt thou die for me, Purest and loveliest being ? : but our fate May not divide us long. Her cheek is cold Her deep blue eyes are closed. Should this be death I If thus, there yet were mercy 1 Father, father I Is thy heart human ? Pro. Bear her hence, I say ! Why must my soul be torn ? ANSELMO enters, holding a crucifix. Ans. Now, by this sign Of Heaven's prevailing love, ye shall not harm One ringlet of her head. Howl is there not Enough of blood upon your burtbened souls? Will not the visions of your midnight couch Be wild and dark enough, but ye must heap Crime upon crime ? Be ye content : your dreams, Your councils, and yourbanquetings n\\\ yet Be haunted by the voice which d< >h not sleep, E'en though this maid be spared I Con- stance, look up 1 Thou shall not die. Rai. Oh ! death e'en now hath veiled The light of her soft beauty. Wake, my love ; Wake at my voice ! Pro. Anselmo. lead her hence, And let her live, but never meet my sigh?. Begone ! My heart will burst. Rai. One last embrace ! Again life's rose is opening on her cheek ; Yet must we part. So love is crushed on earth! But there are brighter worlds I Farewell, farewell I \He gives her to the care of ANSELMO. Con. (slowly recovering]. There was a voice which called me. Am I not A spirit freed from earth ? Have I not passed The bitterness of death ? Ans. Oh, haste away ! Con. Yes ! Raimond calls me. He too is released From bis cold bondage. We are free at last, And all is well Away 1 [She is Ud out by ANSELMO 270 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. Rai. The pang is o'er, And I have but to die. Man. Now, Fvocida, Comes thy great task. WaRe 1 summon to thine aid All thy deep soul's commanding energies ; For thou a chief among us must pro- nounce The sentence of thy son. It rests with thee. Pro. Ha 1 ha ! Men's hearts should be of softer mould Than in the elder time. Fathers could doom Their children then with an unfaltering voice, And we must tremble thus 1 Is it not said, That nature grows degenerate, earth being now So full of days ? Man, Rouse up thy mighty heart. Pro. Ay, thou say'st right. There yet are souls which tower As landmarks to mankind. Well, what's the task ? There is a man to be condemned, you say ? Is he then guilty ? All. This we deem of him With one accord. Pro. And hath he nought to plead ? Rai. Nought but a soul unstained. Pro. Why, that is little. Stains on the soul are but as conscience deems them, And conscience may be seared. But, for this sentence ! Was't not the penalty imposed on man, E'en from creation's dawn, that he must die? It was : thus making guilt a sacrifice Unto eternal justice ; and we but Obey Heaven's mandate, when we cast dark souls To th' elements from amongst us. Be it so! Such be his doom ! I have said. Ay, now my heart Is girt with adamant, whose cold weight doth press Its gaspings down. Off! let me breathe in freedom ! Mountains are on my breast ! [He sinks bach, Man. Guards, bear the prisoner Back to his dungeon. Rai. Father ! oh, look up Thou art my father still ! GUIDO, leaving the Tribunal, throws kim- ulfon the neck all is lost I RAIMOND appears in the gateway, armed, and carrying a banner. Rai. Back, back, I say I ye men of Sicily I All is not lost t Oh, shame I A few brave hearts . In such a cause, ere now, have set their breasts Against the rush of thousands, and sus- tained, And made the shock recoil. Ay, man, free man, Still to be called so, hath achieved such deeds As Heaven and earth have marvelled at ; and souls, . Whose spark yet slumbers with the days to come [thus Shall burn to hear : transmitting brightly Freedom from race to race 1 Back I or prepare, Amidst your hearths, your bowers, your very shrines, To bleed and die in vain ! Turn, follow me 1 Conradin, Conradin 1 for Sicily His spirit fights I Remember Conradin I ' [They begin to rally around him. Ay, this is well I Now follow me, and charge I [The PROVENCALS rush in, but are repulsed by the SICILIANS. [Exeunt. SCENE V.Part of the Field of Battle. MONTALBA enters wounded, and supported by RAIMOND, whose face is concealed by his helmet. Rai. Here rest thee, warrior. Mon. Rest, ay, death is rest, And such will soon be mine. But thwta fott*. 