 | The poetical works of James Montgomery |  |
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NARRATIVES.
FAREWELL TO WAR:
BEING A PROLOGUE TO “LORD FALKLAND'S DREAM,” AND “ARNOLD DE WINKELRIED, OR THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORD.”
Peace to the trumpet!—no more shall my breath
Sound an alarm in the dull ear of death,
Nor startle to life from the truce of the tomb
The relics of heroes, to combat till doom.
Let Marathon sleep to the sound of the sea,
Let Hannibal's spectre haunt Cannæ for me;
Let Cressy and Agincourt tremble with corn,
And Waterloo blush with the beauty of morn;
I turn not the furrow for helmets and shields,
Nor sow dragon's teeth in their old fallow fields;
I will not, as bards have been wont, since the flood,
With the river of song swell the river of blood,
—The blood of the valiant, that fell in all climes,
—The song of the gifted, that hallow'd all crimes,
—All crimes in the war-fiend incarnate in one;
War, withering the earth—war, eclipsing the sun,
Despoiling, destroying, since discord began,
God's works and God's mercies,—man's labours and man.
Sound an alarm in the dull ear of death,
Nor startle to life from the truce of the tomb
The relics of heroes, to combat till doom.
Let Marathon sleep to the sound of the sea,
Let Hannibal's spectre haunt Cannæ for me;
Let Cressy and Agincourt tremble with corn,
And Waterloo blush with the beauty of morn;
I turn not the furrow for helmets and shields,
Nor sow dragon's teeth in their old fallow fields;
I will not, as bards have been wont, since the flood,
With the river of song swell the river of blood,
—The blood of the valiant, that fell in all climes,
—The song of the gifted, that hallow'd all crimes,
—All crimes in the war-fiend incarnate in one;
War, withering the earth—war, eclipsing the sun,
Despoiling, destroying, since discord began,
God's works and God's mercies,—man's labours and man.
Yet war have I loved, and of war have I sung,
With my heart in my hand and my soul on my tongue;
With all the affections that render life dear,
With the throbbings of hope and the flutterings of fear,
—Of hope, that the sword of the brave might prevail,
—Of fear, lest the arm of the righteous should fail.
With my heart in my hand and my soul on my tongue;
With all the affections that render life dear,
With the throbbings of hope and the flutterings of fear,
—Of hope, that the sword of the brave might prevail,
—Of fear, lest the arm of the righteous should fail.
But what was the war that extorted my praise?
What battles were fought in my chivalrous lays?
—The war against darkness contending with light;
The war against violence trampling down right;
—The battles of patriots, with banner unfurl'd,
To guard a child's cradle against an arm'd world;
Of peasants that peopled their ancestors' graves,
Lest their ancestors' homes should be peopled by slaves.
I served, too, in wars and campaigns of the mind;
My pen was the sword, which I drew for mankind;
—In war against tyranny throned in the West,
—Campaigns to enfranchise the negro oppress'd;
In war against war, on whatever pretence,
For glory, dominion, revenge, or defence,
While murder and perfidy, rapine and lust,
Laid provinces desolate, cities in dust.
What battles were fought in my chivalrous lays?
—The war against darkness contending with light;
The war against violence trampling down right;
—The battles of patriots, with banner unfurl'd,
To guard a child's cradle against an arm'd world;
Of peasants that peopled their ancestors' graves,
Lest their ancestors' homes should be peopled by slaves.
I served, too, in wars and campaigns of the mind;
My pen was the sword, which I drew for mankind;
—In war against tyranny throned in the West,
—Campaigns to enfranchise the negro oppress'd;
In war against war, on whatever pretence,
For glory, dominion, revenge, or defence,
While murder and perfidy, rapine and lust,
Laid provinces desolate, cities in dust.
Yes, war against war was ever my pride;
My youth and my manhood in waging it died,
And age, with its weakness, its wounds, and its scars,
Still finds my free spirit unquench'd as the stars,
And he who would bend it to war must first bind
The waves of the ocean, the wings of the wind;
For I call it not war, which war's counsels o'erthrows,
I call it not war which gives nations repose;
'Tis judgment brought down on themselves by the proud,
Like lightning, by fools, from an innocent cloud.
My youth and my manhood in waging it died,
And age, with its weakness, its wounds, and its scars,
Still finds my free spirit unquench'd as the stars,
And he who would bend it to war must first bind
The waves of the ocean, the wings of the wind;
For I call it not war, which war's counsels o'erthrows,
I call it not war which gives nations repose;
'Tis judgment brought down on themselves by the proud,
Like lightning, by fools, from an innocent cloud.
I war against all war;—nor, till my pulse cease,
Will I throw down my weapons, because I love peace,
Because I love liberty, execrate strife,
And dread, most of all deaths, that slow death call'd life,
Dragg'd on by a vassal, in purple or chains,
The breath of whose nostrils, the blood in whose veins,
He calls not his own, nor holds from his God,
While it hangs on a king's or a sycophant's nod.
Will I throw down my weapons, because I love peace,
Because I love liberty, execrate strife,
And dread, most of all deaths, that slow death call'd life,
Dragg'd on by a vassal, in purple or chains,
The breath of whose nostrils, the blood in whose veins,
He calls not his own, nor holds from his God,
While it hangs on a king's or a sycophant's nod.
Around the mute trumpet,—no longer to breathe
War-clangours, my latest war-chaplets I wreathe,
Then hang them aloof on the time-stricken oak,
And thus, in its shadow, heaven's blessing invoke:—
“Lord God! since the African's bondage is o'er,
And war in our borders is heard of no more,
May never, while Britain adores Thee, again
The malice of fiends or the madness of men
Break the peace of our land, and by villanous wrong
Find a field for a hero, a hero for song!”
War-clangours, my latest war-chaplets I wreathe,
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And thus, in its shadow, heaven's blessing invoke:—
“Lord God! since the African's bondage is o'er,
And war in our borders is heard of no more,
May never, while Britain adores Thee, again
The malice of fiends or the madness of men
Break the peace of our land, and by villanous wrong
Find a field for a hero, a hero for song!”
1834.
LORD FALKLAND'S DREAM.
A. D. 1643.
“Io vo gridando, Pace! pace! pace!”
Petrarca, Canzone agli principi d'Italia, Esortazione alla Pace, A.D. 1344.
Petrarca, Canzone agli principi d'Italia, Esortazione alla Pace, A.D. 1344.
“In this unhappy battle [of Newbury] was slain the Lord Viscount Falkland, a person of such prodigious parts of learning and knowledge, of that inimitable sweetness and delight of conversation, of so flowing and obliging a humanity and goodness to mankind, and of that primitive simplicity and integrity of life, that if there were no other brand upon this odious and accursed war, than that single loss, it must be most infamous and execrable to all posterity.
‘Turpe mori, post te, solo non posse dolore.’”
“From the entrance into that unnatural war, his natural cheerfulness and vivacity grew clouded; and a kind of sadness and dejection stole upon him, which he had never been used to. . . . . . After the King's return to Oxford, and the furious resolution of the two Houses not to admit any treaty for peace, those indispositions which had before touched him grew into a perfect habit of uncheerfulness; and he who had been so exactly easy and affable to all men, that his face and countenance was always present, and vacant to his company, and held any cloudiness or less pleasantness of the visage a kind of rudeness or incivility, became on a sudden less communicable, and thence very sad, pale, and exceedingly affected with the spleen. In his clothes and habit, which he minded before with more neatness, and industry, and expense, than is usual to so great a soul, he was not only incurious, but too negligent; and in his reception of suitors, and the necessary and casual addresses to his place (being then Secretary of State to King Charles), so quick, and sharp, and severe, that there wanted not some men (strangers to his nature and disposition) who believed him proud and imperious, from which no mortal man was ever more free.”
“When there was any overture or hope of peace he would be more erect and vigorous, and exceedingly solicitous to press any thing which he thought might promote it; and, sitting among his friends, often, after a deep silence, and frequent sighs, would, with a shrill and sad accent, ingeminate the word ‘Peace! peace!’ and would profess that the very agony of the war, and the view of the calamities and desolation the kingdom did and must endure, took his sleep from him, and would shortly break his heart.”
Clarendon's History, vol. ii. part i.
War, civil war, was raging like a flood,
England lay weltering in her children's blood;
Brother with brother waged unnatural strife,
Sever'd were all the charities of life:
Two passions,—virtues they assumed to be,—
Virtues they were,—romantic loyalty,
And stern, unyielding patriotism, possess'd
Divided empire in the nation's breast;
As though two hearts might in one body reign,
And urge conflicting streams from vein to vein.
On either side the noblest spirits fought,
And highest deeds on either side were wrought:
Hampden in battle yesterday hath bled,
Falkland to-morrow joins the immortal dead;
The one for freedom perish'd—not in vain;
The other falls—a courtier without stain.
England lay weltering in her children's blood;
Brother with brother waged unnatural strife,
Sever'd were all the charities of life:
Two passions,—virtues they assumed to be,—
Virtues they were,—romantic loyalty,
And stern, unyielding patriotism, possess'd
Divided empire in the nation's breast;
As though two hearts might in one body reign,
And urge conflicting streams from vein to vein.
On either side the noblest spirits fought,
And highest deeds on either side were wrought:
Hampden in battle yesterday hath bled,
Falkland to-morrow joins the immortal dead;
The one for freedom perish'd—not in vain;
The other falls—a courtier without stain.
'Twas on the eve of Newbury's doubtful fight;
O'er marshall'd foes came down the peace of night,
—Peace which, to eyes in living slumber seal'd,
The mysteries of the night to come reveal'd,
When that throng'd plain, now warm with heaving breath,
Should lie in cold, fix'd apathy of death.
Falkland from court and camp had glid away,
With Chaucer's shade, through Speenham woods to stray,
And pour in solitude, without control,
Through the dun gloom, the anguish of his soul.
—Falkland, the plume of England's chivalry,
The just, the brave, the generous, and the free!
—Nay, task not poetry to tell his praise,
Twine but a wreath of transitory bays,
To crown him, as he lives, from age to age,
In Clarendon's imperishable page;
Look there upon the very man, and see
What Falkland was,—what thou thyself shouldst be;
Patriot and loyalist, who veil'd to none,
He loved his country and his king in one,
And could no more, in his affections, part
That wedded pair, than pluck out half his heart:
Hence every wound that each the other gave,
Brought their best servant nearer to the grave.
Thither he hasten'd, withering in his prime,—
The worm of sorrow wrought the work of time;
And England's woes had sunk him with their weight,
Had not the swifter sword foreclosed his date.
O'er marshall'd foes came down the peace of night,
—Peace which, to eyes in living slumber seal'd,
The mysteries of the night to come reveal'd,
When that throng'd plain, now warm with heaving breath,
Should lie in cold, fix'd apathy of death.
Falkland from court and camp had glid away,
With Chaucer's shade, through Speenham woods to stray,
And pour in solitude, without control,
Through the dun gloom, the anguish of his soul.
—Falkland, the plume of England's chivalry,
The just, the brave, the generous, and the free!
—Nay, task not poetry to tell his praise,
Twine but a wreath of transitory bays,
To crown him, as he lives, from age to age,
In Clarendon's imperishable page;
Look there upon the very man, and see
What Falkland was,—what thou thyself shouldst be;
Patriot and loyalist, who veil'd to none,
He loved his country and his king in one,
203
That wedded pair, than pluck out half his heart:
Hence every wound that each the other gave,
Brought their best servant nearer to the grave.
Thither he hasten'd, withering in his prime,—
The worm of sorrow wrought the work of time;
And England's woes had sunk him with their weight,
Had not the swifter sword foreclosed his date.
In sighs for her his spirit was exhaled,
He wept for her till power of weeping fail'd;
Pale, wasted, nerveless, absent,—he appear'd
To haunt the scenes which once his presence cheer'd;
As though some vampire from its cerements crept,
And drain'd health's fountain nightly while he slept;
But he slept not;—sleep from his eyelids fled,
All restless as the ocean's foam his bed;
The very agony of war,—the guilt
Of blood by kindred blood in hatred spilt,—
Crush'd heart and hope; till foundering, tempest-toss'd,
From gulfs to deeper gulfs, himself he lost.
Yet when he heard the drum to battle beat,
First at the onset, latest in retreat,
Eager to brave rebellion to the face,
Or hunt out peril in its hiding-place,
Falkland was slow to arm the' ignoble crowd,
He sought to raise the fall'n, strike down the proud,
Nor stood there one for parliament or throne
More choice of meaner lives, more reckless of his own.
He wept for her till power of weeping fail'd;
Pale, wasted, nerveless, absent,—he appear'd
To haunt the scenes which once his presence cheer'd;
As though some vampire from its cerements crept,
And drain'd health's fountain nightly while he slept;
But he slept not;—sleep from his eyelids fled,
All restless as the ocean's foam his bed;
The very agony of war,—the guilt
Of blood by kindred blood in hatred spilt,—
Crush'd heart and hope; till foundering, tempest-toss'd,
From gulfs to deeper gulfs, himself he lost.
Yet when he heard the drum to battle beat,
First at the onset, latest in retreat,
Eager to brave rebellion to the face,
Or hunt out peril in its hiding-place,
Falkland was slow to arm the' ignoble crowd,
He sought to raise the fall'n, strike down the proud,
Nor stood there one for parliament or throne
More choice of meaner lives, more reckless of his own.
Oft from his lips a shrill sad moan would start,
And cold misgivings creep around his heart,
When he beheld the plague of war increase,
And but one word found utterance—“Peace! peace! peace!”
And cold misgivings creep around his heart,
When he beheld the plague of war increase,
And but one word found utterance—“Peace! peace! peace!”
That eve he wander'd in his wayward mood,
Through thoughts more wildering than the maze of wood,
Where, when the moon-beam flitted o'er his face,
He seem'd the' unquiet spectre of the place:
Rank thorns and briars, the rose and woodbine's bloom,
Perplex'd his path through checker'd light and gloom;
Himself insensible of gloom or light,
Darkness within made all around him night;
Till the green beauty of a little glade,
That open'd up to heaven, his footsteps stay'd:
Eye, breath, and pulse, the sweet enchantment felt,
His heart with tenderness began to melt;
Trembling, he lean'd against a Druid oak,
Whose boughs bare token of the thunder-stroke,
With root unshaken, and with bole unbroke:
Then thus, while hope almost forgot despair,
Breathed his soul's burden on the tranquil air:—
Through thoughts more wildering than the maze of wood,
Where, when the moon-beam flitted o'er his face,
He seem'd the' unquiet spectre of the place:
Rank thorns and briars, the rose and woodbine's bloom,
Perplex'd his path through checker'd light and gloom;
Himself insensible of gloom or light,
Darkness within made all around him night;
Till the green beauty of a little glade,
That open'd up to heaven, his footsteps stay'd:
Eye, breath, and pulse, the sweet enchantment felt,
His heart with tenderness began to melt;
Trembling, he lean'd against a Druid oak,
Whose boughs bare token of the thunder-stroke,
With root unshaken, and with bole unbroke:
Then thus, while hope almost forgot despair,
Breathed his soul's burden on the tranquil air:—
“O Britain! Britain! to thyself be true;
Land which the Roman never could subdue:
Oft though he pass'd thy sons beneath the yoke,
As oft thy sons the spears they bow'd to broke;
Others with home-wrought chains he proudly bound,
His own too weak to fetter thee he found;
Though garrison'd by legions, legions fail'd
To quell thy spirit,—thy spirit again prevail'd.
By him abandon'd, island-martyr! doom'd
To prove the fires of ages unconsumed,
Though Saxon, Dane, Norwegian, Gallic hordes,
In dire succession, gave thee laws and lords,
Conquer'd themselves by peace,—in every field,
The victor to the vanquish'd lost his shield.
To win my country, to usurp her throne,
Canute and William must forsake their own;
Invading rivers thus roll back the sea,
Then lose themselves in its immensity.
Land which the Roman never could subdue:
Oft though he pass'd thy sons beneath the yoke,
As oft thy sons the spears they bow'd to broke;
Others with home-wrought chains he proudly bound,
His own too weak to fetter thee he found;
Though garrison'd by legions, legions fail'd
To quell thy spirit,—thy spirit again prevail'd.
By him abandon'd, island-martyr! doom'd
To prove the fires of ages unconsumed,
Though Saxon, Dane, Norwegian, Gallic hordes,
In dire succession, gave thee laws and lords,
Conquer'd themselves by peace,—in every field,
The victor to the vanquish'd lost his shield.
To win my country, to usurp her throne,
Canute and William must forsake their own;
Invading rivers thus roll back the sea,
Then lose themselves in its immensity.
“But 'twas thine own distractions lent them aid,
Enslaved by strangers, because self-betray'd;
Still self-distracted;—yet should foreign foe
Land now, another spirit thy sons would show;
King, nobles, parliament, and people,—all,
Like the Red Sea's returning waves, would fall,
And with one burst o'erwhelm the mightiest host.
—Would such a foe this hour were on thy coast!
Enslaved by strangers, because self-betray'd;
Still self-distracted;—yet should foreign foe
Land now, another spirit thy sons would show;
King, nobles, parliament, and people,—all,
Like the Red Sea's returning waves, would fall,
And with one burst o'erwhelm the mightiest host.
—Would such a foe this hour were on thy coast!
“How oft, O Albion! since those twilight times,
Have wars intestine laid thee waste with crimes!
Tweed's borderers were hereditary foes,
Nor can one crown even now their feuds compose;
Thy peasantry were serfs to vassal lords,
Yoked with their oxen, tether'd to their swords:
Round their cross banners kings thy bowmen ranged,
Till York and Lancaster their roses changed.
Those days, thank Heaven! those evil days are past,
Yet wilt thou fall by suicide at last?
O England! England! from such frenzy cease,
And on thyself have mercy,—Peace! peace! peace!”
Have wars intestine laid thee waste with crimes!
Tweed's borderers were hereditary foes,
Nor can one crown even now their feuds compose;
Thy peasantry were serfs to vassal lords,
Yoked with their oxen, tether'd to their swords:
Round their cross banners kings thy bowmen ranged,
Till York and Lancaster their roses changed.
Those days, thank Heaven! those evil days are past,
Yet wilt thou fall by suicide at last?
O England! England! from such frenzy cease,
And on thyself have mercy,—Peace! peace! peace!”
204
“Who talks of Peace?—sweet Peace is in her grave:
Save a lone widow,—from her offspring save!”
Exclaim'd a voice, scarce earthly, in his ear,
Withering his nerves with unaccustom'd fear;
His hand was on his sword, but, ere he drew
The starting blade, a suppliant cross'd his view;
Forth from the forest rush'd a female form,
Like the moon's image hurrying through the storm;
Down in a moment, at his feet, aghast,
Lock'd to his smiting knees, herself she cast.
Rent were her garments, and her hair unbound,
All fleck'd with blood from many an unstaunch'd wound,
Inflicted by the very hands that press'd,
In rose-lipp'd infancy, her yearning breast;
And ever and anon she look'd behind,
As though pursuing voices swell'd the wind;
Then shriek'd insanely,—“Peace is in her grave!
Save a lost mother,—from her children save!”
Wan with heart-sickness, ready to expire,
Her cheeks were ashes, but her eye was fire,
—Fire fix'd, as through the horror of the mine,
Sparks from the diamond's still water shine;
So where the cloud of death o'ershadowing hung,
Light in her eye from depth of darkness sprung,
Dazzling his sight, and kindling such a flame
Within his breast as nature could not name;
He knew her not;—that face he never saw;
He loved her not,—yet love, chastised by awe
And reverence, with mysterious terror mix'd,
His looks on hers in fascination fix'd.
Save a lone widow,—from her offspring save!”
Exclaim'd a voice, scarce earthly, in his ear,
Withering his nerves with unaccustom'd fear;
His hand was on his sword, but, ere he drew
The starting blade, a suppliant cross'd his view;
Forth from the forest rush'd a female form,
Like the moon's image hurrying through the storm;
Down in a moment, at his feet, aghast,
Lock'd to his smiting knees, herself she cast.
Rent were her garments, and her hair unbound,
All fleck'd with blood from many an unstaunch'd wound,
Inflicted by the very hands that press'd,
In rose-lipp'd infancy, her yearning breast;
And ever and anon she look'd behind,
As though pursuing voices swell'd the wind;
Then shriek'd insanely,—“Peace is in her grave!
Save a lost mother,—from her children save!”
Wan with heart-sickness, ready to expire,
Her cheeks were ashes, but her eye was fire,
—Fire fix'd, as through the horror of the mine,
Sparks from the diamond's still water shine;
So where the cloud of death o'ershadowing hung,
Light in her eye from depth of darkness sprung,
Dazzling his sight, and kindling such a flame
Within his breast as nature could not name;
He knew her not;—that face he never saw;
He loved her not,—yet love, chastised by awe
And reverence, with mysterious terror mix'd,
His looks on hers in fascination fix'd.
“Who?—whence?—what wouldst thou?” Falkland cried at length:
His voice inspired her; up she rose in strength,
Gather'd her robe and spread her locks, to hide
The unsightly wounds; then fervently replied:—
“Behold a matron, widow'd and forlorn,
Yet many a noble son to me was born,
Flowers of my youth, and morning-stars of joy!
They quarrell'd, fought, and slew my youngest boy;
Youngest and best beloved!—I rush'd between,
My darling from the fratricides to screen;
He perish'd; from my arms he dropp'd in death;
I felt him kiss my feet with his last breath;
The swords that smote him, flashing round my head,
Pierced me;—the murderers saw my blood, and fled,—
Their parent's blood; and she, unconscious why
She sought thee out, came here—came here to die.
'Tis a strange tale;—'tis true,—and yet 'tis not;
Follow me, Falkland, thou shalt see the spot,—
See my slain boy,—my life's own life, the pride
And hope of his poor mother,—but he died;
He died,—and she did not;—how can it be?
But I'm immortal!—Falkland, come and see.”
His voice inspired her; up she rose in strength,
Gather'd her robe and spread her locks, to hide
The unsightly wounds; then fervently replied:—
“Behold a matron, widow'd and forlorn,
Yet many a noble son to me was born,
Flowers of my youth, and morning-stars of joy!
They quarrell'd, fought, and slew my youngest boy;
Youngest and best beloved!—I rush'd between,
My darling from the fratricides to screen;
He perish'd; from my arms he dropp'd in death;
I felt him kiss my feet with his last breath;
The swords that smote him, flashing round my head,
Pierced me;—the murderers saw my blood, and fled,—
Their parent's blood; and she, unconscious why
She sought thee out, came here—came here to die.
'Tis a strange tale;—'tis true,—and yet 'tis not;
Follow me, Falkland, thou shalt see the spot,—
See my slain boy,—my life's own life, the pride
And hope of his poor mother,—but he died;
He died,—and she did not;—how can it be?
But I'm immortal!—Falkland, come and see.”
She spake: while Falkland, more and more amazed,
On her ineffable demeanour gazed;
So vitally her form and features changed,
He thought his own clear senses were deranged;
Outraged and desolate she seem'd no more;
He follow'd; stately, she advanced before:
The thickets, at her touch, gave way, and made
A wake of moonlight through their deepest shade.
Anon he found himself on Newbury's plain,
Walking among the dying and the slain;
At every step in blood his foot was dyed,
He heard expiring groans on every side.
The battle-thunder had roll'd by; the smoke
Was vanish'd; calm and bright the morning broke,
While such estrangement o'er his mind was cast,
As though another day and night had past.
There, 'midst the nameless crowd, oft met his view
An eye, a countenance, which Falkland knew,
But knew not him;—that eye to ice congeal'd,
That countenance by death's blank signet seal'd:
Rebel and royalist alike laid low,
Where friend embraced not friend, but foe grasp'd foe;
Falkland had tears for each, and patriot-sighs,
For both were Britons in that Briton's eyes.
On her ineffable demeanour gazed;
So vitally her form and features changed,
He thought his own clear senses were deranged;
Outraged and desolate she seem'd no more;
He follow'd; stately, she advanced before:
The thickets, at her touch, gave way, and made
A wake of moonlight through their deepest shade.
Anon he found himself on Newbury's plain,
Walking among the dying and the slain;
At every step in blood his foot was dyed,
He heard expiring groans on every side.
The battle-thunder had roll'd by; the smoke
Was vanish'd; calm and bright the morning broke,
While such estrangement o'er his mind was cast,
As though another day and night had past.
There, 'midst the nameless crowd, oft met his view
An eye, a countenance, which Falkland knew,
But knew not him;—that eye to ice congeal'd,
That countenance by death's blank signet seal'd:
Rebel and royalist alike laid low,
Where friend embraced not friend, but foe grasp'd foe;
Falkland had tears for each, and patriot-sighs,
For both were Britons in that Briton's eyes.
Silent before him trod the lofty dame,
Breathlessly looking round her, till they came
Where shatter'd fences mark'd a narrow road:
Tracing that line, with prostrate corpses strow'd,
She turn'd their faces upward, one by one,
Till, suddenly, the newly-risen sun
Shot through the level air a ruddy glow,
That fell upon a visage white as snow;
Then with a groan of agony, so wild,
As if the soul within her spake,—“My child!
My child!” she said, and pointing, shrinking back,
Made way for Falkland.—Prone along the track
(A sight at once that warm'd and thrill'd with awe)
The perfect image of himself he saw,
Shape, feature, limb, the arms, the dress he wore,
And one wide honourable wound before.
Then flash'd the fire of pride from Falkland's eye,
“'Tis glorious for our country thus to die;
'Tis sweet to leave an everlasting name,
A heritage of clear and virtuous fame.”
While thoughts like these his maddening brain possess'd,
And lightning pulses thunder'd through his breast;
While Falkland living stood o'er Falkland dead,
Fresh at his feet the corse's death-wound bled,
The eye met his with inexpressive glance,
Like the sleep-walker's in benumbing trance,
And o'er the countenance of rigid clay
The flush of life came quick, then pass'd away;
A momentary pang convulsed the chest,
As though the heart, awaking from unrest,
Broke with the effort;—all again was still;
Chill through his tingling veins the blood ran, chill.
“Can this,” he sigh'd, “be virtuous fame and clear?
Ah! what a field of fratricide is here!
Perish who may,—'tis England, England falls;
Triumph who will,—his vanquish'd country calls,
As I have done,—as I will never cease,
While I have breath and being,—Peace! peace! peace!”
Breathlessly looking round her, till they came
Where shatter'd fences mark'd a narrow road:
Tracing that line, with prostrate corpses strow'd,
She turn'd their faces upward, one by one,
Till, suddenly, the newly-risen sun
Shot through the level air a ruddy glow,
That fell upon a visage white as snow;
Then with a groan of agony, so wild,
As if the soul within her spake,—“My child!
My child!” she said, and pointing, shrinking back,
Made way for Falkland.—Prone along the track
(A sight at once that warm'd and thrill'd with awe)
The perfect image of himself he saw,
Shape, feature, limb, the arms, the dress he wore,
And one wide honourable wound before.
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“'Tis glorious for our country thus to die;
'Tis sweet to leave an everlasting name,
A heritage of clear and virtuous fame.”
While thoughts like these his maddening brain possess'd,
And lightning pulses thunder'd through his breast;
While Falkland living stood o'er Falkland dead,
Fresh at his feet the corse's death-wound bled,
The eye met his with inexpressive glance,
Like the sleep-walker's in benumbing trance,
And o'er the countenance of rigid clay
The flush of life came quick, then pass'd away;
A momentary pang convulsed the chest,
As though the heart, awaking from unrest,
Broke with the effort;—all again was still;
Chill through his tingling veins the blood ran, chill.
“Can this,” he sigh'd, “be virtuous fame and clear?
Ah! what a field of fratricide is here!
Perish who may,—'tis England, England falls;
Triumph who will,—his vanquish'd country calls,
As I have done,—as I will never cease,
While I have breath and being,—Peace! peace! peace!”
Here stoop'd the matron o'er the dead man's face,
Kiss'd the cold lips, then caught in her embrace
The living Falkland;—as he turn'd to speak,
He felt his mother's tears upon his cheek:
He knew her, own'd her, and at once forgot
All but her earliest love, and his first lot.
Her looks, her tones, her sweet caresses, then
Brought infancy and fairy-land again,
—Youth in the morn and maidenhood of life,
Ere fortune curst his father's house with strife,
And in an age when nature's laws were changed,
Mother and son, as heaven from earth, estranged.
Kiss'd the cold lips, then caught in her embrace
The living Falkland;—as he turn'd to speak,
He felt his mother's tears upon his cheek:
He knew her, own'd her, and at once forgot
All but her earliest love, and his first lot.
Her looks, her tones, her sweet caresses, then
Brought infancy and fairy-land again,
—Youth in the morn and maidenhood of life,
Ere fortune curst his father's house with strife,
And in an age when nature's laws were changed,
Mother and son, as heaven from earth, estranged.
“O Falkland! Falkland!” when her voice found speech,
The lady cried; then took a hand of each,
And joining clasp'd them in her own,—“My son!
Behold thyself, for thou and he are one.”
The dead man's hand grasp'd Falkland's with such force,
He fell transform'd into that very corse,
As though the wound which slew his counterpart
That moment sent the death-shot through his heart.
The lady cried; then took a hand of each,
And joining clasp'd them in her own,—“My son!
Behold thyself, for thou and he are one.”
The dead man's hand grasp'd Falkland's with such force,
He fell transform'd into that very corse,
As though the wound which slew his counterpart
That moment sent the death-shot through his heart.
When from that ecstasy he oped his eyes,
He thought his soul translated to the skies;
The battle-field had disappear'd; the scene
Had changed to beauty, silent and serene;
City nor country look'd as heretofore;
A hundred years and half a hundred more
Had travell'd o'er him while entranced he lay;
England appear'd as England at this day,
In arts, arms, commerce, enterprise, and power,
Beyond the dreams of his devoutest hour,
When, with prophetic call, the patriot brought
Ages to come before creative thought.
He thought his soul translated to the skies;
The battle-field had disappear'd; the scene
Had changed to beauty, silent and serene;
City nor country look'd as heretofore;
A hundred years and half a hundred more
Had travell'd o'er him while entranced he lay;
England appear'd as England at this day,
In arts, arms, commerce, enterprise, and power,
Beyond the dreams of his devoutest hour,
When, with prophetic call, the patriot brought
Ages to come before creative thought.
With doubt, fear, joy, he look'd above, beneath,
Felt his own pulse, inhaled, and tried to breathe:
Next raised an arm, advanced a foot, then broke
Silence, yet only in a whisper spoke:—
“My mother! are we risen from the tomb?
