The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker Edited from the original manuscripts and annotated copies together with a prefatory notice and bibliography by Alfred Wallis |
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242
HOME.
A FRAGMENT.
“There's a bliss beyond all that the minstrel has told,
When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie,
With heart never changing and brow never cold,
Love on through all ills, and love on till they die!”
Moore.
When two, that are link'd in one heavenly tie,
With heart never changing and brow never cold,
Love on through all ills, and love on till they die!”
Moore.
In days of boyhood, when young Feeling springs
Fresh from the heart, on Hope's unblighted wings,
When Innocence enthron'd on Beauty's brow,
Hath won the soul and taught the heart to bow;
Fair are the visions of the youthful breast,
Of bowers of happiness and homes of rest,
Of vows that change not, lips that know not guile,
And love for ever bright in woman's smile.
Lo! the proud sunbow bends its arch of light,
And earth is lovelier and heaven more bright,
The Guebre kneels to breathe his whisper'd prayer,
He turns to worship—and it is not there,
Or veil'd in mist its fading hues remain,
Melt into clouds, and speak his homage vain.
So shines o'er life while yet a waveless stream
The star of hope with silver-vested beam;
So flow the vows from early feeling's tongue,
When her soft harp by Beauty's hand is strung,
And thus for ever fade that light, that tone,
E'er we can hail their loveliness our own.
Fresh from the heart, on Hope's unblighted wings,
When Innocence enthron'd on Beauty's brow,
Hath won the soul and taught the heart to bow;
Fair are the visions of the youthful breast,
Of bowers of happiness and homes of rest,
Of vows that change not, lips that know not guile,
And love for ever bright in woman's smile.
Lo! the proud sunbow bends its arch of light,
And earth is lovelier and heaven more bright,
The Guebre kneels to breathe his whisper'd prayer,
He turns to worship—and it is not there,
Or veil'd in mist its fading hues remain,
Melt into clouds, and speak his homage vain.
So shines o'er life while yet a waveless stream
243
So flow the vows from early feeling's tongue,
When her soft harp by Beauty's hand is strung,
And thus for ever fade that light, that tone,
E'er we can hail their loveliness our own.
Yet are there some, like beacons o'er the deep,
Or forms that comfort when the weary sleep,
Lamps to our path and stars to guide our way,
Truth in their light and beauty in their ray;
Theirs that pure flame, the magic of the mind,
A charm to lure us, and a spell to bind!
Dear to the heart in after-days of wrath
Our infant joys, and childhood's thornless path;
For ever dear the life-bestowing breast,
The arms that held us and the lips that prest.
But dearer, lovelier yet, are those that claim
Our all of feeling in affection's name;
Dearer to eyes that weep, and feet that roam,
Love's olive bower, an angel-guarded home.
Or forms that comfort when the weary sleep,
Lamps to our path and stars to guide our way,
Truth in their light and beauty in their ray;
Theirs that pure flame, the magic of the mind,
A charm to lure us, and a spell to bind!
Dear to the heart in after-days of wrath
Our infant joys, and childhood's thornless path;
For ever dear the life-bestowing breast,
The arms that held us and the lips that prest.
But dearer, lovelier yet, are those that claim
Our all of feeling in affection's name;
Dearer to eyes that weep, and feet that roam,
Love's olive bower, an angel-guarded home.
'Tis worth an age of wandering to return
To souls that still can feel, and hearts that burn;
We have not bent the chasten'd brow in vain,
To hear the whisper, “Thou art mine again!”
To see in eyes we love the tear-drop swell
With more of feeling than the lip could tell.
The weary pilgrim's wish—the exile's prayer,
Breathe of their home—that they may wander there,
And like the sun when summer days are past,
Sink into rest, their calmest hour their last,
Heave the death-sigh where those around will weep,
And sleep for ever where their fathers sleep.
