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Christina

the Maid of the South Seas; A Poem. By Mary Russell Mitford

Mitford, Mary Russell (1787-1855)

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CHRISTINA, THE MAID OF THE SOUTH SEAS.

Canto the First.

“Ma per esser felici
“Che manca a noi? Qui siam sovrane. E questa
“Isoletta ridente il nostro regno;
“Sono i sudditi nostri
“Le Mansuete fiere. A noi produce
“La terra, il mar. Dalla stagione ardente
“Ci difendon le piante; i cavi sassi
“Dalla fredda stagion; nè forza, o legge
“Qui col nostro desio mai non contrasta,
“Or di', che basterà, se ciò non basta?”
METASTASIO.

O Love! in such a wilderness as this,
Where transport and security entwine,
Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss,
And here thou art a God indeed divine.
CAMPBELL.

[I.]

The setting sun, with lurid ray,
Crimson'd the vast Pacific's spray;
The lowering welkin darker grew;
The sable rack low threatening flew;
And, thro' the gathering mist, the sun
Subdu'd in blood-red lustre shone;
Awhile, like some dark oracle
Which deals around its deadly spell,

Upon the ocean's verge it stood,
Then sank beneath the heaving flood.
And sailors spoke the word of fear,
“A dreadful storm is gathering near!”

II.

Columbia's vessel rode the main,
And proudly plough'd the watery plain;
Yet quail'd the seamen's courage true,
To mark the high wave's lowering hue,
The deepening shades fast closing round,
The distant thunder's rumbling sound;
And the bold captain frown'd to see
The lightning's fearful revelry.
A Briton calmly pac'd the deck;
Can storms the British spirit check?
That spirit which still higher soars,
As tyrant threats, or cannon roars!

No, firm as Albion's rugged rock,
He stemm'd old Ocean's rudest shock;
And, buoyant as the Highland gale,
Clung to the mast, and trimm'd the sail.

III.

Now the dark spirit of the storm
Uprears his grim and awful form!
The swelling waves rise mountain-high,
As if to search the viewless sky;
The ship, by struggling billows tost,
One moment, sinks between them lost,
Becalm'd and tranquil, as the lake
That smiles by Derwent's woody brake;
Whilst o'er her head, in dread repose,
The meeting waters seem to close:
The next, high o'er the ocean borne,
Sees her tough sails to atoms torn.

IV.

The dismal howling of the gale,
The thunder-claps, the rattling hail,
The wreck of elemental world,
In dizzy sound the senses whirl'd
Now the blue lightning flashes high
Like funeral torch across the sky!
Now deeper horrors shade the wave,
Like the chill darkness of the grave!
Scudding before the southern wind
The vessel's track lay far behind,
And midnight came amid their woes,
In tempests came, nor brought repose.

V.

Then to the sailor's anguish'd thought,
What pangs despair and memory brought!

They mus'd upon their quiet home
“What dæmon prompted them to roam?”
Of peace and comfort far away,
The tranquil cot, the woodfire gay;
And children, dearer far than life,
Betrothed maid, or faithful wife!
Whilst British Henry breath'd a prayer
For mother dear, for sister fair;
Then, with reliev'd and stainless heart,
Again resum'd his toilsome part.

VI.

The lightning ceas'd; the welkin clear'd,
And gayer hope each bosom cheer'd.
Still blew the gale, but milder far
Gleam'd silvery moon and twinkling star;
Slow roll'd the wave and regular,

And ere the lamp of night withdrawn,
Sunk in the first grey tints of dawn,
Bold Seymor, high upon the deck,
Descry'd afar a dusky speck;
And, onward as the vessel drew,
Darker and wider still it grew;
And all, who on the main deck stand,
Shout with according transport, “land!”

VII.

How many a fair and desert isle
Basks in the southern sunbeam's smile!
Numerous they glow upon the main,
Like stars that gem the peacock's train,
Whilst the high mountain's purpled blue
Brightens o'er Ocean's verdant hue.
Impatient for the dawn of day,
The sailors watch'd the glittering spray:

The sun arose upon the deep,
Mild as a cherub from its sleep!
And from the bright and rosy sky,
Stream'd light, and life, and majesty.

VIII.

Like emerald set in silver, lay
The green isle, 'mid the ocean spray,
Rocks inaccessible and steep
Abruptly rise, or grandly sweep,
Save where one sheltering harbour gave
Protection from the boisterous wave:
There the cliffs parted, wide and far,
From basin semicircular;
And the sooth'd billows ceas'd to roar,
And dimpled on the pebbly shore,
As, charm'd by that enchanted land,
The Ocean kiss'd the peaceful strand.

IX.

With quick surprise, and new delight,
The sailors view'd that island bright:
Fair as the fabled isles it rose,
Where erst Ulysses found repose;
Fair as those isles, which to the eyes
Of death-struck mariners arise,
The visions of the phrensied brain!
Or bubbles of the treacherous main!
So sweetly, yet so strangely, bright:
There fruits of every clime unite,
As if some fay, from Europe's shores,
Had cull'd the best and purest stores;
Had borne them to that balmy air,
To bloom in fresher beauty there;
And show the more than magic power
Of tasteful art in nature's bower.

X.

High to the clouds, on mountain free,
Rose plantain, palm, and cocoa tree;
Rose the gay fig, whose wondrous branch,
Bow'd down to earth, fresh roots can launch,
Which upward springs, to bend again,
And forms a thicket on the plain;
Rose too—unconscious instrument
Of crime and woe, to mortals sent!
That cane, whose luscious juice supplies
Europe's blood-purchas'd luxuries.
And there in native grandeur stood
Banana high, and Wharra's wood.

XI.

But not o'er hut or rude morai
Wav'd lofty bough or flexile spray;

No! those luxuriant branches fall
O'er garden trim, and cottage wall:
Cots, such as Thames' mild waters lave,
Or shine in Avon's mirror wave;
Where English peasants feel the power
Of evening's sweet domestic hour;
Where wearied veterans cease to roam;
Where comfort cries, “here is my home!”

XII.

Those gardens every beauty yield
Of Indian isle, or Europe's field.
Prone on the ground the melon lies,
Of different clime, of varied dyes;
That, of the tint of Hymen proud,
This, rosy as a summer cloud:
There, her rich fruit Anana rears
With coronet of verdant spears;

There, round the slender palm, intwine
The tendrils of the Gallic vine:
And every flower of richest dye,
That shrinks from England's stormy sky,
And fades beneath our tenderest care,
Blossoms in healthful beauty there;
And mingles with bright Indian flowers,
To deck the jasmine's fragrant bowers.

XIII.

From the far hill a streamlet spread
Its limpid waters o'er the mead,
Proud to reflect the lovely scene,
By that fair cot it roll'd serene;
High o'er the stream from woody ridge
Was thrown a rude and rustic bridge:
And now from off the blooming bank
A bright pair trod the simple plank,

In baskets, gayly deck'd, they bore
Refreshing fruits and flowery store.
The towering youth, the graceful maid,
Were both in Indian garb array'd;
But not a trace of Indian feature
Appear'd in either glorious creature:
For his warm blood as brightly glow'd
As if in British veins it flow'd;
And she—the roses of her cheek
Might shame the dawn's refulgent streak.

XIV.

Short was the time the maid to view;
For down her fragrant load she threw,
And, bounding o'er the dewy lawn,
The covert sought, like timorous fawn:
The youth undaunted, but amaz'd,
Still on the stately vessel gaz'd:

And Henry thro' his glass might spy
The quick glance of that eagle eye,
The lofty form, the stately grace,
The candor of that youthful face;
O never yet had Henry seen
So bright a form so sweet a mien!
Recovering from his short surprise,
Soon to the cottage door he flies;
Clears at a bound the cultur'd bed,
Nor breaks the fragile balsam's head.

XV.

Meanwhile the pinnace stands array'd,
To seek the stranger's generous aid:
And Henry, with youth's ardent hope,
Gave pride and fancy equal scope.
“Seymor,” he cried, “the English air
“I trace in yonder blooming pair:

“And can we aught from Britons dread,
“When want and tempest rend our head?
“O we shall find safe harbour here!
“And greeting free, and friendly cheer!”
The captain smil'd; for well he knew
The fervor of that bosom true:
A smile, where transient doubt was mix'd,
With kindness warm, serene and fix'd.

XVI.

O there are few, when age's frost
Their fire has chill'd, their ardor crost;
Few, who the selfish joy forego,
Of checking youth's aspiring glow!
Still fewer, to whose generous hearts
Nature the genial flame imparts,
Which, unextinguishably bright,
Gives but in age a blander light,

Which loves to catch the meteor blaze,
That darts across our early days:
Promethean fire! to mortals given,
The last best gift of bounteous Heaven!
Who the reflected warmth can feel,
And fan and feed the generous zeal!

XVII.

Such feeling in brave Seymor's breast,
All blame or bitter taunt represt.
Soon he an equal wonder felt,
Whilst on the bay his fix'd gaze dwelt:
There, in the self-same harbour, float
Indian canoe and English boat;
There gather'd soon a blooming band
Of youthful natives on the strand;
Clustering they sought the light canoe,
And o'er the glassy ocean flew.

