The Two Brothers, and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

I stood beside the waters—and at night—
The voice of thousands now at last was still;
Silent the streets, and the wan moon's pale light
Fell silently upon the waters chill.
Ah! silence there—strange visions seem to fill
My desolate spirit—for I stood the last,
I, the lone lingerer by the lonely hill:
The stars wept night-dews, and the fitful blast,
Whispering of other years, beside me moan'd and pass'd.

268

II

I leant and mused. Beneath the midnight sky,
Stretch'd in dim outline, rose those turrets grey:
Like wave-worn monuments, where passers by
Linger, and dream of ages pass'd away,
They stood in silence. Strangely wild were they;
For Silence hath unto herself a spell:
She hath a syren voice; and like the play
Of winds on crystal waters, she can tell
Of regions all her own, where dream-like fancies dwell.

III

And led by her I dreamt, and saw, methought,
The time when yonder waters roll'd between
No walls and granite turrets, but, untaught,
Through the oak forest and the woodland green
Flow'd, kissing every floweret. Wild the scene:
For Britons roam'd along the tangled shore
With happy hearts, and bold unfearing mien;
Their war-songs sang they the blue waters o'er,
In all things Freedom's children, hers erelong no more.

269

IV

Heard ye the eagle swooping? Nursed in pride,
Rome's blood-stain'd armies sought these shores, and flung
Her tyrant banners o'er the reckless tide:
The waves dash'd on, but bitter chains were hung
Round freemen's necks: a nation's heart was wrung!
Few, few, and weary, see them wending slow,
Fair girls and hoary warriors, old and young,
To brave an exile's lot, an exile's woe,
Far from their native hearths on Cambria's wilds of snow.

V

Then rose, as legends tell, yon turrets, piled
By the proud victor to enchain the free;
Swiftly they rose,—but oh! when morning smiled
First on those towers from out the golden sea,
Where Rome's proud eagle, Britain, mock'd at thee,
Who could have guess'd the dark and wondrous story
Of things that have been there and yet shall be?
Written too oft in letters deeply gory—
A captive's tale of tears, yet bright with deeds of glory.

270

VI

Like one who bending o'er the waves that sleep
'Mid Tyre's old fabled battlements descries
Their faint dim outline in the silent deep,
Till in the shadowy light before his eyes
Dome after dome begins ere long to rise;—
Thus the far landscape of the past we scan,
And wondrous seem and dark its mysteries,
Till truth hath lit Time's strangely-pictured plan,
And ah! yet stranger still, the passionate heart of man.

VII

And when I stood beside that hoary pile
Its legends rose like phantoms of the tomb:
Spell-bound I linger'd there, and mused awhile
On every tower and spirit-haunted room;
Mused o'er the cells of Hope's untimely doom,

271

And the yet drearier vaulted caves below,
Where heaven's pure light ne'er trembled through the gloom;
Some with their tale of wonder, some of woe—
Here where the heart might throb, and there where tears might flow.

VIII

Methought I saw two happy children lying,
Lock'd in each other's arms, at dead of night,
Peace smiled beside, but Love stood o'er them sighing:—
And I heard stealthy footsteps treading light—
List!—steps of murderers?—never! for that sight
Must break a heart of marble: yet 'tis done,—
Low smother'd groans too truly told aright
As one they lived and loved, they died as one—
None there to save them? weeping Echo answers “None.”

IX

Yet childhood is a sunny dream, and we
Can scarcely mourn when it doth pass away.

272

Unclouded to heaven's sunshine; and to me
Those towers where wingèd spirits day by day
Have lived unmurmuring on to life's decay
Seem yet more strangely sad:—and such was thine,
O thou whose far keen eyesight won its way
O'er Time's drear ages, till there seem'd to shine
Across the starless gulf Truth's glorious arch divine.