To souls that still can feel, and hearts that burn;
We have not bent the chasten'd brow in vain,
To hear the whisper, “Thou art mine again!”
To see in eyes we love the tear-drop swell
With more of feeling than the lip could tell.
The weary pilgrim's wish—the exile's prayer,
Breathe of their home—that they may wander there,
And like the sun when summer days are past,
Sink into rest, their calmest hour their last,
244
And sleep for ever where their fathers sleep.
Even in the desert will the night-bird sing,
And track the mountain with her lonely wing;
Where woods are wild the rose of spring will bloom,
Unveil her brow, and breathe her sweet perfume.
In strains as soothing, and in hues as fair,
Warbles that bird, and springs that flow'ret there
As if their birth-place were the haunt of men,
Or heaven smiled on them in the water'd glen.
And true the faith that woman's love should claim,
When chaste the whispered vow and pure the flame,
True in all climes, from Asia's burning sky,
To where the west wind wafts the lover's sigh,
From vales where summer streams for ever flow,
Far as where Greenland rears her hills of snow;
From plains where Arab maids are free and fond,
To Sina's daughters
and their loveless bond.
Wild must the desert be, and lone the spot,
And cold the wayward heart, where love is not.
And track the mountain with her lonely wing;
Where woods are wild the rose of spring will bloom,
Unveil her brow, and breathe her sweet perfume.
In strains as soothing, and in hues as fair,
Warbles that bird, and springs that flow'ret there
As if their birth-place were the haunt of men,
Or heaven smiled on them in the water'd glen.
And true the faith that woman's love should claim,
When chaste the whispered vow and pure the flame,
True in all climes, from Asia's burning sky,
To where the west wind wafts the lover's sigh,
From vales where summer streams for ever flow,
Far as where Greenland rears her hills of snow;
From plains where Arab maids are free and fond,
To Sina's daughters
and their loveless bond.
Wild must the desert be, and lone the spot,
And cold the wayward heart, where love is not.
O'er Bergia's
wall rolls battle's
spareless tide,
Fall'n is her glory, and subdued her pride;
O'er Bergia's wall the wing of conquest waves,
No strength that succours, and no arm that saves:
Yet check'd by mercy's voice the warrior stood:
“Shall victory's steel be red with woman's blood?
No! bid them flee, with all they value most,
Ours is no ruffian band nor lawless host;”
Glad were the tidings, and with rapture came,
The bride of yesterday, and matron dame.—
No precious gold nor costly gems they bare,
No robe nor goodly vesture claimed their care.
But, lo! with holy zeal, with generous art,
Each bears her lord, the worshipp'd of her heart.
No arm withstands their path, no foe they fear,
For he hath turn'd to hide the softening tear,
To ask if she who gave the parting kiss
Cherish such pure, such sacred love as this!
spareless tide,
Fall'n is her glory, and subdued her pride;
245
No strength that succours, and no arm that saves:
Yet check'd by mercy's voice the warrior stood:
“Shall victory's steel be red with woman's blood?
No! bid them flee, with all they value most,
Ours is no ruffian band nor lawless host;”
Glad were the tidings, and with rapture came,
The bride of yesterday, and matron dame.—
No precious gold nor costly gems they bare,
No robe nor goodly vesture claimed their care.
But, lo! with holy zeal, with generous art,
Each bears her lord, the worshipp'd of her heart.
No arm withstands their path, no foe they fear,
For he hath turn'd to hide the softening tear,
To ask if she who gave the parting kiss
Cherish such pure, such sacred love as this!
Such the high sphere where woman's faith should shine,
A flame of purity, a light divine,
Kindling in sorrow, bursting into life
Through pain's thick darkness and the storms of strife;
Her love, the balm by weeping mercy shed
To soothe the broken heart and drooping head.
Not this the star the Roman warrior hail'd,
When beauty strove with valour and prevail'd,
Nor this the faith her lawless spirit gave
When kingdoms bowed to him, and he her slave.