The link'd ivahas, side by side,
Short poles at once, unite, divide:
In each four skilful rowers strain
Their sinewy limbs, and plough the main;
And either stem, high o'er the flood,
Like fabled mermaid, gorgeous stood:
Rose in the midst, the platform high,
With pillars deck'd and canopy,
Whose matted folds resplendent shone,
Like rainbow glittering in the sun.

XVIII.

Three youths it bore, of manly grace,
Of stature tall, and blooming face;
And one, on whose majestic form
Valour had stamp'd his signet warm,

Whilst wisdom dwelt within his eye,
And mercy breath'd in every sigh.
Such bark, on Otaheite's shore,
Full oft the feather'd warriors bore.
But these brave youths no breast-plates guard,
Nor spears to fling, nor shields to ward;
Freely their ample garments flow,
In graceful folds of spotless snow;
Save that a border richly dight,
Of vivid scarlet mantles bright,
And fringe, by rosy fingers twin'd,
Sports, like gay plumage, on the wind,
Where the long sash floats wild and free
In ever-varying drapery.

XIX.

Swift o'er the wave th' ivaha flew,
Till to the vessel's side she drew;

Then, on the seamen's wondering ear,
Fell their own native accents clear;
“Come ye from England o'er the sea?
“O welcome to our island free!
“To our rude fare, our prompt relief!”
(Cried the bright youth, who seem'd the chief,)
“For sure your vessel's shatter'd form,
“Bears tokens of the recent storm!”
“From England? No! Our course we bore;
“From the fair Trans-Atlantic shore;
“Branch torn from England's stately tree,
“Nurtur'd and watch'd by Liberty,
“Where Freedom, Nature, Man combine,
“To rear and guard the plant divine!
“To thee, most kind and generous youth,
“What thanks are due! In very truth
“The storm of yester-night has left,
“Our ship of all her stores bereft;

“And sails, and rigging torn away;
“Most welcome is this tranquil bay!”

XX.

Brave Seymor paus'd. With curious glance
To the high deck the youths advance;
The stranger scene attracts their eyes,
Each unknown form they scrutinize;
But still, the same ennobled grace
In word, in act, the sailors trace,
Of polish'd life they own the sense,
Savage alone in innocence!
Soon the young chief to Henry drew,
With stedfast, yet delighted, view:
“American, I love thee well!
“Yet is my father wont to tell
“Your wily arts, and cunning spell—

XXI.

“O he was self deceiv'd, unjust,
“Who warn'd thee not that race to trust,
“For they are open, bold and free,
“Liberal on shore, and brave on sea;
“Yet might I challenge his belief,
“For I am English, generous chief!”
O then to either valiant breast,
The noble Islanders were prest!
“My father is a Briton too!
“Come let us seek my light canoe!
“I long his exil'd heart to cheer;
“Captain, from us, no treachery fear!
“Our limpid spring, our stores, our care,
“'Tis all we have, your crew shall share.”

XXII.

The captain, and a chosen train,
In the light pinnace cross'd the main.
The long ivaha led the way,
Majestic, o'er the tranquil bay;
And soon they trod the pebbly shore,
And soon they reach'd the cottage door.
There stood a man, whose forehead sage,
Seem'd mark'd by sorrow, more than age;
His sallow cheek, and sunken eye,
Bore trace of ruin'd dignity;
And that blue eye, with sudden flash,
Oft told of passion's youthful clash,
Till pious tears the lightning quench'd,
And dew'd his locks by anguish blench'd.
Tall, spare, majestic was his mien,
His looks commanding, firm and keen,

Yet courteous too; he mildly sway'd,
Belov'd by all, by all obey'd.

XXIII.

With free and liberal grace, he gave
A welcome to the strangers brave,
But chief on Henry fix'd his eyes,
Whilst fond emotions seem'd to rise:
“Rest freely here, till ship and men,
“Recruited, sigh for sea again!
“For well I know that sailor's soul,
“Loves not in lazy bay to roll;
“Rather the stormy winds they brave,
“And stem the rude impetuous wave.
“But leave we now all distant care,
“To seek our cottage maiden's fare.”

XXIV.

They enter'd. Pleas'd humility
Was there, and there simplicity;
Yet elegance and rural grace,
Had join'd the lovely bower to trace.
Spacious, yet low, the casement round
A rich and clustering vine is bound;
Whose leaves exclude the sunbeams bright,
And shed a cool and tranquil light;
Yet, glancing thro' the foliage green,
One brilliant, trembling ray is seen,
Whose emerald lustre quivers round,
Like glow-worm's lamp on verdant mound.
On the white walls gay baskets hung,
With flowers in bright profusion flung,
Artless they seem'd. Yet art, amid
The rich confusion still was hid,

But dar'd not there assert her claim,
And borrow'd nature's honor'd name.
Between the baskets, charts appear'd,
And books in goodly rows were rear'd;
And wonder beam'd in every eye,
Such strange, unwonted sight to spy.

XXV.

High in the midst was spread a board,
With varied viands amply stor'd;
Yet scarcely gaze they on the fare,
Far brighter objects claim their care.
There a dark, graceful, matron band,
And there young, lovely maidens stand,
The Houri of that blissful land!
Like “black-ey'd girls of Paradise,”
Their witching smiles the soul entice:

Yet Henry sought the timid maid,
Who lightly flew across the glade;
But none so slender, tall and fair,
Or of so graceful form was there;
Young Hubert still, his Indian friend,
Sate by his guest his wants to tend.
“Say, fled there not, at peep of dawn,
“A stately maid across the lawn?
“With thee she pluck'd the flowery store,
“And wreaths of dewy blossoms bore.”

XXVI.

“Yes: And she blooms the fairest flower
“That decks the isle, on hill, or bower;
“The purest, sweetest, loveliest, best;
“Idol of every generous breast!
“To day in solitude and gloom,
“She meant to watch her mother's tomb;

“For now a year its course has run,
“Since set in death Iddeah's sun:
“With me she sought for flowerets fair,
“To hang in mournful garlands there.
“She fled at sight of stranger race,
“Nor dar'd approach the hallow'd place,
“Lest boisterous tongues, or glances rude,
“Invade her sacred solitude.
“For never yet that maiden's woes,
“To check our social pleasure rose,
“Her joy she shares, her grief's her own,
“Christina Christian weeps alone.”

XXVII.

“Christian!” As Hubert breath'd the name,
Suspicion quick to Seymor came;
For well he knew—who knows it not?
Misguided Christian's ruthless plot.

And he had read, with horror pale,
The suffering Bligh's heart-thrilling tale,
When from his gallant vessel driv'n,
Of every earthly comfort riv'n;
Remote from kind and friendly land,
The rebels chas'd his faithful band.
Still faithful, tho' the crowded boat
Scarce on that Southern wave can float;
Tho' ceaseless rain, and famine's rage,
Within, without, dire warfare wage;
Tho' haggard, worn, and tempest-tost,
Unbounded Oceans must be crost,
Ere the sad wanderers cease to roam,
And find a country and a home.

XXVIII.

Oft at that tale the sailor's tear
Has fall'n, for trials too severe;

Tear quickly dried by the warm rush,
Of admiration's ardent blush,
At that brave band's endurance high,
Their patience and their constancy!
And sudden as the thunder's clash,
The captain felt conviction's flash:
“It must be Christian whom I view!”
“Brave stranger would thy words were true!
“He lies where never mortal ken,
“Shall see the hero's form again.
“O would he were alive, to share
“My social joy, my pleasing care!—
“Yet well I read that asking eye;
“Tomorrow every doubt shall fly!
“'Tis a sad tale and long to tell;
“To-day I shun the mazy spell.
“But something I would ask—If still
“Bligh lives?—Oh! say we did not kill!”

XXIX.

“Yes, still he lives!” Would you had seen
The pallid chieftain's alter'd mien!
Like wretch from torturing wheel unbound,
Bewilder'd first he gaz'd around;
Scarce the life-giving words believ'd,
By doubt, by fear, in turns deceiv'd.
But when at length assurance came,
Joy seem'd to renovate his frame,
To raise his form to statelier grace,
Nerve his firm step, illume his face.
It flush'd his cheek, it lit his eyes,
Stole down in tears, and burst in sighs;
And meek devotion's silent prayer,
And ardent gratitude were there.

XXX.

At length the simple feast is o'er,
And Seymor quits awhile the shore.
Whilst Hubert and his father walk,
With Henry still in friendly talk;
The chief to the brave Briton clung,
And on each look, each accent hung;
He gaz'd upon his glowing face,
His slender form, his youthful grace;
And his admiring glance exprest
Warm kindness for his youthful guest.
“How cam'st thou here in foreign sail?”
And short was Henry's simple tale.

XXXI.

In lovely Monmouth's rural bowers
His mother past her widow'd hours:

Happy in age the peaceful home;
But youth adventurous loves to roam!
And he had sought that northern land,
Where nature frowns sublime and grand;
Where Mississippi's wondrous flood,
Bathes the tall giants of the wood;
And wild Ontario's lake rebounds
Niagara's hoarse deafening sounds.
With Seymor thence he came, to view
Scenes, manners, people, strange and new;
“And I have found,” he said and smil'd,
“An Eden blooming in the wild.”
Soon hospitable duty calls,
The chiefs within their cottage walls;
And Henry still enchanted, roves
Thro' deep ravines, or stately groves.

XXXII.