X

Man scales the mountain-tops, but o'er the mist
The eagle hovering seeks its native sky,
And the free clouds still wander where they list,
And still the waves are tameless. Thus on high
Thy thoughts at pleasure could take wing and fly,
Though fetter'd were thy limbs, and thus didst thou
Visit each clime and age with wandering eye,
And win a fadeless garland for thy brow,
And free with wisdom's freedom, deign to her to bow.

273

XI

A sadder turret, minstrel, bids thee linger,
And weave a sadder strain for her that's gone:
O gently touch thy chords with sorrow's finger,
Nor let thy music without tears flow on.
Low from that tower she lean'd, while yet there shone
The rosy blush of evening in her cell;
Her eye was raised to heaven, her look was wan
And on her bosom tears full quickly fell,—
Sad tribute to her land, its dying child's farewell.

XII

“Oh! other were the dreams,” she weeping cried,
“That rose and smiled upon mine infant years!
Bright were they in their freshness—all have died—
My fancied garlands were but gemm'd with tears,
My starry guide a meteor, and mine ears
Caught but false syren strains; yet, frail and young,
I deem'd that star a light of other spheres,
Snatch'd at the wreath, drank in the illusive song,
And now, to-morrow ... hush! my throbs will cease ere long.

274

XIII

“To-morrow—'tis a strange and fearful call—
To-morrow's eve and I shall be no more.
Yet why so fearful unto me? We all
Are voyaging towards a distant shore,
Toss'd on life's fitful billows, whose wild roar
Drowns the far music of our heavenly home:
A few more surging waves to traverse o'er,
Some little stormy wind, some billowy foam,
And I have gain'd my bourn—oh! ne'er again to roam.”

XIV

That morrow came; the young and lovely one
Was led where soon her mangled corse should lie:
There, breaking hearts and stifled sighs—and none
Look'd without tears on her blue tearless eye.
Yet seem'd she all too beautiful to die,
Ere love and gladness from her cheek had flown:—
Fond dreamer! knowest thou not the happy sky
Claims first the loveliest flowerets for its own?
Heaven's nurslings, lent to earth as exiled plants alone.

275

XV

I mused in sadness, for methought there fell
Her smile on me, her loveliest, her last.
But hark! the watchword of the sentinel.
Changed were my dreams—yon nightly turrets cast
Upon my soul the image of the past;
And many were the thoughts, and wild and wide,
Echoing of thee, my country, 'mid the blast—
There have thy monarchs fought, thy chieftains died,
And queenly hearts for thee throbb'd high with hero pride.

XVI

Time-honour'd Towers! whence ever floated free
Old England's banners over hearts as bold!
Within whose walls the sceptre of the sea
Lies by the sword of mercy—where is told
The thrilling tale o'er many a trophy old,
Where diadems rest, and helm and spear are piled,
And standards in a thousand fights unroll'd,
Oh there the heart must lose itself, and wild
Will be its wandering-song—of vision'd dreams the child.

276

XVII

I look'd upon thy walls when day was closing,
Mighty and vast they rose upon the sight,
In massive grandeur silently reposing:
List! 'tis the hush of evening—dimly bright
The moon just glimmer'd, and the listless night
Was brooding over wave and tower sublime,
When suddenly there gleam'd a fatal light
Amid those frowning ramparts—'twas the time
When all things slumber on, and nigh the midnight chime.

XVIII

But hark! the crash of timbers—then the hush
Of breathless whispering rose, and the red glow
Grew momently more vivid, and the rush
Of hurrying footsteps echoed to and fro—
And like a dream it pass'd of flames and woe.
I look'd upon thy walls when morn was riding
In sunshine o'er the rosy hills, and lo!
Amid the wreck, like spectres unabiding,
Glory and Desolation hand in hand were gliding.

277

XIX

The heart must catch at omens, and must weave
From passing meteors dreams of hope or fear!
And some, my country, speak a mournful eve
Of thy long day of glory. Far and near
The storm-clouds, brooding round thy skirts appear;
And wailings, as of winds through woods, are heard:
And hangs, like death, the heavy atmosphere:
And smitten as with some prophetic word
The strong foundations of the earth are moved and stirr'd.

