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49

2. PART SECOND.

51

INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE

TO PART SECOND.

TO MR. --- ---.

August 23.
Carmine Dî superi placantur, carmine manes.

From that bleak path that winds around
That mount sublime, where shades profound
Veil, in their deep obscurity,
The darkling cliffs of destiny,
A wanderer oft, in vales I go,
Where babbling streamlets gently flow;
And gather, in their wildness sweet,
The flowers the pilgrim's eye that meet.
Ere yet the wreath is twin'd, they fade,
Scatter'd in deep oblivion's shade—
Yet in thy fame's bright blushing morn,
Full well I know, thou wilt not scorn
The wither'd garland, that would speak
A firmer pledge, in tokens weak.
From all the pomp that worldlings cherish,
From all the dreams that charm, to perish,
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Delusive fame, or sordid pelf,
The altar calls thee to itself.
But the lone hermit's heart estrang'd,
Its earthly essence purg'd and chang'd,
Bars not to song its holy lair—
Last pulse of earth, it enters there.
It boots not that I spin the rhyme
With legends of the elder time;
When song, by fondest theme inspir'd,
Immortal breasts with fervour fir'd,
And drew chaste Dian from above,
Her radiant sphere, for minstrel's love—

Musæus is fabled to have been the son of Luna, by Linus.


—What time a sister goddess fell—
But weaker man, by holier spell,
On purer altars lit the flame,
That burns for one, and burns the same,

‘Concubitu prohibere vago, dare jura maritis.’ Hor. Art. Poet.


By zephyrs fann'd, or tempest's swell,
Eternal and unquenchable!
It boots not, that my lay should rove
To wake the murmurs of the grove,
That Patriarch bands had rear'd to God
Upon the consecrated sod,
And where the voice of melody
Invok'd the present Deity.
Nor to the awful couch I go,
Where run their pilgrimage below,
The angel's pinions dark they hear,
Their fathers' voices whispering near—
When, short and quick as came their breath,
They girded them to combat death;
Then op'd the womb of darkling ages,
Then time unscroll'd his giant pages—
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Pour'd the prophetic tide along,
Eternity reveal'd in SONG!

The valedictory blessings of the patriarchs were delivered in dithyrambic measures.


In dust the MONARCH MINSTREL sleeps,
While music o'er his ashes weeps;
The chords he woke to rapture high,
Shrin'd in sepulchral darkness lie:
Their notes no more to mortals given,
He sweeps the golden lyres of heaven!
Yet, by his burning numbers fraught,
Soul mingles with the soul of thought;—
What Brahma's fabling seers have taught
She feels, when, from her mortal clod
She soars in melody to God!
Alas for song, when she shall need
So poor a rhymer's laggard reed!
And idle were her proudest strain,
Her loftiest pæan breath'd in vain,
To one—the priest whom she inspires,
Whose eye hath watch'd the eternal fires;
For she, even to her living springs,
Hath borne thee on her eagle wings—
To point thy gaze, hath been her care,
To all that's bright and dazzling there!
No weed impure, that taints the gale,
I mingle with the garland frail;
And chaste, though wild, the wreath shall be
That now I dedicate to thee.
55

SCENE V.
THE BANQUET.

I.

“Pledge we the knight who bore away
The well-earn'd laurels of the day;
And pledge we her, at whose bright eyes
Was lit the fire that won the prize;”—

II.

So Regnier spoke; and murmurs flew
The assembled crowd of gentles through;
Applauding all—yet envy's dart
Rankled and glow'd in many a heart:
Joy woke in old Rugero's breast,
His aged orbs that joy confest;
For stern ambition, led by love,
His brightest chaplet now had wove,
An only daughter's brow to grace,
And crown the honours of his race.

III.

“Pledge we the knight and lady fair;”—
The sparkling goblets high they bear,
All pledg'd the noble, destin'd pair—
56

But one old man—his locks were gray,
His form was yielding to decay;
Majestic still, its ruins proud
To the destroyer's might that bow'd,
Yet told of glory, that had shed
A noontide lustre on his head.
Hopes prostrate, wounded pride, and all
The train that howl'd around their fall,
Upon his brow had left their traces,
In lines that time nor death effaces;
Where sorrow, in that dreary night,
Brooded, a lonely eremite.

IV.

“Pardon, ye gentles all,” said he,
“An old man's want of courtesy—
And pardon, lady, one who would,
That, as thou'rt fair and high of blood,
Thou may'st be happy—time has been,
One call'd me FATHER;”—falter'd then
Gonsalvo's voice—but pride repell'd
The tide, that in despite had swell'd:
And, as when tortur'd nature heaves
Her hundred breasts with fiercest war,
Each stream its wonted channels leaves
And pours its deluge broad and far,—
Even so, conflicting passions rag'd,
While in his heart their strife they wag'd.
An ancient house that long had stood,
No dark dishonour in his hall,
The unsullied channels of his blood
Despoil'd and tainted, in her fall—
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These rose again, in dark array,
And nature's throb was chas'd away.

V.

But for awhile—for Oh! if when
Into that chaste and holy fane,—
That hands immortal rear'd below,
Upon whose altars quenchless glow
The fires from heaven's own fountain caught,
With heaven's own purest influence fraught,—
The giant brood have enter'd in,—
Their legions stern the portals win,
They cannot spoil the eternal shrine,
Or quench the undying flame divine!

VI.