Far from the cot a path he found,
Which thro' a craggy valley wound;
On either side the foliage spread,
In verdant arches o'er his head;
Deep in the midst a chrystal rill,
Ooz'd gently from the lofty hill;
Whilst higher still the pathway bore,
And farther from the cultur'd shore;
Yet still the ocean's murmurs clear,
Soothing and calm salute his ear,
And fairer still the valley seems,
And brighter the sun's setting beams.
At length he reach'd a verdant mound,
With towering rocks and thickets bound:
There rose a sweet and shelter'd bower,
Deck'd with each gay and brilliant flower;

High o'er the arch the blossoms twin'd,
In one gay knot their charms combin'd;
He thought—what will not lovers think?
Christina's name compos'd the link.
And softer seem'd the turfy seat!
And lovelier bloom'd the fair retreat!

XXXIII.

The rippling brook, the whispering breeze,
The chirping birds that sought the trees;
To lull him to repose combin'd,
Fatigue of limb, and peace of mind;
But more than all, of recent birth
That form, which blended Heaven with earth,
And these shy hopes, which oft I deem,
Both lull to sleep and mould the dream.
He dream'd,—and still he thought he slept,
That to his side Christina crept;

Radiant, as when he saw the fair,
Her basket stor'd with flowerets rare;
To rouse him bent, the fragrant race
In vain she flung, with sportive grace;
Amidst his golden ringlets wound,
Or twin'd in rosy fetters round.—
Then chang'd the scene,—and he again,
View'd his dear home and native plain;
His sister, bright in maiden charms,
His mother clasp him in their arms;
And joyful friends his presence greet,
And rush, his warm embrace to meet.
Oh pure delight! O joy supreme!
Bliss unalloy'd!—'twas but a dream.

XXXIV.

'Twas but a dream!—And what is all,
That erring mortals pleasure call;

What is dominion? Kings can tell!
To ebb and flow in ceaseless swell,
Now rob'd in plenitude of power,
To sit in grandeur's stately tower,
Dethron'd and kill'd in one short hour!—
What countless wealth? The cherish'd pain,
The care, the doubt, the hope of gain.
Vain hope! were his Potosi's store,
The miser's soul would crave for more.—
What beauty? 'Tis the mirror's shade,
As fast the fairest features fade,
Till youth and charms and lovers gone,
Sad vanity remains alone.—
What literary fame? The strife
Of boundless mind with narrow life.—
What friendship? The poor man's last fall!—
What love? The veriest dream of all!—

XXXV.

At eventide the ocean crew,
Back to their stately vessel drew;
They deem'd, that by the chief retain'd,
Henry within the cot remain'd;
And he ne'er doubted, but in haste,
Unseen, amid the throng, he past;
Still slept the youth within the bower,
For many a calm refreshing hour;
And when he woke, the golden ray,
Which richly lit the jasmine spray;
Was chang'd to the fair silver stream,
Of the pale moon's faint quivering beam;
The breeze which lull'd him to repose,
With soften'd balm no longer blows;
But on his cold and icy cheeks,
The chilly gale of midnight breaks.

XXXVI.

He started up with wild surprise,
And scarce could trust his wondering eyes;
Scarce tell what power his form convey'd,
To that fair seat and fragrant shade.
Awaken'd memory soon recalls,
The chieftain's hospitable halls;
He strove the cheerful spot to gain,
And wander'd on, but still in vain;
For the wild wood and quivering light,
Obstruct his steps, delude his sight.
At length he came where shrubs were drawn,
Close round a smooth and level lawn:
In centre of the circle small,
Arose a rustic pedestal;
On which, in sweet and simple taste,
A monumental urn was plac'd.
Fair pillar! now, how richly grac'd!

XXXVII.

In flowing drapery array'd,
There stood a tall and slender maid.
O'er the smooth urn her form reclin'd,
One graceful arm around it twin'd;
Her lovely head was upward cast,
And caught the moon-beams as they past,
Shed their soft radiance, silvery cold,
On features of celestial mould;
Or wanton'd in the raven hair,
That floated on the midnight air.
Quench'd was the lightning of her eye,
Pale her fair cheeks' effulgent dye;
But beauty's pensive hour had given
An higher grace, a look of heaven.
She seem'd a sainted spirit hovering there,
Weeping for human sins and human care.

XXXVIII.

How wondrous in that tranquil hour,
Seem'd that still form in fairy bower!
You might have thought some magic hand,
Fix'd the fair statue on the strand,
Enchantress of that lovely land;
And tale, romance and legend high,
Press'd on the wanderer's fantasy.
He dar'd not move, he dar'd not speak,
So much he fear'd the spell to break;
His very breath he strove to stay,
Lest that fair form should fade away.
A cloud across the moon had past,
And deepening shades the tomb o'ercast;
Yet still young Henry linger'd nigh,
For he had heard a deep drawn sigh;

And soon, in accents soft and clear,
As ever breath'd in mortal ear,
In strains with silvery cadence fraught,
From the pure spring of feeling caught,
Seraphic strains, by nature given,
Arose a daughter's woe to heaven.

XXXIX. Christina's Song.

O chilly and damp is the mossy tomb!
And dark is the cheerless night!
But sadder far is the mourner's gloom,
Who wails o'er her lost delight!
The maidens they deck'd thy grave with flowers,
The death-dirge rang thro' the island bowers,

But sighs and groans were all that I gave,
And my tears alone bedewed thy grave.

The flowers are wither'd, the garlands are gone,
The dirge died away in the air;
And thou wert forgotten by all but one,
Ere the wreath had faded there.
They took me to dwell in the cot of the chief,
They said to me, Calm thy restless grief!
But her who is gone they cannot restore,
And still as they chide, I weep the more.

O mother! my mother! since thou art dead,
What comfort have they to give!
My only delight on earth is fled,
And still must Christina live!
Yet oft will I steal at midnight hour,
To deck thy cold tomb with tear and flower,

And when the rude storms of life are past,
With thee I will find my home at last.

XL.

Ceas'd the sweet strain. No echo shrill
Prolong'd the sound on dale or hill;
For echo loves the measure high,
Of proud and lordly minstrelsy;
The wild notes of the hunter's horn,
That rouse the stag at break of morn;
The clang of steel, the volleying roar,
That swells along the lake's steep shore;
War's noisy pomp, and deafening state,
The willing nymphs reverberate.
But the low notes of woe represt,
Their echo is the feeling breast.
Still, still in Henry's ear they dwelt,
Still his fond soul their magic felt.

XLI.

Oft had he bow'd to beauty's power,
In mirth and fashion's brilliant hour;
Hung on fair woman's playful wit;
Mark'd in the dance her light form flit;
Own'd her mute eloquence of eye;
And felt the magic of her sigh.
And he had seen her soft tear flow,
Dissolv'd in sympathetic woe.
Till changing like an April day,
Some frolic chac'd the gem away.
But never, never had he felt,
Such fleeting tears his bosom melt.
Ne'er seen that majesty of grief,
Which seeks nor pity nor relief;
Ne'er seen the silent drops, which lave
A cherish'd parent's humble grave.

And scarce the conscious youth can tell,
What stranger pangs his bosom swell;
For new-born love, and new-born awe,
Rule his fond heart with iron law;
And check the step that would pursue,
Her light form thro' the glittering dew,
As slow and sad the fair withdrew.

XLII.

Again the moon's pale rays illume,
And he has sought the rustic tomb;
Knelt where Christina trod the ground;
And clasp'd the urn's chill circle round.
Fresh flowerets deck the lowly shrine,
And gemm'd with dew drops, sparkling shine;
And he has stol'n a fragile stem,
Where trembling hangs the crystal gem,

“Too bright for earthly dew,” he cries,
“It fell from sweet Christina's eyes!”
The floweret to his heart he prest,
It seem'd to cool his burning breast;
He mus'd upon the lovely maid;
“Dwells she not with the chief?” he said;
“Dwells she not with the chief? Again
“Christina shall I hear thy strain!”
Then swift as roebuck sought the plain.

XLIII.

He gain'd the fair cot in the dale,
Awoke the chief and told his tale,
Of boat long gone, and comrades lost,
And fancy charm'd at hunger's cost;
But nothing said he of the maid,
Nor tongue nor mien his love betray'd;

Save that his piercing eye, intent
Upon the simple latch, was bent;
And every sound his light form shook,
Like winds that stir the ruffled brook.
The chieftain with attentive care,
Produc'd the sweet and simple fare,
And wisdom gay, good humor free,
Gave grace to hospitality.
Then to the sailor's hardy bed
His blooming guest assiduous led;
“Farewell! Fear nought from friends or foes,”
He said, and left him to repose.

The double canoes of Otaheite.

Canto the Second.

I.

Our native land, how poor soe'er it be,
However sunk in ignorance and woe,
Or bent beneath the yoke of tyranny,
That native land still wakes the bosom's glow!
At that dear name the wanderer's tears o'erflow,
Whether he roam thro' India's spicy groves,
Or Afric's sands, or Kaff's eternal snow;
Still sever'd from the seat of all he loves,
Unfriended and alone the heart-sick exile roves.

Gem of the world! Bright empress of the main!
England, my country! That some patriot hand
From thy majestic brow would wipe this stain!
How many banish'd from thy rocky strand
Pour forth their sad lament in foreign land!
How many exil'd from each kindred tie,
Friends, home and children, wail the stern command!
Obdurate—still the guilty traffic ply;
Repentant—hopeless live, and unregarded die.