276 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. I shall not die a captive. Brave Sicilian ! These lips are all unused to soothing words, Or I should bless the valour which hath won For my last hour the proud free solitude Wherewith my soul would gird itself. Thy name? Rai. 'Twill be no music to thine ear, Montalba. Gaze read it thus ! [He lift;, the visor ofhii helmet. Man. Raimond di Procida I Jtai, Thou hast pursued me with a bitter hate. But fare thee welll Heaven's peace be with thy soul I I must away. One glorious effort more, And this proud field is won ! [Exit RAIMOND. Man. Am I thus humbled ? How my heart sinks within me 1 But 'tis death (And he can tame the mightiest) hath sub- dued My towering nature thus 1 Yet is he wel- come 1 L ie 1 That youth 'twas in his pride he rescued I was his deadliest foe, and thus he proved His fearless scorn. Ha I ha 1 but he shall fail To melt me into womanish feebleness. There I still baffle him the grave shall seal My lips for ever mortal shall not hear Montalba say "forgive/" [He dies. (The scene closes.) SCENE VI. Another part of the Field. PHOCIDA. GOIDO. And other SICILIANS. Pro. The day is ours ; but he, the brave unknown, Who turned the tide of battle ; he whose path Was victory who hath seen him ? ALBERTI is brought in, wounded and fettered. Alb. Procida! Pro. Be silent, traitor 1 Bear him from my sight Unto your deepest dungeons. Alb. In the grave A nearer home awaits me. Yet one word Ere my voice fail thy son Pro. Speak, speak 1 Alb. Thy son Knows not a thought of guilt. That trai- t'rous plot Was mine alone. \Ht is kd away. Pro. Attest it, earth and Heaver. I My son is guiltless ! Hear it, Sicily I The blood of Procida is noble still.! My son 1 He lives, he lives I His voice shall speak Forgiveness to his sire ! His name shall cast Its brightness o'er my soul I Gvido. Oh, day of joy ! The brother of my heart is worthy still The lofty name he bears. ANSELMO enters. Pro. Anselmo, welcome 1 In a glad hour we meet, for know, my soar Is guiltless. Ans. And victorious ! by his arm All hath been rescued. Pro. How I th" unknown Ans. Was he! Thy noble Raimond I ,By Vittoria's hand Freed from his bondage in that awful hour When all was flight and terror. Pro. Now my cup Of joy too brightly mantles I Let me press My warrior to a. father's heart and die ; for life hath nought beyond ! Why comes he not ? Anselmo, lead me to my valiant boy t Ans. Temper this proud delight. Pro. What means that look ? He hath not fallen ? Ans. He lives. Pro. Away, away ! By3 the wide city with triumphal pomp Prepare to greet her victor. Let this hour Atone for all his wrongs ! [Exeunt. SCENE VII. Garden oj a Convent. RAIMOND is led in wounded, leaning on ATTENDANTS. fiai. Bear me to no dull couch, but let me die In the bright face of nature 1 Lift my helm, That I may look on heaven. First Attendant (to Second Attendant}. Lay him to rest On this green sunny bank, and I will call Some holy sister to his aid ; but thou Return unto the field, for high-bom men There need the peasant's aid. [Exit SECOND ATTENDANT. (To RAIMOND.) Here gentler hands Shall tend thee, warrior; for in tbesq retreats THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. 277 They dwell, whose vows devote them to the care Of all that suffer. May'st thou live to bless them 1 {Exit FIRST ATTENDANT. Rai, Thus have I wished to die I 'Twas a proud strife 1 My father blessed th' unknown who rescued him, (Blessed him, alas 1 because unknown !) and Guido, Beside me bravely struggling, called aloud, " Noble Sicilian, on 1" Oh I had they deemed Twas I who led that rescue, they had spurned Mine aid, though 'twas deliverance ; and their looks Had fallen, like blights, upon me. There is one, Whose eye ne'er turned on mine, but its blue light Grew softer, trembling through the dewy mist Raised by deep tenderness ! Ob might the soul Set in that eye shine on me ere I perish I Is't not her voice ? CONSTANCE enters, speaking to a NUNi who turns into another path. Con. Oh I happy they, kind sister, Whom thus ye tend ; for it is theirs to fall With brave men side by side, when the roused heart Beats proudly to the last 1 There are high souls Whose hope was such a death, and 'tis denied I She approaches RAIMOND. Voung Warrior, is there aught thou here, my Raimond I Thou here and thus ! Oh ! is this joy or woe? Rai. Joy, be it joy, my own, my blessed love, E'en on the grave's dim verge ! yes it is joy I My Constance I victors have been crowned, ere now, With the green shining laurel, when their brows Wore death's own impress and it may be thus E'en yet, with me I They freed me, when the foe . Had half prevailed, and I have proudly earned, With my heart's dearest blood, the meed to die Within thine arms. Con. Oh 1 speak not thus to die ! These wounds may yet be closed. [She attempts to bind his wounds. Look on me, love 1 Why, there is more than life in thy glad mien, Tis full of hope 1 and from thy kindled eye Breaks e'en unwonted light, whose ardent ray Seems born to be immortal 1 Rai. 