The old man left the banquet-hall,
And, as he went, his eye
Wander'd among the nobles all,
Swiftly and carelessly;
But on Vaumond his glance hath lit—
Some speakless power arrested it:
Wild as the light on summer's even,
That kindles o'er the verge of heaven,
Fires the dark arch—is fear'd by none,—
As brief, it pass'd, and he is gone.
Read Vaumond aught within that look?
The Baron's face was mystic book,
Where none one character might tell—
His eye was bent on Isabel.
58

VII.

The mirth and laughter damp'd have been,
The fair forget to spread their toil,
The knights forgot to gaze awhile,
For they remember'd Imogen,
As one from death recall'd to light—
Bright was the star that rose upon
Their court, and blaz'd in dazzling noon,
But it had pass'd and sunk in night.
Sad was the thought of Imogen,
It came, and went as soon, I ween!
Like April showers or morning dream,
That fly before the brilliant beam.
So yields the thought that far had rov'd
To one before deem'd well belov'd,
To transient joys, before the eyes,
Glitt'ring in their ten thousand dies!
And what is friendship? what is fame?
Or what a life to buy it wasted?
We toil to grasp a meteor flame;
To fill the goblet high, we aim,
And leave the hard-earn'd store untasted!

IX.

Gay was that proud hall, where high hung
A thousand lamps their lustres flung,
With banner'd trophies round bedight,
And wove was many a gallant fight
In gorgeous tapestry;
The sparkling vault, the checquer'd floor,
Memorials of the conquerors, bore
From sumptuous Araby.
59

And hark! the minstrels wake the chords,
Merrily float the inspiring words.

XI.
Wine.

1.

AS sparkles in its chrystal vase
The ruddy, soul-illuming juice,
So sparkling wit can sorrow chase
And round its brilliancy diffuse—
And at the same shrine are they lit,
In brightest wine we pledge thee, wit,
We pledge thee, WIT!

2.

So bright is beauty's ruby lip,
Where soft persuasion sits enthron'd;
And laughing Cupid's nectar sip,
Whose power immortal gods have own'd:
Who would not live for ever there?
In ruby wine we pledge the fair,
We pledge the FAIR!

3.

So kindles valour's gen'rous fire,
So plays the high and stemless tide—
When souls to fame or death aspire,
And battle's swelling surges ride.
Triumph bedews the soldier's grave;
In blood-red wine we pledge the brave,
We pledge the BRAVE!
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X.

As when the panther from on high
Has fix'd his never-failing eye,
That scans each impulse of his prey,
That marks each footstep of his way—
So Lodowick, with restless soul,
Saw the gay Baron fill the bowl;
The Lady of his love took up,
With downcast eye, the foaming cup;
But, ere her ruby lips, that dim
Its sparkling lustre, touch'd the brim,
A glance that stole into his heart,
Bade every idle fear depart.

XI.

Still Lodowick intently gaz'd,
And dream'd he ne'er before
Such supernatural beauty blaz'd
This earth's dark surface o'er.
Her eyes unwonted lustre shed;
Her cheek betray'd a livelier red:

A similar effect is described by Dr. Smollet, in his Peregrine Pickle.


Her words, the music of the lyre,
Were music still, but tones of fire!

XII.

Wild grew the youth—who still did mark
The Baron's moveless glances dark,
Caught, and from all around them stay'd
By the radiant smile of that fair maid,
Her heart their centre true—
Where long in harmless light they play'd,
And all unkindling flew.
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XIII.

Was it a jealous lover's doubt,
That idly his own doom made out?
—Like him who forg'd, at tyrant's will,
The brazen bull;—and, for his skill,
Was doom'd to prove its torture first,
With his own scheme of anguish curst?
—Was it a jealous lover's fear?
Like summer's insects they appear—
While none their origin may tell,
And short is their tormenting spell,
How oft they plant their stings right well!
I wot not—but the lady's eye
No more, as if all anxiously,
Sooth'd Lodowick's waking agony.

XIV.

Still all is glee; and if the fair
Beheld the form that dimm'd them there,
It was but to admire and feel
The triumphs of the female weal.
—For ill 'twould suit the minstrel's lay,
To deem they own'd dark envy's sway—
And if the knights that board about
The charms of sparkling wine forgot,
It was but to adore;
But ONE there was, who scann'd her soul,
Trac'd every throb, and read the whole
That mazy volume o'er.

XV.

Still Lodowick gaz'd earnest on;
He caught a glance all wandering thrown
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On that self-tortur'd youth—
What means the eye averted fast?
The hurrying blush, that came and past?
I may not read in sooth.
'Twas such a blush as tints the west,
Kindling o'er ocean's gorgeous breast—
Now heaven forefend, fair maid! that glow
Precede thy glory sinking low!

XVI.

Merrily, merrily wake the sounds,

Scott's Lord of the Isles:—

“Merrily, merrily bounds the bark,” &c.

The minstrel sweeps the strings—
And the light heart of beauty bounds
And to the measure springs;
The pulses in full concord beat,
Disdaining earth, the elastic feet
As lightly tripping move,
As buoyant on the sandals fleet
Of the wing'd son of Jove.
Now Lodowick, whose soul distraught
But food had found for mad'ning thought,
Held with himself communion brief,
Given for a moment's space relief.
“And can she trifle with this heart?”
He bade the unworthy fear depart.

XVII.

Merrily, merrily wakes the strain,
The joyous measures swell,
The anxious knight hath sought again
The form of Isabel.
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He came with her to tread a measure,
To brave her sordid sire's displeasure,
Exulting, prove her heart his own,
Defiance on his rival frown.

XVIII.

He saw the Baron clasp her hand,
He heard her tones, divinely bland,
Breath'd on his rival's ear;
That glance so arch—its living light
Had fir'd the frozen anchorite—
So soft, its rapturous power confest,
It had unlock'd the miser's breast—
The Baron caught it there.