Felt he not this, the man of many griefs,
Sad hopeless exile from his native vale;
Felt he not this, the while the ocean chiefs,
Listen impatient for the promis'd tale?
Oh yes! mantled that cheek serenely pale,
With sudden glow, fire in his mild eyes shone,

Whilst, as young Henry breathless sought the dale,
He mus'd upon thy white cliffs, Albion,
And many a lovely maid, and many a gallant son!

II.

“O England! dearest, fairest, best,
Home of the stranger and th' opprest,
Of all who banish'd from their land,
Seek refuge on a foreign strand,
Whose liberal mercy never knows
In danger or in want thy foes;
Whose equal justice guards the shed,
That shields the exil'd peasant's head,
As fondly as the bed of state
That canopies the courtly great.
Queen of the sea! to me thy skill
Is death, and yet I love thee still;

Still when I catch thine accents clear,
My senses seem absorb'd in ear;
Still when thy yellow locks I view,
Thy sparkling eyes' refulgent blue,
The youthful blush so rosy bright,
Taste, hearing, feeling, all are sight,
But at the touch of English hand,
I seem to tread thy lovely strand;
And thro' my veins the current high
Thrills with the new-born ecstacy.

III.

“O had I always lov'd thee so,
What varied scenes of crime and woe,
Had I escap'd! yet 'vails it not
To weep o'er man's unhappy lot.
Like some rude stream my course I ran;
Pure, limpid, sparkling it began;

Anon, o'er rocks and fragments cast,
Wild, angry, and tempestuous past;
Then, hidden in the tangled linn,
Slept stagnant in the gulph of sin;
Again emerging, forth it leads
Thro' flowery vales and verdant meads;
Oh that like that small stream my course
May gently spend its waning force!
In lustre bland, in soften'd flow,
Diffusing life and gladness go;
Still ebbing onward till it laves
Eternity's unruffled waves!”

IV.

He paus'd awhile—the woe how keen,
To tell of joys that once have been!
Of passion's wild tempestuous swell,
Love, fears, and woes, long past to tell!

Confus'd and like a dream they prest
His fever'd brain and laboring breast:
He paus'd—whilst nearer still the crew,
And island youths and maidens drew:
They cluster'd round the plantain's shade,
Where bright the chequering sunbeams play'd;
And never yet that brilliant sun,
Upon a lovelier landscape shone!

V.

Meandering round the woody knoll,
The streamlet's crystal waters roll;
And you might hear the murmurs low,
Mingled with ocean's distant flow;
And you might watch the small stream's course,
From yonder hill its verdant source,
Till in the main it spent its force.

Most lovely was the course it wound,
Now seen, now lost, in woods profound.
First welling from the lofty hill,
Scarce could you trace the slender rill,
It seem'd—so small its puny form,—
The sweeping of a summer storm;
Now on the plain a streamlet fair;
Now in the woods a mirror rare;
Reflecting flower, and tree, and grot,
It sought at length the rustic cot;
Thence, widening still, its waters free
Stretch'd o'er the valley to the sea.

VI.

So sweet the scene, young Henry cried,
“Not brighter Wye's pellucid tide,
“So fair the cottage in the shade!
“So lovely the fair cottage maid!”

And many a smiling maid was there
With sparkling eye and raven hair;
And many a sailor look'd away
His soul, in that bright summer day.
But not those laughing beauties won
The heart of England's gallant son:
That nymph whose plaintive accents still,
Ring in his ears, his life blood thrill,
That nymph whose flowerets still are prest,
Like relics, to his beating breast;
That nymph, in daylight beauty fair,
Christina, mournful maid, is there:
Hush'd is the sigh, and dried the tear,
Her dark eye sparkles bright and clear;
So soft her cheek's effulgent glow,
He seem'd to see the pure blood flow;
Yet heav'd her breast with sorrow pent,
Yet was that bright eye downward bent;

And the gay flowerets in her hair,
They suited ill that look of care.

VII.

Soon Henry sought Christina's side,
Henry, in youthful beauty's pride,
With sunny locks and brow of snow,
With ruddy lips and manly glow,
With limbs the graces might have form'd,
By youth and health and passion warm'd;
'Twas like young Pleasure blithe and jolly,
Wooing the fair nun Melancholy;
Yet modesty and awe represt
The ardor of his generous breast;
Little he spoke, but what he said
Christina with a smile repaid;
A smile so holy, sad and faint,
It might have grac'd a dying saint:

But now the chieftain's tale began,
And thro' the group attention ran.

VIII. Fitzallan's Narrative.

Why should I stain a noble name,
By a degraded exile's claim?
How proud, dar'd I that name avow!
Fitzallan you must call me now.
Why should I say in what fair scene
I pass'd my infant days serene?
Enough to tell that fondly bred
On luxury's enfeebling bed,
By folly tost, by passion whirl'd,
Misfortune cast me on the world;
That world, which in my prosperous hours,
Seem'd one fair vale of blooming flowers,

Now, a bleak heath, no charm retain'd,
The roses past, the thorns remain'd;
And parents, friends, and kindred gone,
On that wild waste I trod alone.

IX.

On phrenzy's dizzy verge I stood,
And mus'd in my distemper'd mood;
Oft had I read of those fair isles,
Where never changing summer smiles;
Those isles where dark-eyed maidens lave
Their beauties in the southern wave;
And oft, when England's wintry day
Marr'd some wild scheme of boyish play;
In sportive anger I have cried,
“I'll seek the vast Pacific's tide,
“There no rude storms the world annoy!
“There all is mirth, and sport, and joy!”

I mus'd not long, for in my soul
Adventurous ardor spurn'd control;
I long'd on other worlds to gaze,
New friends, new hopes, new bliss to raise,
Climes, uncorrupted yet, to scan,
And mark the race of savage man.

X.

With Bligh I sail'd—Whence comes so chill
At that once hated name the thrill?
He lives! he lives! my heart be still!
With Bligh I sail'd, no hostile train
Launch'd the proud vessel on the main;
On cares benevolent intent,
Mild as her name the Bounty went,
And bound to Otaheite's shore,
The wealth of art and nature bore;

But, in return, by wisdom taught,
That vegetable wonder sought,
That tree, which in unfailing stores,
The staff of life spontaneous pours,
And to our southern islands yields
The produce of your labor'd fields;
That would they bring, with nicest care,
To western India's sultry air.
How thought they aught could florish there?
Where slaves would tend Heaven's purest food,
Water'd with tears, manur'd with blood!

XI.

Fair, easy, prosperous was our way,
Nor tempests threat, nor calms delay;
The Peak of Teneriffe we past,
Where the high rock to Heaven is cast

So awfully, it seems to rise
A pillar to support the skies;
Thence, eastward still, we took our way
By Hope's good Cape, and Table Bay,
For all too late our course was borne,
To weather thy rude storms, Cape Horn!
Pleasant the gale, and light my heart,
Friendship had heal'd my bosom's smart;
Christian was that dear friend—Alas!
That I should live to say he was!

XII.

A friend more noble, or more true,
Ne'er from the sheath his falchion drew;
His was the firm and zealous truth,
The candor of undoubting youth;
His, that stern honor, proud and high,
Which scorn'd to bend, but knew to die;

A heart which woman's glance could lead
To high emprize, or desperate deed;
A temper fiery, hot and bold,
Which manly friendship well might mould,
But which at accent of command,
Like charger in a warrior's hand,
Flash'd from his eye the lightning brand.

XIII.

'Twixt Bligh and Christian difference rose,
Scarce were they friends, not yet were foes;
But as the air, dense, still and warm,
Gives token of th' approaching storm,
So in each warrior's silence stern,
The gathering malice you might learn;
Swift fled each thought of discord now,
Clear'd Christian's and the Captain's brow;

For now we near'd the green isle's strand,
The haven of our wish'd for land;
In Otaheite's fairest bay,
We touch'd the shore of Matavai.

XIV.

As bees that seek the heathery pride,
The natives climb the ship's tall side;
Scarce could the crowded deck sustain
The pressure of the eager train,
Then names were chang'd in friendly form,
With welcome free and greeting warm:
What though upon the cheated ear,
Still vainly fell those accents clear;
Yet the warm pressure of the hand,
The courteous voice, the gesture bland.
The dullest heart might understand.

Language unknown may mock the sense,
Thou need'st no tongue, benevolence!

XV.

O generous people! Thou art call'd
A land by vice and folly thrall'd;
Immers'd in ignorance and woe,
Savage and lowest of the low,
And they are great that call thee so!
But were some wondrous chance to guide,
Thy light canoes across the tide,
To polish'd Europe, free and fair,
Say what would be thy welcome there?
Would she thy slender stores recruit,
With flesh and fowl, and balmy fruit?
Would she her little all bestow,
On strangers plung'd in want and woe?

Or would she from thy miseries fly,
And turn thee from her coast to die?
O generous people! whilst my blood
Pours round my heart in crimson flood,
Never can that warm heart forget,
Never repay its mighty debt!

XVI.

Why say—for all are seamen here—
The joy how sweet, the hour how dear,
When, after braving many a day
The perils of the watery way,
On land we set our weary feet,
And beauty's witching glances meet.
And never sailor's eye has seen,
An isle more lovely or serene;
And never sailor's heart has bounded,
To maids with brighter charms surrounded;

With melting look, with merry glance,
They glided thro' the wanton dance;
Or softly trill'd the plaintive measure,
Or wak'd the song to notes of pleasure,
Told tales of love and joy elate,
Nor miss'd one art to fascinate.