'Tis e'en so ! The parting soul doth gather all her fires Around her ; all her glorious hopes, and dreams, And burning aspirations, to illume The shadowy dimness of th' untrodden path Which lies before her ; and, encircled thus, Awhile she sits in dying eyes, and thence Sends forth her bright farewell. Thy gentle cares Are vain, and yet I bless them. Con. Say, not vain ; The dying look not thus. We shall not part! Rai. I have seen death ere now, and known him wear Full many a changeful aspect. Con. Oh I but none Radiant as thine,, my warrior 1 Thou wilt live I Look round thee I all is sunshine is not this A smiling world ? Rai. Ay, gentlest love, a world Of joyous beauty and magnificence, Almost too fair to leave 1 Yet must we tame Our ardent hearts to this I Oh, weep thou not! There is no home for liberty, or love, Beneath these festal skies! Be not de- ceived ; My way lies far beyond I I shall be soon That viewless thing which, with its mortal weeds Casting off meaner passions, yet, we trust, Forgets not how to love ! Con. And must this be? Heaven, thou art merciful 1 Oh I bid oui souls Depart together ! Rai. Constance I there !s strength Within thy gentle heart, which hath bset proved Nobly, for me : Arouse it once again I 278 THE VESPERS OF PALERMO. ' Thy grief unmans me and 1 fain would meet That which approaches, as a brave man yields With proud submission to a mightier foe. It is upon me now 1 Con. I will be calm, Let thy head rest upon my bosom, Raimond, And I will so suppress its quick deep sobs, They shall but rock thee to thy rest. There is A world (ay, let us seek it I) where no blight Falls on the beautiful rose of youth, and there I shall be with thee soon I PROCIDA and ANSELMO enter. PROCIDA on seeing RAIMOND starts back. Am. Lift up thy head, Brave youth, exultingly 1 forlol thine hour Of glory comes 1 Oh 1 doth it come too late? E'en now the false Albert! hath confessed That guilty plot,, for which thy life was doomed To be th' atonement. Rai. 'Tis enough I Rejoice, Rejoice, my Constance ! for I leave a name O'er which thou may'st weep proudly ! f,f/e sinks back. To"'tby breast Fold me yet closer, for an icy dart Hath touched my veins. Con. And must thou leave me, Raimond? Alas 1 thine eye grows dim 4.ts wandering glance Is full of dreams. Rai. Haste, haste, and tell my father 1 was no traitor I Pro. (rushing forward). To that father's heart Return, forgiving all thy wrongs, return ! Speak to me, Raimond I Thou wert ever kind, [past And brave, and gentle 1 Say that all the Shall be forgiven I That word from none but thee My lips e'er asked. Speak to me once, my boy, [thus ? My pride, my hope ! And is it with thee Look on me yet I Oh 1 must this woe be borne ? Rai. Off with this weight of chains I it is not meet For a crowned , conqueror ! Hark, the trumpet's voice 1 [A sound of triumphant music it heard, gradually approaching. I Is 't not a thrilling call? What drowsy spell Benumbs me thus? Hence! I am free again 1 1 Now swell your festal strains, the field is won I \ Sing me to glorious dreams. [He diet. A ns. The strife is past. There fled a noble spirit 1 Con. Hush 1 he sleeps Disturb him not 1 Ans. Alas ! this is no sleep From which the eye doth radiantly unclose : Bow down thy soul, for earthly hope is o'er I ( The music continues approaching. GUIDO enters, -with CITIZENS and SOLDIERS.) , Guido. The shrines are decked, the fes- tive torches blaze Where is our brave deliverer? We are come To crown Palermo's victor I Ans. Ye come late. The voice of human praise doth send no echo Into the world of spirits. [The music ceases. Pro. (after a pause]. Is this dust I look on Raimond 1 'tis but sleep a smile On his pale cheek sits