Is this the morning of the day of doom?”
No answer came; his mother was not there,
But, tall and beautiful beyond compare,
One, who might well have been an angel's bride,
Were angels mortal, glitter'd at his side.
It seem'd some mighty wizard had unseal'd
The book of fate, and in that hour reveal'd
The object of a passion all his own,
—A lady unexistent, or unknown,
Whose saintly image, in his heart enshrined,
Was but an emanation of his mind,
The ideal form of glory, goodness, truth,
Embodied now in all the flush of youth,
Yet not too exquisite to look upon:
He kneel'd to kiss her hand,—the spell was gone.
Even while his brain the dear illusion cross'd,
Her form of soft humanity was lost.
—Then, nymph nor goddess, of poetic birth,
E'er graced Jove's heaven, or stept on classic earth,
Like her in majesty;—the stars came down
To wreathe her forehead with a fadeless crown;
The sky enrobed her with ethereal blue,
And girt with orient clouds of many a hue;
The sun, enamour'd of that loveliest sight,
So veil'd his face with her benigner light,
That woods and mountains, valleys, rocks, and streams,
Were only visible in her pure beams.
Felt his own pulse, inhaled, and tried to breathe:
Next raised an arm, advanced a foot, then broke
Silence, yet only in a whisper spoke:—
“My mother! are we risen from the tomb?
Is this the morning of the day of doom?”
No answer came; his mother was not there,
But, tall and beautiful beyond compare,
One, who might well have been an angel's bride,
Were angels mortal, glitter'd at his side.
It seem'd some mighty wizard had unseal'd
The book of fate, and in that hour reveal'd
The object of a passion all his own,
—A lady unexistent, or unknown,
Whose saintly image, in his heart enshrined,
Was but an emanation of his mind,
The ideal form of glory, goodness, truth,
Embodied now in all the flush of youth,
Yet not too exquisite to look upon:
He kneel'd to kiss her hand,—the spell was gone.
Even while his brain the dear illusion cross'd,
Her form of soft humanity was lost.
—Then, nymph nor goddess, of poetic birth,
E'er graced Jove's heaven, or stept on classic earth,
Like her in majesty;—the stars came down
To wreathe her forehead with a fadeless crown;
The sky enrobed her with ethereal blue,
And girt with orient clouds of many a hue;
The sun, enamour'd of that loveliest sight,
So veil'd his face with her benigner light,
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Were only visible in her pure beams.
While Falkland, pale and trembling with surprise,
Admired the change, her stature seem'd to rise,
Till from the ground, on which no shadow spread,
To the arch'd firmament she rear'd her head;
And in the' horizon's infinite expanse,
He saw the British Islands at a glance,
With intervening and encircling seas,
O'er which, from every port, with every breeze,
Exulting ships were sailing to all realms,
Whence vessels came, with strangers at their helms,
On Albion's shores all climes rejoiced to meet,
And pour their native treasures at her feet.
Admired the change, her stature seem'd to rise,
Till from the ground, on which no shadow spread,
To the arch'd firmament she rear'd her head;
And in the' horizon's infinite expanse,
He saw the British Islands at a glance,
With intervening and encircling seas,
O'er which, from every port, with every breeze,
Exulting ships were sailing to all realms,
Whence vessels came, with strangers at their helms,
On Albion's shores all climes rejoiced to meet,
And pour their native treasures at her feet.
Then Falkland, in that glorious dame, descried
Not a dead parent, nor a phantom bride,
But her who ruled his soul, in either part,
At once the spouse and mother of his heart,
—His Country, thus personified, in grace
And grandeur unconceived, before his face.
Then spake a voice, as from the primal sphere,
Heard by his spirit rather than his ear:—
Not a dead parent, nor a phantom bride,
But her who ruled his soul, in either part,
At once the spouse and mother of his heart,
—His Country, thus personified, in grace
And grandeur unconceived, before his face.
Then spake a voice, as from the primal sphere,
Heard by his spirit rather than his ear:—
“Henceforth let civil war for ever cease;
Henceforth, my sons and daughters, dwell in peace;
Amidst the ocean-waves that never rest,
My lovely Isle, be thou the halcyon's nest;
Amidst the nations, evermore in arms,
Be thou a haven, safe from all alarms;
Alone immovable 'midst ruins stand,
The' unfailing hope of every failing land:
To thee for refuge kings enthroned repair;
Slaves flock to breathe the freedom of thine air.
Hither, from chains and yokes, let exiles bend
Their footsteps; here the friendless find a friend;
The country of mankind shall Britain be,
The home of peace, the whole world's sanctuary.”
Henceforth, my sons and daughters, dwell in peace;
Amidst the ocean-waves that never rest,
My lovely Isle, be thou the halcyon's nest;
Amidst the nations, evermore in arms,
Be thou a haven, safe from all alarms;
Alone immovable 'midst ruins stand,
The' unfailing hope of every failing land:
To thee for refuge kings enthroned repair;
Slaves flock to breathe the freedom of thine air.
Hither, from chains and yokes, let exiles bend
Their footsteps; here the friendless find a friend;
The country of mankind shall Britain be,
The home of peace, the whole world's sanctuary.”
The pageant fled; 'twas but a dream: he woke,
And found himself beneath the Druid-oak
Where first the phantom on his vigil broke.
And found himself beneath the Druid-oak
Where first the phantom on his vigil broke.
Around him gleam'd the morn's reviving light;
But distant trumpets summon'd to the fight,
And Falkland slept among the slain at night.
But distant trumpets summon'd to the fight,
And Falkland slept among the slain at night.
1831.
THE PATRIOT'S PASS-WORD.
[_]
On the achievement of Arnold de Winkelried, at the battle of Sempach, in which the Swiss insurgents secured the freedom of their country, against the power of Austria, in the fourteenth century.
“Make way for liberty!” he cried,—
Made way for liberty, and died.
Made way for liberty, and died.
In arms the Austrian phalanx stood,
A living wall, a human wood;
A wall,—where every conscious stone
Seem'd to its kindred thousands grown,
A rampart all assaults to bear,
Till time to dust their frames should wear:
A wood,—like that enchanted grove
In which with fiends Rinaldo strove,
Where every silent tree possess'd
A spirit imprison'd in its breast,
Which the first stroke of coming strife
Might startle into hideous life:
So still, so dense, the Austrians stood,
A living wall, a human wood.
Impregnable their front appears,
All-horrent with projected spears,
Whose polish'd points before them shine,
From flank to flank, one brilliant line,
Bright as the breakers' splendours run
Along the billows to the sun.
A living wall, a human wood;
A wall,—where every conscious stone
Seem'd to its kindred thousands grown,
A rampart all assaults to bear,
Till time to dust their frames should wear:
A wood,—like that enchanted grove
In which with fiends Rinaldo strove,
Where every silent tree possess'd
A spirit imprison'd in its breast,
Which the first stroke of coming strife
Might startle into hideous life:
So still, so dense, the Austrians stood,
A living wall, a human wood.
Impregnable their front appears,
All-horrent with projected spears,
Whose polish'd points before them shine,
From flank to flank, one brilliant line,
Bright as the breakers' splendours run
Along the billows to the sun.
Opposed to these, a hovering band
Contended for their father-land;
Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
From manly necks the' ignoble yoke,
And beat their fetters into swords,
On equal terms to fight their lords,
And what insurgent rage had gain'd,
In many a mortal fray maintain'd.
Marshall'd once more, at freedom's call
They came to conquer or to fall,
Where he who conquer'd, he who fell,
Was deem'd a dead or living Tell;
Such virtue had that patriot breathed,
So to the soil his soul bequeathed,
That wheresoe'er his arrows flew,
Heroes in his own likeness grew,
And warriors sprang from every sod
Which his awakening footstep trod.
Contended for their father-land;
Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
From manly necks the' ignoble yoke,
And beat their fetters into swords,
On equal terms to fight their lords,
And what insurgent rage had gain'd,
In many a mortal fray maintain'd.
Marshall'd once more, at freedom's call
They came to conquer or to fall,
Where he who conquer'd, he who fell,
Was deem'd a dead or living Tell;
Such virtue had that patriot breathed,
So to the soil his soul bequeathed,
That wheresoe'er his arrows flew,
Heroes in his own likeness grew,
And warriors sprang from every sod
Which his awakening footstep trod.
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And now the work of life and death
Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burn'd within,
The battle trembled to begin;
Yet while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for assault was nowhere found;
Where'er the' impatient Switzers gazed,
The' unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 'twere suicide to meet,
And perish at their tyrants' feet:
How could they rest within their graves,
To leave their homes the haunts of slaves?
Would they not feel their children tread,
With clanking chains, above their head?
Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burn'd within,
The battle trembled to begin;
Yet while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for assault was nowhere found;
Where'er the' impatient Switzers gazed,
The' unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 'twere suicide to meet,
And perish at their tyrants' feet:
How could they rest within their graves,
To leave their homes the haunts of slaves?
Would they not feel their children tread,
With clanking chains, above their head?
It must not be!—this day, this hour,
Annihilates the' invader's power;
All Switzerland is in the field,
She will not fly, she cannot yield,
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast,
Yet every freeman was a host,
And felt, as 'twere a secret known,
That one should turn the scale alone,
While each unto himself was he,
On whose sole arm hung victory.
Annihilates the' invader's power;
All Switzerland is in the field,
She will not fly, she cannot yield,
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast,
Yet every freeman was a host,
And felt, as 'twere a secret known,
That one should turn the scale alone,
While each unto himself was he,
On whose sole arm hung victory.
It did depend on one indeed;
Behold him,—Arnold Winkelried;
There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmark'd he stood amidst the throng,
In rumination deep and long,
Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face,
And by the motion of his form
Anticipate the bursting storm,
And by the uplifting of his brow
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.
Behold him,—Arnold Winkelried;
There sounds not to the trump of fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmark'd he stood amidst the throng,
In rumination deep and long,
Till you might see, with sudden grace,
The very thought come o'er his face,
And by the motion of his form
Anticipate the bursting storm,
And by the uplifting of his brow
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.
But 'twas no sooner thought than done,
The field was in a moment won;
“Make way for liberty!” he cried,
Then ran with arms extended wide,
As if his dearest friend to clasp;
Ten spears he swept within his grasp;
“Make way for liberty!” he cried,
Their keen points cross'd from side to side;
He bow'd amidst them, like a tree,
And thus made way for liberty.
The field was in a moment won;
“Make way for liberty!” he cried,
Then ran with arms extended wide,
As if his dearest friend to clasp;
Ten spears he swept within his grasp;
“Make way for liberty!” he cried,
Their keen points cross'd from side to side;
He bow'd amidst them, like a tree,
And thus made way for liberty.
Swift to the breach his comrades fly,
“Make way for liberty!” they cry,
And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rush'd the spears through Arnold's heart,
While, instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic seized them all;
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.
“Make way for liberty!” they cry,
And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rush'd the spears through Arnold's heart,
While, instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic seized them all;
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.
Thus Switzerland again was free;
Thus death made way for liberty.
Thus death made way for liberty.
Redcar, 1827.
THE VOYAGE OF THE BLIND.
“It was that fatal and perfidious bark,
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.”
Milton's Lycidas.
Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.”
Milton's Lycidas.
[_]
The subject of the following poem was suggested by certain well-authenticated facts, published at Paris, in a Medical Journal, some years ago; of which a few particulars may be given here:—
The ship Le Rodeur, Captain B., of 200 tons burthen, left Havre on the 24th of January, 1819, for the coast of Africa, and reached her destination on the 14th of March following, anchoring at Bonny, on the river Calabar. The crew, consisting of twenty-two men, enjoyed good health during the outward voyage, and during their stay at Bonny, where they continued till the 6th of April. They had observed no trace of ophthalmia among the natives; and it was not until fifteen days after they had set sail on the return voyage, and the vessel was near the equator, that they perceived the first symptoms of this frightful malady. It was then remarked, that the negroes, who, to the number of 160, were crowded together in the hold, and between the decks, had contracted a considerable redness of the eyes, which spread with singular rapidity. No great attention was at first paid to these symptoms, which were thought to be caused only by the want of air in the hold, and by the scarcity of water, which had already begun to be felt. At this time they were limited to eight ounces of water a day for each person, which quantity was afterwards reduced to the half of a wine-glass. By the advice of M. Maugnan, the surgeon of the ship, the negroes, who had hitherto remained shut up in the hold, were brought upon deck in succession, in order that they might breathe a purer air. But it became necessary to abandon this expedient, salutary as it was, because many of the negroes, affected with nostalgia (a passionate longing to return to their native land), threw themselves into the sea, locked in each other's arms.
The disease which had spread itself so rapidly and frightfully among the Africans, soon began to infect all on board. The danger also was greatly increased by a malignant dysentery which prevailed at the time. The first of
208
All means of cure which the surgeon employed, while he was able to act, proved ineffectual. The sufferings of the crew, which were otherwise intense, were aggravated by apprehension of revolt among the negroes, and the dread of not being able to reach the West Indies, if the only sailor who had hitherto escaped the contagion, and on whom their whole hope rested, should lose his sight like the rest. This calamity had actually befallen the Leon, a Spanish vessel which the Rodeur met on her passage, and the whole of whose crew, having become blind, were under the necessity of altogether abandoning the direction of their ship. These unhappy creatures, as they passed, earnestly entreated the charitable interference of the seamen of the Rodeur; but these, under their own affliction, could neither quit their vessel to go on board the Leon, nor receive the crew of the latter into the Rodeur, where, on account of the cargo of negroes, there was scarcely room for themselves. The vessels, therefore, soon parted company, and the Leon was never seen or heard of again, so far as could be traced at the publication of this narrative. In all probability, then, it was lost. On the fate of this vessel the poem is founded.
The Rodeur reached Guadaloupe on the 21st of June, 1819; her crew being in a most deplorable condition. Of the negroes, thirty-seven had become perfectly blind, twelve had lost each an eye, and fourteen remained otherwise blemished by the disease. Of the crew, twelve, including the surgeon, had entirely lost their sight; five escaped with an eye each, and four were partially injured.
Part I.
O'er Africa the morning broke,
And many a negro-land reveal'd,
From Europe's eye and Europe's yoke,
In nature's inmost heart conceal'd:
Here roll'd the Nile his glittering train,
From Ethiopia to the main;
And Niger there uncoil'd his length,
That hides his fountain and his strength,
Among the realms of noon;
Casting away their robes of night,
Forth stood in nakedness of light
The Mountains of the Moon.
And many a negro-land reveal'd,
From Europe's eye and Europe's yoke,
In nature's inmost heart conceal'd:
Here roll'd the Nile his glittering train,
From Ethiopia to the main;
And Niger there uncoil'd his length,
That hides his fountain and his strength,
Among the realms of noon;
Casting away their robes of night,
Forth stood in nakedness of light
The Mountains of the Moon.
Hush'd were the howlings of the wild,
The leopard in his den lay prone;
Man, while creation round him smiled,
Was sad or savage, man alone;
—Down in the dungeons of Algiers,
The Christian captive woke in tears;
—Caffraria's lean marauding race
Prowl'd forth on pillage or the chase;
—In Lybian solitude,
The Arabian horseman scour'd along;
—The caravan's obstreperous throng,
Their dusty march pursued.
The leopard in his den lay prone;
Man, while creation round him smiled,
Was sad or savage, man alone;
—Down in the dungeons of Algiers,
The Christian captive woke in tears;
—Caffraria's lean marauding race
Prowl'd forth on pillage or the chase;
—In Lybian solitude,
The Arabian horseman scour'd along;
—The caravan's obstreperous throng,
Their dusty march pursued.
But woe grew frantic in the west;
A wily rover of the tide
Had mark'd the hour of Afric's rest,
To snatch her children from her side:
At early dawn, to prospering gales,
The eager seamen stretch their sails;
The anchor rises from its sleep
Beneath the rocking of the deep;
Impatient from the shore,
A vessel steals;—she steals away,
Mute as the lion with his prey,
—A human prey she bore.
A wily rover of the tide
Had mark'd the hour of Afric's rest,
To snatch her children from her side:
At early dawn, to prospering gales,
The eager seamen stretch their sails;
The anchor rises from its sleep
Beneath the rocking of the deep;
Impatient from the shore,
A vessel steals;—she steals away,
Mute as the lion with his prey,
—A human prey she bore.
Curst was her trade and contraband;
Therefore that keel, by guilty stealth,
Fled with the darkness from the strand,
Laden with living bales of wealth:
Fair to the eye her streamers play'd
With undulating light and shade;
White from her prow the gurgling foam
Flew backward tow'rds the negro's home,
Like his unheeded sighs;
Sooner that melting foam shall reach
His inland home, than yonder beach
Again salute his eyes.
Therefore that keel, by guilty stealth,
Fled with the darkness from the strand,
Laden with living bales of wealth:
Fair to the eye her streamers play'd
With undulating light and shade;
White from her prow the gurgling foam
Flew backward tow'rds the negro's home,
Like his unheeded sighs;
Sooner that melting foam shall reach
His inland home, than yonder beach
Again salute his eyes.
Tongue hath not language to unfold
The secrets of the space between
That vessel's flanks,—whose dungeon-hold
Hides what the sun hath never seen;
Three hundred writhing prisoners there
Breathe one mephitic blast of air
From lip to lip;—like flame supprest,
It bursts from every tortured breast,
With dreary groans and strong;
Lock'd side to side, they feel by starts
The beating of each other's hearts,
—Their breaking too, ere long.
The secrets of the space between
That vessel's flanks,—whose dungeon-hold
Hides what the sun hath never seen;
Three hundred writhing prisoners there
Breathe one mephitic blast of air
From lip to lip;—like flame supprest,
It bursts from every tortured breast,
With dreary groans and strong;
Lock'd side to side, they feel by starts
The beating of each other's hearts,
—Their breaking too, ere long.
Light o'er the blue untroubled sea,
Fancy might deem that vessel held
Her voyage to eternity,
By one unchanging breeze impell'd;
—Eternity is in the sky,
Whose span of distance mocks the eye;
Eternity upon the main,
The horizon there is sought in vain;
Eternity below
Appears in heaven's inverted face;
And on, through everlasting space,
The' unbounded billows flow.
Fancy might deem that vessel held
Her voyage to eternity,
By one unchanging breeze impell'd;
—Eternity is in the sky,
Whose span of distance mocks the eye;
209
The horizon there is sought in vain;
Eternity below
Appears in heaven's inverted face;
And on, through everlasting space,
The' unbounded billows flow.
Yet, while his wandering bark career'd,
The master knew, with stern delight,
That full for port her helm was steer'd,
With aim unerring, day and night.
—Pirate! that port thou ne'er shalt hail;
Thine eye in search of it shall fail:
But, lo! thy slaves expire beneath;
Haste, bring the wretches forth to breathe:
Brought forth,—away they spring,
And headlong in the whelming tide,
Rescued from thee, their sorrows hide
Beneath the halcyon's wing.
The master knew, with stern delight,
That full for port her helm was steer'd,
With aim unerring, day and night.
—Pirate! that port thou ne'er shalt hail;
Thine eye in search of it shall fail:
But, lo! thy slaves expire beneath;
Haste, bring the wretches forth to breathe:
Brought forth,—away they spring,
And headlong in the whelming tide,
Rescued from thee, their sorrows hide
Beneath the halcyon's wing.
Part II.
There came an angel of eclipse,
Who haunts at times the' Atlantic flood,
And smites with blindness, on their ships,
The captives and the men of blood.
—Here, in the hold the blight began,
From eye to eye contagion ran;
Sight, as with burning brands, was quench'd;
None from the fiery trial blench'd,
But, panting for release,
They call'd on death, who, close behind,
Brought pestilence to lead the blind
From agony to peace.
Who haunts at times the' Atlantic flood,
And smites with blindness, on their ships,
The captives and the men of blood.
—Here, in the hold the blight began,
From eye to eye contagion ran;
Sight, as with burning brands, was quench'd;
None from the fiery trial blench'd,
But, panting for release,
They call'd on death, who, close behind,
Brought pestilence to lead the blind
From agony to peace.
The twofold plague no power could check:
Unseen its withering arrows flew;
It walk'd in silence on the deck,
And smote from stem to stern the crew:
—As glow-worms dwindle in the shade,
As lamps in charnel-houses fade,
From every orb with vision fired,
In flitting sparks the light retired;
The sufferers saw it go,
And o'er the ship, the sea, the skies,
Pursued it with their failing eyes,
Till all was black below.
Unseen its withering arrows flew;
It walk'd in silence on the deck,
And smote from stem to stern the crew:
—As glow-worms dwindle in the shade,
As lamps in charnel-houses fade,
From every orb with vision fired,
In flitting sparks the light retired;
The sufferers saw it go,
And o'er the ship, the sea, the skies,
Pursued it with their failing eyes,
Till all was black below.
A murmur swell'd along the gale;—
All rose, and held their breath to hear;
All look'd, but none could spy a sail,
Although a sail was near!
—“Help! help!” our beckoning sailors cried;
“Help! help!” a hundred tongues replied:
Then hideous clamour rent the air,
Questions and answers of despair:
Few words the mystery clear'd;
The pest had found that second bark,
Where every eye but his was dark
Whose hand the vessel steer'd.
All rose, and held their breath to hear;
All look'd, but none could spy a sail,
Although a sail was near!
—“Help! help!” our beckoning sailors cried;
“Help! help!” a hundred tongues replied:
Then hideous clamour rent the air,
Questions and answers of despair:
Few words the mystery clear'd;
The pest had found that second bark,
Where every eye but his was dark
Whose hand the vessel steer'd.
He, wild with panic, turn'd away,
And thence his shrieking comrades bore;
From either ship the winds convey
Farewells, that soon are heard no more:
—A calm of horror hush'd the waves;
Behold them!—merchant, seamen, slaves,
The blind, the dying, and the dead;
All help, all hope, for ever fled;
Unseen, yet face to face!
Woe past, woe present, woe to come,
Held for a while each victim dumb,—
Impaled upon his place.
And thence his shrieking comrades bore;
From either ship the winds convey
Farewells, that soon are heard no more:
—A calm of horror hush'd the waves;
Behold them!—merchant, seamen, slaves,
The blind, the dying, and the dead;
All help, all hope, for ever fled;
Unseen, yet face to face!
Woe past, woe present, woe to come,
Held for a while each victim dumb,—
Impaled upon his place.
It is not the blood of man
To crouch ingloriously to fate;
Nature will struggle while she can;
Misfortune makes her children great:
The head which lightning hath laid low,
Is hallow'd by the noble blow;
The wretch who yields a felon's breath,
Emerges from the cloud of death,
A spirit on the storm;
But virtue perishing unknown,
Watch'd by the eye of heaven alone,
Is earth's least earthly form.
To crouch ingloriously to fate;
Nature will struggle while she can;
Misfortune makes her children great:
The head which lightning hath laid low,
Is hallow'd by the noble blow;
The wretch who yields a felon's breath,
Emerges from the cloud of death,
A spirit on the storm;
But virtue perishing unknown,
Watch'd by the eye of heaven alone,
Is earth's least earthly form.
What were the scenes on board that bark?
The tragedy which none beheld,
When (as the deluge bore the ark),
By power invisible impell'd,
The keel went blindfold through the surge,
Where stream might drift, or tempest urge;
—Plague, famine, thirst, their numbers slew,
And frenzy seized the hardier few
Who yet were spared to try
How everlasting are the pangs,
When life upon a moment hangs,
And death stands mocking by.
The tragedy which none beheld,
When (as the deluge bore the ark),
By power invisible impell'd,
The keel went blindfold through the surge,
Where stream might drift, or tempest urge;
—Plague, famine, thirst, their numbers slew,
And frenzy seized the hardier few
Who yet were spared to try
How everlasting are the pangs,
When life upon a moment hangs,
And death stands mocking by.
210
Imagination's daring glance
May pierce that vale of mystery,
As in the rapture of a trance,
Things which no eye hath seen to see;
And hear by fits along the gales,
Screams, maniac-laughter, hollow wails:
—They stand, they lie, above, beneath,
Groans of unpitied anguish breathe.
Tears unavailing shed;
Each, in abstraction of despair,
Seems to himself a hermit there,
Alive among the dead.
May pierce that vale of mystery,
As in the rapture of a trance,
Things which no eye hath seen to see;
And hear by fits along the gales,
Screams, maniac-laughter, hollow wails:
—They stand, they lie, above, beneath,
Groans of unpitied anguish breathe.
Tears unavailing shed;
Each, in abstraction of despair,
Seems to himself a hermit there,
Alive among the dead.
Yet respite,—respite from his woes,
Even here, the conscious sufferer feels;
Worn down by torture to repose,
Slumber the vanish'd world reveals:
—Ah! then the eyes, extinct in night,
Again behold the blessed light;
Ah! then the frame of rack'd disease
Lays its delighted limbs at ease;
Swift to his own dear land
The unfetter'd slave with shouts returns,
Hard by his dreaming tyrant burns
At sight of Cuba's strand.
Even here, the conscious sufferer feels;
Worn down by torture to repose,
Slumber the vanish'd world reveals:
—Ah! then the eyes, extinct in night,
Again behold the blessed light;
Ah! then the frame of rack'd disease
Lays its delighted limbs at ease;
Swift to his own dear land
The unfetter'd slave with shouts returns,
Hard by his dreaming tyrant burns
At sight of Cuba's strand.
To blank reality they wake,
In darkness opens every eye:
Peace comes;—the negro's heart-strings break,
To him 'tis more than life to die:
—How feels, how fares, the man of blood?
In endless exile on the flood,
Rapt, as though fiends his vessel steer'd,
Things which he once believed and fear'd,
—Then scorn'd as idle names,—
Death, judgment, conscience, hell, conspire
With thronging images of fire
To light up guilt in flames.
In darkness opens every eye:
Peace comes;—the negro's heart-strings break,
To him 'tis more than life to die:
—How feels, how fares, the man of blood?
In endless exile on the flood,
Rapt, as though fiends his vessel steer'd,
Things which he once believed and fear'd,
—Then scorn'd as idle names,—
Death, judgment, conscience, hell, conspire
With thronging images of fire
To light up guilt in flames.
Who cried for mercy in that hour,
And found it on the desert sea?
Who to the utmost grasp of power
Wrestled with life's last enemy?
Who, Marius-like, defying fate,
(Marius on fallen Carthage) sate?
Who, through a hurricane of fears,
Clung to the hopes of future years?
And who, with heart unquail'd,
Look'd from time's trembling precipice
Down on eternity's abyss,
Till breath and footing fail'd?
And found it on the desert sea?
Who to the utmost grasp of power
Wrestled with life's last enemy?
Who, Marius-like, defying fate,
(Marius on fallen Carthage) sate?
Who, through a hurricane of fears,
Clung to the hopes of future years?
And who, with heart unquail'd,
Look'd from time's trembling precipice
Down on eternity's abyss,
Till breath and footing fail'd?
Is there among this crew not one,
—One whom a widow'd mother bare,
Who mourns far off her only son,
And pours for him her soul in prayer?
Even now, when o'er his soften'd thought,
Remembrance of her love is brought,
To soothe death's agony, and dart
A throb of comfort through his heart,—
Even now a mystic knell
Sounds through her pulse;—she lifts her eye,
Sees a pale spirit passing by,
And hears his voice, “farewell!”
—One whom a widow'd mother bare,
Who mourns far off her only son,
And pours for him her soul in prayer?
Even now, when o'er his soften'd thought,
Remembrance of her love is brought,
To soothe death's agony, and dart
A throb of comfort through his heart,—
Even now a mystic knell
Sounds through her pulse;—she lifts her eye,
Sees a pale spirit passing by,
And hears his voice, “farewell!”
Mother and son shall meet no more:
—The floating tomb of its own dead,
That ship shall never reach a shore;
But, far from track of seamen led,
The sun shall watch it, day by day,
Careering on its lonely way;
Month after month, the moon shine pale
On falling mast and riven sail;
The stars, from year to year,
Mark the bulged flanks, and sunken deck,
Till not a ruin of the wreck
On ocean's face appear.
—The floating tomb of its own dead,
That ship shall never reach a shore;
But, far from track of seamen led,
The sun shall watch it, day by day,
Careering on its lonely way;
Month after month, the moon shine pale
On falling mast and riven sail;
The stars, from year to year,
Mark the bulged flanks, and sunken deck,
Till not a ruin of the wreck
On ocean's face appear.
1820.
AN EVERY-DAY TALE.
[_]
Written for a benevolent society in the metropolis, the object of which is to relieve poor women during the first month of their widowhood, to preserve what little property they may have from wreck and ruin, in a season of embarrassment, when kindness and good counsel are especially needed; and, so far as may be practicable, to assist the destitute with future means of maintaining themselves and their fatherless children.
“The short and simple annals of the poor.”
Gray.
Gray.
Mine is a tale of every day,
Yet turn not thou thine ear away;
For 'tis the bitterest thought of all,
The wormwood added to the gall,
That such a wreck of mortal bliss,
That such a weight of woe as this,
Is no strange thing,—but, strange to say!
The tale, the truth, of every day.
Yet turn not thou thine ear away;
For 'tis the bitterest thought of all,
The wormwood added to the gall,
That such a wreck of mortal bliss,
That such a weight of woe as this,
Is no strange thing,—but, strange to say!
The tale, the truth, of every day.
211
At Mary's birth, her mother smiled
Upon her first, last, only child,
And, at the sight of that young flower,
Forgot the anguish of her hour:
Her pains return'd;—she soon forgot
Love, joy, hope, sorrow,—she was not.
Upon her first, last, only child,
And, at the sight of that young flower,
Forgot the anguish of her hour:
Her pains return'd;—she soon forgot
Love, joy, hope, sorrow,—she was not.
Her partner stood, like one bereft
Of all;—not all, their babe was left:
By the dead mother's side it slept,
Slept sweetly;—when it woke, it wept.
“Live, Mary, live, and I will be
Father and mother both to thee!”
The mourner cried, and while he spake,
His breaking heart forebore to break;
Faith, courage, patience, from above,
Flew to the help of fainting love.
While o'er his charge that parent yearn'd,
All woman's tenderness he learn'd,
All woman's waking, sleeping care,
—That sleeps not to her babe,—her prayer,
Of power to bring upon its head,
The richest blessings heaven can shed;
All these he learn'd, and lived to say,
“My strength was given me as my day.”
Of all;—not all, their babe was left:
By the dead mother's side it slept,
Slept sweetly;—when it woke, it wept.