XIX.

Merrily, merrily wake the notes
That charm away dull care,
Along the form of beauty floats
As buoyant on the air;
While manhood stately follows still,
Delighted servant of her will.—
Well might the painter here portray
An angel, guiding wisdom's way
To that high world above;
The beams of its eternal day,
Seen round that seraph form to play—
The beams of light and love.
And never yet, in hall of pride,
Or by the streamlet's flowery side,
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On checquer'd floor, or verdant mead,
Did lovelier pair the mazes tread
Of the gay dance than now—
When that bold Baron the lady led
Its varying measures through.

XX.

Upon the mourners of the earth,
Like torture, falls the roar of mirth;
It speaks light hearts, from sorrow free,
An insult to their agony—
With clouded brow and folded arms,
Stood Lodowick, while beauty's charms
With anxious carelessness display'd,
Were flitting past him unsurvey'd;
The lively tones through the hall that rung
Fell mad'ning on his ear unstrung—
All seem'd a wilder'd pageant there,
An envious mockery of despair.

XXI.

The Baron pass'd—a careless look
At once undying hate awoke.
A common gazer had seen nought,
Nor deeper meaning, covert thought;
But to his soul, on whom it fell,
More deadly triumph could it tell
Than foaming lip and glaring eye,
And unsheath'd faulchion brandish'd high,
And swollen vein and muscle strain'd;—
More fury's fuel it contain'd.
65

'Twas keen and brilliant, as the wave
Of wonder-working tide;—
For whatsoe'er its waters lave,
Black as the darkness of the grave
Its very core is died!

The waters of a small lake called Naso are perfectly clear and pure, but die every thing black which is dipped in them. Denon's Travels in Sicily.


XXII.

“Why so disconsolate, Sir Knight?
Can ruby wine, nor beauty bright,
Nor minstrelsy upon thy brow
Dispell the sombre shadows now?”
—“Wouldst thou insult me, Baron? say,
Can the poor victory of the day
So far thy pride inflate?
Here is my glove—to-morrow's eve
Our feud for ever quell'd shall leave;
Shall check thy hopes

The Sicilian gentry have always decided their rivalships by the sword. The quaint William Lithgow, who, by the way, is very fond of lauding his own honesty and exclaiming against the extortions of others, gives an account of the manner in which he picked the pockets and stole the horses of two barons, who had fallen in such a rencontre. Lithgow's Travels, p. 329.

and haughty mood,
Or feel, with this heart's dearest blood,
With loftier glow elate.
Then meet me, if thou durst”—he cried,
And left the hall with hurrying stride.
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SCENE VI.
THE WARNING.

I.

And days and weeks have hurried on,
And varying tales have come and gone:
His pledge he comes not to maintain,
Or wash away his nightly stain.
From chivalry's high roll of fame,
They blot the traces of his name;
The escutcheons of his house are torn
From whence they were for ages borne—
The fire upon his hearth hath died;
Broods silence in his halls of pride;
His mother hides within her bower,
And drags a sunless, endless hour;
His father in his cold shroud sleeps,
His sister in her convent weeps;
His lady's love another hath;
His vassals serve another lord;
Eternal infamy's foul breath
Hath breath'd upon the wretch abhorr'd—
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And shame her midnight taper burns,
And beauty nauseates, manhood spurns,
Whene'er that name meets ear or sight,
All shedding mildews, blasts, and blight,
On memory of a recreant knight!

II.

Said I of the dishonour'd one,
His lady's love another won?
All, without leasing, I must say—
List to her page, young Paulo's lay.

III.
A Female Heart.

1.

Hast thou e'er mark'd on ocean's breast,
When the wild wave hath sunk to rest,
The golden sunbeam play—
—As upon hearts, as soft, as mild,
And ah! too oft as yielding, wild
Dances fond flattery's ray—
Their frolic measures couldst thou tell,
Or heed their mystic union well?

2.

Or saw'st thou, where the torrent flows,
Above the feathery spray that rose,
The arch their hosts that spann'd?
—As shines o'er minds as light, the bow,
In fond self-love's believing glow
By idle plaudits fann'd—
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Couldst thou, with eye undazzled, view,
Catch, ere they merg'd, each mingling hue?

3.

Saw'st thou the strife, when winter's lord
His fleecy store around thee pour'd,
Sparkling in day's glad beam—
—Lost on the white plain now they lie;—
—So shines and sinks, on fancy's eye,
Each fleeting, golden dream—
Their numbers, stranger, couldst thou tell?
And couldst thou mark them, when they fell?

4.

Or hast thou seen, where autumn's blast
Around the forest leaves hath cast—
—Such wreck can passion make!
Destroying all that once was there,
Lovely, of good report, and fair,
The boughs when whirlwinds shake—
And from their traces couldst thou tell
The breeze that bore, or whence they fell?

5.

Or canst thou, on the boundless deep,
The pilot lost instruct, where sleep
The treacherous rock and shoal—
—As darkling oft on passion's waste,
The bark unheedingly is cast,
A shipwreck of the soul—
Know'st thou where'er gaunt danger's head
Lurks beneath ocean's giant bed?
70

6.

Hast thou beheld the mountain drest
With glory, in whose tortur'd Breast
Revels the pent up storm—
—As souls distraught and hearts on fire,
Enkindled with demoniac ire,
Lurk oft in angel form—
Know'st thou how soon the mountain riv'n
Will pour its volumes red to heaven?

7.