proudly. Raimond. wake 1 Oh, God ! and this was his triumphant dayl My son, my injured son 1 Con. (starting). Art thou bis father.? I know thee now. Hence, with thy dark stern eye, And thy cold heart I Thou canst not wake him now \ Away I he will not answer but to me, For none like me hath loved him I He is mine ! Ye shall not rend him from me. Pro. Oh I he knew Thy love, poor maid I- Shrink from me now no more 1 He knew thy heart but who shall tell him now. The depth, th' intenseness, and the agony, Of my suppressed affection ? I have learned All his high worth in time to deck fair- grave 1 Is .here not power in the strong spirit's woe To force an answer from the viewless world Of the departed ? Raimond 1 speak I for- give 1 THE FOREST SANCTUARY. 279 Rafmond ! my victor, my deliverer, hear I Why, what a world is this 1 Truth ever bursts On the dark soul too late : and glory crowns Th' unconscious dead 1 And an hour comes to break The mightiest hearts 1 My son ! my son ! is this A day of triumph ? Ay, for thee alone I [He throws himself upon the body of RAIMOND. {Curtain falls. 1826. THE FOREST SANCTUARY. " Ihr Platze aller meiner stillen freuden Euch lass' ich Hater mir auf immerdar.l * * * * So ist des Geistes ruf an mJch ergangen, Mich treibt nicht cities, Irdisches verlangen." Die Jung/ran van Orleans. " Long time against oppression have I fought, And for the native liberty of faith Have bled and suffered bonds." Remorse, a Tragtdy. THE following Poem is intended to describe the mental conflicts as well as outward sufferings, of a Spaniard, who, flying from the religious persecutions of his own country, In the sixteenth century, takes refuge, with his child, in a North American forest. The story is supposed to be related by himself, amidst the wilderness which has afforded him an asylum. E'en thus they haunt me with sweet sounds, till worn [say By quenchless longings, to my soul I Oh 1 for the dove's swift wings, that I might flee away,- I. THE Toices of my home ! I hear them still I They have been with me through the dreamy night The blessed household voices, wont to fill My heart's clear depths with unalloyed delight I I hear them still, unchanged, though some from earth [mirth Are music parted,; and the tones of Wild, silvery tones, that rang through days more bright I [come, Have died in others yet to me they Singing of boyhood back the voices of my hornet H. They call me through this hush of woods, reposing In the grey stillness of the summer morn ; They wander by when heavy flowers are closing, And thoughts grow deep, and winds an'" stars are born ; [burst Even as a fount's remembered gushings On the parched traveller in his hour of thirst. III. And find mine ark! yet whither? I must bear A yearning heart within me to the grave. I am of those o'er whom a breath of air Just darkening in its course the lake's bright wave, [hath power And sighing through the feathery canes To call up shadows, in the silent hour, From the dim past, as from a wizard's cave ! [spread, So must it be I These skies above me Are they my own soft skies ? Ye rest not here, my dead ! . IV. Ye far amidst the southern flowers, lie sleeping, [clear, Your graves all smiling in the sunshine Save one 1 a blue, lone, distant main is sweeping [here I- High o'er one gentle Tiead ye rest nol 280 THE FOREST SANCTUARY, Tis not the olive, with a whisper sway- ing, [playing Not thy low ripplings, glassy water, Through my own chestnut groves, which fill mine ear ; [dwell, But the faint echoes in my breast that And for their birth-place moan, as moans the ocean-shell. v. Peace I I will dash these fond regrets to earth, [rain Even as an eagle shakes the cumbering From his strong pinion. Thou that gav'st me birth, [Spain 1 And lineage, and once home, my native My own bright land my father's land my child's I What hath thy son brought from thee to the wilds? He hath Brought marks of torture and the chain, [breeze ; Traces of things which pass not as a A blighted name, dark thoughts, wrath, woe, thy gifts are these. VI. A blighted name 1 I hear the winds of morn [shiver Their sounds are not of this I I hear the Of. the green reeds, and all the rustlings, borne From the high forest, when the light leaves quiver : [waving, Their sounds are not of this ! the cedars, Lend it no tone : His wide savannahs