Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies including The Chessiad, a Mock-Heroic, in Five Cantos; and The Wreath of Love, in Four Cantos. By C. Dibdin, the Younger |
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| 3. | CANTO THIRD. |
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 | Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies |  |
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CANTO THIRD.
When Cain forsook the sons of God,
Mark'd for abhorrence, scar'd by guilt,
Fleeing (to hide himself in Nod)
The voice of that pure blood he spilt,
Love dwelt near Eden; Eden's clime
Preserv'd his wreath without a blight.
He smil'd with Hope, with flowers crown'd Time,
And he was youthful Time's delight;
Long, to capricious thoughts ne'er given,
He dwelt with joy, and earth seem'd heaven.
Mark'd for abhorrence, scar'd by guilt,
Fleeing (to hide himself in Nod)
The voice of that pure blood he spilt,
Love dwelt near Eden; Eden's clime
Preserv'd his wreath without a blight.
He smil'd with Hope, with flowers crown'd Time,
And he was youthful Time's delight;
Long, to capricious thoughts ne'er given,
He dwelt with joy, and earth seem'd heaven.
As Time grew older, men grew worse,
And tainted Love grew worse with man;
Spread then the evils of that curse
Which Adam drew upon his race;
To stray from Eden men began,
Wearied by constant resting place.
Love wander'd too; his sickly flowers
Infected him with wanton aims;
Insatiate wishes marr'd his hours,
And—like a wilful child, that claims
All it sees, yet, had it all,
“More” would be still its peevish call,
Through wish too peevish to be blest—
Love's fretful mind was ne'er at rest,
He knew not why. When Babel fell,
And men, confounded, were dispers'd,
With differing tongues, to different lands,
Love's tongue intuitively was vers'd
In every language; he could tell,
Amid the strifes of alter'd speech,
What each man said, could answer each—
Who but Love's language understands?
'Tis nature's voice, her children all
With rapture hasten to its call,
And never can, where'er they sprung,
Forget or slight their mother-tongue.
And tainted Love grew worse with man;
Spread then the evils of that curse
Which Adam drew upon his race;
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Wearied by constant resting place.
Love wander'd too; his sickly flowers
Infected him with wanton aims;
Insatiate wishes marr'd his hours,
And—like a wilful child, that claims
All it sees, yet, had it all,
“More” would be still its peevish call,
Through wish too peevish to be blest—
Love's fretful mind was ne'er at rest,
He knew not why. When Babel fell,
And men, confounded, were dispers'd,
With differing tongues, to different lands,
Love's tongue intuitively was vers'd
In every language; he could tell,
Amid the strifes of alter'd speech,
What each man said, could answer each—
Who but Love's language understands?
'Tis nature's voice, her children all
With rapture hasten to its call,
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Forget or slight their mother-tongue.
When craven appetites rul'd earth,
And many a monstrous crime had birth,
Love so distemper'd grew he seem'd
Approaching to insanity;
Of Eden's bowers he talk'd and dream'd,
But talk'd and dream'd with vanity;
For Eden's Hope had left her love,
And he to unblest bowers would rove;
Had lost his wreath; a wreath he made,
Alas! made new ones every day;
For every night the flowers would fade—
And who was Love his wreath away?
For, O, so alter'd was he grown,
Love only by his wreath was known;
Orgies he sought; his pains ne'er cease—
He pin'd for Hope, he sigh'd for Peace;
Till overcome with rankling care,
He took his lyre, whose golden strings
He long had broken in despair;
And strings by Jubal made now strung
Its tarnish'd frame; to which he oft had sung
Lascivious odes; but now he sings
A lay to Hope; and, while he sang,
The lyre was harsh:—but Jubal sprang
From Cain's infected race; could he
Invent such chords for melody
As Heaven's own Hope? Ah, no!—Love sings,
While sighs and tears oft check his words;
And well his faltering tone accords
With the faint voices of the strings.
And many a monstrous crime had birth,
Love so distemper'd grew he seem'd
Approaching to insanity;
Of Eden's bowers he talk'd and dream'd,
But talk'd and dream'd with vanity;
For Eden's Hope had left her love,
And he to unblest bowers would rove;
Had lost his wreath; a wreath he made,
Alas! made new ones every day;
For every night the flowers would fade—
And who was Love his wreath away?