“Live, Mary, live, and I will be
Father and mother both to thee!”
The mourner cried, and while he spake,
His breaking heart forebore to break;
Faith, courage, patience, from above,
Flew to the help of fainting love.
While o'er his charge that parent yearn'd,
All woman's tenderness he learn'd,
All woman's waking, sleeping care,
—That sleeps not to her babe,—her prayer,
Of power to bring upon its head,
The richest blessings heaven can shed;
All these he learn'd, and lived to say,
“My strength was given me as my day.”
So the Red Indian of those woods
That echo to Lake Erie's floods,
Reft of his consort in the wild,
Became the mother of his child!
Nature (herself a mother) saw
His grief, and loosed her kindliest law:
Warm from its fount life's stream, propell'd,
His breasts with sweet nutrition swell'd,
At whose strange springs, his infant drew
Milk, as the rose-bud drinks the dew.
That echo to Lake Erie's floods,
Reft of his consort in the wild,
Became the mother of his child!
Nature (herself a mother) saw
His grief, and loosed her kindliest law:
Warm from its fount life's stream, propell'd,
His breasts with sweet nutrition swell'd,
At whose strange springs, his infant drew
Milk, as the rose-bud drinks the dew.
Mary from childhood rose to youth,
In paths of innocence and truth;
—Train'd by her parent, from her birth,
To go to heaven by way of earth,
She was to him, in after-life,
Both as a daughter and a wife.
In paths of innocence and truth;
—Train'd by her parent, from her birth,
To go to heaven by way of earth,
She was to him, in after-life,
Both as a daughter and a wife.
Meekness, simplicity, and grace,
Adorn'd her speech, her air, her face;
The spirit, through its earthly mould,
Broke, as the lily's leaves unfold;
Her beauty open'd on the sight,
As a star trembles into light.
Adorn'd her speech, her air, her face;
The spirit, through its earthly mould,
Broke, as the lily's leaves unfold;
Her beauty open'd on the sight,
As a star trembles into light.
Love found that maiden; love will find
Way to the coyest maiden's mind;
Love found and tried her many a year,
With hope deferr'd, and boding fear:
To the world's end her hero stray'd;
Tempests and calms his bark delay'd;
What then could her heart-sickness soothe?
“The course of true love ne'er ran smooth!”
Her bosom ached with drear suspense,
Till sharper trouble drove it thence:
Affliction smote her father's brain,
And he became a child again.
Ah! then, the prayers, the pangs, the tears,
He breathed, felt, shed on her young years,
That duteous daughter well repaid,
Till in the grave she saw him laid,
Beneath her mother's church-yard stone:
—There first she felt herself alone;
But while she gazed on that cold heap,
Her parents' bed, and could not weep,
A still small whisper seem'd to say,
“Strength shall be given thee as thy day:”
Then rush'd the tears to her relief;
A bow was in the cloud of grief.
Way to the coyest maiden's mind;
Love found and tried her many a year,
With hope deferr'd, and boding fear:
To the world's end her hero stray'd;
Tempests and calms his bark delay'd;
What then could her heart-sickness soothe?
“The course of true love ne'er ran smooth!”
Her bosom ached with drear suspense,
Till sharper trouble drove it thence:
Affliction smote her father's brain,
And he became a child again.
Ah! then, the prayers, the pangs, the tears,
He breathed, felt, shed on her young years,
That duteous daughter well repaid,
Till in the grave she saw him laid,
Beneath her mother's church-yard stone:
—There first she felt herself alone;
But while she gazed on that cold heap,
Her parents' bed, and could not weep,
A still small whisper seem'd to say,
“Strength shall be given thee as thy day:”
Then rush'd the tears to her relief;
A bow was in the cloud of grief.
Her wanderer now from clime to clime,
Return'd, unchanged by tide or time,
True as the morning to the sun;
—Mary and William soon were one;
And never rang the village bells
With sweeter falls or merrier swells,
Than while the neighbours, young and old,
Stood at their thresholds, to behold
And bless them, till they reach'd the spot
Where woodbines girdled Mary's cot,
Where throstles, perch'd on orchard trees,
Sang to the hum of garden bees:
And there—no longer forced to roam—
William found all the world at home!
Yea, more than all the world beside,—
A warm, kind heart to his allied.
Return'd, unchanged by tide or time,
True as the morning to the sun;
—Mary and William soon were one;
And never rang the village bells
With sweeter falls or merrier swells,
Than while the neighbours, young and old,
Stood at their thresholds, to behold
And bless them, till they reach'd the spot
Where woodbines girdled Mary's cot,
Where throstles, perch'd on orchard trees,
Sang to the hum of garden bees:
And there—no longer forced to roam—
William found all the world at home!
Yea, more than all the world beside,—
A warm, kind heart to his allied.
Twelve years of humble life they spent,
With food and raiment well content;
In flower of youth and flush of health,
They envied not voluptuous wealth:
The wealth of poverty was theirs,
—Those riches without wings or snares,
Which honest hands, by daily toil,
May dig from every generous soil.
A little farm while William till'd,
Mary her household cares fulfill'd:
And love, joy, peace, with guileless mirth,
Sate round their table, warm'd their hearth;
Whence rose, like incense, to the skies,
Morning and evening sacrifice,
And contrite spirits found, in prayer,
That home was heaven, for God was there.
With food and raiment well content;
In flower of youth and flush of health,
They envied not voluptuous wealth:
The wealth of poverty was theirs,
—Those riches without wings or snares,
Which honest hands, by daily toil,
May dig from every generous soil.
212
Mary her household cares fulfill'd:
And love, joy, peace, with guileless mirth,
Sate round their table, warm'd their hearth;
Whence rose, like incense, to the skies,
Morning and evening sacrifice,
And contrite spirits found, in prayer,
That home was heaven, for God was there.
Meanwhile the May-flowers on their lands
Were yearly pluck'd by younger hands;
New-comers watch'd the swallows float,
And mock'd the cuckoo's double note;
Till, head o'er head, in slanting line,
They stood,—a progeny of nine,
That might be ten;—but ere that day,
The father's life was snatch'd away:
Faint from the field one night he came;
Fever had seized his sinewy frame,
And left the strong man, when it pass'd,
Frail as the sere leaf in the blast;
A long, long winter's illness, bow'd
His head;—spring-daisies deck'd his shroud.
Oh! 'twas a bitter day for all,
The husband's, father's funeral;
The dead, the living, and the unborn
Met there,—were there asunder torn.
Were yearly pluck'd by younger hands;
New-comers watch'd the swallows float,
And mock'd the cuckoo's double note;
Till, head o'er head, in slanting line,
They stood,—a progeny of nine,
That might be ten;—but ere that day,
The father's life was snatch'd away:
Faint from the field one night he came;
Fever had seized his sinewy frame,
And left the strong man, when it pass'd,
Frail as the sere leaf in the blast;
A long, long winter's illness, bow'd
His head;—spring-daisies deck'd his shroud.
Oh! 'twas a bitter day for all,
The husband's, father's funeral;
The dead, the living, and the unborn
Met there,—were there asunder torn.
Scarce was he buried out of sight,
Ere his tenth infant sprang to light,
And Mary, from her child-bed throes,
To instant utter ruin rose;
Harvests had fail'd, and sickness drain'd
Her frugal stock-purse, long retain'd;
Rents, debts, and taxes all fell due,
Claimants were loud, resources few,
Small, and remote;—yet time and care
Her shatter'd fortunes might repair,
If but a friend,—a friend in need,—
Such friend would be a friend indeed,—
Would, by a mite of succour lent,
Wrongs irretrievable prevent!
She look'd around for such an one,
And sigh'd but spake not,—“Is there none?”
—Oh! if he come not ere an hour,
All will elapse beyond her power,
And homeless, helpless, hopeless, lost,
Mary on this cold world be tost
With all her babes!—
Ere his tenth infant sprang to light,
And Mary, from her child-bed throes,
To instant utter ruin rose;
Harvests had fail'd, and sickness drain'd
Her frugal stock-purse, long retain'd;
Rents, debts, and taxes all fell due,
Claimants were loud, resources few,
Small, and remote;—yet time and care
Her shatter'd fortunes might repair,
If but a friend,—a friend in need,—
Such friend would be a friend indeed,—
Would, by a mite of succour lent,
Wrongs irretrievable prevent!
She look'd around for such an one,
And sigh'd but spake not,—“Is there none?”
—Oh! if he come not ere an hour,
All will elapse beyond her power,
And homeless, helpless, hopeless, lost,
Mary on this cold world be tost
With all her babes!—
Came such a friend?—I must not say;
Mine is a tale of every day:
But wouldst thou know the worst of all,
The wormwood mingled with the gall,
Go visit thou, in their distress,
The widow and the fatherless,
And thou shalt find such woe as this,
Such breaking up of earthly bliss,
Is no strange thing,—but, strange to say!
The tale—the truth—of every day.
Mine is a tale of every day:
But wouldst thou know the worst of all,
The wormwood mingled with the gall,
Go visit thou, in their distress,
The widow and the fatherless,
And thou shalt find such woe as this,
Such breaking up of earthly bliss,
Is no strange thing,—but, strange to say!
The tale—the truth—of every day.
Go, visit thou, in their distress,
The Widow and the Fatherless.
The Widow and the Fatherless.
1830.
A TALE WITHOUT A NAME.
“O, woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;
—When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!”
Scott's Marmion, canto vi.
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please;
—When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!”
Scott's Marmion, canto vi.
Part I.
He had no friend on earth but thee;
No hope in heaven above;
By day and night, o'er land and sea,
No solace but thy love:
He wander'd here, he wander'd there,
A fugitive like Cain;
And mourn'd like him, in dark despair,
A brother rashly slain.
No hope in heaven above;
By day and night, o'er land and sea,
No solace but thy love:
He wander'd here, he wander'd there,
A fugitive like Cain;
And mourn'd like him, in dark despair,
A brother rashly slain.
Rashly, yet not in sudden wrath,
They quarrell'd in their pride,
He sprang upon his brother's path,
And smote him that he died.
A nightmare sat upon his brain,
All stone within he felt;
A death-watch tick'd through every vein,
Till the dire blow was dealt.
They quarrell'd in their pride,
He sprang upon his brother's path,
And smote him that he died.
A nightmare sat upon his brain,
All stone within he felt;
A death-watch tick'd through every vein,
Till the dire blow was dealt.
As from a dream, in pale surprise,
Waking, the murderer stood;
He met the victim's closing eyes,
He saw his brother's blood:
That blood pursued him on his way,
A living, murmuring stream;
Those eyes before him flash'd dismay,
With ever-dying gleam.
Waking, the murderer stood;
He met the victim's closing eyes,
He saw his brother's blood:
That blood pursued him on his way,
A living, murmuring stream;
213
With ever-dying gleam.
In vain he strove to fly the scene,
And breathe beyond that time;
Tormented memory glared between;
Immortal seem'd his crime:
His thoughts, his words, his actions all
Turn'd on his fallen brother;
That hour he never could recall,
Nor ever live another.
And breathe beyond that time;
Tormented memory glared between;
Immortal seem'd his crime:
His thoughts, his words, his actions all
Turn'd on his fallen brother;
That hour he never could recall,
Nor ever live another.
To him the very clouds stood still,
The ground appear'd unchanged;
One light was ever on the hill,
—That hill where'er he ranged:
He heard the brook, the birds, the wind,
Sound in the glen below;
The self-same tree he cower'd behind,
He struck the self-same blow.
The ground appear'd unchanged;
One light was ever on the hill,
—That hill where'er he ranged:
He heard the brook, the birds, the wind,
Sound in the glen below;
The self-same tree he cower'd behind,
He struck the self-same blow.
Yet was not reason quite o'erthrown,
Nor so benign his lot,
To dwell in frenzied grief alone,
All other woe forgot:
The world within and world around,
Clash'd in perpetual strife;
Present and past close interwound
Through his whole thread of life.
Nor so benign his lot,
To dwell in frenzied grief alone,
All other woe forgot:
The world within and world around,
Clash'd in perpetual strife;
Present and past close interwound
Through his whole thread of life.
That thread, inextricably spun,
Might reach eternity;
For ever doing, never done,
That moment's deed might be;
This was a worm that would not die,
A fire unquenchable:
Ah! whither shall the sufferer fly?
Fly from a bosom-hell?
Might reach eternity;
For ever doing, never done,
That moment's deed might be;
This was a worm that would not die,
A fire unquenchable:
Ah! whither shall the sufferer fly?
Fly from a bosom-hell?
He had no friend on earth but thee,
No hope in heaven above;
By day and night, o'er land and sea,
No refuge but thy love;
Not time nor place, nor crime nor shame,
Could change thy spousal truth;
In desolate old age the same
As in the joy of youth.
No hope in heaven above;
By day and night, o'er land and sea,
No refuge but thy love;
Not time nor place, nor crime nor shame,
Could change thy spousal truth;
In desolate old age the same
As in the joy of youth.
Not death, but infamy, to 'scape,
He left his native coast;
To death in any other shape,
He long'd to yield the ghost:
But infamy his steps pursued,
And haunted every place,
While death, though like a lover woo'd,
Fled from his loathed embrace.
He left his native coast;
To death in any other shape,
He long'd to yield the ghost:
But infamy his steps pursued,
And haunted every place,
While death, though like a lover woo'd,
Fled from his loathed embrace.
He wander'd here, he wander'd there,
And she his angel-guide,—
The silent spectre of despair,
With mercy at his side;
Whose love and loveliness alone
Shed comfort round his gloom,—
Pale as the monumental stone
That watches o'er a tomb.
And she his angel-guide,—
The silent spectre of despair,
With mercy at his side;
Whose love and loveliness alone
Shed comfort round his gloom,—
Pale as the monumental stone
That watches o'er a tomb.
Part II.
They cross'd the blue Atlantic flood;
A storm their bark assail'd;
Stern through the hurricane he stood;
All hearts, all efforts, fail'd:
With horrid hope, he eyed the waves
That flash'd like wild-fires dim;
But ocean, midst a thousand graves,
Denied a grave to him.
A storm their bark assail'd;
Stern through the hurricane he stood;
All hearts, all efforts, fail'd:
With horrid hope, he eyed the waves
That flash'd like wild-fires dim;
But ocean, midst a thousand graves,
Denied a grave to him.
On shore he sought delirious rest,
In crowds of busy men,
When suddenly the yellow pest
Came reeking from its den:
The city vanish'd at its breath;
He caught the taint, and lay
A suppliant at the gate of death,
—Death spurn'd the wretch away.
In crowds of busy men,
When suddenly the yellow pest
Came reeking from its den:
The city vanish'd at its breath;
He caught the taint, and lay
A suppliant at the gate of death,
—Death spurn'd the wretch away.
In solitude of streams and rocks,
Mountains and forests dread,
Where nature's free and fearless flocks
At her own hand are fed,
They hid their pangs;—but oh! to live
In peace,—in peace to die,—
Was more than solitude could give,
Or earth's whole round supply.
Mountains and forests dread,
Where nature's free and fearless flocks
At her own hand are fed,
They hid their pangs;—but oh! to live
In peace,—in peace to die,—
Was more than solitude could give,
Or earth's whole round supply.
The swampy wilderness their haunt,
Where fiery panthers prowl,
Serpents their fatal splendours flaunt,
And wolves and lynxes howl;
Where alligators throng the floods,
And reptiles, venom-arm'd,
Infest the air, the fields, the woods,
They slept, they waked, unharm'd.
Where fiery panthers prowl,
Serpents their fatal splendours flaunt,
And wolves and lynxes howl;
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And reptiles, venom-arm'd,
Infest the air, the fields, the woods,
They slept, they waked, unharm'd.
Where the Red Indians, in their ire,
With havoc mark the way,
Skulk in dark ambush, waste with fire,
Or gorge inhuman prey:
Their blood no wild marauder shed;
Secure without defence,
Alike, were his devoted head,
And her meek innocence.
With havoc mark the way,
Skulk in dark ambush, waste with fire,
Or gorge inhuman prey:
Their blood no wild marauder shed;
Secure without defence,
Alike, were his devoted head,
And her meek innocence.
Weary of loneliness, they turn'd
To Europe's carnage-field;
At glory's Moloch-shrine, he burn'd
His hated breath to yield:
He plunged into the hottest strife;
He dealt the deadliest blows;
To every foe exposed his life;
Powerless were all his foes.
To Europe's carnage-field;
At glory's Moloch-shrine, he burn'd
His hated breath to yield:
He plunged into the hottest strife;
He dealt the deadliest blows;
To every foe exposed his life;
Powerless were all his foes.
The iron thunder-bolts, with wings
Of lightning, shunn'd his course;
Harmless the hail of battle rings,
The bayonet spends its force;
The sword to smite him flames aloof,
Descends,—but strikes in vain;
His branded front was weapon-proof,
He wore the mark of Cain.
Of lightning, shunn'd his course;
Harmless the hail of battle rings,
The bayonet spends its force;
The sword to smite him flames aloof,
Descends,—but strikes in vain;
His branded front was weapon-proof,
He wore the mark of Cain.
“I cannot live,—I cannot die!”
He mutter'd in despair;
“This curse of immortality,
O, could I quit,—or bear!”
—Of every frantic hope bereft,
To meet a nobler doom,
One refuge, only one, was left,—
To storm the' unyielding tomb.
He mutter'd in despair;
“This curse of immortality,
O, could I quit,—or bear!”
—Of every frantic hope bereft,
To meet a nobler doom,
One refuge, only one, was left,—
To storm the' unyielding tomb.
Through his own breast the passage lay,
The steel was in his hand;
But fiends upstarting fenced the way,
And every nerve unmann'd:
The heart that ached its blood to spill,
With palsying horror died;
The arm, rebellious to his will,
Hung withering at his side.
The steel was in his hand;
But fiends upstarting fenced the way,
And every nerve unmann'd:
The heart that ached its blood to spill,
With palsying horror died;
The arm, rebellious to his will,
Hung withering at his side.
O, woman! wonderful in love,
Whose weakness is thy power,
How did thy spirit rise above
The conflict of that hour!
—She found him prostrate;—not a sigh
Escaped her tortured breast,
Nor fell one tear-drop from her eye,
Where torrents were supprest.
Whose weakness is thy power,
How did thy spirit rise above
The conflict of that hour!
—She found him prostrate;—not a sigh
Escaped her tortured breast,
Nor fell one tear-drop from her eye,
Where torrents were supprest.
Her faithful bosom stay'd his head,
That throbb'd with fever heat;
Her eye serene compassion shed,
Which his could never meet:
Her arms enclasp'd his shuddering frame,
While at his side she kneel'd,
And utter'd nothing but his name,
Yet all her soul reveal'd.
That throbb'd with fever heat;
Her eye serene compassion shed,
Which his could never meet:
Her arms enclasp'd his shuddering frame,
While at his side she kneel'd,
And utter'd nothing but his name,
Yet all her soul reveal'd.
Touch'd to the quick, he gave no sign
By gentle word or tone;
In him affection could not shine,
'Twas fire within a stone;
Which no collision by the way
Could startle into light,
Though the poor heart that held it lay
Wrapt in Cimmerian night.
By gentle word or tone;
In him affection could not shine,
'Twas fire within a stone;
Which no collision by the way
Could startle into light,
Though the poor heart that held it lay
Wrapt in Cimmerian night.
It was not always thus;—erewhile
The kindness of his youth,
His brow of innocence, and smile
Of unpretending truth,
Had left such strong delight, that she
Would oft recall the time,
And live in golden memory,
Unconscious of his crime.
The kindness of his youth,
His brow of innocence, and smile
Of unpretending truth,
Had left such strong delight, that she
Would oft recall the time,
And live in golden memory,
Unconscious of his crime.
Though self-abandon'd now to fate,
The passive prey of grief,
Sullen, and cold, and desolate,
He shunn'd, he spurn'd, relief:
Still onward in its even course
Her pure affection press'd,
And pour'd with soft and silent force
Its sweetness through his breast.
The passive prey of grief,
Sullen, and cold, and desolate,
He shunn'd, he spurn'd, relief:
Still onward in its even course
Her pure affection press'd,
And pour'd with soft and silent force
Its sweetness through his breast.
Thus Sodom's melancholy lake
No turn or current knows;
Nor breeze, nor billow sounding, break
The horror of repose;
While Jordan, through the sulphurous brine,
Rolls a translucent stream,
Whose waves with answering beauty shine
To every changing beam.
No turn or current knows;
Nor breeze, nor billow sounding, break
The horror of repose;
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Rolls a translucent stream,
Whose waves with answering beauty shine
To every changing beam.
Part III.
At length the hardest trial came,
Again they cross the seas;
The waves their wilder fury tame,
The storm becomes a breeze:
Homeward their easy course they hold,
And now in radiant view,
The purple forelands, tinged with gold,
Larger and lovelier grew.
Again they cross the seas;
The waves their wilder fury tame,
The storm becomes a breeze:
Homeward their easy course they hold,
And now in radiant view,
The purple forelands, tinged with gold,
Larger and lovelier grew.
The vessel on the tranquil tide
Then seem'd to lie at rest,
While Albion, in maternal pride,
Advanced with open breast
To bid them welcome on the main:
—Both shrunk from her embrace;
Cold grew the pulse through every vein;
He turn'd away his face.
Then seem'd to lie at rest,
While Albion, in maternal pride,
Advanced with open breast
To bid them welcome on the main:
—Both shrunk from her embrace;
Cold grew the pulse through every vein;
He turn'd away his face.
Silent, apart, on deck he stands
In ecstasy of woe;
A brother's blood is on his hands,
He sees, he hears it flow:
Wilder than ocean tempest-wrought,
Though deadly calm his look;
—His partner read his inmost thought,
And strength her limbs forsook.
In ecstasy of woe;
A brother's blood is on his hands,
He sees, he hears it flow:
Wilder than ocean tempest-wrought,
Though deadly calm his look;
—His partner read his inmost thought,
And strength her limbs forsook.
Then first, then last, a pang she proved
Too exquisite to bear:
She fell;—he caught her,—strangely moved,
Roused from intense despair;
Alive to feelings long unknown,
He wept upon her cheek,
And call'd her in as kind a tone
As love's own lips could speak.
Too exquisite to bear:
She fell;—he caught her,—strangely moved,
Roused from intense despair;
Alive to feelings long unknown,
He wept upon her cheek,
And call'd her in as kind a tone
As love's own lips could speak.
Her spirit heard that voice, and felt
Arrested on its flight;
Back to the mansion where it dwelt,
Back from the gates of light,
That open'd Paradise in trance,
It hasten'd from afar,
Quick as the startled seaman's glance
Turns from the polar star.
Arrested on its flight;
Back to the mansion where it dwelt,
Back from the gates of light,
That open'd Paradise in trance,
It hasten'd from afar,
Quick as the startled seaman's glance
Turns from the polar star.
She breathed again, look'd up, and lo!
Those eyes that knew not tears,
With streams of tenderness o'erflow;
That heart, through hopeless years
The den of fiends in darkness chain'd,
That would not, dared not rest,
Affection fervent, pure, unfeign'd,
In speechless sighs express'd.
Those eyes that knew not tears,
With streams of tenderness o'erflow;
That heart, through hopeless years
The den of fiends in darkness chain'd,
That would not, dared not rest,
Affection fervent, pure, unfeign'd,
In speechless sighs express'd.
Content to live, since now she knew
What love believed before;
Content to live, since he was true,
And love could ask no more,—
This vow to righteous heaven she made,
—“Whatever ills befall,
Patient, unshrinking, undismay'd,
I'll freely suffer all.”
What love believed before;
Content to live, since he was true,
And love could ask no more,—
This vow to righteous heaven she made,
—“Whatever ills befall,
Patient, unshrinking, undismay'd,
I'll freely suffer all.”
They land,—they take the wonted road,
By twice ten years estranged;
The trees, the fields, their old abode,
Objects and men, had changed:
Familiar faces, forms endear'd,
Each well-remember'd name,
From earth itself had disappear'd,
Or seem'd no more the same.
By twice ten years estranged;
The trees, the fields, their old abode,
Objects and men, had changed:
Familiar faces, forms endear'd,
Each well-remember'd name,
From earth itself had disappear'd,
Or seem'd no more the same.
The old were dead, the young were old;
Children to men had sprung;
And every eye to them was cold,
And silent every tongue;
Friendless, companionless, they roam
Amidst their native scene;
In drearier banishment at home,
Than savage climes had been.
Children to men had sprung;
And every eye to them was cold,
And silent every tongue;
Friendless, companionless, they roam
Amidst their native scene;
In drearier banishment at home,
Than savage climes had been.
Part IV.
Yet worse she fear'd;—nor long they lay
In safety or suspense;
Unslumbering justice seized her prey,
And dragg'd the culprit thence:
Amid the dungeon's darken'd walls,
Down on the cold damp floor,
A wreck of misery he falls,
Close to the bolted door.
In safety or suspense;
Unslumbering justice seized her prey,
And dragg'd the culprit thence:
Amid the dungeon's darken'd walls,
Down on the cold damp floor,
A wreck of misery he falls,
Close to the bolted door.
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And she is gone,—while he remains,
Bewilder'd in the gloom,
To brood in solitude and chains
Upon a felon's doom:
Yes, she is gone,—and he forlorn
Must groan the night away,
And long to see her face at morn,
More welcome than the day.
Bewilder'd in the gloom,
To brood in solitude and chains
Upon a felon's doom:
Yes, she is gone,—and he forlorn
Must groan the night away,
And long to see her face at morn,
More welcome than the day.
The morning comes,—she re-appears
With grief-dissembling wiles;
A sad serenity of tears,
An agony of smiles,
Her looks assume; his spectral woes
Are vanish'd at the sight;
And all within him seem'd repose,
And all around him light.
With grief-dissembling wiles;
A sad serenity of tears,
An agony of smiles,
Her looks assume; his spectral woes
Are vanish'd at the sight;
And all within him seem'd repose,
And all around him light.
Never since that mysterious hour,
When kindred blood was spilt,—
Never had aught in nature power
To soothe corroding guilt,
Till the glad moment when she cross'd
The threshold of that place,
And the wild rapture when he lost
Himself in her embrace.
When kindred blood was spilt,—
Never had aught in nature power
To soothe corroding guilt,
Till the glad moment when she cross'd
The threshold of that place,
And the wild rapture when he lost
Himself in her embrace.
Even then, while on her neck he hung,
Ere yet a word they spoke,
As by a fiery serpent stung,
Away at once he broke:
Frenzy, remorse, confusion burst
In tempest o'er his brain;
He felt accused, condemn'd, accurst,
He was himself again.
Ere yet a word they spoke,
As by a fiery serpent stung,
Away at once he broke:
Frenzy, remorse, confusion burst
In tempest o'er his brain;
He felt accused, condemn'd, accurst,
He was himself again.
Days, weeks, and months, had mark'd the flight
Of time's unwearied wing,
Ere winter's long, lugubrious night
Relented into spring:
To him who pined for death's release,
An age the space between!
To her who could not hope for peace,
How fugitive the scene!
Of time's unwearied wing,
Ere winter's long, lugubrious night
Relented into spring:
To him who pined for death's release,
An age the space between!
To her who could not hope for peace,
How fugitive the scene!
In vain she chid forewarning fears,
In vain repress'd her woe,
Alone, unseen, her sighs and tears
Would freely heave and flow:
Yet ever in his sight, by day,
Her looks were calm and kind,
And when at evening torn away,
She left her soul behind.
In vain repress'd her woe,
Alone, unseen, her sighs and tears
Would freely heave and flow:
Yet ever in his sight, by day,
Her looks were calm and kind,
And when at evening torn away,
She left her soul behind.
Hark!—hark!—the Judge is at the gate,
The trumpets' thrilling tones
Ring through the cells, the voice of fate!
Re-echoed thence in groans:
The sound hath reach'd her ear,—she stands,
In marble-chilness dumb;
He too hath heard, and smites his hands:
“I come,” he cried, “I come.”
The trumpets' thrilling tones
Ring through the cells, the voice of fate!
Re-echoed thence in groans:
The sound hath reach'd her ear,—she stands,
In marble-chilness dumb;
He too hath heard, and smites his hands:
“I come,” he cried, “I come.”
Before the dread tribunal now,
Firm in collected pride,
Without a scowl upon his brow,
Without a pang to hide,
He stood;—superior in that hour
To recreant fear and shame;
Peril itself inspired the power
To meet the worst that came.
Firm in collected pride,
Without a scowl upon his brow,
Without a pang to hide,
He stood;—superior in that hour
To recreant fear and shame;
Peril itself inspired the power
To meet the worst that came.
'Twas like the tempest, when he sought
Fate in the swallowing flood;
'Twas like the battle, when he fought
For death through seas of blood:
—A violence which soon must break
The heart that would not bend,—
A heart that almost ceased to ache
In hope of such an end.
Fate in the swallowing flood;
'Twas like the battle, when he fought
For death through seas of blood:
—A violence which soon must break
The heart that would not bend,—
A heart that almost ceased to ache
In hope of such an end.
On him while every eye was fix'd,
And every lip express'd,
Without a voice, the rage unmix'd,
That boil'd in every breast;
It seem'd as though that deed abhorr'd,
In years far distant done,
Had cut asunder every cord
Of fellowship but one,—
And every lip express'd,
Without a voice, the rage unmix'd,
That boil'd in every breast;
It seem'd as though that deed abhorr'd,
In years far distant done,
Had cut asunder every cord
Of fellowship but one,—
That one indissolubly bound
A feeble woman's heart:
—Faithful in every trial found,
Long had she borne her part;
Now at his helpless side alone,
Girt with infuriate crowds,
Like the new moon her meekness shone,
Pale through a gulf of clouds.
A feeble woman's heart:
—Faithful in every trial found,
Long had she borne her part;
Now at his helpless side alone,
Girt with infuriate crowds,
Like the new moon her meekness shone,
Pale through a gulf of clouds.
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Ah! well might every bosom yearn
Responsive to her sigh,
And every visage, dark and stern,
Soften beneath that eye;
Ah! well might every lip of gall
The unutter'd curse suspend;
Its tones for her in blessings fall,
Its breath in prayer ascend.
Responsive to her sigh,
And every visage, dark and stern,
Soften beneath that eye;
Ah! well might every lip of gall
The unutter'd curse suspend;
Its tones for her in blessings fall,
Its breath in prayer ascend.
“Guilty!”—that thunder-striking sound,
All shudder'd when they heard;
A burst of horrid joy around
Hail'd the tremendous word;
Check'd in a moment,—she was there!