XVII.

Not mine the soul, nor mine the eye,
Such wanton grace could gratify.
For modesty I gaz'd around;
Enchantress! O too quickly found!
Our brave commander, in whose smile
Bask'd every earie of the isle,
Selected from the courtly croud,
A chief of birth and lineage proud;

Each virtue grac'd Poeeno's name,
His valor great, and high his fame;
Lovely his wife, their blooming train
Of cherub children trod the plain;
And one more fair, more innocent,
Join'd in their sportive merriment.

XVIII.

Avanna she, his sister mild,
Not woman yet, yet more than child;
Not in the vales of England blows
Less conscious of its charms the rose;
Not purer that bright stainless flower,—
Man had not told her of her power;
On nature's beauties she would dwell,
On floweret fair and brilliant shell,
But never did the maiden guess
Her own unrivall'd loveliness.

Full soon I learnt that foreign tongue,
Full soon each love-lorn lay I sung;
And soon Avanna bent her ear,
The flattering tale of love to hear;
Soon she an answering tale could tell,—
Oh pardon that on this I dwell!

XIX.

But Christian lov'd, and in his soul
The restless feeling mock'd control:
Love, such wild war his passions wage,
Took in his breast the form of rage:
Like cataract from mountain height,
It rush'd tempestuous, wild and bright,
A foaming torrent dash'd its spray,
And swept opposing rocks away:
His passion soar'd on eagle wing,
He lov'd the sister of the king.

And she with kindred ardor fir'd,
The hero's daring soul admir'd.

XX.

She too—Christina! dearest, why
Pours the big tear-drop from thine eye?
Why weep'st thou, sweet? Her sad offence
Was sure redeem'd by penitence!
Thy virtues and thy life alone,
A parent's errors might atone;
“Retire, my child!” The fair obey'd,
And Henry join'd the weeping maid;
With tender care, and fond delay,
He sought to cheer her on the way;
Nor till she smil'd, and wept no more,
Would leave her at the cottage door!

XXI.

Fitzallan's penetrating eye
That tender glance could well espy;
O! in that look could he have known
That Henry's ardent soul had flown;
Had he but guest how midnight past,
That tender glance had been the last:
But little reck'd he, English heart
So soon should feel love's bitter smart!
There was an eye, that mark'd the flush
Of love in Henry's kindling blush;
There was an ear, whose quicken'd sense
Caught the sweet thanks of innocence;
A heart, whose jealous pangs confest
Christina's empire o'er the breast!—
Again the Briton sought the vale,
Again the chief pursu'd his tale.

XXII. Narrative continued.

“Iddeah, she whom Christian woo'd,
Was fram'd to feed his fiery mood:
A heroine she! her form, her mind,
Scorn'd the soft graces of her kind.
Sweet woman, like the mantling vine,
Was born round lordly man to twine;
Supported, yet adorning, live,
And strength receive and beauty give.
But, like yon stately cocoa tree,
Proudest of either sex was she!
Affording, not demanding, aid,
Tower'd haughtily the royal maid:

She lov'd with all her ardor high,
Her wild, ungovern'd energy;
And prudence soon, and virtue fly.

XXIII.

Too quickly past the winged hours,
In Otaheite's pleasant bowers;
Days, weeks, and months, unheeded flow,
And we must o'er the ocean go;
Must leave, for aye, this lovely isle,
Iddeah's sense, Avanna's smile;
Nor hope to tread the verdant plain,
Nor see that love-fraught smile again.
On my fond grief I will not dwell;
How may I Christian's anguish tell!
I would have sought his soul to calm,
Pour on his heart soft friendship's balm;

But wild and frantic was his tone,
Deep his sad bosom's hollow groan;
At length he sought my listening ear,
His tale of crime and woe to hear;
It chill'd my blood that tale of fear!

XXIV.

“Iddeah!—O what frenzied tears!
“A living pledge of love she bears,—
“Slaves to their superstition wild,
“Th' Arreoys will destroy my child!
“With its first breath will seize their prize,
“Unfather'd, unreveng'd it dies!
“Iddeah's child!—my first-born!—No,
“Save if high Heaven should deal the blow,
“Thou shalt not die! no ruffian hand
“Shall dare apply the murdering band;

“Thou shalt not die! thy father's heart
“Shall shield thee from the ruthless dart!”
“Are there no means? Might we not bear
“To Britain's coast the royal fair?
“Say, would not Bligh!” “O! name him not;
“From nature's scroll that foul line blot;
“He has refus'd a husband's prayer,
“Refus'd! and fears not my despair!”—
He paus'd—but in that pause I read
The gathering of a purpose dread.

XXV.

Our hearts—ah me! what anguish rent,
When homeward first our way we bent!
There was no eye that did not spend
A warm tear for some Indian friend;
There was no bosom but had left
Some dark-eyed girl of peace bereft.

Christian alone was sternly calm:
No tears his buried hope embalm:
Portentous calmness! soon I found,
Soon prob'd his bosom's festering wound;
Soon, in kind friendship's generous glow,
His inmost councils did he show.

XXVI.

“Yon lovely isle, where plantains shade
“The dwelling of thy lovelier maid;
“Where oft for thee Avanna pull'd
“Ripe avees, or gay garlands cull'd;
“Wouldst thou not like, rich, young, and free,
“That isle, that maid, again to see?
“Well can I read that mournful smile:—
“Listen! and thou shalt see that isle!
“First swear,—By her who gave thee birth,
“Thy hopes in Heaven, thy peace on earth,

“Swear by Avanna, maid ador'd,
“And seal the oath on thy good sword,
“That force, or treachery, ne'er shall wrest
“This fateful secret from thy breast!”

XXVII.

I swore: and Christian told me then,
That three and twenty valiant men
Like oath had sworn: at his command
Was each brave heart, and trusty hand.
“Then shall yon hated tyrant rue,
“Th' unwonted tears from me he drew:
“Iddeah's woes all mercy seal!
“Iddeah's wrongs shall nerve my steel!”
“What shall an English seaman's blade
“Reek with the blood of man betray'd?
“It may not be!” “My friend, no more,
“I will not stain it with his gore,

“A Briton's life I may not spill;
“But let him dread my vengeance still!
“Adrift within his own proud boat
“Shall he and all his minions float;
“Or swim, or sink, as fate decree;
“This gallant ship remains with me!—
“To-morrow the third watch I hold,—
“Be secret, confident, and bold!”

XXVIII.

And we did meet the fated few,
The bravest hearts of all the crew!
We met: and in each gloomy eye
There gleam'd so stern a constancy,
That needless seem'd the oaths we swore:
Each heart had inly sworn before.

XXIX.

Bligh! when upon the ocean's breast
The orb of day sank down to rest;
Beam'd not that mild refulgent ray
On one more blest, more proudly gay!
Lord of a vessel, whose white sails
Swell'd gently in the prosperous gales;
Lord of a band, of valor prov'd,
He reign'd, and thought he was belov'd!
His ruling star's auspicious light
Seem'd as that parting sunbeam bright.
O Bligh! how different rose the morn
To thee, a hopeless wretch forlorn!
That ship no longer shalt thou see,
That rebel crew abandon'd thee!

XXX.

Christian had dragg'd him from his bed,
And to the deck his captive led;
There too were dragg'd, surpriz'd and scar'd,
All who their captain's favor shar'd.
I did not mock their misery,
Yet still that scene of woe I see!—
Soon swam the boat upon the tide,
We forc'd our victims down the side;
Bligh was the last,—then once again
He sought for grace; alas, in vain!
Yet Christian seem'd to mercy turning,
But soon his brain with frenzy burning,
“Iddeah!” twice he breath'd the name,
It fed revenge's furious flame;
“Iddeah! mercy such as thou
“Hast shown to her, such feel'st thou now!

XXXI.

Biscuit and water then we threw,
Scant portion for the crowded crew,
As it descended, o'er my soul
Thought of Rome's buried vestal stole,
As useless yon poor pittance seems,
Save to prolong life's torturing dreams;
What earthly help can save them there,
In bark o'erladen, frail and bare?
From that vast Ocean's whelming wave,
Nought but a miracle can save.
I watch'd the bark; we veer'd about,
Rung to the skies the joyous shout,
“For Otaheite!” was the cry,
The small boat vanish'd in the sky.

XXXII.

I tried to still my beating breast,
To lull the gnawing worm to rest;
Of sweet Avanna's joy I thought,
And found awhile the bliss I sought.
But Christian, on his brow of care
He wore the livery of despair,
Flash'd his wild glances, sternly beaming,
Like lightning on the dark clouds gleaming;
Gone was the frank and open grace,
That wont to deck that manly face;
The bounding step, alert and free,
The cheering voice, the jocund glee,
Fled with his bosom's harmony.

XXXIII.

Still prosperous was the gale—Again
We trod on Matavai's fair plain;
Again each friendly hand we grasp'd,
Again each lovely maid we clasp'd;
Our fancied wrongs we told not there,
We shunn'd that tale of guilt and care,
“Our captain, he was gone,” we said,
“Another bark the band convey'd,
“To England bound—whilst friendship bore
“Us back to Otaheite's shore.”
In beauty's soft enchantment wrapt,
In love, in joy, in pleasure lapt,
Flew the soft days—whilst gifted thus,
Far higher duties call'd on us;

We were not born unnerv'd to lie
Basking in woman's sunny eye,
Neglecting every nobler claim,
Soft ditties to those eyes to frame.