laving, It is not murmured by the joyous river I What part hath mortal name, wnere God alone Speaks to the mighty waste, and through its heart is known ? , VTT. Is it not much that i may worship Him, With nought my spirit's breathings to control, [dim, And feel His presence in the vast, and And whispery woods, where dying thun- ders roll [rejoice From the far cataracts? Shaft I not That I have learned at last to know His voice [ing soul From man's ? I will rejoice ! my soar- Now hath redeemed her birthright of the day, [unfettered way 1 And won, through clouds, to Him, her own vra. And thou, my boy ! that silent at my knee Dost lift to mine thy soft, dark, earnest eyes, [see Filled with the love of childhood, which I Pure through its depths, a thing without disguise ; Thou that hast breathed in slumber on my breast, , When I have checked its throbs to give thee rest, > Mine own I whose young thoughts fresh before me rise I [prayer, Is it not much that I may guide thy- And circle thy glad soul with free and healthful air? Why should I weep on thy bright head, my boy ? Within thy fathers' halls thou wilt not dwell, . J Nor lift their banner, with a warrior's joy, Amidst the sons of mountain chiefs, who fell For Spain of old. Yet what if rolling waves Have borne us far from our ancestral graves? Thou shall not feel thy burstingheart rebel As mine hath done ; nor bear what I have borne, Casting in falsehood's mould th' indignant brow of scorn. x. This shall not be thy lot, my blessed child I [vain I have not sorrowed, straggled, lived in Hear me I magnificent and ancient wild ; And mighty rivers, ye that meet the main, As deep meets deep ; and forests, whose dim shade | The flood's voice, and the wind's, by swells pervade ; [plain, Hear me 1 'tis well to die, and not corn- Yet there are hours when .the charged heart must speak, [break I Even in the desert's ear to pour itself, or I see an oak before me, it hath been The crowned one of the woods ; and might have flung . [green, Its hundred arms to heaven, still freshly But a wild vine around the stem hatJh clung, THE FOREST SANCTUARY. 281 From branch to branch close wreaths of bondage throwing, [bowing, Till the proud tree, before no tempest Hath shrunk and died, those serpent- folds among. Alas ! alas ! what is it that I see ? An image of man's mind, land of my sires, with thee I XII. Yet art thou lovely ! Song is on thy hills O sweet and mournful melodies of Spain, That lulled my boyhood, how your memory thrills [pain ! The exile's heart with sudden-wakening Your sounds are on the rocks : That I might hear Once more the music of the moun- taineer I And from the sunny vales the shepherd's strain Floats out, and fills the solitary place With the old tuneful names of Spain's heroic race. xm. But there was silence one bright, golden day, Through my own pine-hung mountains. Clear, yet lone, In the rich autumn light the vineyards lay, And from the fields the peasant's voice was gone ; And the red grapes untrodden strewed the ground, And the free flocks untended roamed around : Where was the pastor ? where the pipe's wild tone? [among, Music and mirth were hushed the hills While to the city's gates each hamlet poured its throng. XIV. Silence upon the mountains 1 But within The city's gates a rush a press a swell Of multitudes their torrent way to win ; And heavy boomings of a dull, deep bell, A dead pause following each like that which parts [hearts The dash of billows, -holding breathless Fast in the hush of fear knell after knell; And sounds of thickening steps, like thunder-rain, That plashes on the toot of some vast echoing fane I xv, What pageant's hour approached ? The sullen gate [thrown Of a strong ancient prison-house was Back to the day. And who, in mournful state, [stone ? Came forth, led slowly o'er its threshold- They that had learned, in cells of secret gloom, [whom How sunshine is forgotten ! They to The very features of mankind were grown' Things that bewildered 1 O'er their dazzled sight, They lifted their wan hands, and cowered before the light 1 XVI. To this man brings his brother I Some were there, Who with their desolation had entwined Fierce strength, and girt the sternness of despair [riors bind Fast round their bosoms, even as war- The breastplate on for fight : but brow and cheek [speak