But wild, and strange, and wayward was the flame
That mark'd her path, and led the way to shame.
To glory's tomb, and hope's expiring pang,
A sting more bitter than the aspen fang.
A flame of purity, a light divine,
Kindling in sorrow, bursting into life
Through pain's thick darkness and the storms of strife;
Her love, the balm by weeping mercy shed
To soothe the broken heart and drooping head.
Not this the star the Roman warrior hail'd,
When beauty strove with valour and prevail'd,
Nor this the faith her lawless spirit gave
When kingdoms bowed to him, and he her slave.
246
That mark'd her path, and led the way to shame.
To glory's tomb, and hope's expiring pang,
A sting more bitter than the aspen fang.
And lives there one whose demon-heart can seek
To steal the blush of truth from woman's cheek?
To make the light of earth's most lovely state
A name to scoff at, and a thing to hate?
Be his the joy the serpent tempter felt,
No voice to charm him, and no tear to melt;
Be his the soul no love, no peace can bless,
Despair his portion, for his curse, success.
But darker yet the crime, more foul the deed
In nature's soul-taught law, in holy creed,
To lure with fiendish wile the gentle bride,
The wife of gladness, from her loved one's side;
To stain the page of truth with thoughts unblest,
And hatch the serpent in the turtle's nest!
Oh! dark the crime and strange, and woe to him
Who bids the lamp of purity be dim,
Who wrings the tear from young affection's eye,
And wakes the worm within that will not die.
To steal the blush of truth from woman's cheek?
To make the light of earth's most lovely state
A name to scoff at, and a thing to hate?
Be his the joy the serpent tempter felt,
No voice to charm him, and no tear to melt;
Be his the soul no love, no peace can bless,
Despair his portion, for his curse, success.
But darker yet the crime, more foul the deed
In nature's soul-taught law, in holy creed,
To lure with fiendish wile the gentle bride,
The wife of gladness, from her loved one's side;
To stain the page of truth with thoughts unblest,
And hatch the serpent in the turtle's nest!
Oh! dark the crime and strange, and woe to him
Who bids the lamp of purity be dim,
Who wrings the tear from young affection's eye,
And wakes the worm within that will not die.
Not this the path the youthful Persian
trod,
Though his a dark'ning faith and heathen god;
For him there shone not love's all-gladdening ray,
But virtue smiled, and hallow'd was his way;
And there he reign'd o'er many a princely throng,
Lord of his passions, a command more strong.
Oh! 'twas a lovely sight to see that bride,
Who pined for one nor lov'd the world beside,
Led forth by him, the high, the lordly youth,
The chief of nations, but the slave of truth.
And whence is he who comes that pair to meet,
With eyes of fearing and with trembling feet,
Who scans with look of dread that maiden's face,
As if for guilty blush, or spoiler's trace?
Oh! none need ask that saw the heaving breast,
The grateful glance which scarcely love repress'd,
Who mark'd the quivering lip that could not speak,
The tear of gladness, and the bloodless cheek!
Though his a dark'ning faith and heathen god;
247
But virtue smiled, and hallow'd was his way;
And there he reign'd o'er many a princely throng,
Lord of his passions, a command more strong.
Oh! 'twas a lovely sight to see that bride,
Who pined for one nor lov'd the world beside,
Led forth by him, the high, the lordly youth,
The chief of nations, but the slave of truth.
And whence is he who comes that pair to meet,
With eyes of fearing and with trembling feet,
Who scans with look of dread that maiden's face,
As if for guilty blush, or spoiler's trace?
Oh! none need ask that saw the heaving breast,
The grateful glance which scarcely love repress'd,
Who mark'd the quivering lip that could not speak,
The tear of gladness, and the bloodless cheek!
Woe to the Circean glance, the truthless smile
Of her whose love is strange, whose ways are guile!