Gaze on yon vault of mystery,
Scan, if thou may'st the galaxy,
And number every world:
Its course fulfill'd, proclaim these, burst
Its bonds, what star shall perish first,
Unspher'd, in ruin hurl'd!
Then, stranger, thou hast wondrous art,
And thou can'st read a female heart.

IV.

What past within the maiden's breast
Must be for ever unconfest;
Alas! a deeper power than sways
The thoughts of women, she obeys!
Yet ill it were, I ween, to deem
That in that wild, unnatural dream,
The memory of Lodowick came
Never, to wrap in shroud of flame
Her spell-bound heart—but he is naught,
And wherefore give his name one thought?
A soul-absorbing passion wrought;
Profane not love—love it was not.
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V.

Her father to the Baron's walls
Conducts the wilder'd maid;
She graces now the chieftain's halls,
The rites shall soon be said.
And, while her bridal robe she decks,
Brief flight from memory dark she seeks
In listening to the page's lay;
He whiled his solitary day,
That lonely boy, in secret bower,
And with his harp beguil'd the hour.
No eye, save her's, he dar'd to meet,
No heart, save her's, his sorrow cheer'd—
Her service mild, her mandate sweet,
He lov'd to own, nor peril fear'd.
And ever would he sing of love,
And such the idle lay he wove.

VI.
Love and Friendship.

Love is like the solar tide,
That flings its tameless glories wide;
Friendship, Dian's purer beaming,
Chaster o'er earth's darkness gleaming.
Love is like the deep, unbounded,
That its banks full oft o'erflows,
Where the sailor, oft confounded,
Finds in death alone repose.
72

Friendship, like a noble river,
Rolls its stately waters by;
Tempest-toss'd and troubled never,
Gliding to eternity.
Love, the miser's wish obtain'd,
Palls upon the sated soul;
Sought with life, and loath'd when gain'd,
'Tis possession drugs the bowl.
Friendship, like the Christian's hope,
Fix'd, unchanging and sublime;
Wider grasping in its scope,
And confirm'd by fleeting time.
Love, a plant of fragile form,
Fir'd by ardent suns to birth,
Shrinks before the whelming storm,
Withering, dies and sinks to earth.
Friendship, Ætna's giant tree,
Slowly rising, rooted fast,

In the middle region of Ætna are chesnut-trees of an enormous size, the circumference of one of which is 204 feet, or more, say others. See particularly Denon. The tree called κατ' εξοχην, THE Castagno, is apparently a union of several trunks; but the Canon Recupero assured Mr. Brydone, that he had found by digging that they were united at the root. This excavation will contain a large troop of horse.


Brav'd the mountain revelry,
And the fiery flood that past!

VII.

The lady smil'd to hear the boy,
With themes too high, in numbers toy.
“My little page, thy minstrelsy
Well suits youth's untried hour;
But hearken to my prophecy,
For thou wilt prove its power.
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Dazzled with light, on ocean tost,
Thy riper bark will yet be lost;
When thou shalt seek, with burning soul,
To taste and drain the enchanted bowl!
And thou shalt find the heavens o'ercast,
Where clouds of mortal passion past;
The stately stream its bounds shall burst,
Or shrink before the might of day;
When hatred lights his torch accurst,
Pale hope shall quench her sickly ray;—
The giant stem, that brav'd the storm,
Its roots destroy'd by preying worm,
Shall sink on earth—and where it fell,
Its wrecks the common annals tell.”

VIII.

“Few years, my lady, have I seen,
My term of trial brief hath been;
But sad experience, on my sight,
Hath yet unroll'd her veil of night.
I had a sister once; and none
Awoke the lay with livelier tone
In southern plains; as light and gay
As the blythe birds, that trill'd their lay
In every vale, from every spray.
Pure, as the bleating flocks she led,
With jocund heart, along the mead—
And modest as the blushing glow,
When first the lovely almonds blow,
As gentle, soft, and pure;—
But ah! like it, her beauties shone
Ere riper wisdom was her own;
The bloom was premature!

The almond-tree blows before it has its foliage; and towards the end of February, its delicious fruit is eatable. Hager.


74

IX.

“The shepherd's pipe and tender tale
Contended vainly to prevail;
Their vows of faith she heard and met
With firm refusal, yet so sweet,
They mourn'd, and yet could but adore,
Despairing, but admiring more.

X.

“One morn we saw her not; the swain
Sought to behold her, but in vain—
The breeze wafts not her music bland;
Her flocks in idle wonder stand,
Watching, as if that form to see,
That long they follow'd joyously—
List'ning, as if to hear her tread,
From whose kind hand so oft they fed:
Her crook hangs idly by; her lute
Within the cot is still and mute;—
Yes, she was gone; surprise and grief,
Hope and despair, with influence brief,
All came by turns; but she was gone—
Her flight unmark'd—her doom unknown.

XI.

“Her fate I learnt, when fortune's ire
Had robb'd me of my sainted sire
And of his cheerless dame:
Peace to the sod wherein they sleep!
Hither was led my wandering step,
Here, where my sister came.
With simple tale of misery
I will not weary, lady high;—
75

Suffice to say, a baron bold
Had lur'd her from her parent fold:
With honey'd word and treachery foul,
He woo'd her ear and won her soul.

XII.

“And long he hid his trusting prize,
In castle proud, from kindred eyes.
In secret, with too rapid wings,
Unholy transports fled—
Till the poor dupe her offerings
To vain repentance made—
When cold neglect infix'd his stings,
The spoiler's passion dead.

XIII.