i Seemed theirs a torturing panoply to And there were some, from whom the very mind Had been wrung out : they smiled oh ! startling smile Whence man's high soul is fled 1 Where doth it sleep the while ? XVII. But onward moved the melancholy train, For their false creeds in fiery pangs to die. This was the solemn sacrifice of Spain Heaven's offering from the land of chi- valry I Through' thousands, thousands of their race they moved Oh I how unlike all others I thebeloved, The free, the proud, ' the beautiful I whose eye [breath Grew fixed before them, while a people's Was hushed, and its one soul bound in the thought of death I XVIII. It might be that amidst the countless throng, There swelled some heart, with Pity's weight oppressed, [strong ; For the wide stream of human love is And woman, oh whose fond and faithful breast 282 i / 'THE FOREST SANCTUARY. Childhood is reared, and at whose knee the sigh Of its first prayer is breathed, she, too, was nigh, [blessed, But life is dear, and the free footstep And home a sunny place, where each may fill Some eye with glistening smiles, and therefore all were still XIX. All still youth, courage, strength 1 a winter laid, A chain of palsy, cast on might and mind I Still, as at noon a Southern forest's shade, They stood, those breathless masses of mankind ; Still, as a frozen torrent 1 but the wave Soon leaps to foaming freedom they, the brave, [assigned Endured they saw the martyr's place In the red flames whence is the wither- ing spell That numbs each human pulse ? they saw, and thought it well. And I, too, thought it well ! That very mom , [clung From a far land I came, yet round me The spirit of my own. No hand had torn With a strong grasp away the veil which hung Between mine eyes and truth. I gazed, I saw, Dimly, as through a glass. In silent awe I watched the fearful rites ; and if there sprung One rebel feeling from its deep founts up, Shuddering, I flung it back, as guilt's own poison-cup. XXI. But I was wakened as the dreamers waken [of dre-ad Whom the shrill trumpet and the shriek Rouse up at midnight, when their walls are taken, [shed And they must battle till their blood is On their own threshold-floor. A path for light Through my torn breast was shattered by the might Of the swift thunder-stroke and Free- dom's tread [vain, Came in through ruins, late, yet not in Making the blighted place all green with life again. XXII. Still darkly, slowly, as a sullen mass Of cloud, o'ersweeping, without wind, the sky, Dream-like I saw the sad precession pass, And marked its victims with a tearless eye. [wrought They moved before me but as pictures, Each to reveal some secret of man's thought, On the sharp edge of sad mortality, Till in his place came one oh ! could it be? My friend, my heart's first friend 1 and did I gaze on thee ? XXIII. On thee ! with whom in boyhood I had played, [streams ; At the grape-gatherings, by my native And to whose eye my youthful soul had laid Bare, as to Heaven's, its glowing world of dreams ; [stood, And by whose side 'midst warriors I had And in whose helm was brought oh ! earned with blood ; The fresh wave to my lips, when tropic beams [had passed, Smote on my fevered brow ! Ay, years Severing our paths, brave friend ! and thus we met at last 1 I see it still the lofty mien thou borest On thy pale forehead sat a sense of power 1 [wprest, The very look that once thou brightly Cheering me onward through a fearful hour, [spear, When we were girt by Indian bow and 'Midst the white Andes even as moun- tain deer, [javelin-shower Hemmed in our camp but through the V/e rent our way, a tempest of despair I And thou hadst thou but died with thy true brethren there I XXV. I call the fond wish back for thou hast perished [known More nobly far, my Alvar ! making The might of truth ; and be thy memory cherished With theirs, the thousands, that around her 'throne THE FOREST SANCTUARY. 