Woe to the foot that treads in pleasure's bower,
Nor heeds the serpent coil'd beneath the flower!
To her the dark with guilt, the fallen so low,
That purity is hate, and virtue woe!—
Alas! that she whose very smile is balm,
All that in strife can soothe or sorrow calm,
That she, the child of innocence and love,
Sent as a star, a herald from above,
Should draw the veil of shame around her head,
And walk with men as worms among the dead.
Of her whose love is strange, whose ways are guile!
Woe to the foot that treads in pleasure's bower,
Nor heeds the serpent coil'd beneath the flower!
To her the dark with guilt, the fallen so low,
That purity is hate, and virtue woe!—
Alas! that she whose very smile is balm,
All that in strife can soothe or sorrow calm,
That she, the child of innocence and love,
Sent as a star, a herald from above,
Should draw the veil of shame around her head,
And walk with men as worms among the dead.
Yon murmuring stream that flows so gently by,
While minstrel willows o'er its waters sigh,
Spreads to the arching sky its mirror tide,
And shows the face of heaven in imaged pride.
Each beaming star that distant ages gave
Saw its bright semblance in that silvery wave,
And now no cloud can tremble on the hill,
But there its darkness is reflected still!
'Tis thus with woman's mind—in every clime
Pure with affection's light, or dark with crime;
The bower of virtue and the home of vice,
A venom'd waste, and fruitful paradise,
The fount whence every gentler feeling flows,
The fire where tameless passion springs and glows;
'Tis hers to bind with faith's all-sacred chain,
Or rend the heart-strings of that faith in twain;
Yes! the thawed snake will sting—the evening dew,
That roses love, will nurse the hemlock too.
While minstrel willows o'er its waters sigh,
248
And shows the face of heaven in imaged pride.
Each beaming star that distant ages gave
Saw its bright semblance in that silvery wave,
And now no cloud can tremble on the hill,
But there its darkness is reflected still!
'Tis thus with woman's mind—in every clime
Pure with affection's light, or dark with crime;
The bower of virtue and the home of vice,
A venom'd waste, and fruitful paradise,
The fount whence every gentler feeling flows,
The fire where tameless passion springs and glows;
'Tis hers to bind with faith's all-sacred chain,
Or rend the heart-strings of that faith in twain;
Yes! the thawed snake will sting—the evening dew,
That roses love, will nurse the hemlock too.
Yet life may brighten and the world may bring
Joys born in peace, and hopes that ever spring.
Wealth to allure, and fame with siren tone
Welcoming the pilgrim to her heaven-built throne.
And earth may teem with never-fading flowers,
With blooming palm-wreaths and with rose-clad bowers;
Vain are they all and frail, when sorrows spread
Their veil of darkness round the wanderer's head,
When strife-born chastenings bid the mourner bow,
And pour their vengeance on a lonely brow;
Oh! welcome, lovely then, the home of rest
By peace endear'd, by warm affection blest,
Where all is pure and calm, where all is fair,
As if a seraph held her dwelling there;
Where as on turtle-wings the moments fleet,
And seasons steal away on downy feet.
But night will come, though fair the opening day,
In gloomy pride, and who shall cry, Away!
And those whom youthful life and love have join'd,
Whose hearts were one, like wreaths by nature twin'd,
Even they must sever, and their faith so dear
Leave but a wreck, and plead but for a tear;
Even they must part, and pity's sigh they claim,
Their peace a vapour, and their pride a name.
Joys born in peace, and hopes that ever spring.
Wealth to allure, and fame with siren tone
Welcoming the pilgrim to her heaven-built throne.
And earth may teem with never-fading flowers,
With blooming palm-wreaths and with rose-clad bowers;
Vain are they all and frail, when sorrows spread
Their veil of darkness round the wanderer's head,
When strife-born chastenings bid the mourner bow,
And pour their vengeance on a lonely brow;
Oh! welcome, lovely then, the home of rest
By peace endear'd, by warm affection blest,
Where all is pure and calm, where all is fair,
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Where as on turtle-wings the moments fleet,
And seasons steal away on downy feet.