“He car'd no more to feign a flame
He never felt; but lest a name,
Rank'd high in knighthood's scroll,
From her foul wrongs dark blot should bear,
He guarded her with anxious care,
Till from his grasp she stole.
And where she wanders now, the eye
That mark'd her crimes, and heard her cry
For mercy, knows alone;
O lady, 'tis too trite a tale!—
Man call'd her fair, he prov'd her frail,
She bloom'd, and was undone!”

XIV

“Thou prat'st of love, my little Page—
Come, tell me thine opinion sage;
Can love be twice awoke?”
76

A burning blush came mantling high,
And downcast was the lady's eye,
As thus she faultering spoke.
Scap'd from the Page some mutter'd words,
Wild were his dark locks flung,
And wild and quick he swept the chords,
As thus the fair boy sung.

XV.
The Unfaithful.

The honey in his throat,

“People assign different reasons for the return of the doves to their home. Malaterra says it is effected by means of grain dipped in honey, &c. According to others, it is owing to the separation of the female dove from her young; or the male from his mate. When their separation lasts long, the memory grows feedle, and no dependance can be placed upon him. According to all accounts, fourteen days are sufficient to make the mother forget her young; the male probably will forget his love much sooner.” Hager.


The billet in his beak,
The lonely dove will float
Mid skies serene or bleak:
He lingers not behind,
His course is homeward bent,
And swifter than the wind
He cuts the firmament.
His home is in his mind,
Nor wavers his intent—
And, till his mate he find,
His strength is never spent.
His pinions never tire
O'er deserts wild and waste,
Though skies are all on fire,
Or heaven is overcast.
He never stays his wing
O'er realms most blest and bright,
The balmy gale of spring
But speeds him in his flight.
77

But earth is wide and great,
And foaming seas are broad,
If he forgets his mate,
He wanders from his road.
His nest he hath forgot,
His pinions wildly roam;
The letter he brings not,
He never finds his home!
Who their first loves forget
From thy communion sever,
They ne'er were faithful yet,
They can be trusted never.
Who their first loves forget
By every gale are tost,
And left a wreck by fate
On passion's blighted coast!

XVI.

Approach'd them now a stately tread;
The Page from the apartment sped,
But, ere he went, he paus'd, and threw
Upon the dame his anxious view.
His look a labouring heart betray'd,
As if he something would have said,
Some hidden secret had reveal'd—
But mightier power his lips had seal'd.
A look of pity 'twas—but fraught
With tokens of some darker thought.
“Lady”—he said, when at the door
The Baron's step was heard—he spake no more.
78

XVII.

No time to read, then had the maid,
All in that wilder'd look convey'd.
“All nature blooms, my lovely bride,
She blooms for thee,” the Baron cried.
“What were the glorious arch above,
Of peace profound and mystic love—
Would it have canopied our earth,
If beauty never sprang to birth?
Her eye, so darkly rolling, tells
Weak man of all the bliss that dwells
Beyond yon azure sky.
Why sighs the zephyr, but to bear
Her balmy breath in upper air,
To realms of purity?
Her carpet why hath nature spread,
If not for beauty's fairy tread?
And why her myriad, countless hues
Flings she around, with hand profuse,
From evening's tears and summer's showers,
From all her fruits and all her flowers,
On towering mount, in valley green,
If not to hail and bless their queen?
All nature blooms, yet languishes,
Until her fairest boast she sees:
Come then, my bride, with me to prove
The universal sympathy of love.”
79

SCENE VII.
THE BOWER.

I.

The noonday tide has wan'd away,
Its flickering beams but sparsely stray,
Through shadowing boughs, its blossoms blent,
With every soft and glorious tint.
Far as the eye around could view,
Wav'd a bright sea of every hue,
The golden orange there is glowing,
Its liveliest tinge the olive yields;
In genial soil, in beauty blowing,
The blushing almond clothes the fields.
Here the proud laurel lifts its head,
Or the tall cypress dark arises;
Citrons their softest perfume shed,
Of loaded gales the balmy prizes.
The modest violet appears
Just peeping from its much-lov'd shade,
The hyacinth its stem uprears,
With gentle honours clustering clad;
80

Fair blooms the rose, in all her pride,
And tempts the breezes as they glide;
And round the trunk are twining seen
The tendrils of the jessamin.

II.

Forth walked the knight; and, by his side,
Hung on his arm his destin'd bride,
In sweet, complying confidence,
The soft, yet all-absorbing sense
Of loving—and of being lov'd,
The ascendant's lord—while all around,
But more the magic charm hath mov'd,
Where the rapt vision, as it rov'd,
Still for the heart new offerings found.

III.

A stately aloe in their view,
In all its pride and glory grew;

The flower stems of the aloe are between twenty and thirty feet high; covered with flowers from top to bottom, tapering regularly, and forming a beautiful pyramid, the pedestal of which is the spreading leaves. They blossom every fifth or sixth year. The substance is carried into the stem and flowers. Soon as it blows the leaves decay, and a numerous offspring of young plants rise round the roots of the old one. Hill.


While springs have past, and flower and tree
Have shed their bloom successively,
Its promise, long delay'd, at length
Puts forth its beauty and its strength;
Now, nature's boast and wonder high,
It towers in its luxuriancy.
“Even here is true love typified,
So strong, so fair,” the Baron cried.
“Pyramidal, it braves the shocks,
Where crouching interest yields and rocks;
Yet cloth'd with garb of all most frail,
With more than mortal beauty's veil.”
81

IV.

“Paulo, my little page, could tell
A different tale,” said Isabel—
“A youth with simile grown mad,
And still his similes are sad.
For he would say, that fragile thing
But strength dissembles, perishing—
Its vigour, in its tapering flower,
Exults but for a fleeting hour;
The root its perish'd nurture grieves,
The broad, expanding base of leaves
Wither, when first, in all its pride,
It greets the day's surrounding tide;
Its flowers have droop'd—the blasted stem
But mocks at all-enduring flame—
While from its root, a countless train
Are rising round it on the plain—
Even so love fades; while myriad ties
Upon its prostrate ruins rise.”