283 Have poured their lives out smfling, in that doom Finding a triumph, if denied a tomb ! Ay, with their ashes hath the wind been sown, And with the wind their spirit shall be spread, Filling man's heart and home with records of the dead. xxvi. Thou Searcher of the Soul ! in. whose dread sight [skies, Not the bold guilt alone, that mocks the But the scarce-owned, unwhispered thought of night, As a thing written with the sunbeam lies ; Thou know'st whose eye through shade and depth can see, That this man's crime was but to worship thee, Like those that made their hearts thy sacrifice, [side, The called of yore , wont by the Saviour's On the dim Olive-mount to pray at even- tide. XXVII. For the strong spirit will at times awake, Piercing the mists that wrap her clay- abode'; [take And, born of thee, she may not always Earth's accents for the oracles of God ; And even for this O dust, whose mask is power ! [hour I Reed, that wouldst be a scourge thy little Spark, whereon yet the mighty hath not trod, And therefore thou destroyest I where were flown Our hope, if man were left to man's decree alone? XXVlll. But this I felt not yet. I could but gaze On him/ -my friend ; whDe that swift moment threw . [days, A sudden freshness back on vanished 'Like water-drops on some dim picture's hue ; Calling the proud time up, when first I stood Where banners floated, and my heart's quick blood Sprang to a torrent as the clarion blew, And he his sword was like a brother's worn, That watches through the field bis mother's youngest born. XXIX. But a lance met me in that day's career, Senseless I lay amidst th' o'ersweeping fight, [clear, Wakening at last how full, how strangely That scene on memory flashed! the shivery light, Moonlight, on broken shields the plain of slaughter, The fountain-side the low sweet sound of water [night And Alvar bending o'er me from the Covering me with his mantle 1 all the past Flowed back my soul's far chords all answered to the blast. XXX. Till, in that rush of visions, I became As one that by the bands of slumber wound, [frame, Lies with a powerless, but all-thrilling Intense in consciousness of sight and sound, [brings Yet buried in a wildering dream which Loved faces round him, girt with fearful things > Troubled even thus I stood, but chained and bound On that familiar form mine eye to keep : Alas I I might not fall upon his neck and weepl XXXI. He passed me and what next? I looked on two, [place, Following his footsteps to the same dread For the same guilt his sisters ! Well I knew The beauty on those brows, though each young face Was changed so deeply changed ! a dungeon's air [bear; Is hard for loved and lovely things to And ye, O daughters of a lofty race, Queen-like Theresa I radiant Inez 1 flowers =0 cherished ! were ye then but reared for those dark hours? xxxn. A mournful home, young sisters ! had ye left, [the wall, With your lutes hanging hushed upon And silence round the aged man, bereft Of each glad voice, once answering to hiscalL THE FOREST SANCTUARY. Alas, that lonely father ! doomed to pine For sounds departed! n his life's decline, And "midst the shadowing banners of his hall, [name With his white hair to sit, and deem the ft. hundred chiefs had borne, cast down by you to shame 1 xxxm. And woe for you, 'midst looks and words of love, [long ! And gentle hearts and faces, nursed so How had I seen you in your beauty move, Wearing the wreath, and listening to the song I Yet sat, even then, what seemed the crowd to shun, Half veiled upon the clear pale brow of one, And deeper thoughts than oft to youth belong, Thoughts, such as wake to evening's whispery sway, Within the drooping shade of her sweet eyelids lay. XXXIV. And if she mingled with the festive train, It was but as some melancholy star Beholds the dance of shepherds on the plain, In its bright stillness present, though afar. Yet would she smile and that, too, hath its smile Circled with joy which reached her not the while, And bearing a lone spirit, not at war With earthly things, but o'er their form and hue [true. Shedding too clear a light, too sorrowfully But the dark hours wring forth the hidden might, Which hath lain bedded in the silent soul, A treasure all undreamt of ; as the night Calls out the harmonies of streams that roll Unheard by day. It seemed as if her breast Had hoarded energies, till then sup- pressed Almost with pain, and bursting from control, And finding first that hour their pathway free : Could a rose brave the storm, such might her emblem be I For the soft gloom whose shadow still had hung [worn, On her fair brow beneath its garlands Was fled I and fire, like prophecy's, had sprung [scorn Clear to her kindled eye. It might be Pride sense of