XXXIV.

No! far from that enfeebling land,
To seek some fair, yet lonely strand,
Where comrades, servants, children, wives,
Might gild with tranquil beams our lives,
Where joys, which virtue can bestow,
Where piety's diffusive glow,
Where years to peaceful duty given,
Might lead each wandering soul to Heaven,
Was Christian's plan. But there were few
So wise among the rebel crew:

In luxury and vice they trod,
Woman their idol, sense their God.
Few were there wise. Well was it time
To quit this soft voluptuous clime.

XXXV.

'Till now, in peaceful ease secure,
Blood had not stain'd their rites impure;
But now the plantain tree no more,
Symbol of peace, the Earie bore;
Huaheine's warriors menac'd there
With massy club, and trenchant spear.
Now priests and earies march along,
Sovereign and slaves, with shout and song;
Brave Christian join'd the motley mass,
And mark'd the feathery pageant pass,
By river, meadow, wood and bay,
They pass'd, and reach'd the high morai.

XXXVI.

Now on their prophet's ravings wild
The people hung; the Briton smil'd.
But smil'd he, that brave Briton, when
He saw the forms of murder'd men?
Hair from each bleeding victim torn!
Eyes from their lifeless sockets borne!
Scenes on which nature may not dwell!
Outrage which memory weeps to tell!
Dismay'd and shuddering at the sight,
He turn'd him from the Druid rite!

XXXVII.

A braver man than Christian, ne'er
Did England's conquering broadsword wear,
Oft had he dealt its sturdy blow
On all who call'd that England foe,

Fac'd death in his most horrid form,
The lightning of the sea-fight's storm;
Amid the cannon's ceaseless roar,
Waded thro' streams of brains and gore,
O'er decks with mangled comrades spread,
Piles of the dying and the dead!
And he had heard—War, fiend accurst!
Of all thy countless plagues the worst,
Where varied elements conspire
Arm'd in thy cause, air, water, fire;
Heard the tremendous burst that whirl'd
A floating people from the world!
Where, in one mingled mass, have flown
Vessel and men to atoms blown.
Not to the bolt of angry Heaven,
More dread, more sudden power is given!
This had he view'd with tearless eyes,
Yet wept at that fell sacrifice.

XXXVIII.

“We must away! in haste,” he cried,
“We must away! prepare thy bride!
“Not for the Earie-Rahie's sway,
“Would I among these pagans stay.
“Yet secret must we be; 'twill mar
“Their projects for the coming war
“To lose our ship, and arms, and skill
“Pre-eminent in arts to kill.
“Fitzallan! Friend! Does not thy sense
“Revolt at that bad eminence?”
All was prepar'd. Nine comrades true,
Compos'd our small but gallant crew;
With each a fair selected dame,
With each a chosen servant came;
Iddeah and Avanna fair,
In triumph from their shores we bear,

Some natural tears their bright eyes shed,
Some natural tremors woke their dread;
But love soon hush'd those truant fears,
And love soon wip'd those tender tears;
Propitious beams and favoring gales
Illum'd and fill'd our parting sails.”

XXXIX.

Fitzallan paus'd—Emotion strong
With memory's tide had rush'd along;
Remorse, which penitence and pain
Had soften'd, rack'd his heart again.
Alone he sought the strife to end,
And thus bespoke each stranger friend.
“Within my cot a simple feast
“Awaits each dear and honor'd guest;
“The sun rides high; the plantain trees
“No longer wave in murmuring breeze:

“To-morrow, in the grotto's gloom,
“My tale of woe I will resume.”

XL.

They sought the cot, and smiling there
Was pil'd the vegetable fare;
The fragrant fruit, with flowerets spread,
Gay tints and richer odors shed;
And black-eyed maidens smil'd to see
Each happy sailor's revelry.
Christina too, at Henry's side,
Now blush'd, now smil'd, like bashful bride,
Whilst every timid accent stole,
With soft enchantment to his soul.

XLI.

The banquet past, for manly sport
To the smooth plain the youths resort,
Some rocky fragments hurl on high,
In proud defiance to the sky;
Some launch the pebble from the sling;
Some with sure aim the light spear fling;
Some in the race swift bounding, strain
Each sinew firm and starting vein;
Some in the glittering Ocean lave,
And stem with ample breast the wave;
Some venturous seek the liquid balm,
From the high top of cocoa palm,
Climbing with firm set foot and free,
Or swinging bold from tree to tree.
In all was Hubert's agile grace
Pre-eminent o'er all the race;

And every sport's sublimest zest
Dwelt in the unpolluted breast.
Not in one blooming face around
Could envy's festering mark be found;
The fire of youth, the rose of health,
The lightsome heart, was all their wealth.
Here might the world's wild discord cease,
Here all was virtue, all was peace.

XLII.

Still breathless from their sports advance
The youths, to join the maiden's dance;
And Henry now Christina leads,
His blushing partner, o'er the meads.
There was no eye that did not trace
That nymph-like form, that lovely face;

In slender foot, in rounded arm,
They mark'd the evanescent charm,
Now in her seraph head it lies,
Now o'er her swelling bosom flies,
Whilst all that sweet attraction claim,
Charm undefin'd! and grace its name.
There was no eye, that was not bent
On that fair form, in gaze intent;
But not a tongue in all the crowd
Spoke one admiring thought aloud;
For still, as thro' the dance she past,
A softer spell was round her cast,
It check'd her step alert and high,
It downward bent her radiant eye;
That holy charm was modesty.

XLIII.

O happy was that twilight hour
To him, the slave of love's soft power!
The boat has sought the silver strand,
And Henry drops Christina's hand;
Yet has that hand been fondly prest,
With sweet reluctance to his breast;
Yet, as he climb'd the vessel trim,
She breath'd a sigh—perhaps for him.
Go, happiest of the Ocean train,
And dream that twilight hour again!

XLIV.

Far different dream, far different thought,
That balmy hour to Hubert brought:
His brain, his heart, they seem'd on fire,
With jealous rage, and smother'd ire;

“Christina!—No it cannot be,
“Angels are not more pure than she!
“I'll quiet my distemper'd soul,
“My wayward fancy I'll control;
“I'll seek the couch which thou hast spread,
“And it will still my throbbing head.”
No! not the lov'd-one's magic touch
That night could smooth his restless couch.

Mount Caucasus.

Canto the Third.

I.

Whence springs the joy, ye gentle lovers tell!
To hover round the mistress of your heart,
As if enchanted by some magic spell,
Of witch accurst, or merry fairy art,
To feed, for aye, your bosom's raging smart?
Still at the hour, when all but lovers sleep,

100

Reckless tho' rivers, woods, or mountains part,
Still to the maiden's lov'd abode ye creep,
There, thro' the lingering night, for her dear sake to weep.

Such joy the Spanish cavalier oft feels,
When to the lattic'd window of his fair,
At midnight hour, with noiseless step, he steals,
Content to breathe the love-perfumed air,
That fans her cheek, and wantons in her hair.
How sweetly then the tender serenade
Tells of his love as her own beauty rare;
The whilst, half kind, half coy, the listening maid
At times her veil'd form shows, at times is lost in shade.

'Twas this soft charm that with resistless force,
Drew Henry to the cot ere break of day,
With vigorous stroke he steer'd his watery course,
Sprang o'er the wave, and bounding thro' the spray,

101

Swift to Fitzallan's dwelling took his way.
Where the vine mantles o'er the casement small
He stands, breathing the love inspiring lay
On the soft flute: lay that may well enthral,
So mellow those wild notes, so sweet that dying fall.

II.

Christina rose in strange delight,
As if to meet some angel bright;
For as those strains unknown and clear,
Fell softly on her waking ear,
Her sense in sweet delirium whirl'd,
Deem'd it the sound of higher world.
Around her still, the maiden gaz'd
With holy joy, and awe amaz'd;
“Blest vision! for what purpose given?”
Alas! it sprang from earth not Heaven!

102

Too soon the lovely maid has seen
The bright musician's glowing mien;
And as, with cheek of crimson hue,
From open casement she withdrew:
Unbidden gush'd a crystal tear,
“Ah why so excellent, so dear?
“Or why, so gifted, might not I”—
She check'd her speech, but not her sigh.
Again she caught that melting air,
Then bounded down the narrow stair,
Whilst pleasure strange, and sweet surprise
Beam'd joyous in her speaking eyes.

III.

The master's soul on her intent,
Soon paus'd the magic instrument.

103

Yet had the gentle damsel spied
The polish'd tube by Henry's side;
“And did those sounds seraphic spring,
“Such wondrous charm, from this bright thing?
“Yet have I heard Fitzallan tell
“Of music's ever varying spell;
“Call you it harp, guitar, or lute?”
“Neither, fair maid, a rustic flute:
“The sylvan pipe of England, still
“It cheers the shepherd on the hill,
“And less than his my simple skill.”
Fearful, yet curious much, the maid
The little talisman essay'd;
With fond impatience still she strove,
To swell again those notes of love;
No echoing nymph awoke the strain,
She spent her fragrant breath in vain.

104

IV.