V.

It is the hour when clerkly lore
The student's eye delights no more;
The mortal frame subdu'd can bind
The potent energies of mind.
When fancy wakes—but not as erst
Hath the creating spirit burst,
To soar with him, Jove's eagle high,
Bathe in intolerable day,
To catch the spheral melody,
With elemental radiance play—
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She wanders like the songster lone,
From spray to spray, from grove to grove—
And wild and wavering is her tone,
But still it wakes to tell of love.

VI.

If there be passion, pure as wave
Screen'd from the day, where nereids lave,—
—“Pure as the fountain in rocky cave
Where never sunbeam kiss'd the wave.”
Bridal of Triermain.

Yet ever flowing, deep and strong,
As that broad tide that pours along,
Stemless, eternal, to the sea—
Alas, the doubt! but if there be,
Deem not that nature's breath, though rise
With love, can fan its flame to life.
The spring is past, the summer gone,
And autumn's sighs make sullen moan,
And winter howls with angry blast,
Long, long, since passion came and past!

VII.

Yet the gale is fraught with the living food,
And the breath of life is the breath of love—
While the vital current, the heart's best blood,
By its spirit is fed and taught to move.
Hark to the strain! the gale is fraught
With music for the entranced thought—
Such notes on upper earth before
Were heard not, shall be heard no more,
Thrill'd through the soul wild ecstacy,
Fill'd with the soul of melody—
It was no mortal minstrelsy!
83

VIII.

No studied measures told the ear
The life of music was not there;
'Twas not lone Philomela's notes,
More fire upon the music floats—
Nor of chords, where gales delighted stay
To wonder at their untaught lay—
Its notes were language for souls to tell,
Its tones were feeling, its breathings thought—
Whence came they? the soul of Isabel
Woke to the strain, nor its master sought.

IX.

The heart beat quick, the pulses play'd
Swift, as they reach'd an arbour's shade;
And yielded, in its mild retreat,
To one absorbing influence sweet;
While the notes, in varying numbers, stole,
Now languishing upon the soul—
And now the swelling tones arise
In livelier, bolder melodies—
Till they woke too exquisitely high,
Till they died away in ecstacy.

X.

It is the hour when language were
Too cold, estrang'd, and common there;
The heart at once may read full well
All that a fervent glance can tell,—
And pour its language on the cheek,
Nor the tongue its surly office speak
84

What business hath it, in such hour,
When lovers meet in shelter'd bower,
Their sympathy to mar?
Can the brain cool at time like this,
In calculating selfishness,
With the heart's dearest, warmest bliss,
Hold an unnatural war?

XI.

Few rolling suns shall see her given,
By man approv'd, in sight of heaven,
The guerdon proud of valour bright,
The partner of each day and night—
And who forbids, that all unseen,
While skies are blue, and fields are green,
While all is joy and love, that they
The genial power should disobey?
Who cries out shame, his arm if thrown
Where clasps her slender waist the zone—
And who that pressure soft shall part
That draws her closer to his heart?
Light was the form that yet betray'd
The full proportion of the maid—
The Baron gaz'd where her tresses flow
Of raven hue, o'er brow of snow;
Upon the eye so darkly wild,
That cloister'd abbot it had beguil'd,
While languid simile vainly tells,
Its glance is like the wild gazelle's—
And could the knight, in hour like this,
Forbear to print a glowing kiss
Upon the lips so close to his—
85

That smil'd, the lover's eye before,
Whose faint resistance woo'd the more—
Or closer bind that trembling form
Glowing with softest fervours warm?

XII.

Where the rich rose its fragrance flings,
The zephyr sports with filmy wings;
And while he steals the balmy breath,
The flower more beauteous glows beneath.
His frolic pressure odours gives
Sweeter than those he bears afar;
And still his lovely mistress lives
More blooming from the gentle war.
But wilder breezes bend the bough—
And lordly Boreas rises now;
The fragrance on his pinions flew,
But, ah! he bore the floweret too—
The blighted chalice left alone;
Its blushing glories round are strown.

XIII.

—'Twere not in man—and is she lost?
They heard a tread that bent the grass,
A footstep light the green sward crost,
And then they saw a shadow pass—
An insect flutter'd on gilded wing,
And the Page leapt with eager spring,
To grasp his prize—as fell his glance,
Transient—but full—on Isabel,
First seem'd she waking from her trance,
First breaking from a potent spell:
86

Else why the blush, that came and went,
If all were fair and innocent!
The quivering frame, the downcast eye,
At childhood's frolic gambols, why?

XIV.

Swift as he came, young Paulo cleft
The umbrageous foliage, and as swift
Its dangerous shade the lady left;
Broke from the arms of bold Vaumond,
Shot like the arrow his glance beyond.

XV.

He follow'd not; he knew the hour
Was past, the season of his power—
Holy Maria! still unsung
Be the curses black from his bosom wrung!
Foul the core, and foul the curses,
As the sap that Java's upas nurses!
In different loom the fates have wove
The wars of men and wars of love;
Defeat his drooping crest may rear,
And poise again the avenging spear,
More terrible in his recoil—
—As when, bent low upon the soil,
Proud victory's meed rebounds again
The stubborn palm deprest in vain—

The palm is an emblem of victory, because it rises up against a weight imposed.


Defeat in love is dark defeat,
Dark as the promis'd boon was sweet.