The instinctive groan was hush'd:
Nature, that forced it, cried, “Forbear;”
Indignant justice blush'd.
All shudder'd when they heard;
A burst of horrid joy around
Hail'd the tremendous word;
Check'd in a moment,—she was there!
The instinctive groan was hush'd:
Nature, that forced it, cried, “Forbear;”
Indignant justice blush'd.
Part V.
One woe is past, another speeds
To brand and seal his doom;
The third day's failing beam recedes;
She watch'd it into gloom:
That night, how swift in its career
It flew from sun to sun!
That night, the last of many a dear
And many a dolorous one!—
To brand and seal his doom;
The third day's failing beam recedes;
She watch'd it into gloom:
That night, how swift in its career
It flew from sun to sun!
That night, the last of many a dear
And many a dolorous one!—
That night, by special grace, she wakes
In the lone convict's cell,
With him for whom the morrow breaks
To light to heaven or hell:
Dread sounds of preparation rend
The dungeon's ponderous roof;
The hammer's doubling strokes descend,
The scaffold creaks aloof.
In the lone convict's cell,
With him for whom the morrow breaks
To light to heaven or hell:
Dread sounds of preparation rend
The dungeon's ponderous roof;
The hammer's doubling strokes descend,
The scaffold creaks aloof.
She watch'd his features through the shade
Which glimmering embers broke;
Both from their inmost spirit pray'd;
They pray'd, but seldom spoke:
Moments meanwhile were years to him;
Her grief forgot their flight,
Till on the hearth the fire grew dim;
She turn'd, and lo! the light;—
Which glimmering embers broke;
Both from their inmost spirit pray'd;
They pray'd, but seldom spoke:
Moments meanwhile were years to him;
Her grief forgot their flight,
Till on the hearth the fire grew dim;
She turn'd, and lo! the light;—
The light less welcome to her eyes,
The loveliest light of morn,
Than the dark glare of felons' eyes
Through grated cells forlorn:
The cool fresh breeze from heaven that blew,
The free lark's mounting strains,
She felt in drops of icy dew,
She heard like groans and chains.
The loveliest light of morn,
Than the dark glare of felons' eyes
Through grated cells forlorn:
The cool fresh breeze from heaven that blew,
The free lark's mounting strains,
She felt in drops of icy dew,
She heard like groans and chains.
“Farewell!”—'twas but a word, yet more
Was utter'd in that sound
Than love had ever told before,
Or sorrow yet had found:
They kiss like meeting flames,—they part
Like flames asunder driven;
Lip cleaves to lip, heart beats on heart,
Till soul from soul is riven.
Was utter'd in that sound
Than love had ever told before,
Or sorrow yet had found:
They kiss like meeting flames,—they part
Like flames asunder driven;
Lip cleaves to lip, heart beats on heart,
Till soul from soul is riven.
Quick hurried thence,—the sullen bell
Its pausing peal began;
She hearkens,—'tis the dying knell
Rung for the living man:
The mourner reach'd her lonely bower,
Fell on her widow'd bed,
And found, through one entrancing hour,
The quiet of the dead.
Its pausing peal began;
She hearkens,—'tis the dying knell
Rung for the living man:
The mourner reach'd her lonely bower,
Fell on her widow'd bed,
And found, through one entrancing hour,
The quiet of the dead.
She woke,—and knew he was no more:
“Thy dream of life is past;
That pang with thee, that pang is o'er,
The bitterest and the last!”
She cried:—then scenes of sad amaze
Flash'd on her inward eye;
A field, a troop, a crowd to gaze,
A murderer led to die!
“Thy dream of life is past;
That pang with thee, that pang is o'er,
The bitterest and the last!”
She cried:—then scenes of sad amaze
Flash'd on her inward eye;
A field, a troop, a crowd to gaze,
A murderer led to die!
He eyed the ignominious tree,
Look'd round, but saw no friend;
Was plunged into eternity;
—Is this—is this the end?
Her spirit follow'd him afar
Into the world unknown,
And saw him standing at that bar
Where each must stand alone.
Look'd round, but saw no friend;
Was plunged into eternity;
—Is this—is this the end?
Her spirit follow'd him afar
Into the world unknown,
And saw him standing at that bar
Where each must stand alone.
Silence and darkness hide the rest:
—Long she survived to mourn;
But peace sprang up within her breast,
From trouble meekly borne:
And higher, holier joys had she,
A Christian's hopes above,
The prize of suffering constancy,
The crown of faithful love.
—Long she survived to mourn;
But peace sprang up within her breast,
From trouble meekly borne:
And higher, holier joys had she,
A Christian's hopes above,
The prize of suffering constancy,
The crown of faithful love.
1821.
218
A SNAKE IN THE GRASS.
A TALE FOR CHILDREN: FOUNDED ON FACTS.
She had a secret of her own,
That little girl of whom we speak,
O'er which she oft would muse alone,
Till the blush came across her cheek,
A rosy cloud that glow'd awhile,
Then melted in a sunny smile.
That little girl of whom we speak,
O'er which she oft would muse alone,
Till the blush came across her cheek,
A rosy cloud that glow'd awhile,
Then melted in a sunny smile.
There was so much to charm the eye,
So much to move delightful thought,
Awake at night she loved to lie,
Darkness to her that image brought;
She murmur'd of it in her dreams,
Like the low sounds of gurgling streams.
So much to move delightful thought,
Awake at night she loved to lie,
Darkness to her that image brought;
She murmur'd of it in her dreams,
Like the low sounds of gurgling streams.
What secret thus the soul possess'd
Of one so young and innocent?
Oh! nothing but a robin's nest,
O'er which in ecstasy she bent;
That treasure she herself had found,
With five brown eggs, upon the ground.
Of one so young and innocent?
Oh! nothing but a robin's nest,
O'er which in ecstasy she bent;
That treasure she herself had found,
With five brown eggs, upon the ground.
When first it flash'd upon her sight,
Bolt flew the dam above her head;
She stoop'd, and almost shriek'd with fright;
But spying soon that little bed
With feathers, moss, and horse-hairs twined,
Rapture and wonder fill'd her mind.
Bolt flew the dam above her head;
She stoop'd, and almost shriek'd with fright;
But spying soon that little bed
With feathers, moss, and horse-hairs twined,
Rapture and wonder fill'd her mind.
Breathless and beautiful she stood,
Her ringlets o'er her bosom fell;
With hands uplift, in attitude
As though a pulse might break the spell,
While through the shade her pale fine face
Shone like a star amidst the place.
Her ringlets o'er her bosom fell;
With hands uplift, in attitude
As though a pulse might break the spell,
While through the shade her pale fine face
Shone like a star amidst the place.
She stood so silent, stay'd so long,
The parent-birds forgot their fear;
Cock-robin trill'd his small sweet song,
In notes like dew-drops trembling clear;
From spray to spray the shyer hen
Dropp'd softly on her nest again.
The parent-birds forgot their fear;
Cock-robin trill'd his small sweet song,
In notes like dew-drops trembling clear;
From spray to spray the shyer hen
Dropp'd softly on her nest again.
There Lucy mark'd her slender bill
On this side, and on that her tail
Peer'd o'er the edge,—while, fix'd and still,
Two bright black eyes her own assail,
Which, in eye-language, seem to say,
“Peep, pretty maiden! then, away!”
On this side, and on that her tail
Peer'd o'er the edge,—while, fix'd and still,
Two bright black eyes her own assail,
Which, in eye-language, seem to say,
“Peep, pretty maiden! then, away!”
Away, away at length she crept,
So pleased, she knew not how she trode,
Yet light on tottering tiptoe stept,
As if birds' eggs strew'd all the road;
With folded arms, and lips compress'd,
To keep her joy within her breast.
So pleased, she knew not how she trode,
Yet light on tottering tiptoe stept,
As if birds' eggs strew'd all the road;
With folded arms, and lips compress'd,
To keep her joy within her breast.
Morn, noon, and eve, from day to day,
By stealth she visited that spot;
Alike her lessons and her play
Were slightly conn'd, or half forgot;
And when the callow young were hatch'd,
With infant fondness Lucy watch'd:—
By stealth she visited that spot;
Alike her lessons and her play
Were slightly conn'd, or half forgot;
And when the callow young were hatch'd,
With infant fondness Lucy watch'd:—
Watch'd the kind parents dealing food
To clamorous suppliants all agape;
Watch'd the small, naked, unform'd brood
Improve in size, and plume, and shape,
Till feathers clad the fluttering things,
And the whole group seem'd bills and wings.
To clamorous suppliants all agape;
Watch'd the small, naked, unform'd brood
Improve in size, and plume, and shape,
Till feathers clad the fluttering things,
And the whole group seem'd bills and wings.
Unconsciously within her breast,
Where many a brooding fancy lay,
She plann'd to bear the tiny nest
And chirping choristers away,
In stately cage to tune their throats,
And learn untaught their mother-notes.
Where many a brooding fancy lay,
She plann'd to bear the tiny nest
And chirping choristers away,
In stately cage to tune their throats,
And learn untaught their mother-notes.
One morn, when fairly fledged for flight,
Blithe Lucy, on her visit, found
What seem'd a necklace, glittering bright,
Twin'd round the nest, twin'd round and round,
With emeralds, pearls, and sapphires set,
Rich as my lady's coronet.
Blithe Lucy, on her visit, found
What seem'd a necklace, glittering bright,
Twin'd round the nest, twin'd round and round,
With emeralds, pearls, and sapphires set,
Rich as my lady's coronet.
She stretch'd her hand to seize the prize,
When up a serpent popp'd its head,
But glid like wild-fire from her eyes,
Hissing and rustling as it fled;
She utter'd one short shrilling scream,
Then stood, as startled from a dream.
When up a serpent popp'd its head,
But glid like wild-fire from her eyes,
Hissing and rustling as it fled;
She utter'd one short shrilling scream,
Then stood, as startled from a dream.
Her brother Tom, who long had known
That something drew her feet that way,
Curious to catch her there alone,
Had follow'd her that fine May-day;
—Lucy, bewilder'd by her trance,
Came to herself at his first glance.
That something drew her feet that way,
Curious to catch her there alone,
Had follow'd her that fine May-day;
219
Came to herself at his first glance.
Then in her eyes sprang welcome tears;
They fell as showers in April fall;
He kiss'd her, coax'd her, soothed her fears
Till she in frankness told him all:
—Tom was a bold adventurous boy,
And heard the dreadful tale with joy.
They fell as showers in April fall;
He kiss'd her, coax'd her, soothed her fears
Till she in frankness told him all:
—Tom was a bold adventurous boy,
And heard the dreadful tale with joy.
For he had learnt,—in some far land,—
How children catch the sleeping snake;
Eager himself to try his hand,
He cut a hazel from the brake,
And like a hero set to work,
To make a lithe long-handled fork.
How children catch the sleeping snake;
Eager himself to try his hand,
He cut a hazel from the brake,
And like a hero set to work,
To make a lithe long-handled fork.
Brother and sister then withdrew,
Leaving the nestlings safely there;
Between their heads the mother flew,
Prompt to resume her nursery care:
But Tom, whose breast for glory burn'd,
In less than half an hour return'd.
Leaving the nestlings safely there;
Between their heads the mother flew,
Prompt to resume her nursery care:
But Tom, whose breast for glory burn'd,
In less than half an hour return'd.
With him came Ned, as cool and sly
As Tom was resolute and stout;
So, fair and softly, they drew nigh,
Cowering and keeping sharp look-out,
Till they had reach'd the copse,—to see,
But not alarm, the enemy.
As Tom was resolute and stout;
So, fair and softly, they drew nigh,
Cowering and keeping sharp look-out,
Till they had reach'd the copse,—to see,
But not alarm, the enemy.
Guess with what transport they descried,
How, as before, the serpent lay
Coil'd round the nest, in slumbering pride;
The urchins chuckled o'er their prey,
And Tom's right hand was lifted soon,
Like Greenland whaler's with harpoon.
How, as before, the serpent lay
Coil'd round the nest, in slumbering pride;
The urchins chuckled o'er their prey,
And Tom's right hand was lifted soon,
Like Greenland whaler's with harpoon.
Across its neck the fork he brought,
And pinn'd it fast upon the ground;
The reptile woke, and quick as thought
Curl'd round the stick, curl'd round and round;
While head and tail Ned's nimble hands
Tied at each end with pack-thread bands.
And pinn'd it fast upon the ground;
The reptile woke, and quick as thought
Curl'd round the stick, curl'd round and round;
While head and tail Ned's nimble hands
Tied at each end with pack-thread bands.
Scarce was the enemy secured,
When Lucy timidly drew near,
But, by their shouting well assured,
Eyed the green captive void of fear;
The lads, stark wild with victory, flung
Their caps aloft,—they danced, they sung.
When Lucy timidly drew near,
But, by their shouting well assured,
Eyed the green captive void of fear;
The lads, stark wild with victory, flung
Their caps aloft,—they danced, they sung.
But Lucy, with an anxious look,
Turn'd to her own dear nest, when lo!
To legs and wings the young ones took,
Hopping and tumbling to and fro;
The parents chattering from above
With all the earnestness of love.
Turn'd to her own dear nest, when lo!
To legs and wings the young ones took,
Hopping and tumbling to and fro;
The parents chattering from above
With all the earnestness of love.
Alighting now among their train,
They peck'd them on new feats to try;
But many a lesson seem'd in vain,
Before the giddy things would fly;
Lucy both laugh'd and cried, to see
How ill they play'd at liberty.
They peck'd them on new feats to try;
But many a lesson seem'd in vain,
Before the giddy things would fly;
Lucy both laugh'd and cried, to see
How ill they play'd at liberty.
I need not tell the snake's sad doom,
You may be sure he lived not long;
Cork'd in a bottle for a tomb,
Preserv'd in spirits and in song,—
His skin in Tom's museum shines,
You read his story in these lines.
You may be sure he lived not long;
Cork'd in a bottle for a tomb,
Preserv'd in spirits and in song,—
His skin in Tom's museum shines,
You read his story in these lines.
1831.
THE VIGIL OF ST. MARK.
Returning from their evening walk,
On yonder ancient stile,
In sweet, romantic, tender talk,
Two lovers paused awhile:
On yonder ancient stile,
In sweet, romantic, tender talk,
Two lovers paused awhile:
Edmund, the monarch of the dale,
All conscious of his powers;
Ella, the lily of the vale,
The rose of Auburn's bowers.
All conscious of his powers;
Ella, the lily of the vale,
The rose of Auburn's bowers.
In airy Love's delightful bands
He held her heart in vain;
The Nymph denied her willing hands
To Hymen's awful chain.
He held her heart in vain;
The Nymph denied her willing hands
To Hymen's awful chain.
“Ah! why,” said he, “our bliss delay?
Mine Ella, why so cold?
Those who but love from day to day,
From day to day grow old.
Mine Ella, why so cold?
Those who but love from day to day,
From day to day grow old.
220
“The bounding arrow cleaves the sky,
Nor leaves a trace behind;
And single lives like arrows fly,—
They vanish through the wind.
Nor leaves a trace behind;
And single lives like arrows fly,—
They vanish through the wind.
“In Wedlock's sweet endearing lot
Let us improve the scene,
That some may be when we are not,
To tell—that we have been.”
Let us improve the scene,
That some may be when we are not,
To tell—that we have been.”
“'Tis now,” replied the village Belle,
“St. Mark's mysterious Eve;
And all that old traditions tell
I tremblingly believe:—
“St. Mark's mysterious Eve;
And all that old traditions tell
I tremblingly believe:—
“How, when the midnight signal tolls,
Along the churchyard-green
A mournful train of sentenced souls
In winding-sheets are seen:
Along the churchyard-green
A mournful train of sentenced souls
In winding-sheets are seen:
“The ghosts of all whom Death shall doom
Within the coming year,
In pale procession walk the gloom
Amid the silence drear.
Within the coming year,
In pale procession walk the gloom
Amid the silence drear.
“If Edmund, bold in conscious might,
By love severely tried,
Can brave the terrors of to-night,
Ella will be his bride.”
By love severely tried,
Can brave the terrors of to-night,
Ella will be his bride.”
She spake,—and, like the nimble fawn,
From Edmund's presence fled:
He sought, across the rural lawn,
The dwelling of the dead;—
From Edmund's presence fled:
He sought, across the rural lawn,
The dwelling of the dead;—
That silent, solemn, simple spot,
The mouldering realm of peace,
Where human passions are forgot,
Where human follies cease.
The mouldering realm of peace,
Where human passions are forgot,
Where human follies cease.
The gliding moon through heaven serene
Pursued her tranquil way,
And shed o'er all the sleeping scene
A soft nocturnal day.
Pursued her tranquil way,
And shed o'er all the sleeping scene
A soft nocturnal day.
With swelling heart and eager feet
Young Edmund gain'd the church,
And chose his solitary seat
Within the dreadful porch.
Young Edmund gain'd the church,
And chose his solitary seat
Within the dreadful porch.
Thick, threatening clouds assembled soon,
Their dragon-wings display'd;
Eclipsed the slow retiring moon,
And quench'd the stars in shade.
Their dragon-wings display'd;
Eclipsed the slow retiring moon,
And quench'd the stars in shade.
Amid the deep abyss of gloom
No ray of beauty smiled,
Save, glistening o'er some haunted tomb,
The glow-worm's lustre wild.
No ray of beauty smiled,
Save, glistening o'er some haunted tomb,
The glow-worm's lustre wild.
The village watch-dogs bay'd around,
The long grass whistled drear,
The steeple trembled to the ground,
Ev'n Edmund quaked with fear.
The long grass whistled drear,
The steeple trembled to the ground,
Ev'n Edmund quaked with fear.
All on a sudden died the blast,
Dumb horror chill'd the air;
While Nature seem'd to pause aghast,
In uttermost despair.
Dumb horror chill'd the air;
While Nature seem'd to pause aghast,
In uttermost despair.
—Twelve times the midnight herald toll'd,
As oft did Edmund start;
For every stroke fell dead and cold
Upon his fainting heart.
As oft did Edmund start;
For every stroke fell dead and cold
Upon his fainting heart.
Then, glaring through the ghastly gloom,
Along the churchyard-green,
The destined victims of the tomb
In winding-sheets were seen.
Along the churchyard-green,
The destined victims of the tomb
In winding-sheets were seen.
In that strange moment Edmund stood,
Sick with severe surprise!
While creeping horror drank his blood,
And fix'd his flinty eyes.
Sick with severe surprise!
While creeping horror drank his blood,
And fix'd his flinty eyes.
He saw the secrets of the grave;
He saw the face of DEATH:
No pitying power appear'd to save—
He gasp'd away his breath.
He saw the face of DEATH:
No pitying power appear'd to save—
He gasp'd away his breath.
Yet still the scene his soul beguiled,
And every spectre cast
A look unutterably wild
On Edmund as they pass'd.
And every spectre cast
A look unutterably wild
On Edmund as they pass'd.
All on the ground entranced he lay;
At length the vision broke;
—When, lo!—a kiss, as cold as clay,
The slumbering youth awoke.
At length the vision broke;
—When, lo!—a kiss, as cold as clay,
The slumbering youth awoke.
221
That moment through a rifted cloud
The darting moon display'd,
Robed in a melancholy shroud,
The image of a maid.
The darting moon display'd,
Robed in a melancholy shroud,
The image of a maid.
Her dusky veil aside she threw,
And show'd a face most fair:
“My Love! my Ella!”—Edmund flew,
And clasp'd the yielding air.
And show'd a face most fair:
“My Love! my Ella!”—Edmund flew,
And clasp'd the yielding air.
“Ha! who art thou?” His cheek grew pale:
A well-known voice replied,
“Ella, the lily of the vale;
Ella—thy destined bride.”
A well-known voice replied,
“Ella, the lily of the vale;
Ella—thy destined bride.”
To win his neck her airy arms
The pallid phantom spread;
Recoiling from her blasted charms,
The affrighted lover fled.
The pallid phantom spread;
Recoiling from her blasted charms,
The affrighted lover fled.
To shun the visionary maid,
His speed outstript the wind;
But,—though unseen to move,—the shade
Was evermore behind.
His speed outstript the wind;
But,—though unseen to move,—the shade
Was evermore behind.
So Death's unerring arrows glide,
Yet seem suspended still;
Nor pause, nor shrink, nor turn aside,
But smite, subdue, and kill.
Yet seem suspended still;
Nor pause, nor shrink, nor turn aside,
But smite, subdue, and kill.
O'er many a mountain, moor, and vale,
On that tremendous night,
The ghost of Ella, wild and pale,
Pursued her lover's flight.
On that tremendous night,
The ghost of Ella, wild and pale,
Pursued her lover's flight.
But when the dawn began to gleam,
Ere yet the morning shone,
She vanish'd like a nightmare-dream,
And Edmund stood alone.
Ere yet the morning shone,
She vanish'd like a nightmare-dream,
And Edmund stood alone.
Three days, bewilder'd and forlorn,
He sought his home in vain;
At length he hail'd the hoary thorn
That crown'd his native plain.
He sought his home in vain;
At length he hail'd the hoary thorn
That crown'd his native plain.
'Twas evening;—all the air was balm,
The heavens serenely clear;
When the soft music of a psalm
Came pensive o'er his ear.
The heavens serenely clear;
When the soft music of a psalm
Came pensive o'er his ear.
Then sunk his heart;—a strange surmise
Made all his blood run cold:
He flew,—a funeral met his eyes:
He paused,—a death-bell toll'd.
Made all his blood run cold:
He flew,—a funeral met his eyes:
He paused,—a death-bell toll'd.
“'Tis she! 'tis she!”—He burst away;
And bending o'er the spot
Where all that once was Ella lay,
He all beside forgot.
And bending o'er the spot
Where all that once was Ella lay,
He all beside forgot.
A maniac now, in dumb despair,
With love-bewilder'd mien,
He wanders, weeps, and watches there,
Among the hillocks green.
With love-bewilder'd mien,
He wanders, weeps, and watches there,
Among the hillocks green.
And every Eve of pale St. Mark,
As village hinds relate,
He walks with Ella in the dark,
And reads the rolls of Fate.
As village hinds relate,
He walks with Ella in the dark,
And reads the rolls of Fate.
1799.
A DEED OF DARKNESS.
[_]
The body of the Missionary, John Smith, (who died February 6. 1824, in prison, under sentence of death by a court-martial, in Demerara,) was ordered to be buried secretly at night; and no person, not even his widow, was allowed to follow the corpse. Mrs. Smith, however, and her friend Mrs. Elliott, accompanied by a free Negro, carrying a lantern, repaired beforehand to the spot where a grave had been dug, and there they awaited the interment, which took place accordingly. His Majesty's pardon, annulling the condemnation, is said to have arrived on the day of the unfortunate Missionary's death, from the rigours of confinement, in a tropical climate, and under the slow pains of an inveterate malady, previously afflicting him.
Come down in thy profoundest gloom,
Without one vagrant fire-fly's light,
Beneath thine ebon arch entomb
Earth from the gaze of heaven, O Night!
A deed of darkness must be done;
Put out the moon, hold back the sun.
Without one vagrant fire-fly's light,
Beneath thine ebon arch entomb
Earth from the gaze of heaven, O Night!
A deed of darkness must be done;
Put out the moon, hold back the sun.
Are these the criminals that flee
Like deeper shadows through the shade?
A flickering lamp, from tree to tree,
Betrays their path along the glade,
Led by a Negro;—now they stand,
Two trembling women, hand in hand.
Like deeper shadows through the shade?
A flickering lamp, from tree to tree,
Betrays their path along the glade,
Led by a Negro;—now they stand,
Two trembling women, hand in hand.
222
A grave, an open grave, appears;
O'er this in agony they bend,
Wet the fresh turf with bitter tears;
Sighs following sighs their bosoms rend:
These are not murderers!—these have known
Grief more bereaving than their own.
O'er this in agony they bend,
Wet the fresh turf with bitter tears;
Sighs following sighs their bosoms rend:
These are not murderers!—these have known
Grief more bereaving than their own.
Oft through the gloom their straining eyes
Look forth for what they fear to meet:
It comes; they catch a glimpse; it flies:
Quick-glancing lights, slow-trampling feet,
Amidst the cane-crops,—seen, heard, gone,—
Return,—and in dead-march move on.
Look forth for what they fear to meet:
It comes; they catch a glimpse; it flies:
Quick-glancing lights, slow-trampling feet,
Amidst the cane-crops,—seen, heard, gone,—
Return,—and in dead-march move on.
A stern procession!—gleaming arms
And spectral countenances dart,
By the red torch-flame, wild alarms
And withering pangs through either heart;
A corpse amidst the group is borne,
A prisoner's corpse who died last morn.
And spectral countenances dart,
By the red torch-flame, wild alarms
And withering pangs through either heart;
A corpse amidst the group is borne,
A prisoner's corpse who died last morn.
Not by the slave-lord's justice slain,
Who doom'd him to a traitor's death;
While royal mercy sped in vain
O'er land and sea to save his breath;—
No; the frail life that warm'd this clay
Man could not give nor take away.
Who doom'd him to a traitor's death;
While royal mercy sped in vain
O'er land and sea to save his breath;—
No; the frail life that warm'd this clay
Man could not give nor take away.
His vengeance and his grace alike
Were impotent to spare or kill;—
He may not lift the sword to strike,
Nor turn its edge aside, at will;
Here, by one sovereign act and deed,
God cancell'd all that man decreed.
Were impotent to spare or kill;—
He may not lift the sword to strike,
Nor turn its edge aside, at will;
Here, by one sovereign act and deed,
God cancell'd all that man decreed.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
That corpse is to the grave consign'd;
The scene departs:—this buried trust
The Judge of quick and dead shall find,
When things which Time and Death have seal'd
Shall be in flaming fire reveal'd.
That corpse is to the grave consign'd;
The scene departs:—this buried trust
The Judge of quick and dead shall find,
When things which Time and Death have seal'd
Shall be in flaming fire reveal'd.
The fire shall try Thee, then, like gold,
Prisoner of hope!—await the test;
And O! when truth alone is told,
Be thy clear innocence confess'd!
The fire shall try thy foes;—may they
Find mercy in that dreadful day!
Prisoner of hope!—await the test;
And O! when truth alone is told,
Be thy clear innocence confess'd!
The fire shall try thy foes;—may they
Find mercy in that dreadful day!
THE CAST-AWAY SHIP.
[_]
The subjects of the two following poems were suggested by the loss of the Blenheim, commanded by Sir Thomas Trowbridge, which was separated from the vessels under its convoy during a storm in the Indian Ocean.—The Admiral's son afterwards made a voyage, without success, in search of his father.—Trowbridge was one of Nelson's captains at the Battle of the Nile, but his ship unfortunately ran aground as he was bearing down on the enemy.
A vessel sail'd from Albion's shore,
To utmost India bound,
Its crest a hero's pendant bore,
With broad sea-laurels crown'd
In many a fierce and noble fight,
Though foil'd on that Egyptian night
When Gallia's host was drown'd,
And Nelson o'er his country's foes
Like the destroying angel rose.
To utmost India bound,
Its crest a hero's pendant bore,
With broad sea-laurels crown'd
In many a fierce and noble fight,
Though foil'd on that Egyptian night
When Gallia's host was drown'd,
And Nelson o'er his country's foes
Like the destroying angel rose.
A gay and gallant company,
With shouts that rend the air,
For warrior-wreaths upon the sea,
Their joyful brows prepare;
But many a maiden's sigh was sent,
And many a mother's blessing went,
And many a father's prayer,
With that exulting ship to sea,
With that undaunted company.
With shouts that rend the air,
For warrior-wreaths upon the sea,
Their joyful brows prepare;
But many a maiden's sigh was sent,
And many a mother's blessing went,
And many a father's prayer,
With that exulting ship to sea,
With that undaunted company.
The deep, that like a cradled child
In breathing slumber lay,
More warmly blush'd, more sweetly smiled,
As rose the kindling day:
Through ocean's mirror dark and clear,
Reflected clouds and skies appear
In morning's rich array;
The land is lost, the waters glow,
'Tis heaven above, around, below.
In breathing slumber lay,
More warmly blush'd, more sweetly smiled,
As rose the kindling day:
Through ocean's mirror dark and clear,
Reflected clouds and skies appear
In morning's rich array;
The land is lost, the waters glow,
'Tis heaven above, around, below.
Majestic o'er the sparkling tide,
See the tall vessel sail,
With swelling winds in shadowy pride,
A swan before the gale:
Deep-laden merchants rode behind;
—But, fearful of the fickle wind,
Britannia's cheek grew pale,
When, lessening through the flood of light,
Their leader vanish'd from her sight.
See the tall vessel sail,
With swelling winds in shadowy pride,
A swan before the gale:
Deep-laden merchants rode behind;
—But, fearful of the fickle wind,
Britannia's cheek grew pale,
When, lessening through the flood of light,
Their leader vanish'd from her sight.
223
Oft had she hail'd its trophied prow,
Victorious from the war,
And banner'd masts that would not bow,
Though riven with many a scar;
Oft had her oaks their tribute brought,
To rib its flanks, with thunder fraught;
But late her evil star
Had cursed it on its homeward way,
—“The spoiler shall become the prey.”
Victorious from the war,
And banner'd masts that would not bow,
Though riven with many a scar;
Oft had her oaks their tribute brought,
To rib its flanks, with thunder fraught;
But late her evil star
Had cursed it on its homeward way,
—“The spoiler shall become the prey.”
Thus warn'd, Britannia's anxious heart
Throbb'd with prophetic woe
When she beheld that ship depart,
A fair ill-omen'd show!
So views the mother, through her tears,
The daughter of her hopes and fears,
When hectic beauties glow
On the frail cheek, where sweetly bloom
The roses of an early tomb.
Throbb'd with prophetic woe
When she beheld that ship depart,
A fair ill-omen'd show!
So views the mother, through her tears,
The daughter of her hopes and fears,
When hectic beauties glow
On the frail cheek, where sweetly bloom
The roses of an early tomb.
No fears the brave adventurers knew,
Peril and death they spurn'd;
Like full-fledged eagles forth they flew!
Jove's birds, that proudly burn'd
In battle-hurricanes to wield
His lightnings on the billowy field;
And many a look they turn'd
O'er the blue waste of waves to spy
A Gallic ensign in the sky.
Peril and death they spurn'd;
Like full-fledged eagles forth they flew!
Jove's birds, that proudly burn'd
In battle-hurricanes to wield
His lightnings on the billowy field;
And many a look they turn'd
O'er the blue waste of waves to spy
A Gallic ensign in the sky.