XX

The nations are disquieted, the heart
Of princes ill at ease: the fearful bow
Their heads and tremble: with hush'd voice apart
The mighty stand, with pale though dauntless brow,
Asking of every hour—“What bringest thou?”
And if a murmur whisper through the sky
They hush their breath, and cry, “It cometh now.”
What cometh? Stay—it heeds thee not to fly,
Unknown, though on its way—unseen, yet surely nigh.

278

XXI

But who shall dare, though storms are round thy way,
To write upon thy banners, Ichabod?
Thy strength is not in ramparts built of clay,
Nor in thy fearless children, who have trod
The waves as proudly as their native sod;
But heavenly watchers aye have guarded thee—
God is thy refuge, and thy rampart God.
Here lies thy might, His arm thy trust shall be
Amid the wildest storms of Time's untravell'd sea.

Trinity College, 1844.

The ruins of Tyre are said to be seen under the waves.

Sir Walter Raleigh, who during his long imprisonment wrote his immortal “History of the World.”

Lady Jane Grey.

“The glory is departed.”

279

CAUBUL.

------ Επει ουτι μοι αιτιοι εισιν
ου γαρ πωποτ' εμας βους ηλασαν, ουδε μεν ιππους,
ουδε ποτ' εν Φθιη εριβωλακι, βωτιανειρη,
καρπον εσηλησαντ'. επειη μαλα πολλα μεταξυ
ουρεα τε σκιοεντα θαλασσα τε ηχηεσσα.
—Iliad, i. 153.

I

“Sweep o'er thy strings, and hymn the gorgeous East,
Clime of the sun, and of the roseate morning.”
Dim voices whisper'd thus my soul, and ceased.
And straightway at the echo of their warning
Came visions many a one in bright adorning,
Clustering like clouds instinct with light around me:
And music, as of winds and waters, scorning
The slumber of the twilight hills, spell-bound me,
Till where the stars had left the dew-bright sunshine found me.

280

II

Oh land of dreams and legendary song,
Strange are the wonders they of fabling story
Tell of thy haunted scenery! Far along
The maze of thousand years through gloom and glory,
Like some wild landscape wrapt in vapours hoary,
The eye must wander, ere it reach the time,
Ye Eastern shores, where mystery hung not o'er ye:
Dim forms sweep looming through the mists of crime,
Or stand in light apparell'd on those hills sublime.

III

And ever as I pondered, empires vast
Rose on my view, and vanish'd as they came;
And heroes meteor-like before me pass'd,
Their pathway dimm'd with blood and track'd by flame:
Yet fell they all in darkness. Haply Fame
Shed transient tears for them; but soon there shone
Another star far flashing—and the same
Brief tale was told—and ever and anon
Though gleaming high as heaven, I look'd, and they were gone.

281

IV

But one there was, whose dazzling train of fire
Startled the sleeping night in her repose;
The blue heavens kindled as he pass'd—the choir
Of stars was troubled. From afar he rose,
Where in the evening light there faintly glows
Mild radiance o'er the hills of Macedon;
And rushing forth, despite a nation's throes,
Through blood and breaking hearts and sorrows wan,
To Persia's confines drove his stormy chariot on.

V

Thy rugged passes, Caubul, saw that host,
As with glad banners to the breezes flung,
Slow winding, o'er thy mountain range it cross'd:
And thy wild air heard victor pæans sung,
And strange sweet accents of entrancing tongue.

282

He linger'd not: the far-off fabulous sea
He saw, and smiled: but Fate above him hung:
He fetter'd all the earth, yet was not free:
All nations bow'd to him—he bow'd, O Death, to thee.

VI

And ages pass'd away like dreams: till soon
A victor footstep trod those hills once more.
'Twas night; and lit up by the silver moon,
As streams a torrent from the hills, stream'd o'er
Wild children of the barren Scythian shore.
Ah! woe for those who on the vine-clad plain
Sleep on unconscious as they slept of yore!
Death wakes; and echoing to the skies amain
Is heard the shout of nations—“Hail, great Tamerlane!”