Gaily she gave it to his hand,
“It bows but to its Lord's command;
“And, like a Briton bold and free,
“Will own no foreign mastery:
“Yet once again that strain to hear,
“Were it too much to ask?”—“Oh ne'er
“In vain can sweet Christina ask,
“Tho' Henry's death were in the task.”
Her breath on the smooth ivory dwelt,
His lips the balmy moisture felt,
While to his heart's emotion true,
Trembling and faint the notes he drew;
Yet could those trembling notes entrance
That girl of love—inspiring glance,—
Bewitching in her ignorance.

105

V.

That soft strain past;—o'er flowery meads
The unreluctant fair he leads;
He speaks of holy charms, which dwell
In pealing organ's awful swell,
Of power to sacred music given,
To bear the raptur'd thought to Heaven.
Now of creative art he told,
High gift! the massy rock to mould;
Now of that power, more wondrous still,
The painter's imitative skill;
Power, on small surface to compress
Nature's wide spreading loveliness;
Power, which can scenes long past revive,
And bid the buried beauty live.

106

Next of the bard's enraptur'd measure,
He told with sympathetic pleasure:
Whilst still the maid, with ravish'd sense,
Hung on his glowing eloquence;
Well to that maid the muse was known,
The voice of genius on his throne;—
Shakespeare and genius they are one!

VI.

In luxury of kindred taste,
Unheeded the blest moments past:
No more he check'd love's generous flame,
But fondly woo'd the matchless dame:
“Christina, dearest, fairest maid!
“Rose, withering in the lonely shade!
“O quit this solitude profound!
“O come where kindred souls are found!

107

“Where taste, and art, and music free,
“With faithful love, shall wait on thee!
“I have a lovely home, amid
“Soft vales and woody mountains hid;
“A gentle sister, young and fair,
“A tender mother shelter there.
“O come to that sweet sister's breast!
“O come by that dear mother blest!
“O come to grace that peaceful home!
“My love, my wife, to England come!”

VII.

He paus'd; that maiden's changeful hue
Was to her varying feelings true.
The flush of joy and virgin shame
Those rosy blushes well might claim:
But was it awe or fear that cast

108

The lillies, which those roses blast?
Or was it hopeless love that past?
Like one from some bright dream awoke,
Trembling she stood, at length she spoke.

VIII.

“My thanks, unskill'd in courtly art,
“Dwell not in words, but in my heart;
“Yet, gentle Henry, we must part.
“The wild rose in its native wood
“May please the wanderer's wanton mood,
“Within his breast the modest flower,
“Secure may pass its brilliant hour;
“But, sever'd from the parent tree,
“How short that blissful hour would be!
“Pale, wither'd, drooping, and forlorn,
“Soon would it drop the wild winds scorn.—

109

“No; blushing rose and island maid
“Rest safest in their native shade.”

IX.

Firm were her words; but trembling speech
A softer lesson seem'd to teach;
“Christina, hear!” for she would fly
The pleading of that azure eye;
“Christina, hear! If, cruel fair,
“My friends, my home, thou wilt not share;
“Yet here consent my bride to be,
“And I shall find them all in thee!”
He gaz'd upon her angel face
An answering look of love to trace;
But pale, and paler still, she grew,
Fainter her quivering breath she drew,
That face so innocent, so fair,
It breath'd the sadness of despair.

110

X.

Again she turn'd; he sought not now
To look upon that anguish'd brow;
Again she turn'd, but starting stood,
As if grim death had chill'd her blood.
'Twas Hubert, who, with angry eyes,
Mark'd sternly her dismay'd surprise:
Sullen he spoke.—“The chief for you
“Attends with all your comrades true,
“Lady, within the cottage gate,
“Anna for you and Helen wait.”
Silent they parted; for the grot
The youths; Christina to the cot.

XI.

Slop'd in the misty mountain's side,
The grot o'erhung the streamlet's tide;

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Shallow, yet cool, the fair alcove
Was deck'd like the gay bower of love:
Bright garlands, streaming wild afar,
Hung from the arch irregular;
Each lowly herb that loves the shade,
Mosaic sweet! the ground inlaid;
Fond creepers round the grey rocks climb,
Aspiring flowerets rise sublime.

XII.

The scene has caught young Henry's glances,
Whilst he at Hubert's side advances,
Alone they stood,—the massy rock
Parted abrupt with sudden shock:
The yawning stone admittance gave,
Strange entrance to a wondrous cave!
High swell'd the cavern's vaulted dome,
Stupendous, like some giant's home,

112

Fissures, impervious to the sight,
Serv'd to admit a wavering light:
Glancing upon that dome erect,
Pois'd by no human architect,
On pillars that around it stand,—
Pillars not rais'd by mortal hand!
Pile most majestic, vast, and grand!

XIII.

How oft the mournful joy has rung,
By travellers told, by poets sung,
The mournful joy to wander, where
Palmyra moulders in the air;
Where many a temple's holy fane
With sculptur'd fragments strews the plain,
‘Dust unto dust’ return'd again.
Where Desolation to the heart
Cries, “Perish thus thy triumphs, Art!”

113

Eternal nature! when to man
Unveil'd appears thy mighty plan;
Imperishable, high design,
A sweeter, holier voice is thine!
A voice which leads where saints have trod,
“Thro' nature up to nature's God.”—
With pious awe and wonder pale,
The strangers heard Fitzallan's tale.

XIV. Fitzallan's Narrative concluded.

Most lovely was the dawning ray
That lit the bowers of Matavai,
Lit palmy grove, and verdant plain,
And hills, we ne'er should see again;

114

Awhile those hills like grey clouds rise,
Then fade before our lingering eyes.
By many an isle of emerald hue,
By many a mount of misty blue,
We past; but still beside the flood,
With anxious gaze, the Indians stood;
Still, by the mountain's side so calm,
The light smoke curl'd above the palm;
Still open hut, or rude morai,
Peep'd out from mountain, wood, or bay.

XV.

Onward we past; till now no more,
We met the ship-encumbering shore:
Upon the smooth and glassy sea,
We sail'd in tranquil majesty.

115

How different were the feelings then
Of our new friends, and England's men!
Those o'er the clear and wide expanse,
Cast many a wild and fearful glance,
Each breeze that o'er the billows past,
Seem'd to their ears the death-fraught blast;
Each gentle undulating wave,
Seem'd to their eyes their yawning grave;
Whilst these, on future hopes intent,
Fearless and full of gay content,
Blest the propitious element.

XVI.

Soon hopes and fears all past away,
In certainty's refulgent ray.
We mark'd the fair isle's verdant hue,
The lonely Incarnation knew,
And joyful to the harbour drew.

116

For trace of foot, or work of hand,
In vain we search'd the fertile land;
A lovely desart we had found,
If desart 'twere, where all around
Liv'd plant, and flower, and flowering tree,
A silent world of faëry!
Soon felt the vale the British spade;
Soon rose the cottage in the shade.
One wish had they, one wish had I,
“Here let us live, here let us die,
“By natural toil win nature's wealth,
“Food, raiment, cheerfulness, and health.
Love at our side, we heard the call
Of blameless hope—and listen'd all!

117

XVII.

Save one alone, condemn'd to bear
The pangs of conscience, and despair;
Save Christian!—From the fatal hour,
He seiz'd on Bligh's long envied power,
And the fell stroke of vengeance dealt,
No joy, no comfort had he felt.
He spoke not of his grief; 'twas known,
By haggard eye, by hollow tone;
In heart, in brain, the pent up woe
Work'd to his senses' overthrow.

XVIII.

If ever o'er his gloomy soul
One hope of future blessing stole,
'Twas when the father's feelings mild
Dwelt fondly on the coming child;

118

Then would a soften'd sorrow teach
The sweet relief of friendly speech;
Blunted awhile remorse's force,
The parent's hopes would have their course.
It came at length, that anxious hour,
Pain's keenest thorn, hope's gayest flower!
It came, that hour of fearful joy!
The mother clasp'd her cherub boy;
The father gaz'd with father's pride,
The infant feebly gasp'd—and died!

XIX.

All who with parent's raptures swell,
A parent's sorrows well can tell;
But Christian's anguish, Christian's woe,
Guilt, misery, frenzy only know;

119

Fill'd to the brim, this draught of care
O'erflow'd the cup of his despair;
Silent by fits, by fits he spoke,
By fits in dreadful laughter broke;
Now would his wife adoring greet,
Now madly spurn her from his feet;
But still his ravings, loud and wild,
Turn'd on his captain and his child.
“Bligh! must I see that pale form still?
“Why frown on me?—I did not kill!—
“He is not dead!—He had a charm,
“See how he gnaws that little arm!
“The ocean bends not to his tread,
“He feeds with sharks upon the dead!
“Has he not robb'd my baby's grave?
“Oh! save my infant! Save him! save!

120

XX.

Days, weeks, and months, had roll'd away,
In silence, or in frenzy's sway;
At length more mild, more calm he grew,
Or seem'd: his friends, his wife he knew.
Again Iddeah's girdle bound
A pledge of Christian's love around:
He was so peaceful and so calm,
She thought to pour the healing balm,
Whilst walking on the cliff's high brow
The matron made the fond avow.
He stopp'd, he gaz'd upon the main,—
“See where the spectre comes again!
“He waits! I'll save this one!” he cried,
“Take me!” then plung'd into the tide.

121

XXI.