For, O, so alter'd was he grown,
Love only by his wreath was known;
Orgies he sought; his pains ne'er cease—
He pin'd for Hope, he sigh'd for Peace;
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He took his lyre, whose golden strings
He long had broken in despair;
And strings by Jubal made now strung
Its tarnish'd frame; to which he oft had sung
Lascivious odes; but now he sings
A lay to Hope; and, while he sang,
The lyre was harsh:—but Jubal sprang
From Cain's infected race; could he
Invent such chords for melody
As Heaven's own Hope? Ah, no!—Love sings,
While sighs and tears oft check his words;
And well his faltering tone accords
With the faint voices of the strings.
Hope, for ever art thou flown?
Wilt thou ev'ry pray'r deny?
All is drear when thou art gone,
All delight when thou art by.
Let Love's tears thy pity move,
Ere I die one smile impart;
Losing Hope, ah! what is love?
Haste and heal my breaking heart.
Beloved Hope, no longer flee;
Thou art all of life to me.
Wilt thou ev'ry pray'r deny?
All is drear when thou art gone,
All delight when thou art by.
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Ere I die one smile impart;
Losing Hope, ah! what is love?
Haste and heal my breaking heart.
Beloved Hope, no longer flee;
Thou art all of life to me.
Mov'd by ev'ry wind that blows,
Rocks the cedar through the day;
The bee to wither leaves the rose,
Having stol'n its sweets away.
Like the cedar restless I;
Fears are winds, and I the tree;
Like the pilfer'd flow'r I die;
All life's sweetness gone with thee!
Beloved Hope, no longer flee;
Thou art all of life to me.
Rocks the cedar through the day;
The bee to wither leaves the rose,
Having stol'n its sweets away.
Like the cedar restless I;
Fears are winds, and I the tree;
Like the pilfer'd flow'r I die;
All life's sweetness gone with thee!
Beloved Hope, no longer flee;
Thou art all of life to me.
Does yon lovely cloud I view
Veil thee, 'tis so heavenly bright?
Beam thy smiles its softness through,
'Tis so rich with golden light?
Art thou coming from above?
Haste! O, never let us part!
Losing Hope, ah! what is love?
Haste and heal my breaking heart.
Beloved Hope, no longer flee;
Thou art all of life to me.
Veil thee, 'tis so heavenly bright?
Beam thy smiles its softness through,
'Tis so rich with golden light?
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Haste! O, never let us part!
Losing Hope, ah! what is love?
Haste and heal my breaking heart.
Beloved Hope, no longer flee;
Thou art all of life to me.
A strain celestial floated through the air,
And Hope thus sang, for radiant Hope was there,
But sang unseen—
And Hope thus sang, for radiant Hope was there,
But sang unseen—
“Wreathe thy brow with former flowers.
Peace shall in thy bosom reign;
Found the wreath of Eden's bowers,
Hope will smile on Love again.”
Peace shall in thy bosom reign;
Found the wreath of Eden's bowers,
Hope will smile on Love again.”
She ceas'd. Love gaz'd upon the cloud
With strained eyes; but all its light
Quick was envelop'd by a shroud
Dark as the frowning of the night;
There standing mute and trembling, he
Was lost in tearless agony.
As when some youth who dearly lov'd
And dearly was belov'd again,
When death the maiden has remov'd,
And all his fondest hopes are vain;
When o'er her corse death's tire-men throw
The sable and heart-chilling pall;
O! how he stands with speechless woe,
As if it shut out heaven and all
From his poor bursting heart:—so Love,
For Hope was gone.—
With strained eyes; but all its light
Quick was envelop'd by a shroud
Dark as the frowning of the night;
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Was lost in tearless agony.
As when some youth who dearly lov'd
And dearly was belov'd again,
When death the maiden has remov'd,
And all his fondest hopes are vain;
When o'er her corse death's tire-men throw
The sable and heart-chilling pall;
O! how he stands with speechless woe,
As if it shut out heaven and all
From his poor bursting heart:—so Love,
For Hope was gone.—
Wak'd from his trance, the wreath he tore
That morning woven, to atone
For having worn it; vow'd no more
To wear one till he found his own;
Then, heartless, wander'd up and down,
With sigh and tear and sullen frown,
Seeking his wreath—as seeks some child
His favourite bird, which heedlessly
He let escape: then wanders he
Around the garden, making moan;
To every bird he sees alight
Steals softly, thinking it his own:
Ere his approach the bird has flown;
And still he finds, by Hope beguil'd,
But vain regrets his search requite.