VII

Yes! such have been the tempests that have pass'd,
Ye Affghan heights, across your crests of snow,
Or like the rushing of the nightly blast
Swept by in wildness and in wrath below;

283

Yet there unchanged amid the troubled flow
Of time's wild waters, silently ye rise,
And reckless of the whirlwind march of woe,
With that strange spirit-voice that in ye lies
Hold mystic communings with yonder starry skies.

VIII

Perchance ye are whispering how in Caubul's vale,
Erst bloom'd the flowers of Eden pure and wild,
How waters gush'd from springs. that could not fail,
And earth, in one bright infant dream beguiled,
Beneath the smile of heaven look'd up and smiled.
Oh, why o'er time's dear ocean rise to view
The monuments in crime and bloodshed piled?
Why seem the waters with oblivious dew
Too oft to hide from sight the beautiful and true?

284

IX

The curtains of the past are round me closing;
I may not lift them more: all silently
Behind its vaporous folds, in death reposing,
The bygone ages slumber. But for me
An island, loveliest of the deep-blue sea,
In beauty smiles far o'er the ocean foam:
Mine heart goes out towards that fair countree,
Thoughts o'er a thousand long-loved landscapes roam,
A thousand spots are dear .... it is my island-home.

X

And can it be her wondrous destinies
With yours, ye Eastern regions, are inwove?
Lo! cradled in the storms, and under skies
Cloud-robed and starless ever forced to rove,
Her infant empire with the tempests strove:—
Heaven had not will'd its shipwreck—for the shroud
Of Superstition o'er that land above
Hung shadowing; so the East in silence bow'd,
And Britain's banners waved triumphant through the cloud.

285

XI

Chill sweeps the night-blast o'er the Affghan hills:
No eye that sleeps in Caubul's walls to-night!
None talked of home: a strange foreboding fills
The hearts of all, and many an anxious sight
Looks forth upon the darkness, where the bright
Far-flickering watch-fires blazed; some trembling lay
All night within around the camp-fire's light,
Some on the rampart wait in dark dismay
The morrow's blood-stain'd march—the awful break of day.

XII

The mother look'd upon her babe, and sobb'd;
The husband clasp'd his wife, his breast was torn
With anguish, and with grief past utterance throbb'd,—
He knew what horrors she must pass at morn;
Youth wept there, with her sister Beauty, born

286

Like her for sunshine, now like her in gloom;
And innocent childhood, as in playful scorn,
Smiled on them both, but all its rosy bloom
Chased not from heavy hearts the morrow and the tomb.

XIII

Slowly morn flush'd the mountains. Hurriedly
The mingled host of women, children, men,
Those ramparts left, and left them but to die.
Oh! bear the gentle gently. Hark! again
The war-cry of the treacherous foe—and then
Death in its countless forms beset their road,
Till corses throng'd each deep and rocky glen;
And where the wilds of snow with slaughter glow'd,
All crimson'd on its path the icy torrent flow'd.

XIV

'Twas scenery, too, where Horror sat sublime:
The bleak hills rose precipitous to heaven;
And up their snow-clad sides the mists did climb,
Sole wanderers there, and by the wild winds driven
Hover'd like spectres; through the rocks were riven

287

Dark chasms, that echo'd to the torrent's voice,
Where never pierced the stars of morn or even;
No life, no light the wanderer to rejoice,
But gloom, and doubt, and death, the region of their choice.

XV

And through these gorges, that in darkness frown'd
When o'er them stretch'd the deep-blue summer-sky,
'Mid snows and wintry storms their pathway wound,
The dying and the dead—and none pass'd by
To fold their mantle or to close their eye.
Foes lurk'd by every secret cleft and cave,
And to their fire the sharp rocks made reply—
One short stern death-knell o'er the fallen brave
There in that awful pass, their battle-field and grave.