But not to crush the vaunting foe,
In combat on the main,
Nor perish by a glorious blow,
In mortal triumph slain,
Was their unutterable fate;
—That story would the Muse relate,
The song might rise in vain;
In ocean's deepest, darkest bed,
The secret slumbers with the dead.
In combat on the main,
Nor perish by a glorious blow,
In mortal triumph slain,
Was their unutterable fate;
—That story would the Muse relate,
The song might rise in vain;
In ocean's deepest, darkest bed,
The secret slumbers with the dead.
On India's long-expecting strand
Their sails were never furl'd;
Never on known or friendly land,
By storms their keel was hurl'd;
Their native soil no more they trod,
They rest beneath no hallow'd sod:
Throughout the living world,
This sole memorial of their lot
Remains,—they were, and they are not.
Their sails were never furl'd;
Never on known or friendly land,
By storms their keel was hurl'd;
Their native soil no more they trod,
They rest beneath no hallow'd sod:
Throughout the living world,
This sole memorial of their lot
Remains,—they were, and they are not.
The spirit of the Cape pursued
Their long and toilsome way;
At length, in ocean solitude,
He sprang upon his prey;
“Havoc!” the shipwreck-demon cried,
Loosed all his tempests on the tide,
Gave all his lightnings play;
The abyss recoil'd before the blast,
Firm stood the seamen till the last.
Their long and toilsome way;
At length, in ocean solitude,
He sprang upon his prey;
“Havoc!” the shipwreck-demon cried,
Loosed all his tempests on the tide,
Gave all his lightnings play;
The abyss recoil'd before the blast,
Firm stood the seamen till the last.
Like shooting-stars, athwart the gloom
The merchant-sails were sped;
Yet oft, before its midnight doom,
They mark'd the high mast-head
Of that devoted vessel, tost
By winds and floods, now seen, now lost:
While every gun-fire spread
A dimmer flash, a fainter roar;
—At length they saw, they heard, no more.
The merchant-sails were sped;
Yet oft, before its midnight doom,
They mark'd the high mast-head
Of that devoted vessel, tost
By winds and floods, now seen, now lost:
While every gun-fire spread
A dimmer flash, a fainter roar;
—At length they saw, they heard, no more.
There are to whom that ship was dear,
For love and kindred's sake;
When these the voice of Rumour hear,
Their inmost heart shall quake,
Shall doubt, and fear, and wish, and grieve,
Believe, and long to unbelieve,
But never cease to ache;
Still doom'd, in sad suspense, to bear
The Hope that keeps alive Despair.
For love and kindred's sake;
When these the voice of Rumour hear,
Their inmost heart shall quake,
Shall doubt, and fear, and wish, and grieve,
Believe, and long to unbelieve,
But never cease to ache;
Still doom'd, in sad suspense, to bear
The Hope that keeps alive Despair.
THE SEQUEL.
He sought his sire from shore to shore,
He sought him day by day;
The prow he track'd was seen no more,
Breasting the ocean-spray;
Yet, as the winds his voyage sped,
He sail'd above his father's head,
Unconscious where it lay,
Deep, deep beneath the rolling main;
—He sought his sire; he sought in vain.
He sought him day by day;
The prow he track'd was seen no more,
Breasting the ocean-spray;
Yet, as the winds his voyage sped,
He sail'd above his father's head,
Unconscious where it lay,
Deep, deep beneath the rolling main;
—He sought his sire; he sought in vain.
Son of the brave! no longer weep;
Still with affection true,
Along the wild disastrous deep,
Thy father's course pursue;
Full in his wake of glory steer,
His spirit prompts thy bold career,
His compass guides thee through;
So, while thy thunders awe the sea,
Britain shall find thy sire in thee.
Still with affection true,
Along the wild disastrous deep,
Thy father's course pursue;
224
His spirit prompts thy bold career,
His compass guides thee through;
So, while thy thunders awe the sea,
Britain shall find thy sire in thee.
1815.
A NIGHT IN A STAGE-COACH;
BEING A MEDITATION ON THE WAY BETWEEN LONDON AND BRISTOL,
Sept. 23. 1815.
I travel all the irksome night,
By ways to me unknown;
I travel, like a bird in flight,
Onward, and all alone.
By ways to me unknown;
I travel, like a bird in flight,
Onward, and all alone.
In vain I close my weary eyes.
They will not, cannot sleep,
But, like the watchers of the skies,
Their twinkling vigils keep.
They will not, cannot sleep,
But, like the watchers of the skies,
Their twinkling vigils keep.
My thoughts are wandering wild and far;
From earth to heaven they dart;
Now wing their flight from star to star,
Now dive into my heart.
From earth to heaven they dart;
Now wing their flight from star to star,
Now dive into my heart.
Backward they roll the tide of time,
And live through vanish'd years,
Or hold their “colloquy sublime”
With future hopes and fears;
And live through vanish'd years,
Or hold their “colloquy sublime”
With future hopes and fears;
Then passing joys and present woes
Chase through my troubled mind,
Repose still seeking,—but repose
Not for a moment find.
Chase through my troubled mind,
Repose still seeking,—but repose
Not for a moment find.
So yonder lone and lovely moon
Gleams on the clouds gone by,
Illumines those around her noon,
Yet westward points her eye.
Gleams on the clouds gone by,
Illumines those around her noon,
Yet westward points her eye.
Nor wind nor flood her course delay,
Through heaven I see her glide;
She never pauses on her way,
She never turns aside.
Through heaven I see her glide;
She never pauses on her way,
She never turns aside.
With anxious heart and throbbing brain,
Strength, patience, spirits gone,
Pulses of fire in every vein,
Thus, thus I journey on.
Strength, patience, spirits gone,
Pulses of fire in every vein,
Thus, thus I journey on.
But soft!—in Nature's failing hour,
Up springs a breeze,—I feel
Its balmy breath, its cordial power,—
A power to soothe and heal.
Up springs a breeze,—I feel
Its balmy breath, its cordial power,—
A power to soothe and heal.
Lo! grey, and gold, and crimson streaks
The gorgeous east adorn,
While o'er the' empurpled mountain breaks
The glory of the morn.
The gorgeous east adorn,
While o'er the' empurpled mountain breaks
The glory of the morn.
Insensibly the stars retire,
Exhaled like drops of dew;
Now through an arch of living fire
The sun comes forth to view.
Exhaled like drops of dew;
Now through an arch of living fire
The sun comes forth to view.
The hills, the vales, the waters, burn
With his enkindling rays,
No sooner touch'd than they return
A tributary blaze.
With his enkindling rays,
No sooner touch'd than they return
A tributary blaze.
His quickening light on me descends,
His cheering warmth I own;
Upward to him my spirit tends,
But worships God alone.
His cheering warmth I own;
Upward to him my spirit tends,
But worships God alone.
Oh! that on me, with beams benign,
His countenance would turn:
I too should then arise and shine,—
Arise, and shine, and burn.
His countenance would turn:
I too should then arise and shine,—
Arise, and shine, and burn.
Slowly I raise my languid head,
Pain and soul-sickness cease;
The phantoms of dismay are fled,
And health returns, and peace.
Pain and soul-sickness cease;
The phantoms of dismay are fled,
And health returns, and peace.
Where is the beauty of the scene
Which silent night display'd?
The clouds, the stars, the blue serene,
The moving light and shade?
Which silent night display'd?
The clouds, the stars, the blue serene,
The moving light and shade?
All gone!—the moon, erewhile so bright,
Veil'd with a dusky shroud,
Seems, in the sun's o'erpowering light,
The fragment of a cloud.
Veil'd with a dusky shroud,
Seems, in the sun's o'erpowering light,
The fragment of a cloud.
225
At length I reach my journey's end:
—Welcome that well-known face!
I meet a brother and a friend;
I find a resting-place.
—Welcome that well-known face!
I meet a brother and a friend;
I find a resting-place.
Just such a pilgrimage is life;
Hurried from stage to stage,
Our wishes with our lot at strife,
Through childhood to old age.
Hurried from stage to stage,
Our wishes with our lot at strife,
Through childhood to old age.
The world is seldom what it seems:—
To man, who dimly sees,
Realities appear as dreams,
And dreams realities.
To man, who dimly sees,
Realities appear as dreams,
And dreams realities.
The Christian's years, though slow their flight,
When he is call'd away,
Are but the watches of a night,
And Death the dawn of day.
When he is call'd away,
Are but the watches of a night,
And Death the dawn of day.
THE REIGN OF SPRING.
Who loves not Spring's voluptuous hours,
The carnival of birds and flowers?
Yet who would choose, however dear,
That Spring should revel all the year?
—Who loves not Summer's splendid reign,
The bridal of the earth and main?
Yet who would choose, however bright,
A dog-day noon without a night?
—Who loves not Autumn's joyous round,
When corn, and wine, and oil abound?
Yet who would choose, however gay,
A year of unrenew'd decay?
—Who loves not Winter's awful form?
The sphere-born music of the storm?
Yet who would choose, how grand soever,
The shortest day to last for ever?
The carnival of birds and flowers?
Yet who would choose, however dear,
That Spring should revel all the year?
—Who loves not Summer's splendid reign,
The bridal of the earth and main?
Yet who would choose, however bright,
A dog-day noon without a night?
—Who loves not Autumn's joyous round,
When corn, and wine, and oil abound?
Yet who would choose, however gay,
A year of unrenew'd decay?
—Who loves not Winter's awful form?
The sphere-born music of the storm?
Yet who would choose, how grand soever,
The shortest day to last for ever?
'Twas in that age renown'd, remote,
When all was true that Esop wrote;
And in that land of fair Ideal,
Where all that poets dream is real;
Upon a day of annual state,
The Seasons met in high debate.
There blush'd young Spring in maiden pride,
Blithe Summer look'd a gorgeous bride,
Staid Autumn moved with matron-grace,
And beldame Winter pursed her face.
Dispute grew wild; all talk'd together;
The four at once made wondrous weather;
Nor one (whate'er the rest had shown)
Heard any reason but her own,
While each (for nothing else was clear)
Claim'd the whole circle of the year.
When all was true that Esop wrote;
And in that land of fair Ideal,
Where all that poets dream is real;
Upon a day of annual state,
The Seasons met in high debate.
There blush'd young Spring in maiden pride,
Blithe Summer look'd a gorgeous bride,
Staid Autumn moved with matron-grace,
And beldame Winter pursed her face.
Dispute grew wild; all talk'd together;
The four at once made wondrous weather;
Nor one (whate'er the rest had shown)
Heard any reason but her own,
While each (for nothing else was clear)
Claim'd the whole circle of the year.
Spring, in possession of the field,
Compell'd her sisters soon to yield:
They part,—resolved elsewhere to try
A twelvemonth's empire of the sky;
And, calling off their airy legions,
Alighted in adjacent regions.
Spring o'er the eastern champaign smiled,
Fell Winter ruled the northern wild,
Summer pursued the sun's red car,
But Autumn loved the twilight star.
Compell'd her sisters soon to yield:
They part,—resolved elsewhere to try
A twelvemonth's empire of the sky;
And, calling off their airy legions,
Alighted in adjacent regions.
Spring o'er the eastern champaign smiled,
Fell Winter ruled the northern wild,
Summer pursued the sun's red car,
But Autumn loved the twilight star.
As Spring parades her new domain,
Love, Beauty, Pleasure, hold her train;
Her footsteps wake the flowers beneath,
That start, and blush, and sweetly breathe;
Her gales on nimble pinions rove,
And shake to foliage every grove;
Her voice, in dell and thicket heard,
Cheers on the nest the mother-bird;
The ice-lock'd streams, as if they felt
Her touch, to liquid diamond melt;
The lambs around her bleat and play;
The serpent flings his slough away,
And shines in orient colours dight,
A flexile ray of living light.
Nature unbinds her wintry shroud
(As the soft sunshine melts the cloud),
With infant gambols sports along,
Bounds into youth, and soars in song.
The morn impearls her locks with dew,
Noon spreads a sky of boundless blue,
The rainbow spans the evening scene,
The night is silent and serene,
Save when her lonely minstrel wrings
The heart with sweetness while he sings.
—Who would not wish, unrivall'd here,
That Spring might frolic all the year?
Love, Beauty, Pleasure, hold her train;
Her footsteps wake the flowers beneath,
That start, and blush, and sweetly breathe;
Her gales on nimble pinions rove,
And shake to foliage every grove;
Her voice, in dell and thicket heard,
Cheers on the nest the mother-bird;
The ice-lock'd streams, as if they felt
Her touch, to liquid diamond melt;
The lambs around her bleat and play;
The serpent flings his slough away,
And shines in orient colours dight,
A flexile ray of living light.
Nature unbinds her wintry shroud
(As the soft sunshine melts the cloud),
With infant gambols sports along,
Bounds into youth, and soars in song.
The morn impearls her locks with dew,
Noon spreads a sky of boundless blue,
The rainbow spans the evening scene,
The night is silent and serene,
Save when her lonely minstrel wrings
The heart with sweetness while he sings.
—Who would not wish, unrivall'd here,
That Spring might frolic all the year?
Three months are fled, and still she reigns,
Exulting queen o'er hills and plains;
The birds renew their nuptial vow,
Nestlings themselves are lovers now;
Fresh broods each bending bough receives,
Till feathers far outnumber leaves;
But kites in circles swim the air,
And sadden music to despair.
The stagnant pools, the quaking bogs,
Teem, croak, and crawl with hordes of frogs;
The matted woods, the' infected earth,
Are venomous with reptile-birth;
Armies of locusts cloud the skies;
With beetles hornets, gnats with flies,
Interminable warfare wage,
And madden heaven with insect rage.
Exulting queen o'er hills and plains;
226
Nestlings themselves are lovers now;
Fresh broods each bending bough receives,
Till feathers far outnumber leaves;
But kites in circles swim the air,
And sadden music to despair.
The stagnant pools, the quaking bogs,
Teem, croak, and crawl with hordes of frogs;
The matted woods, the' infected earth,
Are venomous with reptile-birth;
Armies of locusts cloud the skies;
With beetles hornets, gnats with flies,
Interminable warfare wage,
And madden heaven with insect rage.
The flowers are wither'd;—sun nor dew
Their fallen glories shall renew;
The flowers are wither'd;—germ nor seed
Ripen in garden, wild, or mead:
The corn-fields shoot:—their blades, alas!
Run riot in luxuriant grass.
The tainted flocks, the drooping kine,
In famine of abundance pine,
Where vegetation, sour, unsound,
And loathsome, rots and rankles round;
Nature with nature seems at strife;
Nothing can live but monstrous life
By death engender'd;—food and breath
Are turn'd to elements of death;
And where the soil his victims strew,
Corruption quickens them anew.
Their fallen glories shall renew;
The flowers are wither'd;—germ nor seed
Ripen in garden, wild, or mead:
The corn-fields shoot:—their blades, alas!
Run riot in luxuriant grass.
The tainted flocks, the drooping kine,
In famine of abundance pine,
Where vegetation, sour, unsound,
And loathsome, rots and rankles round;
Nature with nature seems at strife;
Nothing can live but monstrous life
By death engender'd;—food and breath
Are turn'd to elements of death;
And where the soil his victims strew,
Corruption quickens them anew.
But ere the year was half expired,
Spring saw her folly, and retired;
Yoked her light chariot to a breeze,
And mounted to the Pleiades;
Content with them to rest or play
Along the calm nocturnal way;
Till, heaven's remaining circuit run,
They meet the pale hybernal sun,
And, gaily mingling in his blaze,
Hail the true dawn of vernal days.
Spring saw her folly, and retired;
Yoked her light chariot to a breeze,
And mounted to the Pleiades;
Content with them to rest or play
Along the calm nocturnal way;
Till, heaven's remaining circuit run,
They meet the pale hybernal sun,
And, gaily mingling in his blaze,
Hail the true dawn of vernal days.
THE REIGN OF SUMMER.
The hurricanes are fled! the rains,
That plough'd the mountains, wreck'd the plains,
Have pass'd away before the wind,
And left a wilderness behind,
As if an ocean had been there
Exhaled, and left its channels bare.
But, with a new and sudden birth,
Nature replenishes the earth;
Plants, flowers, and shrubs, o'er all the land
So promptly rise, so thickly stand,
As if they heard a voice,—and came,
Each at the calling of its name.
The tree, by tempests stript and rent,
Expands its verdure like a tent,
Beneath whose shade, in weary length,
The' enormous lion rests his strength,
For blood, in dreams of hunting, burns,
Or, chased himself, to fight returns;
Growls in his sleep, a dreary sound,
Grinds his wedged teeth, and spurns the ground;
While monkeys, in grotesque amaze,
Down from their bending perches gaze,
But when he lifts his eye of fire,
Quick to the topmost boughs retire.
That plough'd the mountains, wreck'd the plains,
Have pass'd away before the wind,
And left a wilderness behind,
As if an ocean had been there
Exhaled, and left its channels bare.
But, with a new and sudden birth,
Nature replenishes the earth;
Plants, flowers, and shrubs, o'er all the land
So promptly rise, so thickly stand,
As if they heard a voice,—and came,
Each at the calling of its name.
The tree, by tempests stript and rent,
Expands its verdure like a tent,
Beneath whose shade, in weary length,
The' enormous lion rests his strength,
For blood, in dreams of hunting, burns,
Or, chased himself, to fight returns;
Growls in his sleep, a dreary sound,
Grinds his wedged teeth, and spurns the ground;
While monkeys, in grotesque amaze,
Down from their bending perches gaze,
But when he lifts his eye of fire,
Quick to the topmost boughs retire.
Loud o'er the mountains bleat the flocks;
The goat is bounding on the rocks;
Far in the valleys range the herds;
The welkin gleams with flitting birds,
Whose plumes such gorgeous tints adorn,
They seem the offspring of the morn.
From nectar'd flowers and groves of spice,
Earth breathes the air of Paradise;
Her mines their hidden wealth betray,
Treasures of darkness burst to day;
O'er golden sands the rivers glide,
And pearls and amber track the tide.
Of every sensual bliss possess'd,
Man riots here;—but is he bless'd?
And would he choose, for ever bright,
This Summer-day without a night?
For here hath Summer fix'd her throne,
Intent to reign,—and reign alone.
The goat is bounding on the rocks;
Far in the valleys range the herds;
The welkin gleams with flitting birds,
Whose plumes such gorgeous tints adorn,
They seem the offspring of the morn.
From nectar'd flowers and groves of spice,
Earth breathes the air of Paradise;
Her mines their hidden wealth betray,
Treasures of darkness burst to day;
O'er golden sands the rivers glide,
And pearls and amber track the tide.
Of every sensual bliss possess'd,
Man riots here;—but is he bless'd?
And would he choose, for ever bright,
This Summer-day without a night?
For here hath Summer fix'd her throne,
Intent to reign,—and reign alone.
Daily the sun, in his career,
Hotter and higher, climbs the sphere,
Till from the zenith, in his rays,
Without a cloud or shadow, blaze
The realms beneath him:—in his march,
On the blue key-stone of heaven's arch,
He stands;—air, earth, and ocean lie
Within the presence of his eye,
The wheel of Nature seems to rest,
Nor rolls him onward to the west,
Till thrice three days of noon unchanged,
That torrid clime have so deranged,
Nine years may not the wrong repair;
But Summer checks the ravage there;
Yet still enjoins the sun to steer
By the stern Dog-star round the year,
With dire extremes of day and night,
Tartarean gloom, celestial light.
Hotter and higher, climbs the sphere,
Till from the zenith, in his rays,
Without a cloud or shadow, blaze
The realms beneath him:—in his march,
On the blue key-stone of heaven's arch,
He stands;—air, earth, and ocean lie
Within the presence of his eye,
The wheel of Nature seems to rest,
Nor rolls him onward to the west,
227
That torrid clime have so deranged,
Nine years may not the wrong repair;
But Summer checks the ravage there;
Yet still enjoins the sun to steer
By the stern Dog-star round the year,
With dire extremes of day and night,
Tartarean gloom, celestial light.
In vain the gaudy season shines,
Her beauty fades, her power declines:
Then first her bosom felt a care;
—No healing breeze embalm'd the air,
No mist the mountain-tops bedew'd,
Nor shower the arid vale renew'd;
The herbage shrunk; the ploughman's toil
Scatter'd to dust the crumbling soil;
Blossoms were shed; the' umbrageous wood,
Laden with sapless foliage, stood;
The streams, impoverish'd day by day,
Lessen'd insensibly away;
Where cattle sought, with piteous moans,
The vanish'd lymph, midst burning stones,
And tufts of wither'd reeds, that fill
The wonted channel of the rill;
Till, stung with hornets, mad with thirst,
In sudden rout, away they burst,
Nor rest, till where some channel deep
Gleams in small pools, whose waters sleep;
There with huge draught and eager eye
Drink for existence,—drink and die!
Her beauty fades, her power declines:
Then first her bosom felt a care;
—No healing breeze embalm'd the air,
No mist the mountain-tops bedew'd,
Nor shower the arid vale renew'd;
The herbage shrunk; the ploughman's toil
Scatter'd to dust the crumbling soil;
Blossoms were shed; the' umbrageous wood,
Laden with sapless foliage, stood;
The streams, impoverish'd day by day,
Lessen'd insensibly away;
Where cattle sought, with piteous moans,
The vanish'd lymph, midst burning stones,
And tufts of wither'd reeds, that fill
The wonted channel of the rill;
Till, stung with hornets, mad with thirst,
In sudden rout, away they burst,
Nor rest, till where some channel deep
Gleams in small pools, whose waters sleep;
There with huge draught and eager eye
Drink for existence,—drink and die!
But direr evils soon arose,
Hopeless, unmitigable woes:
Man proves the shock; through all his veins
The frenzy of the season reigns;
With pride, lust, rage, ambition blind,
He burns in every fire of mind,
Which kindles from insane desire,
Or fellest hatred can inspire;
Reckless whatever ill befall,
He dares to do and suffer all
That heart can think, that arm can deal,
Or out of hell a fury feel.
Hopeless, unmitigable woes:
Man proves the shock; through all his veins
The frenzy of the season reigns;
With pride, lust, rage, ambition blind,
He burns in every fire of mind,
Which kindles from insane desire,
Or fellest hatred can inspire;
Reckless whatever ill befall,
He dares to do and suffer all
That heart can think, that arm can deal,
Or out of hell a fury feel.
There stood in that romantic clime,
A mountain awfully sublime;
O'er many a league the basement spread,
It tower'd in many an airy head,
Height over height,—now gay, now wild,
The peak with ice eternal piled;
Pure in mid-heaven, that crystal cone
A diadem of glory shone,
Reflecting, in the night-fall'n sky,
The beams of day's departed eye;
Or holding, ere the dawn begun,
Communion with the' unrisen sun.
The cultured sides were clothed with woods,
Vineyards, and fields; or track'd with floods,
Whose glacier fountains, hid on high,
Sent down their rivers from the sky.
O'er plains, that mark'd its gradual scale,
On sunny slope, in shelter'd vale,
Earth's universal tenant,—He,
Who lives wherever life may be,
Sole, social, fix'd, or free to roam,
Always and every where at home,
Man pitch'd his tents, adorn'd his bowers,
Built temples, palaces, and towers,
And made that Alpine world his own,
—The miniature of every zone,
From brown savannas parch'd below,
To ridges of cerulean snow.
A mountain awfully sublime;
O'er many a league the basement spread,
It tower'd in many an airy head,
Height over height,—now gay, now wild,
The peak with ice eternal piled;
Pure in mid-heaven, that crystal cone
A diadem of glory shone,
Reflecting, in the night-fall'n sky,
The beams of day's departed eye;
Or holding, ere the dawn begun,
Communion with the' unrisen sun.
The cultured sides were clothed with woods,
Vineyards, and fields; or track'd with floods,
Whose glacier fountains, hid on high,
Sent down their rivers from the sky.
O'er plains, that mark'd its gradual scale,
On sunny slope, in shelter'd vale,
Earth's universal tenant,—He,
Who lives wherever life may be,
Sole, social, fix'd, or free to roam,
Always and every where at home,
Man pitch'd his tents, adorn'd his bowers,
Built temples, palaces, and towers,
And made that Alpine world his own,
—The miniature of every zone,
From brown savannas parch'd below,
To ridges of cerulean snow.
Those high-lands form'd a last retreat
From rabid Summer's fatal heat:
Though not unfelt her fervours there,
Vernal and cool the middle air;
While from the icy pyramid
Streams of unfailing freshness slid,
That long had slaked the thirsty land,
Till avarice, with insatiate hand,
Their currents check'd; in sunless caves,
And rock-bound dells, ingulf'd the waves,
And thence in scanty measures doled,
Or turn'd heaven's bounty into gold.
Ere long the dwellers on the plain
Murmur'd;—their murmurs were in vain;
Petition'd,—but their prayers were spurn'd;
Threaten'd,—defiance was return'd:
Then rang both regions with alarms;
Blood-kindling trumpets blew to arms;
The maddening drum and deafening fife
Marshall'd the elements of strife:
Sternly the mountaineers maintain
Their rights against the' insurgent plain;
The plain's indignant myriads rose
To wrest the mountain from their foes,
Resolved its blessings to enjoy
By dint of valour,—or destroy.
From rabid Summer's fatal heat:
Though not unfelt her fervours there,
Vernal and cool the middle air;
While from the icy pyramid
Streams of unfailing freshness slid,
That long had slaked the thirsty land,
Till avarice, with insatiate hand,
Their currents check'd; in sunless caves,
And rock-bound dells, ingulf'd the waves,
And thence in scanty measures doled,
Or turn'd heaven's bounty into gold.
Ere long the dwellers on the plain
Murmur'd;—their murmurs were in vain;
Petition'd,—but their prayers were spurn'd;
Threaten'd,—defiance was return'd:
Then rang both regions with alarms;
Blood-kindling trumpets blew to arms;
The maddening drum and deafening fife
Marshall'd the elements of strife:
Sternly the mountaineers maintain
Their rights against the' insurgent plain;
The plain's indignant myriads rose
To wrest the mountain from their foes,
228
By dint of valour,—or destroy.
The legions met in war-array;
The mountaineers brook'd no delay;
Aside their missile weapons threw,
From holds impregnable withdrew,
And, rashly brave, with sword and shield,
Rush'd headlong to the open field.
Their foes the' auspicious omen took,
And raised a battle-shout that shook
The champaign;—stanch and keen for blood,
Front threatening front, the columns stood;
But, while like thunder-clouds they frown,
In tropic haste the sun went down;
Night o'er both armies stretch'd her tent,
The star-bespangled firmament,
Whose placid host, revolving slow,
Smile on the' impatient hordes below,
That chafe and fret the hours away,
Curse the dull gloom, and long for day,
Though destined by their own decree
No other day nor night to see.
—That night is past, that day begun;
Swift as he sunk ascends the sun,
And from the red horizon springs
Upward, as borne on eagle wings:
Aslant each army's lengthen'd lines,
O'er shields and helms he proudly shines,
While spears that catch his lightnings keen
Flash them athwart the space between.
Before the battle-shock, when breath
And pulse are still,—awaiting death;
In that cold pause, which seems to be
The prelude to eternity,
When fear, ere yet a blow is dealt,
Betray'd by none, by all is felt;
While, moved beneath their feet, the tomb
Widens her lap to make them room;
—Till, in the onset of the fray,
Fear, feeling, thought, are cast away,
And foaming, raging, mingling foes,
Like billows dash'd in conflict, close,
Charge, strike, repel, wound, struggle, fly,
Gloriously win, unconquer'd die:—
Here, in dread silence, while they stand,
Each with a death-stroke in his hand,
His eye fix'd forward, and his ear
Tingling the signal blast to hear,
The trumpet sounds;—one note,—no more;
The field, the fight, the war is o'er;
An earthquake rent the void between;
A moment show'd, and shut, the scene;
Men, chariots, steeds,—of either host
The flower, the pride, the strength were lost:
A solitude remains;—the dead
Are buried there,—the living fled.
The mountaineers brook'd no delay;
Aside their missile weapons threw,
From holds impregnable withdrew,
And, rashly brave, with sword and shield,
Rush'd headlong to the open field.
Their foes the' auspicious omen took,
And raised a battle-shout that shook
The champaign;—stanch and keen for blood,
Front threatening front, the columns stood;
But, while like thunder-clouds they frown,
In tropic haste the sun went down;
Night o'er both armies stretch'd her tent,
The star-bespangled firmament,
Whose placid host, revolving slow,
Smile on the' impatient hordes below,
That chafe and fret the hours away,
Curse the dull gloom, and long for day,
Though destined by their own decree
No other day nor night to see.
—That night is past, that day begun;
Swift as he sunk ascends the sun,
And from the red horizon springs
Upward, as borne on eagle wings:
Aslant each army's lengthen'd lines,
O'er shields and helms he proudly shines,
While spears that catch his lightnings keen
Flash them athwart the space between.
Before the battle-shock, when breath
And pulse are still,—awaiting death;
In that cold pause, which seems to be
The prelude to eternity,
When fear, ere yet a blow is dealt,
Betray'd by none, by all is felt;
While, moved beneath their feet, the tomb
Widens her lap to make them room;
—Till, in the onset of the fray,
Fear, feeling, thought, are cast away,
And foaming, raging, mingling foes,
Like billows dash'd in conflict, close,
Charge, strike, repel, wound, struggle, fly,
Gloriously win, unconquer'd die:—
Here, in dread silence, while they stand,
Each with a death-stroke in his hand,
His eye fix'd forward, and his ear
Tingling the signal blast to hear,
The trumpet sounds;—one note,—no more;
The field, the fight, the war is o'er;
An earthquake rent the void between;
A moment show'd, and shut, the scene;
Men, chariots, steeds,—of either host
The flower, the pride, the strength were lost:
A solitude remains;—the dead
Are buried there,—the living fled.
Nor yet the reign of Summer closed;
—At night in their own homes reposed
The fugitives, on either side,
Who 'scaped the death their comrades died;
When, lo! with many a giddy shock
The mountain-cliffs began to rock,
And deep below the hollow ground
Ran a strange mystery of sound,
As if, in chains and torments there,
Spirits were venting their despair.
That sound, those shocks, the sleepers woke;
In trembling consternation, broke
Forth from their dwellings young and old;
—Nothing abroad their eyes behold
But darkness so intensely wrought,
'Twas blindness in themselves they thought.