That morning woven, to atone
For having worn it; vow'd no more
To wear one till he found his own;
Then, heartless, wander'd up and down,
With sigh and tear and sullen frown,
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His favourite bird, which heedlessly
He let escape: then wanders he
Around the garden, making moan;
To every bird he sees alight
Steals softly, thinking it his own:
Ere his approach the bird has flown;
And still he finds, by Hope beguil'd,
But vain regrets his search requite.
So wander'd Love; and when he found
A youth or maiden garland-crown'd
He sought his wreath on either head—
But vainly sought: nor left he spot
Mem'ry supplied unvisited.
He sought his wreath, but found it not;
Then wearied, vex'd, desponding grew,
And hid himself in woods and caves.
Whene'er he came to stream or brook,
And of himself a transient look
Obtain'd, he from the mirror flew,
As fear flees things it shapes by graves;
Weeping to see himself so chang'd;
Weeping that Hope herself estrang'd;
And, Time and he no longer friends,
None soothing with his anguish blends!
A youth or maiden garland-crown'd
He sought his wreath on either head—
But vainly sought: nor left he spot
Mem'ry supplied unvisited.
He sought his wreath, but found it not;
Then wearied, vex'd, desponding grew,
And hid himself in woods and caves.
Whene'er he came to stream or brook,
And of himself a transient look
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As fear flees things it shapes by graves;
Weeping to see himself so chang'd;
Weeping that Hope herself estrang'd;
And, Time and he no longer friends,
None soothing with his anguish blends!
Mankind had now offended Heaven
Too flagrantly to be forgiven;
And hence the flood, by vengeance stor'd,
O'erwhelming on the earth was pour'd.
Men sought not Love; he sought not them,
Nor heard of Hope, nor found his wreath.
Love in the world was like a gem
Hidden some ruin'd heap beneath.
He wept, and bitter were his tears;
Yet ofttimes would he think them sweet,
And fancy they allay'd his fears;
And, in his vision, Hope he'd meet;
And sweet to all such tears must prove
As then, subdued, shed pining Love;
Repentance urg'd them, whose whole scope
Is to restore to man lost Hope.
Too flagrantly to be forgiven;
And hence the flood, by vengeance stor'd,
O'erwhelming on the earth was pour'd.
Men sought not Love; he sought not them,
Nor heard of Hope, nor found his wreath.
Love in the world was like a gem
Hidden some ruin'd heap beneath.
He wept, and bitter were his tears;
Yet ofttimes would he think them sweet,
And fancy they allay'd his fears;
And, in his vision, Hope he'd meet;
And sweet to all such tears must prove
As then, subdued, shed pining Love;
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Is to restore to man lost Hope.
Love, on a day, on Hope had mus'd,
While Hope unseen companion'd Love:
A moment Love felt all confus'd,
Swoon'd, and awoke:—a milk-white dove,
And perch'd upon a myrtle tree,
What time the ark good Noah sought;
And therein with him went the dove,
Wond'ring if e'er rechang'd to be.
Into the ark the dove was brought,
And there he found—the wreath of Love.
Some pure, kind heart of Noah's line
Had found and kept it; for the flowers
Breath'd forth a fragrance so divine
It savour'd not of earthly bowers.
While Hope unseen companion'd Love:
A moment Love felt all confus'd,
Swoon'd, and awoke:—a milk-white dove,
And perch'd upon a myrtle tree,
What time the ark good Noah sought;
And therein with him went the dove,
Wond'ring if e'er rechang'd to be.
Into the ark the dove was brought,
And there he found—the wreath of Love.
Some pure, kind heart of Noah's line
Had found and kept it; for the flowers
Breath'd forth a fragrance so divine
It savour'd not of earthly bowers.
When Noah sent abroad the dove,
That bird was (Fancy whisper'd) Love;
And Hope, though coy to Love, yet kind,
Taught him the olive-leaf to find,
Emblem of peace to Love and Man.
The ark now rested; Nature smil'd;
Time's second æra now began.
Love was rechang'd—a lovely child;
But still his silken pinions wore:
For Love's commission was to soar
And bathe him in his native skies,
To wash off his impurities;
Then through the world his way pursue,
To win all hearts and bless them too.
That bird was (Fancy whisper'd) Love;
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Taught him the olive-leaf to find,
Emblem of peace to Love and Man.
The ark now rested; Nature smil'd;
Time's second æra now began.
Love was rechang'd—a lovely child;
But still his silken pinions wore:
For Love's commission was to soar
And bathe him in his native skies,
To wash off his impurities;
Then through the world his way pursue,
To win all hearts and bless them too.
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