XVI

And deeds were done of pure and high devotion,
Deeds of heroic fame—but where are they
To tell their story?—like the gloomy ocean
Strewn with the wrecks of nations, far away
On stranger hills their mouldering corses lay;

288

One only struggled through, exhausted, pale,
The sole survivor of that proud array,
And death and fear, at his most ghastly tale,
Cast slowly over all their shadowy silent veil.

XVII

Chains for the brave, and solitude and sorrow!
Ay, prison-hours for gentler beings too!
Oh! they were faint for freedom, and the morrow
Never seem'd dawning on their night of woe:
Young hearts were there, and tears would sometimes flow,
When faëry home-scenes crowded on their view,
Clad in unearthly beauty, for the glow
Of love still seem'd to light up all anew,
And faith that leant on God in suffering proved most true.

XVIII

Love is a lamp on tossing billows cast,
Yet many waters cannot quench its flame;

289

Love is a bark adrift before the blast,
Which still rides struggling on through taunts or fame,
Amid the floods unchanging and the same;
For love hath music, music of its own,
(Though none have whisper'd whence those harpings came,)
Which vibrates with a strange mysterious tone
Upon the ear of him who weepeth all alone.

XIX

On, brothers, to the rescue! See, they come
With floating pennons and undaunted pride,
And victor-shouts and roll of martial drum!
Alas! within those defiles scatter'd wide
Their brethren's whitening bones are now their guide:
Woe for the sod beneath their chargers' feet!
For Spring with trembling hand hath drawn aside
(Wont to disclose a thousand flowerets sweet)
The fearful veil of death! a shroud! a winding-sheet!

XX

Their camp-fires, in the dark of night's repose,
Far glimmering in the pass below did gleam

290

Like the stars burning o'er them, till to those
Lone watchers on the mountains war might seem
But the dim splendours of a phantom dream.
On, brothers, on! nor pause, nor rest, nor sleep
By cavern, pine, or rock, or torrent-stream,
Nor linger o'er your comrades' bones and weep,
Till victors yet once more through Caubul's gates ye sweep!

XXI

And what of those who pined in gloom the while?
No victor armies their deliverers were;
But God, who heard from their far native isle
The mourner's sobbings, and the sabbath prayer
Flow for the captive and the prisoner,
Threw open wide their prison-gates ; and she
Who, angel-like, stoop weeping by them there,

291

Immortal Love, sprang o'er the billowy sea,
And stole into our homes, and whisper'd, “They are free.”

XXII

What if dim visions of the future throng
Around my soul, and voices from afar
Tell that those blood-stain'd mountains shall ere long
See England's armies, Russia's brazen car,
Roll o'er them for a sterner deadlier war?—
The dark night lowering darkest, ere the sky
Catch the strange beauty of the Morning-star?—
The lion and the eagle's struggling cry,
Wrapt in the mountain-storm, while lightnings hurtle by?—

XXIII

Enough, enough—for now the fitful roar
Of strife grows fainter, till its echo dies
Within me, and my heart is sad no more.
See! landscapes brighter yet than Eastern skies

292

Dawn in far prospect on my tearful eyes,
And from on high come trembling through my soul
Waves of sphere-music, dream-like melodies,
Chasing life's myriad discords: earth's control
Is passing from me now: celestial scenes unroll.

XXIV

Yes! o'er those wilds shall flow pure crystal fountains—
Fountains of life divine, and love and light:
How beautiful upon thy morning mountains
Stand messengers of peace! The shades of night
Are passing, and disclose on every height
The standard of the Cross; for God hath spoken,
And gleaming through the storm-clouds softly bright,
Far o'er the hills, in beauty all unbroken
The Gospel rainbow writes its own transparent token.

Trinity College, 1845.

Alexander the Great.

“From this point (Herât), starting in the end of October, Alexander marched to the Kabool valley, through a country occupied by Indians, and bordering on Arachotia.”—Prinsep's Affghanistan.