Anon, aloof, with sudden rays,
Issued so fierce, so broad, a blaze,
That darkness started into light,
And every eye, restored to sight,
Gazed on the glittering crest of snows,
Whence the bright conflagration rose,
Whose flames condensed at once aspire,
—A pillar of celestial fire,
Alone amidst infernal shade,
In glorious majesty display'd:
Beneath, from rifted caverns, broke
Volumes of suffocating smoke,
That roll'd in surges, like a flood;
By the red radiance turn'd to blood;
Morn look'd aghast upon the scene,
Nor could a sunbeam pierce between
The panoply of vapours, spread
Above, around, the mountain's head.
—At night in their own homes reposed
The fugitives, on either side,
Who 'scaped the death their comrades died;
When, lo! with many a giddy shock
The mountain-cliffs began to rock,
And deep below the hollow ground
Ran a strange mystery of sound,
As if, in chains and torments there,
Spirits were venting their despair.
That sound, those shocks, the sleepers woke;
In trembling consternation, broke
Forth from their dwellings young and old;
—Nothing abroad their eyes behold
But darkness so intensely wrought,
'Twas blindness in themselves they thought.
Anon, aloof, with sudden rays,
Issued so fierce, so broad, a blaze,
That darkness started into light,
And every eye, restored to sight,
Gazed on the glittering crest of snows,
Whence the bright conflagration rose,
Whose flames condensed at once aspire,
—A pillar of celestial fire,
Alone amidst infernal shade,
In glorious majesty display'd:
Beneath, from rifted caverns, broke
Volumes of suffocating smoke,
That roll'd in surges, like a flood;
By the red radiance turn'd to blood;
Morn look'd aghast upon the scene,
Nor could a sunbeam pierce between
The panoply of vapours, spread
Above, around, the mountain's head.
In distant fields, with drought consumed,
Joy swell'd all hearts, all eyes illumed,
When from that peak, through lowering skies,
Thick curling clouds were seen to rise,
And hang o'er all the darken'd plain,
The presage of descending rain.
The' exulting cattle bound along;
The tuneless birds attempt a song;
The swain, amidst his sterile lands,
With outstretch'd arms of rapture stands.
But fraught with plague and curses came
The' insidious progeny of flame;
Ah! then,—for fertilising showers,
The pledge of herbage, fruits, and flowers,—
Words cannot paint, how every eye
(Blood-shot and dim with agony)
Was glazed, as by a palsying spell,
When light sulphureous ashes fell,
Dazzling, and eddying to and fro,
Like wildering sleet or feathery snow:
Strewn with grey pumice Nature lies,
At every motion quick to rise,
Tainting with livid fumes the air;
—Then hope lies down in prone despair,
And man and beast, with misery dumb,
Sullenly brood on woes to come.
Joy swell'd all hearts, all eyes illumed,
When from that peak, through lowering skies,
Thick curling clouds were seen to rise,
And hang o'er all the darken'd plain,
The presage of descending rain.
229
The tuneless birds attempt a song;
The swain, amidst his sterile lands,
With outstretch'd arms of rapture stands.
But fraught with plague and curses came
The' insidious progeny of flame;
Ah! then,—for fertilising showers,
The pledge of herbage, fruits, and flowers,—
Words cannot paint, how every eye
(Blood-shot and dim with agony)
Was glazed, as by a palsying spell,
When light sulphureous ashes fell,
Dazzling, and eddying to and fro,
Like wildering sleet or feathery snow:
Strewn with grey pumice Nature lies,
At every motion quick to rise,
Tainting with livid fumes the air;
—Then hope lies down in prone despair,
And man and beast, with misery dumb,
Sullenly brood on woes to come.
The mountain now, like living earth,
Pregnant with some stupendous birth,
Heaved, in the anguish of its throes,
Sheer from its crest the' incumbent snows;
And where of old they chill'd the sky,
Beneath the sun's meridian eye,
Or, purpling in the golden west,
Appear'd his evening throne of rest,
There, black and bottomless and wide,
A cauldron, rent from side to side,
Simmer'd and hiss'd with huge turmoil;
Earth's disembowell'd minerals boil,
And thence in molten torrents rush:
—Water and fire, like sisters, gush
From the same source; the double stream
Meets, battles, and explodes in steam;
Then fire prevails; and broad and deep
Red lava roars from steep to steep;
While rocks unseated, woods upriven,
Are headlong down the current driven;
Columnar flames are wrapt aloof,
In whirlwind forms, to heaven's high roof,
And there, amidst transcendent gloom,
Image the wrath beyond the tomb.
Pregnant with some stupendous birth,
Heaved, in the anguish of its throes,
Sheer from its crest the' incumbent snows;
And where of old they chill'd the sky,
Beneath the sun's meridian eye,
Or, purpling in the golden west,
Appear'd his evening throne of rest,
There, black and bottomless and wide,
A cauldron, rent from side to side,
Simmer'd and hiss'd with huge turmoil;
Earth's disembowell'd minerals boil,
And thence in molten torrents rush:
—Water and fire, like sisters, gush
From the same source; the double stream
Meets, battles, and explodes in steam;
Then fire prevails; and broad and deep
Red lava roars from steep to steep;
While rocks unseated, woods upriven,
Are headlong down the current driven;
Columnar flames are wrapt aloof,
In whirlwind forms, to heaven's high roof,
And there, amidst transcendent gloom,
Image the wrath beyond the tomb.
The mountaineers, in wild affright,
Too late for safety, urge their flight;
Women, made childless in the fray;
Women, made mothers yesterday;
The sick, the aged, and the blind;
—None but the dead are left behind.
Painful their journey, toilsome, slow,
Beneath their feet quick embers glow,
And hurtle round in dreadful hail:
Their limbs, their hearts, their senses fail,
While many a victim, by the way,
Buried alive in ashes lay,
Or perish'd by the lightning's stroke,
Before the slower thunder broke.
A few the open field explore:
The throng seek refuge on the shore,
Between two burning rivers hemm'd,
Whose rage nor mounds nor hollows stemm'd;
Driven like a herd of deer, they reach
The lonely, dark, and silent beach,
Where, calm as innocence in sleep,
Expanded lies the' unconscious deep.
Awhile the fugitives respire,
And watch those cataracts of fire
(That bar escape on either hand)
Rush on the ocean from the strand;
Back from the onset rolls the tide,
But instant clouds the conflict hide;
The lavas plunge to gulfs unknown,
And, as they plunge, collapse to stone.
Too late for safety, urge their flight;
Women, made childless in the fray;
Women, made mothers yesterday;
The sick, the aged, and the blind;
—None but the dead are left behind.
Painful their journey, toilsome, slow,
Beneath their feet quick embers glow,
And hurtle round in dreadful hail:
Their limbs, their hearts, their senses fail,
While many a victim, by the way,
Buried alive in ashes lay,
Or perish'd by the lightning's stroke,
Before the slower thunder broke.
A few the open field explore:
The throng seek refuge on the shore,
Between two burning rivers hemm'd,
Whose rage nor mounds nor hollows stemm'd;
Driven like a herd of deer, they reach
The lonely, dark, and silent beach,
Where, calm as innocence in sleep,
Expanded lies the' unconscious deep.
Awhile the fugitives respire,
And watch those cataracts of fire
(That bar escape on either hand)
Rush on the ocean from the strand;
Back from the onset rolls the tide,
But instant clouds the conflict hide;
The lavas plunge to gulfs unknown,
And, as they plunge, collapse to stone.
Meanwhile the mad volcano grew
Tenfold more terrible to view;
And thunders, such as shall be hurl'd
At the death-sentence of the world;
And lightnings, such as shall consume
Creation, and creation's tomb,
Nor leave, amidst the' eternal void,
One trembling atom undestroy'd;
Such thunders crash'd, such lightnings glared:
—Another fate those outcasts shared,
When, with one desolating sweep,
An earthquake seemed to' ingulf the deep,
Then threw it back, and from its bed
Hung a whole ocean overhead;
The victims shriek'd beneath the wave,
And in a moment found one grave;
Down to the' abyss the flood return'd—
Alone, unseen, the mountain burn'd.
Tenfold more terrible to view;
And thunders, such as shall be hurl'd
At the death-sentence of the world;
And lightnings, such as shall consume
Creation, and creation's tomb,
Nor leave, amidst the' eternal void,
One trembling atom undestroy'd;
Such thunders crash'd, such lightnings glared:
—Another fate those outcasts shared,
When, with one desolating sweep,
An earthquake seemed to' ingulf the deep,
Then threw it back, and from its bed
Hung a whole ocean overhead;
The victims shriek'd beneath the wave,
And in a moment found one grave;
Down to the' abyss the flood return'd—
Alone, unseen, the mountain burn'd.
1815.
230
ABDALLAH AND SABAT.
From West Arabia to Bochara came
A noble youth, Abdallah was his name;
Who journey'd through the various East to find
New forms of man, in feature, habit, mind;
Where Tartar-hordes through nature's pastures run,
A race of Centaurs,—horse and rider one;
Where the soft Persian maid the breath inhales
Of love-sick roses, woo'd by nightingales;
Where India's grim array of idols seem
The rabble-phantoms of a maniac's dream:
—Himself the flowery path of trespass trod,
Which the false Prophet deck'd to lure from God.
But He, who changed, into the faith of Paul,
The slaughter-breathing enmity of Saul,
Vouchsafed to meet Abdallah by the way:
No miracle of light eclipsed the day;
No vision from the' eternal world, nor sound
Of awe and wonder, smote him to the ground;
All mild and calm, with power till then unknown,
The Gospel-glory through his darkness shone;
A still small whisper, only heard within,
Convinced the trembling penitent of sin;
And Jesus, whom the Infidel abhorr'd,
The Convert now invoked, and call'd him Lord.
Escaping from the lewd Impostor's snare,
As flits a bird released through boundless air,
And, soaring up the pure blue ether, sings,
—So rose his Spirit on exulting wings.
But love, joy, peace, the Christian's bliss below,
Are deeply mingled in a cup of woe,
Which none can pass:—he, counting all things loss
For his Redeemer, gladly bore the cross:
Soon call'd, with life, to lay that burden down,
In the first fight he won the Martyr's crown.
A noble youth, Abdallah was his name;
Who journey'd through the various East to find
New forms of man, in feature, habit, mind;
Where Tartar-hordes through nature's pastures run,
A race of Centaurs,—horse and rider one;
Where the soft Persian maid the breath inhales
Of love-sick roses, woo'd by nightingales;
Where India's grim array of idols seem
The rabble-phantoms of a maniac's dream:
—Himself the flowery path of trespass trod,
Which the false Prophet deck'd to lure from God.
But He, who changed, into the faith of Paul,
The slaughter-breathing enmity of Saul,
Vouchsafed to meet Abdallah by the way:
No miracle of light eclipsed the day;
No vision from the' eternal world, nor sound
Of awe and wonder, smote him to the ground;
All mild and calm, with power till then unknown,
The Gospel-glory through his darkness shone;
A still small whisper, only heard within,
Convinced the trembling penitent of sin;
And Jesus, whom the Infidel abhorr'd,
The Convert now invoked, and call'd him Lord.
Escaping from the lewd Impostor's snare,
As flits a bird released through boundless air,
And, soaring up the pure blue ether, sings,
—So rose his Spirit on exulting wings.
But love, joy, peace, the Christian's bliss below,
Are deeply mingled in a cup of woe,
Which none can pass:—he, counting all things loss
For his Redeemer, gladly bore the cross:
Soon call'd, with life, to lay that burden down,
In the first fight he won the Martyr's crown.
Abdallah's friend was Sabat;—one of those
Whom love estranged transforms to bitterest foes:
From persecution to that friend he fled;
But Sabat pour'd reproaches on his head,
Spurn'd like a leprous plague the prostrate youth,
And hated him as falsehood hates the truth;
Yet first with sophistry and menace tried
To turn him from “the faithful word” aside;
All failing, old esteem to rancour turn'd,
With Mahomet's own reckless rage he burn'd.
A thousand hideous thoughts, like fiends, possess'd
The Pandemonium of the Bigot's breast,
Whose fires, enkindled from the' infernal lake,
Abdallah's veins, unsluiced, alone could slake.
Whom love estranged transforms to bitterest foes:
From persecution to that friend he fled;
But Sabat pour'd reproaches on his head,
Spurn'd like a leprous plague the prostrate youth,
And hated him as falsehood hates the truth;
Yet first with sophistry and menace tried
To turn him from “the faithful word” aside;
All failing, old esteem to rancour turn'd,
With Mahomet's own reckless rage he burn'd.
A thousand hideous thoughts, like fiends, possess'd
The Pandemonium of the Bigot's breast,
Whose fires, enkindled from the' infernal lake,
Abdallah's veins, unsluiced, alone could slake.
The victim dragg'd to slaughter by his friend,
Witness'd a good confession to the end.
—Bochara pour'd her people forth to gaze
Upon the direst scene the world displays,
The blood of innocence by treason spilt,
The reeking triumph of deep-branded guilt:
—Bochara pour'd her people forth, to eye
The loveliest spectacle beneath the sky,
The look with which a Martyr yields his breath,
—The resurrection of the soul in death.
“Renounce the Nazarene!” the headsman cries,
And flash'd the unstain'd falchion in his eyes:
“No!—be his name by heaven and earth adored!”
He said, and gave his right hand to the sword.
“Renounce Him, who forsakes thee thus bereft;”
He wept, but spake not, and resign'd his left.
“Renounce Him now, who will not, cannot save;”
He kneel'd like Stephen, look'd beyond the grave,
And, while the dawn of heaven around him broke,
Bow'd his meek head to the dissevering stroke:
Out-cast on earth a mangled body lay;
A spirit enter'd Paradise that day.
Witness'd a good confession to the end.
—Bochara pour'd her people forth to gaze
Upon the direst scene the world displays,
The blood of innocence by treason spilt,
The reeking triumph of deep-branded guilt:
—Bochara pour'd her people forth, to eye
The loveliest spectacle beneath the sky,
The look with which a Martyr yields his breath,
—The resurrection of the soul in death.
“Renounce the Nazarene!” the headsman cries,
And flash'd the unstain'd falchion in his eyes:
“No!—be his name by heaven and earth adored!”
He said, and gave his right hand to the sword.
“Renounce Him, who forsakes thee thus bereft;”
He wept, but spake not, and resign'd his left.
“Renounce Him now, who will not, cannot save;”
He kneel'd like Stephen, look'd beyond the grave,
And, while the dawn of heaven around him broke,
Bow'd his meek head to the dissevering stroke:
Out-cast on earth a mangled body lay;
A spirit enter'd Paradise that day.
But where is Sabat?—Conscience-struck he stands,
With eye of agony and fast-lock'd hands.
Abdallah, in the moment to depart,
Had turn'd, and look'd the traitor through the heart:
It smote him like a judgment from above,
That gentle look of wrong'd forgiving love!
Then hatred vanish'd; suddenly repress'd
Were the strange flames of passion in his breast;
Nought but the smouldering ashes of despair,
Blackness of darkness, death of death, were there.
Ere long, wild whirlwinds of remorse arise;
He flies,—from all except himself he flies,
And a low voice for ever thrilling near,
The voice of blood, which none but he can hear.
With eye of agony and fast-lock'd hands.
Abdallah, in the moment to depart,
Had turn'd, and look'd the traitor through the heart:
It smote him like a judgment from above,
That gentle look of wrong'd forgiving love!
Then hatred vanish'd; suddenly repress'd
Were the strange flames of passion in his breast;
Nought but the smouldering ashes of despair,
Blackness of darkness, death of death, were there.
Ere long, wild whirlwinds of remorse arise;
He flies,—from all except himself he flies,
And a low voice for ever thrilling near,
The voice of blood, which none but he can hear.
231
He fled from guilt; but guilt and he were one,
A Spirit seeking rest and finding none;
Visions of horror haunted him by night,
Yet darkness was less terrible than light;
From dreams of woe when startled nature broke,
To woes that were not dreams the wretch awoke.
Forlorn he ranged through India, till the Power,
That met Abdallah in a happier hour,
Arrested Sabat: through his soul he felt
The word of truth; his heart began to melt,
And yielded slowly, as cold Winter yields
When the warm Spring comes flushing o'er the fields;
Then first a tear of gladness swell'd his eye,
Then first his bosom heaved a healthful sigh;
That bosom parch'd as Afric's desert land;
That eye a flint-stone in the burning sand.
—Peace, pardon, hope, eternal joy, reveal'd,
Humbled his heart: before the cross he kneel'd,
Look'd up to Him whom once he pierced, and bore
The name of Christ which he blasphemed before.
—Was Sabat then subdued by love or fear?
And who shall vouch that he was not sincere?
A Spirit seeking rest and finding none;
Visions of horror haunted him by night,
Yet darkness was less terrible than light;
From dreams of woe when startled nature broke,
To woes that were not dreams the wretch awoke.
Forlorn he ranged through India, till the Power,
That met Abdallah in a happier hour,
Arrested Sabat: through his soul he felt
The word of truth; his heart began to melt,
And yielded slowly, as cold Winter yields
When the warm Spring comes flushing o'er the fields;
Then first a tear of gladness swell'd his eye,
Then first his bosom heaved a healthful sigh;
That bosom parch'd as Afric's desert land;
That eye a flint-stone in the burning sand.
—Peace, pardon, hope, eternal joy, reveal'd,
Humbled his heart: before the cross he kneel'd,
Look'd up to Him whom once he pierced, and bore
The name of Christ which he blasphemed before.
—Was Sabat then subdued by love or fear?
And who shall vouch that he was not sincere?
Now with a Convert's zeal his ardent mind
Glow'd for the common weal of all mankind;
Yet with intenser faith the' Arabian pray'd,
When homeward thought thro' childhood's Eden stray'd.
—There, in the lap of Yemen's happiest vale,
The shepherds' tents are waving to the gale;
The Patriarch of their tribe, his sire, he sees
Beneath the shadow of ambrosial trees;
His Sisters, from the fountain in the rock,
Pour the cool sparkling water to their flock;
His Brethren, rapt on steeds and camels, roam
O'er wild and mountain, all the land their own:
—Thither he long'd to send that book, unseal'd,
Whose words are life, whose leaves his wounds had heal'd;
That Ishmael, living by his sword and bow,
Might thus again the God of Abraham know;
And Meccan Pilgrims to Caäba's shrine,
Like locusts marching in perpetual line,
Might quit the broad to choose the narrow path,
That leads to glory, and reclaims from wrath.
Glow'd for the common weal of all mankind;
Yet with intenser faith the' Arabian pray'd,
When homeward thought thro' childhood's Eden stray'd.
—There, in the lap of Yemen's happiest vale,
The shepherds' tents are waving to the gale;
The Patriarch of their tribe, his sire, he sees
Beneath the shadow of ambrosial trees;
His Sisters, from the fountain in the rock,
Pour the cool sparkling water to their flock;
His Brethren, rapt on steeds and camels, roam
O'er wild and mountain, all the land their own:
—Thither he long'd to send that book, unseal'd,
Whose words are life, whose leaves his wounds had heal'd;
That Ishmael, living by his sword and bow,
Might thus again the God of Abraham know;
And Meccan Pilgrims to Caäba's shrine,
Like locusts marching in perpetual line,
Might quit the broad to choose the narrow path,
That leads to glory, and reclaims from wrath.
Fired with the hope to bless his native soil,
Years roll'd unfelt, in consecrated toil,
To mould the truths which holy writers teach
In the loved accents of his mother's speech;
While, like the sun, that always to the west
Leads the bright day, his fervent spirit press'd,
Thither a purer light from Heaven to dart,
—The only light that reaches to the heart;
Whose deserts blossom where its beams are shed,
The blind behold them, and they raise the dead.
Nor by Arabia were his labours bound,
To Persian lips he taught “the joyful sound.”
Would he had held unchanged that high career!
—But Sabat fell like lightning from his sphere:
Once with the morning stars God's works he sung;
Anon a Serpent, with envenom'd tongue,
Like that apostate fiend who tempted Eve,
Gifted with speech,—he spake but to deceive.
Years roll'd unfelt, in consecrated toil,
To mould the truths which holy writers teach
In the loved accents of his mother's speech;
While, like the sun, that always to the west
Leads the bright day, his fervent spirit press'd,
Thither a purer light from Heaven to dart,
—The only light that reaches to the heart;
Whose deserts blossom where its beams are shed,
The blind behold them, and they raise the dead.
Nor by Arabia were his labours bound,
To Persian lips he taught “the joyful sound.”
Would he had held unchanged that high career!
—But Sabat fell like lightning from his sphere:
Once with the morning stars God's works he sung;
Anon a Serpent, with envenom'd tongue,
Like that apostate fiend who tempted Eve,
Gifted with speech,—he spake but to deceive.
Let pity o'er his errors cast a veil!
Haste to the sequel of his tragic tale.
Sabat became a vagabond on earth;
—He chose the sinner's way, the scorner's mirth;
Now feign'd contrition with obdurate tears,
Then wore a bravery that betray'd his fears!
With oaths and curses now his Lord denied,
And strangled guilty shame with desperate pride;
While inly-rack'd he proved what culprits feel,
When conscience breaks remembrance on the wheel.
At length an outlaw through the orient isles,
Snared in the subtilty of his own wiles,
He perish'd in an unexpected hour,
To glut the vengeance of barbarian power;
With sackcloth shrouded, to a millstone bound,
And in the' abysses of the ocean drown'd.
—Oh! what a plunge into the dark was there!
How ended life?—In blasphemy or prayer?
The winds are fled that heard his parting cry,
The waves that stifled it make no reply.
Haste to the sequel of his tragic tale.
Sabat became a vagabond on earth;
—He chose the sinner's way, the scorner's mirth;
Now feign'd contrition with obdurate tears,
Then wore a bravery that betray'd his fears!
With oaths and curses now his Lord denied,
And strangled guilty shame with desperate pride;
While inly-rack'd he proved what culprits feel,
When conscience breaks remembrance on the wheel.
At length an outlaw through the orient isles,
Snared in the subtilty of his own wiles,
He perish'd in an unexpected hour,
To glut the vengeance of barbarian power;
With sackcloth shrouded, to a millstone bound,
And in the' abysses of the ocean drown'd.
—Oh! what a plunge into the dark was there!
How ended life?—In blasphemy or prayer?
The winds are fled that heard his parting cry,
The waves that stifled it make no reply.
When, at the resurrection of the Just,
Earth shall yield back Abdallah from the dust,
The sea, like rising clouds, give up its dead,
Then from the deep shall Sabat lift his head.
With waking millions round the judgment-seat,
Once, and but once again, those twain shall meet,
To part for ever,—or to part no more:
—But who the' eternal secret shall explore,
When Justice seals the gates of heaven and hell?
The rest—that day, that day alone, will tell.
Earth shall yield back Abdallah from the dust,
The sea, like rising clouds, give up its dead,
Then from the deep shall Sabat lift his head.
With waking millions round the judgment-seat,
Once, and but once again, those twain shall meet,
To part for ever,—or to part no more:
—But who the' eternal secret shall explore,
When Justice seals the gates of heaven and hell?
The rest—that day, that day alone, will tell.
1821.
232
THE STRANGER AND HIS FRIEND.
“Ye have done it unto me.”
—Matt. xxv. 40.
—Matt. xxv. 40.
A poor wayfaring Man of grief
Hath often cross'd me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,
That I could never answer “Nay:”
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came,
Yet was there something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.
Hath often cross'd me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,
That I could never answer “Nay:”
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came,
Yet was there something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.
Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He enter'd;—not a word he spake;—
Just perishing for want of bread;
I gave him all; he bless'd it, brake,
And ate,—but gave me part again;
Mine was an angel's portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,
That crust was manna to my taste.
He enter'd;—not a word he spake;—
Just perishing for want of bread;
I gave him all; he bless'd it, brake,
And ate,—but gave me part again;
Mine was an angel's portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,
That crust was manna to my taste.
I spied him, where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone;
The heedless water mock'd his thirst,
He heard it, saw it hurrying on;
I ran to raise the sufferer up;
Thrice from the stream he drain'd my cup,
Dipp'd and return'd it running o'er;
I drank, and never thirsted more.
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone;
The heedless water mock'd his thirst,
He heard it, saw it hurrying on;
I ran to raise the sufferer up;
Thrice from the stream he drain'd my cup,
Dipp'd and return'd it running o'er;
I drank, and never thirsted more.
'Twas night, the floods were out; it blew
A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad, and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof;
I warm'd, I clothed, I cheer'd my guest,
Laid him on my own couch to rest;
Then made the hearth my bed, and seem'd
In Eden's garden while I dream'd.
A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad, and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof;
I warm'd, I clothed, I cheer'd my guest,
Laid him on my own couch to rest;
Then made the hearth my bed, and seem'd
In Eden's garden while I dream'd.
Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh to death,
I found him by the highway-side:
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment; he was heal'd;
—I had myself a wound conceal'd;
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And Peace bound up my broken heart.
I found him by the highway-side:
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment; he was heal'd;
—I had myself a wound conceal'd;
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And Peace bound up my broken heart.
In prison I saw him next, condemn'd
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd,
And honour'd him midst shame and scorn:
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He ask'd if I for him would die;
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,
But the free spirit cried, “I will.”
To meet a traitor's doom at morn;
The tide of lying tongues I stemm'd,
And honour'd him midst shame and scorn:
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He ask'd if I for him would die;
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,
But the free spirit cried, “I will.”
Then in a moment to my view
The stranger darted from disguise;
The tokens in his hands I knew,
My Saviour stood before mine eyes:
He spake; and my poor name He named;
“Of me thou hast not been ashamed:
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto Me.”
The stranger darted from disguise;
The tokens in his hands I knew,
My Saviour stood before mine eyes:
He spake; and my poor name He named;
“Of me thou hast not been ashamed:
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto Me.”
Scarborough, Dec. 1826.
THE ADVENTURE OF A STAR.
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
A star would be a flower;
So down from heaven it came,
And in a honeysuckle bower
Lit up its little flame.
There on a bank, beneath the shade,
By sprays, and leaves, and blossoms made,
It overlook'd the garden-ground,—
A landscape stretching ten yards round;
O what a change of place
From gazing through the' eternity of space!
So down from heaven it came,
And in a honeysuckle bower
Lit up its little flame.
There on a bank, beneath the shade,
By sprays, and leaves, and blossoms made,
It overlook'd the garden-ground,—
A landscape stretching ten yards round;
O what a change of place
From gazing through the' eternity of space!
Gay plants on every side
Unclosed their lovely blooms,
And scatter'd far and wide
Their ravishing perfumes:
The butterfly, the bee,
And many an insect on the wing,
Full of the spirit of the Spring,
Flew round and round in endless glee,
Alighting here, ascending there,
Ranging and revelling every where.
Unclosed their lovely blooms,
And scatter'd far and wide
Their ravishing perfumes:
The butterfly, the bee,
And many an insect on the wing,
Full of the spirit of the Spring,
Flew round and round in endless glee,
Alighting here, ascending there,
Ranging and revelling every where.
Now all the flowers were up and drest
In robes of rainbow-colour'd light;
The pale primroses look'd their best,
Peonies blush'd with all their might;
Dutch tulips from their beds
Flaunted their stately heads;
Auriculas, like belles and beaux,
Glittering with birthnight splendour, rose;
And polyanthuses display'd
The brilliance of their gold brocade:
Here hyacinths of heavenly blue
Shook their rich tresses to the morn,
While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue,
But coyly linger'd on the thorn,
Till their loved nightingale, who tarried long,
Should wake them into beauty with his song.
The violets were past their prime,
Yet their departing breath
Was sweeter, in the blast of death,
Than all the lavish fragrance of the time.
In robes of rainbow-colour'd light;
233
Peonies blush'd with all their might;
Dutch tulips from their beds
Flaunted their stately heads;
Auriculas, like belles and beaux,
Glittering with birthnight splendour, rose;
And polyanthuses display'd
The brilliance of their gold brocade:
Here hyacinths of heavenly blue
Shook their rich tresses to the morn,
While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue,
But coyly linger'd on the thorn,
Till their loved nightingale, who tarried long,
Should wake them into beauty with his song.
The violets were past their prime,
Yet their departing breath
Was sweeter, in the blast of death,
Than all the lavish fragrance of the time.
Amidst this gorgeous train,
Our truant star shone forth in vain;
Though in a wreath of periwinkle,
Through whose fine gloom it strove to twinkle,
It seem'd no bigger to the view
Than the light spangle in a drop of dew.
—Astronomers may shake their polls,
And tell me every orb that rolls
Through heaven's sublime expanse
Is sun or world, whose speed and size
Confound the stretch of mortal eyes,
In Nature's mystic dance:
It may be so
For aught I know,
Or aught indeed that they can show;
Yet, till they prove what they aver,
From this plain truth I will not stir,—
A star's a star!—but when I think
Of sun or world, the star I sink;
Wherefore in verse, at least in mine,
Stars like themselves, in spite of fate, shall shine.
Our truant star shone forth in vain;
Though in a wreath of periwinkle,
Through whose fine gloom it strove to twinkle,
It seem'd no bigger to the view
Than the light spangle in a drop of dew.
—Astronomers may shake their polls,
And tell me every orb that rolls
Through heaven's sublime expanse
Is sun or world, whose speed and size
Confound the stretch of mortal eyes,
In Nature's mystic dance:
It may be so
For aught I know,
Or aught indeed that they can show;
Yet, till they prove what they aver,
From this plain truth I will not stir,—
A star's a star!—but when I think
Of sun or world, the star I sink;
Wherefore in verse, at least in mine,
Stars like themselves, in spite of fate, shall shine.
Now, to return (for we have wander'd far)
To what was nothing but a simple star;
—Where all was jollity around,
No fellowship the stranger found.
Those lowliest children of the earth,
That never leave their mother's lap,
Companions in their harmless mirth,
Were smiling, blushing, dancing there,
Feasting on dew, and light, and air,
And fearing no mishap,
Save from the hand of lady fair,
Who, on her wonted walk,
Pluck'd one and then another,
A sister or a brother,
From its elastic stalk;
Happy, no doubt, for one sharp pang, to die
On her sweet bosom, withering in her eye.
To what was nothing but a simple star;
—Where all was jollity around,
No fellowship the stranger found.
Those lowliest children of the earth,
That never leave their mother's lap,
Companions in their harmless mirth,
Were smiling, blushing, dancing there,
Feasting on dew, and light, and air,
And fearing no mishap,
Save from the hand of lady fair,
Who, on her wonted walk,
Pluck'd one and then another,
A sister or a brother,
From its elastic stalk;
Happy, no doubt, for one sharp pang, to die
On her sweet bosom, withering in her eye.