wrong ay, the frail heart is bound [round, By these at times, even as with adamant Kept so from breaking I yet not tAus upborne She moved, though some sustaining passion's wave [brave ! Lifted her fervent soul a sister for the And yet, alas I to see the strength which clings [ful sight, Round woman in such hours ! a mourn- Though lovely I an o'erflowing of the springs, [bright ! The full springs of affection, deep as And she, because her life is ever twined With other lives, and by no stormy wind May thence be shaken, and because the light Of tenderness is-round her, and her eye Doth weep such passionate tears therefore she thus can die. xxxvm. Therefore didst thou, through that heart- shaking scene, [aside As through a triumph move ; and cast Thine own sweet thoughtfulness for vic- tory's mien, O faithful sister 1 cheering thus the guide, And friend, and brother of thy sainted youth, [truth, Whose hand had led thee to the source o Where thy glad soul from earth was purified ; Nor wouldst thou, following him through all the past, That he should see thy step grow tremulous at last. XXXIX. For thon hadst made no deeper love a, guest 'Midst thyyoung spirit's dreams, than that which grows [breast, Between the nurtured of the same fond The sheltered of one roof : and thus it rose THE FOREST SANCTUARY. 285 Twined in with life. How is it, that the hours Of the same sport, the gathering early flowers [pose, Round the same tree, the sharing one re- And mingling one first prayer in murmurs soft, From the heart's memory fade, in this world's breath, so oft? XL. But thee that breath had touched not ; thee, nor him, The true in all things found ! and thou wert blest Even then, that no remembered change could dim The perfect image of affection, pressed Like armour to thy bosom I thou hadst kept [wept, Watch by that brother's couch of pain, and Thy sweet face covering with thy robe, when rest Fled from the sufferer ; thou hadst bound his faith Unto thy soul ; one light, one hope ye chose one death. XLI. So didst thou pass on brightly ! but for her, [spoken ! Next in that path, how may her doom be All-merciful 1 to think that such things were, [unbroken 1 And are, and seen by men with hearts To think of that fair girl, whose path had been [scene ! So strewed with rose-leaves, all one fairy And whose quick glance came ever as a token Of hope to drooping thought, and her glad voice As a free bird's in spring, that makes the woods rejoice. And she to die ! she loved the laughing earth [flowers ! With such deep joy in its fresh leaves and Was not her smile even, as the sudden birth [showers ? Of a young rainbow, colouring vernal Yes I but to meet her fawn-like step, to hear The gushes of wild song, so silvery clear. Which, "oft unconsciously in happier hours Flowed from her lips, was to forget the sway Of Time and death below, blight, shadow, dull decay. XLIII. Could this change be? the hour, Jthe scene, where last [mind : I saw that form, came floating o'er my A golden vintage eve ; the heats were passed, And, in the freshness of the fanning wind, Her father sat, where gleamed the first faint star Through the lime-boughs ; and with her light guitar, [reclined, She, on the greensward, at his feet In his calm face laughed up ; spme shep- herd-lay Singing, as childhood sings on the lone hills at play. XLIV. And now O God ! the bitter fear of death, [dread, The sore amaze, the faint o'ershadowing Had grasped her ! panting in her quick- drawn breath, And in her white lips quivering ; on- ward led, [eyes, She looked up with her dim bewildered And there smiled out her own soft bril- liant .skies, . Far in their sultry, southern azure spread, Glowing with joy, but silent 1 still they smiled, Yet sent down no reprieve for earth's poor trembling child. XLV. Alas 1 that earth had all too strong a hold^ [bloom Too fast, sweet Inez ! on thy heart, whose Was give% to early love, nor knew how cold [with whom, The hours which follow. There was one, Young as thou wert, and gentle, and untried, [have died ; Thou might'st, perchance, unshrinkingly But he was far away ; and with thy doom [dear, Thus gathering, life grew so .intensely That all the slight frame shook with its cold mortal fear 1 XLVl. No aid ! ihou! too didst pass 1 and aD h& \ passed, [strong I The tearful and &e desperate n