“Hindoo and Persian traditions go so far as to state that the progenitors of mankind lived in that mountainous tract which extends from Balkh and Affghanistan to the Ganges.... And the river Pison of Scripture is said to compass the whole country of Havilah, and Havilah is supposed to be Caubul.”—Atkinson's Preface.

The night before the British troops left Caubul on their retreat has been selected.

“Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it.”—Solomon's Song, viii. 7.

“That it may please Thee to preserve all that travel by land or by water ... and to show Thy pity upon all prisoners and captives.”—The Litany.

“Fortunately discontent prevailed among the soldiers of our guard, and their commandant began to intrigue with Major Pottinger for our release. A large reward was held out to him, and he swallowed the bait. The Huzarah chiefs were gained over, and we commenced our return towards Cabul.”—Eyre, p. 316.

“The two great powers which have now in an indelible manner imprinted their image upon the human species, England and Russia, are there (speaking of the East) slowly but inevitably coming into collision.”— Alison's French Revol., vol. viii. chap. 64.

293

CÆSAR'S INVASION OF BRITAIN.

“His ego nec metas rerum, nec tempora pono:
Imperium sine fine dedi.”

Hail, solitary Rome: amid the tombs
Of ages, and the monuments that lie
Strewn far o'er the wild howling waste of time,
Thyself by cloud and tempest not unscathed,
Thou risest proudly eminent: of gods
And godlike heroes thou the haunt and home:
Nurse thou of kingliest spirits: who vouchsafed
Few words but deathless deeds; who scoff'd to write
Their records on the perishable scrolls
Of man, fast fading, likest to the beams
The sun imprints upon the transient clouds
Of evening; but with conquest's iron pen,
The world their tablet, carved that history out

294

On Eastern coasts and Western, South and North,
On trackless seas, and lands long lost in night,
On wrecks of empires and on hearts of men.
Strange, awful characters! which dark decay
Hath not as yet effaced, nor chance, nor change,
Nor storm, nor ruin, nor the tide of years,
Though ever chafing o'er them. Ne'er before
Saw earth such gloomy strength, nor ever since
Its like hath witness'd:—the last awful form
Of human might, in dimmest lineaments
By God foreshadow'd: warriors they, who reck'd
Of nothing, or of God or man, save strength.
And they were strong, strong-hearted, strong in arms.
Earth stood astonied at the sight. No lapse,
No break, no faltering in the dreadful march
Of those stern iron conquerors. On they strode,
Like men of fate, trampling beneath their feet
All other names, all other destinies,

295

Like dust before them. Throned on her seven hills
Rome, inaccessible herself, beheld
Her sons go forth to battle, and her glory
Quenching all meaner lights, and scattering far
The darkness of unnumber'd years: as when
The sun, at his Almighty Maker's word,
First in the everlasting vault of heaven
Hung pendulous, and from before him drove
The waves of Chaos, and tempestuous night,
Rolling in billowy surges ever back,
Back to their own abysmal shoreless void,
From his celestial presence. Time roll'd on,
And still with time thy glory brighten'd, still
Thine empire grew with time. The nations saw,
And trembled; and the silence of thy might
Seem'd to their ears oppressive eloquence
That none might interrupt: when thou didst speak,
Thy voice of thunder shook the startled world,
With lightning gleams of steel accompanied,
And flashes of swift vengeance. Awfully
Peace brooded once more over weary lands,
And weary hearts too smiled. But round thy skirts,

296

Clinging like night, dark masses of dark clouds
Hung yet, and mantled in their giant folds
The vast Unknown beyond, though voices thence
Came sometime, dimly muttering wars and woe.