Thus all day long, that star's hard lot,
While bliss and beauty ran to waste,
Was but to witness on the spot
Beauty and bliss it could not taste.
At length the sun went down, and then
Its faded glory came again;
With brighter, bolder, purer light,
It kindled through the deepening night,
Till the green bower, so dim by day,
Glow'd like a fairy-palace with its beams;
In vain, for sleep on all the borders lay,
The flowers were laughing in the land of dreams.
Our star, in melancholy state,
Still sigh'd to find itself alone,
Neglected, cold, and desolate,
Unknowing and unknown.
Lifting at last an anxious eye,
It saw that circlet empty in the sky
Where it was wont to roll
Within a span-breadth of the pole:
In that same instant, sore amazed,
On the strange blank all Nature gazed;
Travellers, bewilder'd for their guide,
In glens and forests lost their way;
And ships, on ocean's trackless tide,
Went fearfully astray.
The star, now wiser for its folly, knew
Its duty, dignity, and bliss at home;
So up to heaven again it flew,
Resolved no more to roam.
While bliss and beauty ran to waste,
Was but to witness on the spot
Beauty and bliss it could not taste.
At length the sun went down, and then
Its faded glory came again;
With brighter, bolder, purer light,
It kindled through the deepening night,
Till the green bower, so dim by day,
Glow'd like a fairy-palace with its beams;
In vain, for sleep on all the borders lay,
The flowers were laughing in the land of dreams.
Our star, in melancholy state,
Still sigh'd to find itself alone,
Neglected, cold, and desolate,
Unknowing and unknown.
Lifting at last an anxious eye,
It saw that circlet empty in the sky
Where it was wont to roll
Within a span-breadth of the pole:
In that same instant, sore amazed,
On the strange blank all Nature gazed;
Travellers, bewilder'd for their guide,
In glens and forests lost their way;
And ships, on ocean's trackless tide,
Went fearfully astray.
The star, now wiser for its folly, knew
Its duty, dignity, and bliss at home;
So up to heaven again it flew,
Resolved no more to roam.
One hint the humble bard may send
To her for whom these lines are penn'd:
—O may it be enough for her
To shine in her own character!
O may she be content to grace,
On earth, in heaven, her proper place!
To her for whom these lines are penn'd:
—O may it be enough for her
To shine in her own character!
O may she be content to grace,
On earth, in heaven, her proper place!
1825.
234
THE SAND AND THE ROCK.
“I will open my dark saying upon the harp.”—
—Psalm xlix. 4.
Part I. DESTRUCTION.
I built my house upon the sand,
And saw its image in the sea,
That seem'd as stable as the land,
And beautiful as heaven to me.
And saw its image in the sea,
That seem'd as stable as the land,
And beautiful as heaven to me.
For in the clear and tranquil tide,
As in a nether firmament,
Sun, moon, and stars, appear'd to glide,
And lights and shadows came and went.
As in a nether firmament,
Sun, moon, and stars, appear'd to glide,
And lights and shadows came and went.
I ate and drank, I danced and sung,
Reclined at ease, at leisure stroll'd,
Collecting shells and pebbles, flung
Upon the beach for gems and gold.
Reclined at ease, at leisure stroll'd,
Collecting shells and pebbles, flung
Upon the beach for gems and gold.
I said unto my soul, “Rejoice
In safety, wealth, and pleasure here!”
But, while I spake, a secret voice
Within my bosom whisper'd, “Fear!”
In safety, wealth, and pleasure here!”
But, while I spake, a secret voice
Within my bosom whisper'd, “Fear!”
I heeded not, and went to rest,
Prayerless, once more, beneath my roof,
Nor deem'd the eagle on his nest
More peril-free, more tempest-proof.
Prayerless, once more, beneath my roof,
Nor deem'd the eagle on his nest
More peril-free, more tempest-proof.
But in the dead and midnight hour
A storm came down upon the deep;
Wind, rain, and lightning, such a stour,
Methought 'twas doomsday in my sleep.
A storm came down upon the deep;
Wind, rain, and lightning, such a stour,
Methought 'twas doomsday in my sleep.
I strove, but could not wake,—the stream
Beat vehemently on my wall;
I felt it tottering in my dream;
It fell, and dreadful was the fall.
Beat vehemently on my wall;
I felt it tottering in my dream;
It fell, and dreadful was the fall.
Swept with the ruins down the flood,
I woke; home, hope, and heart were gone:
My brain flash'd fire, ice thrill'd my blood;
Life, life, was all I thought upon.
I woke; home, hope, and heart were gone:
My brain flash'd fire, ice thrill'd my blood;
Life, life, was all I thought upon.
Death, death, was all that met my eye;
Deep swallow'd deep, wave buried wave:
I look'd in vain for land and sky;
All was one sea,—that sea one grave.
Deep swallow'd deep, wave buried wave:
I look'd in vain for land and sky;
All was one sea,—that sea one grave.
I struggled through the strangling tide,
As though a bowstring wrung my neck;
“Help! help!” voice fail'd,—I fain had cried,
And clung convulsive to the wreck.
As though a bowstring wrung my neck;
“Help! help!” voice fail'd,—I fain had cried,
And clung convulsive to the wreck.
Not long,—for suddenly a spot
Of darkness fell upon my brain,
Which spread and press'd, till I forgot
All pain in that excess of pain.
Of darkness fell upon my brain,
Which spread and press'd, till I forgot
All pain in that excess of pain.
Part II. TRANSITION.
Two woes were past; a worse befell:
When I revived, the sea had fled;
Beneath me yawn'd the gulf of hell,
Broad as the vanish'd ocean's bed.
When I revived, the sea had fled;
Beneath me yawn'd the gulf of hell,
Broad as the vanish'd ocean's bed.
Downward I seem'd to plunge through space,
As lightning flashes and expires,
Yet—how, I knew not—turn'd my face
Away from those terrific fires;—
As lightning flashes and expires,
Yet—how, I knew not—turn'd my face
Away from those terrific fires;—
And saw in glory, throned afar,
A human form yet all divine;
Beyond the track of sun or star,
High o'er all height it seem'd to shine.
A human form yet all divine;
Beyond the track of sun or star,
High o'er all height it seem'd to shine.
'Twas He who in the furnace walk'd
With Shadrach, and controll'd its power;
'Twas He with whom Elias talk'd,
In his transfiguration-hour.
With Shadrach, and controll'd its power;
'Twas He with whom Elias talk'd,
In his transfiguration-hour.
'Twas He whom, in the lonely Isle
Of Patmos, John in spirit saw,
And, at the lightning of his smile,
Fell down as dead, entranced with awe.
Of Patmos, John in spirit saw,
And, at the lightning of his smile,
Fell down as dead, entranced with awe.
From his resplendent diadem,
A ray shot through mine inmost soul;
“Could I but touch his garment's hem,”
Methought, “like her whom faith made whole!”
A ray shot through mine inmost soul;
“Could I but touch his garment's hem,”
Methought, “like her whom faith made whole!”
Faith, faith, was given;—though nigh and nigher,
Swift verging tow'rds the gulf below,
I stretch'd my hand;—but high and higher,
Ah me! the vision seem'd to go.
Swift verging tow'rds the gulf below,
235
Ah me! the vision seem'd to go.
“Save, Lord, I perish!”—while I cried,
Some miracle of mercy drew
My spirit upward;—hell yawn'd wide,
And follow'd;—upwards still I flew:—
Some miracle of mercy drew
My spirit upward;—hell yawn'd wide,
And follow'd;—upwards still I flew:—
And upwards still the surging flame
Pursued;—yet all was clear above,
Whence brighter, sweeter, kindlier came
My blessed Saviour's looks of love.
Pursued;—yet all was clear above,
Whence brighter, sweeter, kindlier came
My blessed Saviour's looks of love.
Till with a sudden flash forth beam'd
The fulness of the Deity:—
Hell's jaws collapsed; I felt redeem'd;
The snare was broken, I was free.
The fulness of the Deity:—
Hell's jaws collapsed; I felt redeem'd;
The snare was broken, I was free.
A voice from heaven proclaim'd,—“Tis done!”
Then, like a homeward ray of light
From the last planet to the sun,
I darted through the abyss of night.
Then, like a homeward ray of light
From the last planet to the sun,
I darted through the abyss of night.
Till He put forth his hand, to meet
Mine, grasping at infinity;
He caught me, set me on my feet;
I fell at his in ecstasy.
Mine, grasping at infinity;
He caught me, set me on my feet;
I fell at his in ecstasy.
What follow'd, human tongue in vain
Would question language to disclose:
Enough,—that I was born again;
From death to life that hour I rose.
Would question language to disclose:
Enough,—that I was born again;
From death to life that hour I rose.
Part III. RESTITUTION.
I built once more, but on a rock
(Faith's strong foundation, firm and sure)
Fix'd mine abode, the heaviest shock
Of time and tempest to endure.
(Faith's strong foundation, firm and sure)
Fix'd mine abode, the heaviest shock
Of time and tempest to endure.
Not small, nor large, not low, nor high,
Midway it stands upon the steep,
Beneath the storm-mark of the sky,
Above the flood-mark of the deep.
Midway it stands upon the steep,
Beneath the storm-mark of the sky,
Above the flood-mark of the deep.
And here I humbly wait while He,
Who pluck'd me from the lowest hell,
Prepares a heavenly house for me,
Then calls me home with Him to dwell.
Who pluck'd me from the lowest hell,
Prepares a heavenly house for me,
Then calls me home with Him to dwell.
THE CHRONICLE OF ANGELS.
[_]
The following Poem having been suggested by the perusal of a manuscript treatise on “The Holy Angels,” by the Author's late highly esteemed friend, R. C. Brackenbury, of Raithby, is most respectfully inscribed to Mrs. Brackenbury.
I. Part I.
All that of angels God to man makes known,
Here by the light of his clear word is shown.
'Tis Jacob's dream;—behold the ladder rise,
Resting on earth, but reaching to the skies,
Where faith the radiant hierarchies may trace
Abroad in nature, providence, and grace,
Descending and returning by that path,
On embassies of mercy or of wrath;
Here the stone pillow and the desert-sod
Become the gate of heaven, the house of God;
—Put off thy shoes, approach with awe profound,
The place on which thou stand'st is holy ground.
Here by the light of his clear word is shown.
'Tis Jacob's dream;—behold the ladder rise,
Resting on earth, but reaching to the skies,
Where faith the radiant hierarchies may trace
Abroad in nature, providence, and grace,
Descending and returning by that path,
On embassies of mercy or of wrath;
Here the stone pillow and the desert-sod
Become the gate of heaven, the house of God;
—Put off thy shoes, approach with awe profound,
The place on which thou stand'st is holy ground.
Spirit made perfect, spirit of the just!
Thy hand which traced these leaves is fall'n to dust,
Yet, in the visions of eternity,
Things unconceiv'd by mortals thou canst see,
—Angels as angels stand before the throne,
By thee are without veil or symbol known:
Oh! couldst thou add one brilliant page, and tell
What those pure beings are who never fell,
—Those first-born sons of God, ere time began,
Though elder, greater, not more loved than man,
Thrones, principalities, dominions, powers,
Cherub or seraph, midst empyreal bowers,
Who in themselves their Maker only see,
And live, and move, and dwell in Deity:
—But 'tis forbidden;—earthly eye nor ear
Heaven's splendours may behold, heaven's secrets hear;
To flesh and blood that world to come is seal'd,
Or but in hieroglyphic shades reveal'd.
Thy hand which traced these leaves is fall'n to dust,
Yet, in the visions of eternity,
Things unconceiv'd by mortals thou canst see,
—Angels as angels stand before the throne,
By thee are without veil or symbol known:
Oh! couldst thou add one brilliant page, and tell
What those pure beings are who never fell,
—Those first-born sons of God, ere time began,
Though elder, greater, not more loved than man,
Thrones, principalities, dominions, powers,
Cherub or seraph, midst empyreal bowers,
Who in themselves their Maker only see,
And live, and move, and dwell in Deity:
—But 'tis forbidden;—earthly eye nor ear
Heaven's splendours may behold, heaven's secrets hear;
To flesh and blood that world to come is seal'd,
Or but in hieroglyphic shades reveal'd.
We follow thee, bless'd saint! our tongues, ere long,
May learn from thine the church triumphant's song;
For well, I ween, thy minstrel soul of fire
Can compass all the notes of Raphael's lyre;
—That soul, which once, beneath the body's cloud,
Sang like an unseen sky-lark, sweet and loud;
Louder and sweeter now thy raptures rise,
Where cloud nor sun are seen in purer skies,
May learn from thine the church triumphant's song;
For well, I ween, thy minstrel soul of fire
Can compass all the notes of Raphael's lyre;
—That soul, which once, beneath the body's cloud,
Sang like an unseen sky-lark, sweet and loud;
Louder and sweeter now thy raptures rise,
Where cloud nor sun are seen in purer skies,
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But what of angels know we?—search that book
On which the eyes of angels love to look,
Desiring, through its opening seals, to trace
The heights and depths of that transcendent grace,
Which from the Father's bosom sent the Son,
Himself the ransom for a world undone.
On which the eyes of angels love to look,
Desiring, through its opening seals, to trace
The heights and depths of that transcendent grace,
Which from the Father's bosom sent the Son,
Himself the ransom for a world undone.
First, with the morning stars when nature sprang,
These sons of God for joy together sang;
Diviner wonders day by day explored,
Night after night with deeper awe adored;
Till, o'er his finish'd work, Jehovah placed
Man, with the stamp of His own image graced:
Even angels paused a moment then to gaze,
Ere burst from all their choirs such shouts of praise,
As not in heaven at their own birth were known,
Nor heard when Satan's host were overthrown.
These sons of God for joy together sang;
Diviner wonders day by day explored,
Night after night with deeper awe adored;
Till, o'er his finish'd work, Jehovah placed
Man, with the stamp of His own image graced:
Even angels paused a moment then to gaze,
Ere burst from all their choirs such shouts of praise,
As not in heaven at their own birth were known,
Nor heard when Satan's host were overthrown.
When man lost Eden for his first offence,
The swords of cherubim expell'd him thence,
Those flaming signs of heaven with earth at strife
Turn'd every way to guard the tree of life.
The swords of cherubim expell'd him thence,
Those flaming signs of heaven with earth at strife
Turn'd every way to guard the tree of life.
Angels, thenceforth, who in God's presence stand,
As ministering spirits, travel sea and land;
Onward or upward, rapt through air and sky,
From heaven to earth, from earth to heaven they fly;
Like rays diverging from the central sun,
Which through the darkness of creation run,
Enlightening moons and planets in their course,
And thence reflected seek their glorious source.
As ministering spirits, travel sea and land;
Onward or upward, rapt through air and sky,
From heaven to earth, from earth to heaven they fly;
Like rays diverging from the central sun,
Which through the darkness of creation run,
Enlightening moons and planets in their course,
And thence reflected seek their glorious source.
II. Part II.
When Abraham dwelt in Mamre, angels spoke,
As friend to friend, with him beneath the oak:
With flocks and herds, with wealth and servants blest,
Of almost more than heart could wish possest,
One want the old man felt,—an hopeless one!
Oh! what was all he had without a son?
Heaven's messengers brought tidings to his ear,
Which nature, dead in him, found hard to hear;
Which faith itself could scarce receive for joy,
But he believed,—and soon embraced a boy;
Nor, while the line of Adam shall extend,
Will faithful Abraham's promised issue end.
As friend to friend, with him beneath the oak:
With flocks and herds, with wealth and servants blest,
Of almost more than heart could wish possest,
One want the old man felt,—an hopeless one!
Oh! what was all he had without a son?
Heaven's messengers brought tidings to his ear,
Which nature, dead in him, found hard to hear;
Which faith itself could scarce receive for joy,
But he believed,—and soon embraced a boy;
Nor, while the line of Adam shall extend,
Will faithful Abraham's promised issue end.
Hence, when his lifted arm the death-stroke aim'd
At him, whom God mysteriously reclaim'd,
At him, whom God miraculously gave,
An angel cried from heaven the youth to save,
And he who found a son when he believed,
That son again as from the dead received.
At him, whom God mysteriously reclaim'd,
At him, whom God miraculously gave,
An angel cried from heaven the youth to save,
And he who found a son when he believed,
That son again as from the dead received.
When Hagar, woe-begone and desolate,
Alone, beside the desert-fountain sate,
And o'er her unborn babe shed bitter tears,
The angel of the Lord allay'd her fears,
And pledged in fee to her unportion'd child
The lion's range o'er Araby the wild:
“Here have I look'd for Him whom none can see!”
She cried;—“and found, for thou, God, seest me!”
—Again, when fainting in the wilderness,
An angel-watcher pitied her distress,
To Ishmael's lips a hidden well unseal'd,
And the long wanderings of his race reveal'd,
Who still, as hunters, warriors, spoilers, roam,
Their steeds their riches, sands and sky their home.
Alone, beside the desert-fountain sate,
And o'er her unborn babe shed bitter tears,
The angel of the Lord allay'd her fears,
And pledged in fee to her unportion'd child
The lion's range o'er Araby the wild:
“Here have I look'd for Him whom none can see!”
She cried;—“and found, for thou, God, seest me!”
—Again, when fainting in the wilderness,
An angel-watcher pitied her distress,
To Ishmael's lips a hidden well unseal'd,
And the long wanderings of his race reveal'd,
Who still, as hunters, warriors, spoilers, roam,
Their steeds their riches, sands and sky their home.
Angels o'erthrew the cities of the plain,
With fire and brimstone in tempestuous rain,
And from the wrath which heartless sinners braved,
Lot, with the violence of mercy, saved;
Now where the region breathed with life before,
Stands a dead sea where life can breathe no more.
With fire and brimstone in tempestuous rain,
And from the wrath which heartless sinners braved,
Lot, with the violence of mercy, saved;
Now where the region breathed with life before,
Stands a dead sea where life can breathe no more.
When Jacob, journeying with his feeble bands,
Trembled to fall into a brother's hands;
At twilight, lingering in the rear he saw
God's host around his tents their 'campment draw:
—While, with a stranger, in mysterious strife,
Wrestling till break of day for more than life;
He pray'd, he wept, he cried in his distress,
“I will not let thee go except thou bless!”
Lame with a touch, he halted on his thigh,
Yet like a prince had power with God Most High.
Trembled to fall into a brother's hands;
At twilight, lingering in the rear he saw
God's host around his tents their 'campment draw:
—While, with a stranger, in mysterious strife,
Wrestling till break of day for more than life;
He pray'd, he wept, he cried in his distress,
“I will not let thee go except thou bless!”
Lame with a touch, he halted on his thigh,
Yet like a prince had power with God Most High.
Nine plagues in vain had smitten Pharaoh's land
Ere the destroying angel stretch'd his hand,
Whose sword, wide flashing through Egyptian gloom,
Lighted and struck their first-born to the tomb;
Through all the realm a cry at midnight spread,
For not a house was found without one dead.
Ere the destroying angel stretch'd his hand,
Whose sword, wide flashing through Egyptian gloom,
Lighted and struck their first-born to the tomb;
Through all the realm a cry at midnight spread,
For not a house was found without one dead.
When Balaam, blinded by the lure of gold
To curse whom God would bless, his heart had sold,
A wrathful angel, with high-brandish'd blade,
Invisible to him, his progress stay'd,
Nor, till with human voice his own dumb ass
Rebuked the prophet's madness, let him pass.
To curse whom God would bless, his heart had sold,
A wrathful angel, with high-brandish'd blade,
Invisible to him, his progress stay'd,
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Rebuked the prophet's madness, let him pass.
When Joshua led the tribes o'er Jordan's flood,
The captain of God's host before him stood,
He fell, and own'd, adoring on his face,
A Power whose presence sanctified the place.
The captain of God's host before him stood,
He fell, and own'd, adoring on his face,
A Power whose presence sanctified the place.
When Deborah from beneath her palm-tree rose,
God into woman's hands sold Israel's foes;
They fought from heaven,—'twas heaven deliverance wrought,
Stars in their courses against Sisera fought.
God into woman's hands sold Israel's foes;
They fought from heaven,—'twas heaven deliverance wrought,
Stars in their courses against Sisera fought.
They sinn'd again, and fell beneath the yoke;
To Gideon then their guardian angel spoke:
Three hundred warriors chosen at the brook,
Pitchers for arms, with lamps and trumpets, took;
They brake the vessels, raised the lights, and blew
A blast which Midian's startled hosts o'erthrew;
Foe fell on foe, and friend his friend assail'd;
—The sword of God and Gideon thus prevail'd.
To Gideon then their guardian angel spoke:
Three hundred warriors chosen at the brook,
Pitchers for arms, with lamps and trumpets, took;
They brake the vessels, raised the lights, and blew
A blast which Midian's startled hosts o'erthrew;
Foe fell on foe, and friend his friend assail'd;
—The sword of God and Gideon thus prevail'd.
When David's heart was lifted up with pride,
And more on multitudes than God relied,
Three days, an angel arm'd with pestilence
Smote down the people for the king's offence;
Yet when his humbled soul for Israel pray'd,
Heaven heard his groaning, and the plague was stay'd;
He kneel'd between the living and the dead,
Even as the sword came down o'er Zion's head;
Then went the' Almighty's voice throughout the land,
“It is enough; avenger! rest thine hand.”
And more on multitudes than God relied,
Three days, an angel arm'd with pestilence
Smote down the people for the king's offence;
Yet when his humbled soul for Israel pray'd,
Heaven heard his groaning, and the plague was stay'd;
He kneel'd between the living and the dead,
Even as the sword came down o'er Zion's head;
Then went the' Almighty's voice throughout the land,
“It is enough; avenger! rest thine hand.”
Elijah, with his mantle, smote the flood,
And Jordan's hastening waves divided stood;
The fiery chariot, on the further shore,
Deathless to heaven the' ascending prophet bore:
“My father!” cried Elisha, as he flew;
“Lo! Israel's chariot and his horsemen too:”
Then with the mantle, as it dropp'd behind,
Came down a power, like mighty rushing wind,
And as he wrapt the trophy round his breast,
Elijah's spirit Elisha's soul possess'd.
—He, when the Syrian bands, as with a net
Of living links, close drawn, his home beset,
Pray'd,—and his trembling servant saw amazed,
How Dothan's mountain round the prophet blazed;
Chariots of fire and horses throng'd the air,
And more were for them than against them there.
And Jordan's hastening waves divided stood;
The fiery chariot, on the further shore,
Deathless to heaven the' ascending prophet bore:
“My father!” cried Elisha, as he flew;
“Lo! Israel's chariot and his horsemen too:”
Then with the mantle, as it dropp'd behind,
Came down a power, like mighty rushing wind,
And as he wrapt the trophy round his breast,
Elijah's spirit Elisha's soul possess'd.
—He, when the Syrian bands, as with a net
Of living links, close drawn, his home beset,
Pray'd,—and his trembling servant saw amazed,
How Dothan's mountain round the prophet blazed;
Chariots of fire and horses throng'd the air,
And more were for them than against them there.
When pale Jerusalem heard Sennacherib's boast,
How, in their march of death, his locust host
Swept field and forest, rivers turn'd aside,
Crush'd idols, and the living God defied,
—While fear within the walls sad vigils kept,
And the proud foe without securely slept,
At midnight, through the camp, as with a blast
Hot from Arabian sands, an angel pass'd;
And when the city rose at dawn of day,
An army of dead men around it lay!
How, in their march of death, his locust host
Swept field and forest, rivers turn'd aside,
Crush'd idols, and the living God defied,
—While fear within the walls sad vigils kept,
And the proud foe without securely slept,
At midnight, through the camp, as with a blast
Hot from Arabian sands, an angel pass'd;
And when the city rose at dawn of day,
An army of dead men around it lay!
Down in the raging furnace, bound they fell,
Three Hebrew youths,—when, lo! a miracle;
At large amidst the sevenfold flames they walk'd,
And, as in Eden, with an angel talk'd:
Up rose the king astonied and in haste;
“Three men,” he cried, “into the fires we cast;
Four I behold,—and in the fourth the mien
And semblance of the Son of God are seen.”
Three Hebrew youths,—when, lo! a miracle;
At large amidst the sevenfold flames they walk'd,
And, as in Eden, with an angel talk'd:
Up rose the king astonied and in haste;
“Three men,” he cried, “into the fires we cast;
Four I behold,—and in the fourth the mien
And semblance of the Son of God are seen.”
While Daniel lay beneath the lions' paws,
An angel shut the death-gates of their jaws,
Which, ere his headlong foes had reach'd the floor,
Crush'd all their bones, and revell'd in their gore.
An angel shut the death-gates of their jaws,
Which, ere his headlong foes had reach'd the floor,
Crush'd all their bones, and revell'd in their gore.
Angels to prophets things to come reveal'd,
And things yet unfulfill'd in symbols seal'd,
When in deep visions of the night they lay,
And hail'd the dawn of that millennial day
For which the Church looks out with earnest eye,
And counts the moments as the hour draws nigh.
And things yet unfulfill'd in symbols seal'd,
When in deep visions of the night they lay,
And hail'd the dawn of that millennial day
For which the Church looks out with earnest eye,
And counts the moments as the hour draws nigh.
Thus angels oft to man's rebellious race
Were ministers of vengeance or of grace;
And, in the fulness of the time decreed,
Glad heralds of the woman's promised seed.
Were ministers of vengeance or of grace;
And, in the fulness of the time decreed,
Glad heralds of the woman's promised seed.
III. Part III.
To Zacharias, with his spouse grown old,
John the forerunner's course an angel told;
Struck dumb for unbelief, the father's tongue
At the babe's birth for joy brake loose and sung.
John the forerunner's course an angel told;
Struck dumb for unbelief, the father's tongue
At the babe's birth for joy brake loose and sung.
To Mary, highly favour'd, Gabriel brought
An embassy of love transcending thought;
With fear and meekness, hearkening to his word,
“Behold,” said she, “the handmaid of the Lord.”
An embassy of love transcending thought;
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“Behold,” said she, “the handmaid of the Lord.”
When Christ was born, that messenger once more
Good tidings to the Bethlehem shepherds bore;
When suddenly with him the' angelic throngs
Turn'd night to morning, earth to heaven, with songs.
Good tidings to the Bethlehem shepherds bore;
When suddenly with him the' angelic throngs
Turn'd night to morning, earth to heaven, with songs.
When Herod sought the young child's life,—by night
An angel warn'd his foster-sire to flight;
But when the murderer's race of blood was run,
Jehovah out of Egypt call'd his Son.
An angel warn'd his foster-sire to flight;
But when the murderer's race of blood was run,
Jehovah out of Egypt call'd his Son.
When by the Spirit to the desert led,
Our Saviour had not where to lay his head;
With hunger, thirst, fatigue, and watching worn,
When he the tempter's dire assaults had borne,
Still with the written word his wiles repell'd,
Though long in that mysterious conflict held,
Till the foil'd fiend at length shrunk back with shame,
—Angels to minister unto him came.
Our Saviour had not where to lay his head;
With hunger, thirst, fatigue, and watching worn,
When he the tempter's dire assaults had borne,
Still with the written word his wiles repell'd,
Though long in that mysterious conflict held,
Till the foil'd fiend at length shrunk back with shame,
—Angels to minister unto him came.
In lone Gethsemane's most dolorous shade,
When in such agony of soul he pray'd,
That like great blood-drops falling to the ground
Burst the dark sweat from every pore around,
An angel,—from twelve legions marshall'd nigh,
Who waited but the signal of his eye,—
Cast o'er the Son of God his shadowing wing,
To strengthen him whom angels call their King.
When in such agony of soul he pray'd,
That like great blood-drops falling to the ground
Burst the dark sweat from every pore around,
An angel,—from twelve legions marshall'd nigh,
Who waited but the signal of his eye,—
Cast o'er the Son of God his shadowing wing,
To strengthen him whom angels call their King.
Round the seal'd sepulchre where Jesus slept,
Angels their watch till the third morning kept;
They hail'd the earthquake, they beheld him rise,
Death's victim, now death's victor, to the skies.
Angels their watch till the third morning kept;
They hail'd the earthquake, they beheld him rise,
Death's victim, now death's victor, to the skies.
While woman's faithful love the tomb survey'd
In which her hands his lifeless limbs had laid;
With lightning looks, and raiment snowy-white,
At whom as dead the guards fell down in fright,
A mighty angel—he who roll'd the stone
From the cave's mouth—the Lord's uprise made known.
In which her hands his lifeless limbs had laid;
With lightning looks, and raiment snowy-white,
At whom as dead the guards fell down in fright,
A mighty angel—he who roll'd the stone
From the cave's mouth—the Lord's uprise made known.
Angels, to his disciples, while they saw
Their glorious Master in a cloud withdraw,
Ascend and vanish through the' expanding skies,
And follow'd him with failing hearts and eyes,
Foretold his second advent, in that day
When heaven and earth themselves shall pass away.
Their glorious Master in a cloud withdraw,
Ascend and vanish through the' expanding skies,
And follow'd him with failing hearts and eyes,
Foretold his second advent, in that day
When heaven and earth themselves shall pass away.
Angels unseen, as ministering spirits went,
When forth the chosen witnesses were sent,
With power from high to preach, where'er they trod,
The glorious Gospel of the blessed God.
Angels made straight their paths o'er land and sea,
Threw wide their prison-doors and let them free,
Smote slaughter-breathing Herod on his throne,
Led Philip where the Eunuch sat alone,
Taught meek Cornelius from what lips his ear
Might “words whereby he must be saved” hear,
And stood by fearless Paul, when, tempest-driven,
The whole ship's company to him were given.
When forth the chosen witnesses were sent,
With power from high to preach, where'er they trod,
The glorious Gospel of the blessed God.
Angels made straight their paths o'er land and sea,
Threw wide their prison-doors and let them free,
Smote slaughter-breathing Herod on his throne,
Led Philip where the Eunuch sat alone,
Taught meek Cornelius from what lips his ear
Might “words whereby he must be saved” hear,
And stood by fearless Paul, when, tempest-driven,
The whole ship's company to him were given.
Good angels still conduct, from age to age,
Salvation's heirs, on nature's pilgrimage;
Cherubic swords, no longer signs of strife,
Now point the way, and keep the tree of life;
Seraphic hands, with coals of living fire,
The lips of God's true messengers inspire;
Angels, who see their heavenly Father's face,
Watch o'er his little ones with special grace;
Still o'er repenting sinners they rejoice,
And blend their myriad voices as one voice.