XVI.

“That boy”—he dwelt upon the name—
Suspicion dark and wildering came;
87

By hasty impulse driven, he sought
The object of his angry thought—
He found him; on a grassy bed,
With flowers bespangled, lay his head:
From antique marble basin near,
A melancholy fountain play'd;

These were among the luxuries of Arabian magnificence, which Roger introduced into Sicily. Hager.


He lay, as listening still to hear
Its sad and lonely chiding;
But when a step fell on his ear,
He started, as in sudden fear,
And swift away was gliding.
The Baron sent forth a stern command,
And grasping him with iron hand,
Survey'd his face—Maria! why
Starts back that Baron bold,
As if the bolt that shakes the sky,
Had on him its fury roll'd?

XVII.

A quick and desperate thought again
Shot like the levin through his brain—
The boy upon the sod he prest,
Planted his knee upon his breast,
And bar'd the glittering knife—
Pale was the Page's cheek—his eye
Fix'd on the Baron steadfastly;
Not to implore, not to entreat—
But calm the impending blow to meet,
As reckless all of life.
“Strike!”—mild, yet firm, the victim spoke—
And why delays the threaten'd stroke?
88

Hath the fell samum, from southern skies,
Palsied his arm's proud energies?
Or did his heart relenting shed,
One gushing tear from the fountain-head?
There is a syroc in his soul,
That its wildest impulse can control:
But tears? such tears Vaumond's may be
As Satan shed on Calvary!
“Go—and be Paulo still—away!
Death here awaits thy further stay.”
89

SCENE VIII.
THE DUNGEON.

I.

Home from the banquet, on the night
He dar'd the Baron to the fight,
His troubled way bent Lodowice—
While madd'ning thoughts in tumult quick,
Like ocean's wild succeeding waves,
Each in its wild ascension raves,
Then, whelm'd for ever, sinks to rest,
Scatter'd on his tumultuous breast.

II.

'Twas the dead of night—from his couch he rose,
Sworn foe to sorrow's woo'd repose;—
Slumber'd his menials still and deep,
Upon their eyes sat deathlike sleep.
Many a black and gloomy cloud
Hung upon night's sable shroud;
On the chilly air came not a sound,
Fell not a leaf the castle round;
90

The measur'd pace of the knight alone
Sent back upon his ear its tone,
His dog, whose eyes in slumber watch,
Whose ears in sleep each foot-fall catch,
Stirs not, his master's feet to lick,
All slept—wak'd none but Lodowick.

III.

A grasp as of iron caught him behind—
He turn'd—and he was seiz'd again;
His powerless arms they grasp and bind,
He called for aid—he called in vain.
Strong was the knight, unwont to yield,
Approv'd in many a battle field,
But in that clasp so swift and stern,
He might not struggle, he might not turn—
A new-born infant's sinews might
Cope with a giant's limbs in fight
As well, as hopefully—
He calls, the watch-dog sleeps unrous'd,
Nor heed the slumbering menials hous'd
Their master's jeopardy.

IV.

They drew a covering o'er his head,
And from the castle's portals sped:—
The gate on its massy hinges leaps,
And yet while the trusty porter sleeps,
The keys beneath his pillow he keeps.

V.

Onward, onward, swift as light!
Now they rais'd the captive knight;
91

Now the jolt of a car he feels,
He caught the rumbling of its wheels,
The tramp of steeds, and he could hear
A murmuring sound as of water near.
For hours they rode; upon his ear
There came no other sound.
But paus'd they now; no word they spoke,
As they in mysterious silence took
From his seat their captive bound.

VI.

A rough descent, where oft the feet
From rubbish rude resistance meet,
Proclaim'd that now their progress lay
Adown some lone and secret way,—
Where oft abrupt and sudden shock
Would the very soul of caution mock—
Some dark retreat—where things are done
That may not meet the living sun.

VII.

A stifled hum of voices rose
As massy doors unbarr'd, unclose.
And now his arms are freed—his eyes
From their black shroud of darkness rise—
A narrow vault of rugged stone
In rude disorder round him thrown,
Let by a taper's dubious beam
That show'd like melancholy gleam,
The last pale ray of ebbing hope,
Confin'd th' unfetter'd vision's scope.
92

VIII.

And near him a dark figure stood
Proclaim'd at once of robber brood;
His form was girt in sable cloak,
Save where a dagger's handle broke
Its folds:—upon his front, above
The darkly shadow'd brow,
Where the pale taper's gleamings move
So fitful, wildly now,
Nature and fate conspired to write
‘Murder’ in characters of night.
Th' inthrall'd had spoke—the robber's hand
In sternly confident command
Now pointed to his lip,—then prest
The poniard's hilt beneath his vest;
Then show'd a rude and scanty store
Of captive's fare upon the floor;
And springing through a narrow door,
It clos'd the ruffians, step behind;
Bolts, locks, nor bars its fast'nings bind,—
A spring without alone may ope
The path to freedom, light, and hope!

IX.

When the dun clouds are rolling high,
The monarch eagle braves the sky;
Buoyant he soars, and spurns the storm
That bursts beneath, and veils his form;
But when the wily hunter's toil
Snares in his net the royal spoil,
The plumes that lav'd in living tide
Droop idly on the captive's side;
93

The wings along yon vault that bore
The thunder to each startled shore,
Must sleep, till brushing in their might,
Like him the gifted Israelite,
The dreams of idleness afar,
In tenfold fury wakes their war!
The eye that caught undimm'd the ray
Of perfect, uncreated day,
Bids, while the bonds of thraldom cumber,
The terror of its lightnings slumber;—
He bows his unavailing will,
But wakes in thought triumphant still!
Endungeon'd in a living grave
Yield both the coward and the brave;—
But the burning soul of valour, round
The dastard's night and gloom profound,
A diamond tried, will its lustre shed
On damp'ning walls and iron bed.