Such was the gloom that hung around thy shores,
Albion, and shrouded from the spoiler's eye
Thy forests, and far mountains, and green vales,
And rocky fells, and rivers fleet and free:—
They knew thee not how beautiful: when known,
Dark desolation, like a haggard dream,
Stole o'er the sunshine of thy countenance,
And scared thy smiles, and left thee pale and wan,
A widow and a captive. Ah, not thus
Whilom thy children chased their forest prey,
Or roam'd the morning hills, by streams that spake
Of light and freedom, to the fetterless winds
Responsive: or at eventide not thus
Were wont to linger on thy cliffs, where last
The golden sunshine slumber'd, till the stars
Came forth, upon their vigils dawning: bright
They seem'd as spirit-eyes and pure, wherewith

297

Thy Druid bards enlink'd all earthly things
Aforetime, by wild legendary lore:
Not thus the reckless warrior grasp'd his spear,
Or freeman spake to freeman. But when thou
Didst tremble, it was not beneath the eye
Of tyrant man; but at those awful powers,
Who ever, as thy fabling prophets sung,
Dwelt, mystery-clad, in mountain, vale, or cloud,
Or ocean pathway, tabernacling there
As in meet home, whose voices might be heard,
Whose foot-prints traced by wrecks o'er sea and land,
What time the thunders roll'd, or lightnings gleam'd.

Those mystic days were number'd. There was one
Who long had trodden on the earth, as treads
The eagle on the gory plain it spurns,
Whose kingly heart was gasping for great deeds,
Deeds that his right hand taught him, and whose eye
Drank from the nightly stars heroic thoughts,
And dreams of high achievement. Warrior king!
Thy mother city knew thee when a child,
And proudly knew thee, nursing up thy soul

298

For glory: the snow-crested Apennines,
The Alps far mingling with the clouds and skies,
With their clear glaciers gleaming to the moon,
Knew thee: Germania's forests knew thee: Gaul,
Vine-clad, and water'd by a thousand streams,
Maugre her fierce defenders, knew thee well,
Great Cæsar, weeping that she conld not find
Thy peer: and now upon her vanquish'd shores
Deep musing, having march'd with lion springs
From conquest on to conquest, thou dost cast
Long glances o'er the twilight ocean waves
Upon that land of mystery, that lies
Far in the blue horizon dimly seen.

Some talk'd of merchandise, and pearls, and wealth;
Of trophies and of triumphs some; and some
Of battle spoils and blue-eyed maidens fair
To grace their homes far-distant, thoughts whereof
Clung to their rugged hearts; a new strange world,
Some whisper'd, lay before their path, whose sky
At dead of night was flush'd with gorgeous flames
And rushing meteors, and whose only bound

299

Was everlasting ice;—enough for thee,
It knew not Rome's eternal name or thine;
And it shall know them straightway, though it learn
Mid dying throes, and though thou teach thyself.

Morn's silver twilight hung above the waves:
Seaward the gales blew freshly: far aloft
Clouds swiftly track'd the sky: one single star
Still linger'd in the dawning east, as if
To steal a glance at day, but soon withdrew;
The lordly sun came forth; and all was life
And in the harbour tumult: crowded there
Twice forty gallant ships, and on their decks
Brave hearts, that burn'd to vie with Britain's sons
In battle. Over them their streamers waved
That way themselves would go; nor long they paused
Expectant: thrice the brazen trumpet blown,
Each galley loosed her moorings: one by one
Stately they weigh'd beneath the freshening wind,
And the free waters bare them swiftly on
To sound of martial notes, and aching eyes
Gazed after that brave fleet the livelong day.

300

And deem ye that an easy booty lies
Before your bloodless arms? or they that throng
Their isle's rock-ramparts, think ye they have come
With open arms to greet ye? But their chief,
First on the foremost galley, saw their ranks,
Death boding, and beheld the white cliffs crown'd
With shields and bristling spears, and steeds of war,
And chariots numberless. Along the coast
Swiftly they sail'd, if haply crags less stern
Might yield them fairer landing, swift the while
The Britons streaming o'er the rocks and hills
Kept pace beside, and vaunted death should greet
The tyrant and his legions, ere their foot
Polluted freedom's soil. Then rose the din
Of battle: in the waves midway they met
Rome's proudest warriors, and the foaming surge
Dash'd crimson-dyed: and scythe-arm'd chariots swept
The shore in unresisted might, and darts
Fell ever in swift tempest: once again
In proud derision Britain shook her spear,
And bade them take, an if it liked them well,