But night will come, though fair the opening day,
In gloomy pride, and who shall cry, Away!
And those whom youthful life and love have join'd,
Whose hearts were one, like wreaths by nature twin'd,
Even they must sever, and their faith so dear
Leave but a wreck, and plead but for a tear;
Even they must part, and pity's sigh they claim,
Their peace a vapour, and their pride a name.
Alas, for him! the desolated one,
On whom no more will shine affection's sun,
Doom'd the dark flowing, ceaseless tear to shed,
O'er love departed and the lonely bed:
Whose fate it is with weary heart to rove
On memory's wing through bowers which gladness wove,
Where she, the lov'd one, beauty's fairest child,
Gladden'd life's path and every care beguil'd;
Whom youthful passion gave him fond and free,
Who clung to him like ivy round the tree,
Until the spoiler rent her faith away,
And seem'd rejoic'd to grasp so fair a prey!
On whom no more will shine affection's sun,
Doom'd the dark flowing, ceaseless tear to shed,
O'er love departed and the lonely bed:
Whose fate it is with weary heart to rove
On memory's wing through bowers which gladness wove,
Where she, the lov'd one, beauty's fairest child,
Gladden'd life's path and every care beguil'd;
Whom youthful passion gave him fond and free,
Who clung to him like ivy round the tree,
Until the spoiler rent her faith away,
And seem'd rejoic'd to grasp so fair a prey!
But flowers bear venom, poison-trees will spring,
In fragrant pride and lovely blossoming;
Sweet is the breeze that wafts the Upas' breath,
And pure the hemlock-stream whose taste is death:
Fair to the stranger came the sacred dove,
That spread her wings and brought him peace and love,
Truth rose to him as morning's cloudless bloom,
But passion gather'd like the thunder-womb,
Yet love remain'd though purity was past, Though sorrow came like plague upon the blast!
In fragrant pride and lovely blossoming;
Sweet is the breeze that wafts the Upas' breath,
And pure the hemlock-stream whose taste is death:
Fair to the stranger came the sacred dove,
250
Truth rose to him as morning's cloudless bloom,
But passion gather'd like the thunder-womb,
Yet love remain'd though purity was past, Though sorrow came like plague upon the blast!
The Guebres were a sect of ancient Persians who worshipped the sun, and the rainbow they esteemed a peculiar manifestation of his favour. “On the appearance of this ‘beautiful wonder,’ they prostrated themselves on the earth, toward the sun, muttering inwardly a form of adoration; after which they arose and repeated their prostrations to the rainbow while it remained visible, and according to the shortness or length of its duration, they supposed their deity to be more or less propitious.”
In Sina, or China, the marriage contract is generally concluded by the parents while the parties are perfect children, and the bridegroom never sees the lady until after the nuptials are celebrated.
The following lines refer to the siege of Bergia, or Hensberg, or Henneberg, in Bavaria defended by the Duke of Bavaria against the Emperor Guelphus. The town at length capitulated and the conqueror granted permission to the female inhabitants to escape with as many of their valuables as they could carry. Their heroic conduct on this occasion I have attempted to deseribe.
The memorable defeat of Antony in the Gulf of Actium, and its subsequent fatalities, through the flight of Cleopatra, are well known. “Though the lips of a strange woman drop as the honeycomb, her end is bitter as wormwood, sharp as a two-edged sword.”
It is related by Xenophon, that when Cyrus had taken the wife of Tigranes, Prince of Armenia, captive, her husband, who had just married, and was passionately fond of her, offered his own life as the ransom of her liberation. Cyrus was so struck with the generosity of this proposal, that he released the fair bride to her husband, after having treated her during her captivity with the utmost delicacy and honour.
| The poetical works of Robert Stephen Hawker | |