X.

Some fierce convulsion of our earth
Gave that dark, broken prison birth,—
The sever'd rocks by man unwrought
Show'd on its walls their sides distraught:
Such shock alone as tore them in twain
Shall burst that prison's walls again!
The frequent crevice but derides
The hope to freedom fair that guides;
Impervious gloom, and rock and rock
Beyond, the anxious vision mock,
94

All vain were mortal man's essay
To pluck one bedded mass away.

XI.

But through one deep and narrow hole
A beam through shadowy windings stole;—
Here strain'd the knight his anxious ken
To search that wild, mysterious den.
A vault, whose bounds he could not scan
Deep, dim, and far beneath him ran;
A dusky light that o'er it gleam'd
From bickering blaze at distance seem'd;—
Frequent it rested to betray
Where scatter'd armour gleaming lay,
And darkling shadows pass'd along
A rugged, tall, and well-arm'd throng;
Low mutter'd sounds beneath him roll'd,
But undistinct—no tale they told.
When loud and quick a shrill tone rang,
And came upon his ear a clang;—
Seem'd brazen portals to expand—
Started at once the robber band—
Dread they some fell, unlook'd assault?
A pealing shout ascends the vault.—
Each distant crag the echoes brought
Where the breathless knight the accents caught.—
“Vaumond!”—It shook that dismal den
Till all was still and dull agen.
Vanish'd each form below that past,
Upon that sound they flitted fast;—
And now afar he heard alone
A varying, low, and fitful tone;
95

A distant tread of heavy steps
Along that endless dungeon creeps;
Silence succeeds—the light went out—
All now is mystery, night, and doubt.

XII.

My idly measur'd prose must hie
Right onward in my tale—
And on the chief's uncertainty,
Tumultuous, may not dwell.
Suffice it, he no more might mark
One glimmering, through that cavern dark;
His narrow prison-house, the care
That bore him from his castle there
Had stor'd with oil, within his view,
His waning taper to renew.
And ever at the midnight tide
His food a hand unseen supplied;
From the central rock above a chain
Let down his daily store,
But voice or tread of man again
Heard Lodowick no more.

XIII.

Full well was plann'd thy gaoler's scheme!
Light, food, and each unfetter'd limb,
Lone on the reeking rack each hour
The hope they fann'd to life;—
Thy impotence but mock'd their power,
And deadly was the strife.
Oh, mad'ning was thy lengthen'd spell,
And memory lit her torch in hell!
96

No spirit o'er thy chaos hover'd,
No light thy solitude discover'd!

XIV.

My onward tale may not give place
To dwell on that fell thrall,—
In soothless, utter loneliness
The heart's blood curdling into gall,—
The fever'd, madden'd, raving, longing,
Driv'n back upon the soul—
Where black recording fiends are thronging,
And fire to break the adamantine goal;—
Cracks not the heart?—bursts not the head?—
Or hath the monarch reason fled?
Or sleeps she on her noontide throne?
Oh! that such opiate were his own!

XV.

The wretch on ocean's central waste
Whom fate in one lone park hath cast,—
That bark all strain'd, and steerless riding
While billows chafe and heaven is chiding,—
He in his struggle wild hath still
Hope fiercer from each gathering ill;
The mountain wave o'ercome towers high
His pyramid of victory;—
The agony of hope and fear
To rapture's fiery bound is near;
The drop that o'erwrought energy
Wrung from the brow with pangs severe,
Bears high and close affinity
With rapture's burning tear!
97

XVI.

Prometheus, mind's proud sacrifice,

I borrow the following translation from a friend's version of Æschylus.

Vulcan.
Where the burning flame
From the bright centre of the blooming world
Shall scorch the colour fading on the cheek—
[OMITTED]
—Wherefore in sleepless nights and restless days
Thy form erect, thy knee unbent, shalt thou
Stand the sad guardian of this dismal cliff.
[OMITTED]
With brazen bolts, too strong for power to break,
Here must I chain thee to this lonely crag.
[OMITTED]

Prom.
Ah! what sound is that I hear!
The voice of wings approaching near—
The air resounds, as lightly they
Press through its liquid paths their way.
[Enter chorus of sea-nymphs.]

Prom.
Yet shall he seek me in my wo,
Thus chain'd, insulted, and thus low;
Yet shall that chief of gods from me
Implore the tale of destiny,
And seek to learn the new design
That threatens danger to his line.
See also Lord Byron's “Prometheus.”


Fix'd on his sea-lash'd precipice,
And scorch'd by central fire,—
While God-wrought chains his soul corrode,
His madden'd heart th' undying food
On which the vampire vulture fasten'd
To mock the desperate hope that hasten'd
In triumph to expire,—
Even he—was not all desolate;
The sea-nymphs mourn'd his iron fate,
And sympathy upon the billow
Wafted her notes to his stony pillow;
One human drop from his heart she led—
While the vulture wonder'd as he fed!
Ay—even in his foe's full boast
Of his power the plenitude—
Revenge his sinking bosom crost
That could taste no other food;—
The God from him alone the key
Must seek, that opes futurity;
And though the seer hath known the worst
The full of destiny accurst,—
Yet with that light with hope unblended
A ray of gladness fell descended;
And like the lightning round his head,
Whose pale, unharming fury play'd,
Revell'd revenge on the clouds of fate—
No! he was not all desolate!
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