301

Such iron welcome to her freeborn hills.
And Rome a moment quail'd; but one who grasp'd
An eagle in his left hand, in his right
A sword, cried, “Romans, down into the waves:
“On! or betray our eagle to the foe;
“I'll on for Rome and Cæsar!” Scarce he spoke,
And from the prow leapt fearless, and straightway
His comrades round him throng'd, and the fierce fight
Grew fiercer 'mid the angry tide: but still
The star of Rome rode prevalent in heaven,
And Britain's sons, borne backward by the host
Of spears, and gnashing with remorse and pride,
Fell from that iron phalanx, and Rome's chief
Stood conqueror on Britannia's beetling cliffs.

Not thus shall Albion yield thee her fair fields,
Great Julius, and not thus beneath thy rod
Affrighted bow and tremble; nor is hers

302

The arena thou must tread to bind the crown
Around thy warrior temples, and ascend
Thine envious throne: a few brief hours, and lo!
Heaven's tempests, wild and baleful, thy frail fleet
Have shatter'd, and in haste across the sea
Thine armies seek repose. What though ere long
With happier omen, and with prouder host,
The subject waters bare thee hitherwards
Once more? What though, through battle and through storm,
And rivers running blood, and harvest fields
Stain'd with the gore of thousands, thou didst press
On to the heart of Britain? what if there
Her chieftains bow'd a moment to thy rod,
And freedom taught their free hearts slavish ways?
'Twas but a moment: Heaven had other deeds
For thee to do, and other destinies
Loom'd dimly on the future's clouded skirts
Before thine eagle eye. Nor didst thou prove
A recreant. Fare thee, kingly warrior, well.
Go grasp thy regal sceptre, go ascend
Thy world-wide throne! to other hands than thine,

303

And years yet labouring in the future's womb,
'Tis given to bow beneath a Roman yoke
Free Albion's neck, and lead her captive kings
In fetters, and pollute her smiling homes
With foulest wrong and insult: bitterness
All hearts possessing: till her warrior chiefs
Weep tears of blood, her maidens tears of shame,
And Britain writhes beneath the iron scourge
Of conquest.

So in after days there rush'd
Rude whirlwind storms of war and death and woe
O'er that fair isle, and shatter'd into dust
The blood-built fabrics of an idol faith,
Whereat dark centuries had labour'd: soon
They fell before those fierce avenging storms,
Yet storms, that in their dark and gloomy folds
Bare germs of happier days, and dawning lights
Of love and mercy; as the lightning-gleams
Course not along the star-paved vault of heaven,
But from the earth-born thunder-clouds flash forth
In beauty and resplendence. Soon from thee,

304

My native isle, their stern behest fulfill'd
The clouds of wrath and tempest roll'd away
Dream-like; and following on their wasted track
Pure healing sunshine, bountiful in good,
Stole o'er thy sorrowing landscapes; and ere long
A Christian Church on Albion's shores arose,
And pointed to the skies, and call'd the stars
To witness, that in tempest, as in calm,
Heaven works its own eternal destiny.

Trinity College, 1846.

“After this I saw in the night visions, and behold a fourth beast, dreadful and terrible, and strong exceedingly; and it had great iron teeth: it devoured and brake in pieces, and stamped the residue with the feet of it.”—Dan. vii. 7.

See Macaulay's “Lays of Rome,” Horatius, stan. xlvii.

“Atque nostris militibus cunctantibus ... qui x. legionis aquilam ferebat ... ‘Desilite,’ inquit, ‘milites, nisi vultis aquilam hostibus prodere; ego certe meum Reipublicæ et Imperatori officium præstitero.’” —Cæsar, de Bell. Gall., liber iv. Cf. hic et passim.