Salvation's heirs, on nature's pilgrimage;
Cherubic swords, no longer signs of strife,
Now point the way, and keep the tree of life;
Seraphic hands, with coals of living fire,
The lips of God's true messengers inspire;
Angels, who see their heavenly Father's face,
Watch o'er his little ones with special grace;
Still o'er repenting sinners they rejoice,
And blend their myriad voices as one voice.
Angels, with healing virtue in their wings,
Trouble dead pools, unsluice earth's bosom-springs,
Till fresh as new-born life the waters roll;
Lepers and lame step in and are made whole.
Trouble dead pools, unsluice earth's bosom-springs,
Till fresh as new-born life the waters roll;
Lepers and lame step in and are made whole.
Angels, the saints from noon-day perils keep,
And pitch their tents around them while they sleep;
Uphold them when they seem to walk alone,
Nor let them dash their foot against a stone;
They teach the dumb to speak, the blind to see,
Comfort the dying in their agony,
And to the rest of paradise convey
Spirits enfranchised from the crumbling clay.
And pitch their tents around them while they sleep;
Uphold them when they seem to walk alone,
Nor let them dash their foot against a stone;
They teach the dumb to speak, the blind to see,
Comfort the dying in their agony,
And to the rest of paradise convey
Spirits enfranchised from the crumbling clay.
Strong angels, arm'd by righteous Providence,
Judgments on guilty nations still dispense,
Pour out their full-charged vials of despair
And death, o'er sun, and sea, and earth, and air;
Or sound their trumpets, while at every blast
Plague follows plague, woe treads on woe gone past.
Judgments on guilty nations still dispense,
Pour out their full-charged vials of despair
And death, o'er sun, and sea, and earth, and air;
Or sound their trumpets, while at every blast
Plague follows plague, woe treads on woe gone past.
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Bright angels, through mid-heaven shall hold their flight
Till all that sit in darkness see the light,
Still the good tidings of great joy proclaim
Till every tongue confess a Saviour's name.
Till all that sit in darkness see the light,
Still the good tidings of great joy proclaim
Till every tongue confess a Saviour's name.
The' archangel's voice, the trump of God, the cry
Of startled nature, rending earth and sky,
Shall change the living, raise the dead, and bring
All nations to the presence of their King,
Whose flaming ministers, on either hand,
Ten thousand times ten thousand angels, stand,
To witness time's full roll for ever seal'd,
And that eternity to come reveal'd,
—That era in the reign of Deity,
When sin, the curse, and death, no more can be.
Angels who fell not, men who fell restored,
Shall then rejoice in glory with the Lord;
—Hearts, harps, and voices, in one choir shall raise
The new, the old, the' eternal song of praise.
Of startled nature, rending earth and sky,
Shall change the living, raise the dead, and bring
All nations to the presence of their King,
Whose flaming ministers, on either hand,
Ten thousand times ten thousand angels, stand,
To witness time's full roll for ever seal'd,
And that eternity to come reveal'd,
—That era in the reign of Deity,
When sin, the curse, and death, no more can be.
Angels who fell not, men who fell restored,
Shall then rejoice in glory with the Lord;
—Hearts, harps, and voices, in one choir shall raise
The new, the old, the' eternal song of praise.
May ye who read, with him who wrote this strain,
Join in that song, and worship in that train!
Join in that song, and worship in that train!
1829.
ELIJAH IN THE WILDERNESS.
Thus pray'd the prophet in the wilderness:
“God of my fathers! look on my distress;
My days are spent in vanity and strife,
O that the Lord would please to take my life!
Beneath the clods through this lone valley spread,
Fain would I join the generations dead!”
“God of my fathers! look on my distress;
My days are spent in vanity and strife,
O that the Lord would please to take my life!
Beneath the clods through this lone valley spread,
Fain would I join the generations dead!”
Heav'n deign'd no answer to that murmuring prayer,
Silence that thrill'd the blood alone was there;
Down sunk his weary limbs, slow heaved his breath,
And sleep fell on him with a weight like death;
Dreams, raised by evil spirits, hover'd near,
Throng'd with strange thoughts, and images of fear;
The' abominations of the Gentiles came;—
Detested Chemosh, Moloch clad with flame,
Ashtaroth, queen of heaven, with moony crest,
And Baäl, sun-like, high above the rest,
Glared on him, gnash'd their teeth, then sped away,
Like ravening vultures to their carrion-prey,
Where every grove grew darker with their rites,
And blood ran reeking down the mountain-heights;
But to the living God, throughout the land,
He saw no altar blaze, no temple stand;
Jerusalem was dust, and Zion's hill,
Like Tophet's valley, desolate and still:
The prophet drew one deep desponding groan,
And his heart died within him, like a stone.
Silence that thrill'd the blood alone was there;
Down sunk his weary limbs, slow heaved his breath,
And sleep fell on him with a weight like death;
Dreams, raised by evil spirits, hover'd near,
Throng'd with strange thoughts, and images of fear;
The' abominations of the Gentiles came;—
Detested Chemosh, Moloch clad with flame,
Ashtaroth, queen of heaven, with moony crest,
And Baäl, sun-like, high above the rest,
Glared on him, gnash'd their teeth, then sped away,
Like ravening vultures to their carrion-prey,
Where every grove grew darker with their rites,
And blood ran reeking down the mountain-heights;
But to the living God, throughout the land,
He saw no altar blaze, no temple stand;
Jerusalem was dust, and Zion's hill,
Like Tophet's valley, desolate and still:
The prophet drew one deep desponding groan,
And his heart died within him, like a stone.
An angel's touch the dire entrancement broke,
“Arise and eat, Elijah!”—He awoke,
And found a table in the desert spread,
With water in the cruise beside his head;
He bless'd the Lord, who turn'd away his prayer,
And feasted on the heaven-provided fare;
Then sweeter slumber o'er his senses stole,
And sunk like life new-breathed into his soul.
A dream brought David's city on his sight,
—Shepherds were watching o'er their flocks by night;
Around them uncreated splendour blazed,
And heavenly hosts their hallelujahs raised;
A theme unknown since sin to death gave birth,
“Glory to God! good-will and peace on earth!”
They sang; his heart responded to the strain,
Though memory sought to keep the words in vain:
The vision changed;—amid the gloom serene,
One star above all other stars was seen;
It had a light, a motion, of its own,
And o'er a humble shed in Bethlehem shone;
He look'd, and lo! an infant newly born,
That seem'd cast out to poverty and scorn,
Yet Gentile kings its advent came to greet,
Worshipp'd, and laid their treasures at its feet.
Musing what this mysterious babe might be,
He saw a sufferer stretch'd upon a tree;
Yet while the victim died, by men abhorr'd,
Creation's agonies confess'd him Lord.
Again the angel smote the slumberer's side;
“Arise and eat, the way is long and wide.”
He rose and ate, and, with unfainting force,
Through forty days and nights upheld his course.
Horeb, the mount of God, he reach'd, and lay
Within a cavern till the cool of day.
“What dost thou here, Elijah?”—Like the tide,
Brake that deep voice through silence. He replied,
“I have been very jealous for thy cause,
Lord God of hosts! for men make void thy laws;
Thy people have thrown down thine altars, slain
Thy prophets,—I, and I alone, remain;
My life with reckless vengeance they pursue,
And what can I against a nation do?”
“Arise and eat, Elijah!”—He awoke,
And found a table in the desert spread,
With water in the cruise beside his head;
He bless'd the Lord, who turn'd away his prayer,
And feasted on the heaven-provided fare;
Then sweeter slumber o'er his senses stole,
And sunk like life new-breathed into his soul.
A dream brought David's city on his sight,
—Shepherds were watching o'er their flocks by night;
Around them uncreated splendour blazed,
And heavenly hosts their hallelujahs raised;
A theme unknown since sin to death gave birth,
“Glory to God! good-will and peace on earth!”
They sang; his heart responded to the strain,
Though memory sought to keep the words in vain:
The vision changed;—amid the gloom serene,
One star above all other stars was seen;
It had a light, a motion, of its own,
And o'er a humble shed in Bethlehem shone;
He look'd, and lo! an infant newly born,
That seem'd cast out to poverty and scorn,
Yet Gentile kings its advent came to greet,
Worshipp'd, and laid their treasures at its feet.
Musing what this mysterious babe might be,
He saw a sufferer stretch'd upon a tree;
Yet while the victim died, by men abhorr'd,
Creation's agonies confess'd him Lord.
Again the angel smote the slumberer's side;
“Arise and eat, the way is long and wide.”
He rose and ate, and, with unfainting force,
Through forty days and nights upheld his course.
Horeb, the mount of God, he reach'd, and lay
Within a cavern till the cool of day.
“What dost thou here, Elijah?”—Like the tide,
Brake that deep voice through silence. He replied,
“I have been very jealous for thy cause,
Lord God of hosts! for men make void thy laws;
Thy people have thrown down thine altars, slain
Thy prophets,—I, and I alone, remain;
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And what can I against a nation do?”
“Stand on the mount before the Lord, and know,
That wrath or mercy at my will I show.”
Anon the power that holds the winds let fly
Their devastating armies through the sky;
Then shook the wilderness, the rocks were rent,
As when Jehovah bow'd the firmament,
And trembling Israel, while He gave the law,
Beheld his symbols, but no image saw.
The storm retired, nor left a trace behind;
The Lord pass'd by; He came not with the wind.
That wrath or mercy at my will I show.”
Anon the power that holds the winds let fly
Their devastating armies through the sky;
Then shook the wilderness, the rocks were rent,
As when Jehovah bow'd the firmament,
And trembling Israel, while He gave the law,
Beheld his symbols, but no image saw.
The storm retired, nor left a trace behind;
The Lord pass'd by; He came not with the wind.
Beneath the prophet's feet, the shuddering ground
Clave, and disclosed a precipice profound,
Like that which open'd to the gates of hell
When Korah, Dathan, and Abiram fell:
Again the Lord pass'd by, but unreveal'd;
He came not with the earthquake, all was seal'd.
Clave, and disclosed a precipice profound,
Like that which open'd to the gates of hell
When Korah, Dathan, and Abiram fell:
Again the Lord pass'd by, but unreveal'd;
He came not with the earthquake, all was seal'd.
A new amazement! vale and mountain turn'd
Red as the battle-field with blood, then burn'd
Up to the stars, as terrible a flame
As shall devour this universal frame;
Elijah watch'd it kindle, spread, expire;
The Lord pass'd by; He came not with the fire.
Red as the battle-field with blood, then burn'd
Up to the stars, as terrible a flame
As shall devour this universal frame;
Elijah watch'd it kindle, spread, expire;
The Lord pass'd by; He came not with the fire.
A still small whisper breathed upon his ear;
He wrapp'd his mantle round his face with fear;
Darkness that might be felt involved him,—dumb
With expectation of a voice to come,
He stood upon the threshold of the cave,
As one long dead, just risen from the grave,
In the last judgment.—Came the voice and cried,
“What dost thou here, Elijah?”—He replied,
“I have been very jealous for thy cause,
Lord God of hosts! for men make void thy laws;
Thy people have thrown down thine altars, slain
Thy prophets,—I, and I alone, remain;
My life with ruthless violence they pursue,
And what can I against a nation do?”
He wrapp'd his mantle round his face with fear;
Darkness that might be felt involved him,—dumb
With expectation of a voice to come,
He stood upon the threshold of the cave,
As one long dead, just risen from the grave,
In the last judgment.—Came the voice and cried,
“What dost thou here, Elijah?”—He replied,
“I have been very jealous for thy cause,
Lord God of hosts! for men make void thy laws;
Thy people have thrown down thine altars, slain
Thy prophets,—I, and I alone, remain;
My life with ruthless violence they pursue,
And what can I against a nation do?”
“My day of vengeance is at hand: the year
Of my redeem'd shall suddenly appear:
Go thou,—anoint two kings,—and in thy place
A prophet to stand up before my face:
Then he who 'scapes the Syrian's sword shall fall
By his whom to Samaria's throne I call;
And he who 'scapes from Jehu, in that day,
Him shall the judgment of Elisha slay.
Yet hath a remnant been preserved by me,
Seven thousand souls, who never bow'd the knee
To Baäl's image, nor have kiss'd his shrine;
These are my jewels, and they shall be mine
When to the world my righteousness is shown,
And, root and branch, idolatry o'erthrown.
Of my redeem'd shall suddenly appear:
Go thou,—anoint two kings,—and in thy place
A prophet to stand up before my face:
Then he who 'scapes the Syrian's sword shall fall
By his whom to Samaria's throne I call;
And he who 'scapes from Jehu, in that day,
Him shall the judgment of Elisha slay.
Yet hath a remnant been preserved by me,
Seven thousand souls, who never bow'd the knee
To Baäl's image, nor have kiss'd his shrine;
These are my jewels, and they shall be mine
When to the world my righteousness is shown,
And, root and branch, idolatry o'erthrown.
So be it, God of truth, yet why delay?
With thee a thousand years are as one day;
O crown thy people's hopes, dispel their fears,
And be to-day with Thee a thousand years!
Cut short the evil, bring the blessed time,
Avenge thine own elect from clime to clime;
Let not an idol in thy path be spared;
All share the fate which Bäal long hath shared;
Nor let seven thousand only worship Thee;
Make every tongue confess, bow every knee;
Now o'er the promised kingdoms reign thy Son,
One Lord through all the earth,—his name be one!
Hast Thou not spoken? shall it not be done?
With thee a thousand years are as one day;
O crown thy people's hopes, dispel their fears,
And be to-day with Thee a thousand years!
Cut short the evil, bring the blessed time,
Avenge thine own elect from clime to clime;
Let not an idol in thy path be spared;
All share the fate which Bäal long hath shared;
Nor let seven thousand only worship Thee;
Make every tongue confess, bow every knee;
Now o'er the promised kingdoms reign thy Son,
One Lord through all the earth,—his name be one!
Hast Thou not spoken? shall it not be done?
1824.
MORNA.
[_]
Macpherson's Ossian has had many admirers; and it cannot be denied, that the compositions attributed to the son of Fingal abound with striking imagery, heroic sentiment, and hardy expression, the effect of which, on young minds especially, may be highly exhilarating for a while. But, independent of the obscurity, sameness, and repetition, which were probably characteristic of the originals— whatever those originals may have been—the translation is “done into English” in such a “Babylonish dialect,” that it might be presumed, no ear accustomed to the melody of pure prose, or the freedom of eloquent verse, could endure the incongruities of a style in which broken verse of various measures, and halting prose of almost unmanageable cadences, compound sentences as difficult to read and as dissonant to hear as a strain of music would be in execution and effect if every bar were set to a different time and in a different key. If for such wild works of imagination a corresponding diction be desirable, a style between prose and verse, not a heterogeneous jumbling of both, might perhaps be invented. For this we must have a poetical foundation with a prose superstructure: the former, that the vehicle of thought may admit of florid embellishment; the latter, that full licence may be obtained of accommodating, by expansion or contraction, the scope of the ideas, unincumbered with rhyme, and unrestricted by infrangible metrical trammels.
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The episode of Morna is, perhaps, the most truly beautiful and pathetic, as well as simple and intelligible, narrative among these rhapsodical productions. In the following experiment, which is submitted to the curious, the anapæstic foot is adopted as the groundwork, because cadences of that measure have peculiar fluency. There is some difficulty, indeed, to the reader, in hitting the right accents at all times, from the great laxity of our language in that respect, and the carelessness of writers; yet as this movement admits of the utmost variety of subdivisions, and the lines may be lengthened or shortened, according to the burden of the matter of each, it is well suited to a mode of composition which would blend the harmony of song with the freedom of discourse, if such union were compatible. This, to some extent, has been proved practicable in many passages of several English translations of the Psalms and the Prophecies; of which a very perfect specimen may be found in the first seven verses of the ninety-fifth Psalm, according to the Common Prayer-book rendering. When read with simplicity, and the due accent laid upon the long syllables, nothing perhaps in human speech can be quoted more delicately implicated than the clauses, or more melodious than the sequence of plain Saxon sounds that compose the diction, while the variety of cadence and the change of cesura in every turn of the thought is not less admirable. The strain passes into entirely another key from the eighth verse inclusive to the end, the theme in fact suggesting a correspondent change to the minstrel's hand, when he drops the hortatory preamble, and proceeds to the historical argument, or, rather, when he gives way abruptly at the sound of the very voice to which he is calling upon his hearers to hearken; while Jehovah himself from between the cherubim (for the scene is in the temple) speaks out, “Harden not your hearts, as in the provocation . . . . when your fathers tempted Me, proved Me, and saw my works,” &c. to the fearful close of the psalm.
The following attempt to tame what has been called “prose run mad,” into what may easily be designated by a phrase not less opprobrious, is made upon a principle more strictly rhythmical than the measured style of our vernacular translations of Scripture poetry; and in behalf of it a claim to be received with indulgence by the admirers of Gaelic legends may be fairly preferred, since the offence, if it be one, against good taste is not likely to be imitated, nor will the original culprit soon be induced to repeat it, being himself of opinion, that though a few pages got up in this manner may not be unpleasing, a volume would be intolerable.
It may be necessary to add, that this experiment on the tale of Morna has not been made from Macpherson, but from a version of Fingal of which a few copies only were printed at Edinburgh, some years ago, for private circulation. Whether the work has ever been further published, the present writer knows not; but it appeared to him, on the hasty perusal of a lent copy, preferable to the old one.
THE ARGUMENT.
Cathbat and Morna are lovers. Duchômar, the rival of Cathbat, having slain the latter in the chase, meets Morna, tells her what he has done, and woos her for himself. In the course of the interview they fall by each other's hands, and die together.—The story is supposed to be related to Cuchullin, general of the tribes of Erin, who, at the conclusion, laments the premature loss of the two valiant warriors, and the death of the maiden.
Cathbat fell by the sword of Duchômar,
At the oak of the loud-rolling stream;
Duchômar came to the cave of the forest,
And spake to the gentle maid.
At the oak of the loud-rolling stream;
Duchômar came to the cave of the forest,
And spake to the gentle maid.
“Morna! fairest of women!
Beautiful daughter of high-born Cormac!
Wherefore alone in the circle of stones,
Alone at the cave of the mountain?
The old oak sounds in the wind,
That ruffles the distant lake;
Black clouds engirdle the gloomy horizon;
But thou art like snow on the heath;
Thy ringlets resemble the light mist of Cromla,
When it winds round the sides of the hill,
In the beams of the evening sun.”
Beautiful daughter of high-born Cormac!
Wherefore alone in the circle of stones,
Alone at the cave of the mountain?
The old oak sounds in the wind,
That ruffles the distant lake;
Black clouds engirdle the gloomy horizon;
But thou art like snow on the heath;
Thy ringlets resemble the light mist of Cromla,
When it winds round the sides of the hill,
In the beams of the evening sun.”
“Whence comest thou, sternest of men?”
Said the maid of the graceful locks;
“Evermore dark was thy brow;
Now red is thine eye, and ferocious;
Doth Swaram appear on the sea?
What tidings from Lochlin?”
Said the maid of the graceful locks;
“Evermore dark was thy brow;
Now red is thine eye, and ferocious;
Doth Swaram appear on the sea?
What tidings from Lochlin?”
“No tidings from Lochlin, O Morna!
I come from the mountains;
I come from the chase of the fleet-footed hind:
Three red deer have fallen by my arrows;
One fell for thee, fair daughter of Cormac!
As my soul do I love thee, white-handed maiden!
Queen of the hearts of men!”
I come from the mountains;
I come from the chase of the fleet-footed hind:
Three red deer have fallen by my arrows;
One fell for thee, fair daughter of Cormac!
As my soul do I love thee, white-handed maiden!
Queen of the hearts of men!”
“Duchômar!” the maiden replied,
“None of my love is for thee:
Dark is thine eyebrow, thy bosom is darker,
And hard as the rock is thine heart:
But thou, the dear offspring of Armin,
Cathbat! art Morna's love.
Bright as the sunbeams thy beautiful locks,
When the mist of the valley is climbing the mountain:—
Saw'st thou the chief, the young hero,
Cathbat the brave, in thy course on the hill?
The daughter of Cormac the mighty
Tarries to welcome her love from the field.”
“None of my love is for thee:
Dark is thine eyebrow, thy bosom is darker,
And hard as the rock is thine heart:
But thou, the dear offspring of Armin,
Cathbat! art Morna's love.
Bright as the sunbeams thy beautiful locks,
When the mist of the valley is climbing the mountain:—
Saw'st thou the chief, the young hero,
Cathbat the brave, in thy course on the hill?
The daughter of Cormac the mighty
Tarries to welcome her love from the field.”
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“Long shalt thou tarry, O Morna!”
Sullenly, fiercely, Duchômar replied:
“Long shalt thou tarry, O Morna!
To welcome the rude son of Armin.
Lo! on this sharp-edged sword,
Red to the hilt is the life-blood of Cathbat:
Slain is thine hero,
By me he was slain:
His cairn will I build upon Cromla.
—Daughter of blue-shielded Cormac!
Turn on Duchômar thine eye.”
Sullenly, fiercely, Duchômar replied:
“Long shalt thou tarry, O Morna!
To welcome the rude son of Armin.
Lo! on this sharp-edged sword,
Red to the hilt is the life-blood of Cathbat:
Slain is thine hero,
By me he was slain:
His cairn will I build upon Cromla.
—Daughter of blue-shielded Cormac!
Turn on Duchômar thine eye.”
“Fallen in death is the brave son of Armin?”
The maiden exclaim'd with the voice of love:
“Fallen in death on the pine-crested hill?
The loveliest youth of the host!
Of heroes the first in the chase!
The direst of foes to the sea-roving stranger!—
Dark is Duchômar in wrath;
Deadly his arm to me;
Foe unto Morna!—but lend me thy weapon,
Cathbat I loved, and I love his blood.”
The maiden exclaim'd with the voice of love:
“Fallen in death on the pine-crested hill?
The loveliest youth of the host!
Of heroes the first in the chase!
The direst of foes to the sea-roving stranger!—
Dark is Duchômar in wrath;
Deadly his arm to me;
Foe unto Morna!—but lend me thy weapon,
Cathbat I loved, and I love his blood.”
He yielded the sword to her tears;
She plunged the red blade through his side;
He fell by the stream;
He stretch'd forth his hand, and his voice was heard:
“Daughter of blue-shielded Cormac!
Thou hast cut off my youth from renown;
Cold is the sword, the glory of heroes,
Cold in my bosom, O Morna!
—Ah! give me to Moina the maiden,
For I am her dream in the darkness of night;
My tomb she will build in the midst of the camp,
That the hunter may hail the bright mark of my fame.
—But draw forth the sword from my bosom,
For cold is the blade, O Morna!”
She plunged the red blade through his side;
He fell by the stream;
He stretch'd forth his hand, and his voice was heard:
“Daughter of blue-shielded Cormac!
Thou hast cut off my youth from renown;
Cold is the sword, the glory of heroes,
Cold in my bosom, O Morna!
—Ah! give me to Moina the maiden,
For I am her dream in the darkness of night;
My tomb she will build in the midst of the camp,
That the hunter may hail the bright mark of my fame.
—But draw forth the sword from my bosom,
For cold is the blade, O Morna!”
Slowly and weeping she came,
And drew forth the sword from his side;
He seized it, and struck the red steel to her heart;
She fell;—on the earth lay her tresses dishevell'd,
The blood gurgled fast from the wound,
And crimson'd her arm of snow.
And drew forth the sword from his side;
He seized it, and struck the red steel to her heart;
She fell;—on the earth lay her tresses dishevell'd,
The blood gurgled fast from the wound,
And crimson'd her arm of snow.
“Tell me no more of the maiden!”
Cuchullin, the war-chief of Erin, replied:
—“Peace to the souls of the heroes!
Their prowess was great in the conflict of swords;
Let them glide by my chariot in war!
Let their spirits appear in the clouds o'er the valley!
So shall my breast be undaunted in danger!
Cuchullin, the war-chief of Erin, replied:
—“Peace to the souls of the heroes!
Their prowess was great in the conflict of swords;
Let them glide by my chariot in war!
Let their spirits appear in the clouds o'er the valley!
So shall my breast be undaunted in danger!
“Be thou like a moon-beam, O Morna!
When my sight is beginning to fail;
When my soul is reposing in peace,
And the tumult of war is no more.”
When my sight is beginning to fail;
When my soul is reposing in peace,
And the tumult of war is no more.”
“PERILS BY THE HEATHEN.”
[_]
2 Corinthians, xi. 26.
Lines in memory of the Rev. William Threlfall, Wesleyan Missionary, who, with two native converts (Jacob Links and Johannes Jagger), set out in June, 1825, to carry the Gospel into Great Namaqua-land, on the western coast of South Africa. The last communication received from him by his brethren was the following brief note, dated “Warm Baths, August 6. 1825. Being rather unkindly handled by this people, in their not finding or not permitting us to have a guide, we returned hither yesterday, after having been to the north four days' journey, and losing one of the oxen. I feel great need of your prayers, and my patience is much tried. These people are very unfeeling and deceitful; but, thank God, we are all in good health, though we doubt of success. Our cattle are so poor that they cannot, I think, bring us home again; but we shall yet try to get further; and then it is not unlikely I shall despatch Johannes to you to send oxen to fetch us away. Do not be uneasy about us; we all feel much comforted in our souls, and the Lord give us patience. We are obliged to beg hard to buy meat. Peace be with you! —William Threlfall.”
No further intelligence arrived concerning the wanderers for seven months, except unauthorised rumours that they had, in some way, perished in the desert. In the sequel it was ascertained, that Mr. Threlfall and his faithful companions had left the Warm Baths above mentioned about the 9th or 10th of August, having obtained a vagabond guide to the Great Fish River. This wretch, meeting with two others as wicked as himself, conducted them to a petty kraal of Bushmen (the outcasts of all the Caffre tribes), and there murdered them in the night after they had lain down to sleep, for the sake of the few trifling articles which they carried with them for the purchase of food by the way. Two of the assassins were long afterwards taken by some of their own wild countrymen, and by them delivered up to the colonial authorities. One of these was the arch-traitor, called Naangaap, who with his own hand hurled the stone which caused the death of the missionary. He was tried at Clanwilliam, and condemned to be shot. On their way to the place appointed for execution, the escort halted at Lily Fountain, where the relatives of his murdered companion Jacob Links resided. These came
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Mr. Threlfall was a young man who had served on several missionary stations in South Africa, from the year 1822, under great bodily affliction for the most part of the time, but with unquenchable fervency of spirit, and devotion to the work of God among the heathen. His two fellow-labourers and fellow-sufferers, Jacob Links and Johannes Jagger, had voluntarily offered themselves to the same service and sacrifice with him, for the sake of carrying the gospel of the grace of God to their benighted countrymen in the farther regions of Namaqua-land.
Not by the lion's paw, the serpent's tooth,
By sudden sun-stroke, or by slow decay,
War, famine, plague,—meek messenger of truth!—
Wert thou arrested on thy pilgrim-way.
By sudden sun-stroke, or by slow decay,
War, famine, plague,—meek messenger of truth!—
Wert thou arrested on thy pilgrim-way.
The sultry whirlwind spared thee in its wrath,
The lightning flash'd before thee, and pass'd by,
The brooding earthquake paused beneath thy path,
The mountain-torrent shunn'd thee, or ran dry.
The lightning flash'd before thee, and pass'd by,
The brooding earthquake paused beneath thy path,
The mountain-torrent shunn'd thee, or ran dry.
Thy march was through the savage wilderness,
Thine errand thither, like thy gracious Lord's,
To seek and save the lost, to heal and bless
Its blind and lame, diseased and dying hordes.
Thine errand thither, like thy gracious Lord's,
To seek and save the lost, to heal and bless
Its blind and lame, diseased and dying hordes.
How did the love of Christ, that, like a chain,
Drew Christ himself to Bethlehem from his throne,
And bound Him to the cross, thine heart constrain,
Thy willing heart, to make that true love known!
Drew Christ himself to Bethlehem from his throne,
And bound Him to the cross, thine heart constrain,
Thy willing heart, to make that true love known!
But not to build, was thine appointed part,
Temple where temple never stood before;
Yet was it well the thought was in thine heart,
—Thou know'st it now,—thy Lord required no more.
Temple where temple never stood before;
Yet was it well the thought was in thine heart,
—Thou know'st it now,—thy Lord required no more.
The wings of darkness round thy tent were spread,
The wild beast's howlings brake not thy repose,
The silent stars were watching over-head,
Thy friends were nigh thee,—nigh thee were thy foes.
The wild beast's howlings brake not thy repose,
The silent stars were watching over-head,
Thy friends were nigh thee,—nigh thee were thy foes.
The sun went down upon thine evening-prayer,
He rose upon thy finish'd sacrifice;
The house of God, the gate of heaven, was there;
Angels and fiends on thee had fix'd their eyes.
He rose upon thy finish'd sacrifice;
The house of God, the gate of heaven, was there;
Angels and fiends on thee had fix'd their eyes.
At midnight, in a moment, open stood
The' eternal doors to give thy spirit room;
At morn the earth had drunk thy guiltless blood,
—But where on earth may now be found thy tomb?
The' eternal doors to give thy spirit room;
At morn the earth had drunk thy guiltless blood,
—But where on earth may now be found thy tomb?
At rest beneath the ever-shifting sand,
This thine unsculptured epitaph remain,
Till the last trump shall summon sea and land,—
“To me to live was Christ; to die was gain.”
This thine unsculptured epitaph remain,
Till the last trump shall summon sea and land,—
“To me to live was Christ; to die was gain.”
And must with thee thy slain companions lie,
Unmourn'd, unsung, forgotten where they fell?
O for the spirit and power of prophecy,
Their life, their death, the fruits of both, to tell!
They took the cross, they bore it, they lay down
Beneath it, woke, and found that cross their crown.
Unmourn'd, unsung, forgotten where they fell?
O for the spirit and power of prophecy,
Their life, their death, the fruits of both, to tell!
They took the cross, they bore it, they lay down
Beneath it, woke, and found that cross their crown.
O'er their lost relics, on the spot where guilt
Slew sleeping innocence, and hid the crime,
A church of Christ, amidst the desert built,
May gather converts till the end of time,
And there, with them, their kindred, dust to dust,
Await the resurrection of the just.
Slew sleeping innocence, and hid the crime,
A church of Christ, amidst the desert built,
May gather converts till the end of time,
And there, with them, their kindred, dust to dust,
Await the resurrection of the just.
| The poetical works of James Montgomery | |