Vain was all help;—the sudden shock
Scatter'd his brains upon the rock.
Vain was all help!—all hope was gone,
Vain was each comrade's heart-felt groan;
Vain his sad widow's ceaseless moan!
Of all his love, and crime, and pains,
Christina only now remains!
Yet died not then Iddeah! She
Bore with unyielding constancy;
For her child's sake she nobly strove,
To live for her, tho' dead to love;
Each care, each duty to fulfil,
And in Christine find Christian still.

122

XXII.

In virtue and in friendship strong,
Years, all unheeded, past along;
Our peace, our bliss knew no alloy,
Save from one Otaheitean boy,
Tupia, a wild and wayward youth,
Unknown to gratitude or truth;
Kindness was lost on him, he laugh'd
At generous care, and call'd it craft;
Never an angry word forgot,
But knew each virtuous deed to blot.
We fear'd him not, for even in ill
We deem'd that weak mind wanted skill;
We fear'd him not, that fickle slave,
Alas, too credulously brave!
The scorpion, with its deadly sting,
Crawls on, an unregarded thing;

123

Abject and slow it trails the ground,
Till in our breast we feel the wound.
And, serpent like, that ruffian boy
Spread his fell poison to destroy.

XXIII.

By wily words, by specious arts,
He won his faithless comrades' hearts;
“See ye not, countrymen!” he cried,
“Each white man with his lovely bride?
“For them we fish, we plant, we toil,
“Our's is the labor, their's the spoil!
“Are not our limbs as well compact?
“Lack we the will, or power to act?
“We have the power, we have the skill,
“The tyrants' hated blood to spill!
“Still will ye hug the galling chain,
“Still slaves, base crouching slaves, remain?

124

“Or, by one noble effort, try
“To win life, land, and liberty?”

XXIV.

Fast spread the bosom-storm, but still,
As tempests gather on the hill,
It burst at last, and burst to kill.—
'Twas on a summer's eve,—O ne'er
Was eve so balmy, scene so fair!
The setting sun with tranquil ray
Gilt inland bower, and ocean spray;
Hush'd was the whispering wave, no breeze
'Woke the low murmuring of the trees;
The lovely scene cast o'er the sense
Its own enchanting indolence.
No longer sporting on the tide,
The dolphin gleams in azure pride;

125

No longer from the mountain height,
Peers the wild goat in rude affright;
No longer on the pebbly strand,
The faithful dogs obsequious stand,
Sporting with fond, yet cautious glee,
With joyous infants, gay and free;
No longer sounds along the beach
The baby laugh, the half-form'd speech.

XXV.

The happy children, tir'd of sport,
Seek their sweet slumbers, mild and short;
Some round those dogs of generous race,
Twine the small limbs and blooming face;
Some clinging to a mother's charms,
Some cradled in a father's arms;
The parents watch'd, with tearful joy,
Each rosy girl, each dark-hair'd boy;

126

But not a sigh, and not a word,
Not e'en a fond caress was heard;
The very birds gay carols cease,
And man and nature seem'd at peace.

XXVI.

'Twas seeming all—Inconstancy,
Thou dwellest not in sea or sky!
What tho' the sailor, tempest-tost,
What tho' the wanderer, lightning-crost,
Tell of their limbs by foul storms rent,
And curse each treacherous element;
Yet are they fix'd, that wave and wind,
Fix'd, when compar'd to mortal mind;
There is thy dwelling, there thy rest,
Thy empire there;—in man's light breast!

127

XXVII.

I mark'd Avanna, bending, mild,
With graceful fondness, o'er her child.
'Twas not the blushes mantling warm,
'Twas not the round and perfect form,
'Twas not the sparkling eye, that caught
My ardent gaze, my raptur'd thought;
But the soft bliss those blushes spoke,
The glance of joy thro' tears that broke,
The chaste maternal happiness;
Exstacy, where is no excess!
Delirium, which we wish not less!

XXVIII.

I gaz'd entranc'd; the sleeping child
In some gay vision sweetly smil'd;

128

The mother rais'd her eye so keen,
To mark if I that smile had seen;
She laugh'd—but, in one instant's space,
Grim horror chang'd that angel face!
She saw fell Tupia's dark eyes beaming!
Saw at my breast his dagger gleaming!
Like arrow rush'd;—like maniac spoke;—
I heard the scream;—I felt the stroke;—
In dear Avanna's arms I fell,
And faintly breath'd a sad farewell.

XXIX.

Beneath the Otaheitean knife,
Each Briton yielded up his life;
In that one breath of love and dread,
All fell, and all but I were dead:
Stunn'd, bleeding, like to death, I lay,
And Tupia revell'd o'er his prey.

129

Not even that war-yell loud and clear
Could pierce my dull and palsied ear;
Nor shrieks of widow'd anguish wild,
Nor screams of each affrighted child;
Sav'd from such scene of hopeless woe,
'Twas mercy dealt that death-like blow!

XXX.

Scene of triumphant guilt! how faint
Are words those fiend-like slaves to paint;
On each devoted dame they seize,
And mock their frantic miseries;
The hands with recent slaughter red,
Hands, which their husbands' blood have shed,
Now woo them to the nuptial bed!
Is there no hope, no help? must all
Dishonor'd live, self-murder'd fall?

130

Life, the sad widow scorns to share!
Death, the fond mother may not dare!
A living death the mourners bear.

XXXI.

Yet there is hope; fatigued at length
With bootless prayers and useless strength,
Tupia, and his wild savage crew,
Baffled, from those chaste matrons drew.
Yes, there was hope; Iddeah then
Sought the fierce tyger in his den;
To Tupia's self, in accents bold,
She told of wine in secret hold:
(Wine cordial still, or poison, given
Blessing or curse by bounteous Heaven!)
Eager they hail'd the precious boon,
Eager they drank; but slumber'd soon:

131

Sleep on, ye dark and murderous train,
Ne'er shall ye wake on earth again!

XXXII.

Christian's brave dame the daggers bore,
Still dripping with the white men's gore;
The bright steel caught the silvery gleam,
Her dark hair floated in the beam,
Hung round that sad and pallid face,
And that tall form of loftiest grace;
Like prophetess in gifted mood,
Before the widow's eyes she stood.—
“Revenge! revenge! this life blood cries,
“The murderers sleep. Arise! Arise!”
They rose. The soft and gentle fair,
Who even the creeping worm would spare,
Who wept the kid's gay life to spill,
Those fearful women rose—to kill!

132

XXXIII.

All slept; but Tupia wildly dream'd,
Even in his sleep the wretch blasphem'd;
Avanna bent, in anguish'd fear,
Shuddering his vision'd threats to hear,
Curses, half-mutter'd, still he breath'd,
Whilst in his breast her blade she sheath'd;
Swift as the thunder-bolt of Heaven,
Deep were the buried poniards driven:
Fir'd with thy energy, despair!
No weak or wavering stroke was there!
No time for speech, or shriek, or groan,
Life past in one low hollow moan,
The feeble cry, the writhing limb,
Soon sunk in death, mute, stiff, and grim!

133

XXXIV.

Heroines! what Greek or Roman name
To glory boasts a purer claim?
Alone, upon a desert soil,
Who shall relieve their ceaseless toil?
Who shall recruit their finny store?
Who drag the long canoe to shore?
If storms arise, who shall direct?
If the fell spoilers, who protect?
Remote from their dear native land;
Bereft of every succouring hand;
They bow'd them to th' avenging rod,
They sought His help—the Christian's God!
But prayer—the wounded spirit's balm—
Not yet their frantic grief could calm:
Extended on the bloody ground,
Their warm tears wash each yawning wound;

134

Wipe the stiff gore with silken tress,
Chafe the cold limbs, the pale lips press,
As if the pure and balmy breath
Could quicken the still pulse of death.

XXXV.

How many a mourner, in that hour,
Woo'd fancy's visionary power!
Thought that again the fond heart beat,
The bosom own'd its vital heat,
The stiffen'd lungs began to play,
The dull eyes caught the visual ray.
Delusive hopes! Upon thy cheeks
'Tis the chill breeze of midnight breaks;
'Tis thy own tremors that impart
The quivering motion to his heart;
'Tis thy own fever'd breast which gives
The glow, that on his bosom lives;

135

'Tis thy own tear-drop's crystal gleam,
That glimmers in the bright moon-beam;
Silent and stiff the lov'd-one lies;
Death chills his blood! Death seals his eyes!

XXXVI.

Avanna sate, in tearless woe,
Till rose a wail, sad, faint, and low;
The mother's heart the summons knew,—
To her neglected babe she flew.
Iddeah bent to drop a tear
O'er one to her lov'd Christian dear,
Starting, she breath'd an anxious cry,
For she has caught a feeble sigh;
Soon has she staunch'd the gaping wound,
Soon has she rais'd me from the ground;—
Hoping and doubting, her firm soul
Could fear and hope and doubt controul;

136

She would not to Avanna's care
Add the sad hope, that feeds despair;
Yet still with fond attention strove
To bring me back to life and love;
Nor vain her aid:—I breath'd again
To hear a wild and plaintive strain;
Motionless, speechless, on the verge
Of death, I caught the widow's dirge.

XXXVII. The Widow's Dirge.

Fly, night of murder, woe and dread,
Fly, for thy work is done!
The dawn will wake in blushes red,
Will glance on every honor'd head;

137

But when shall rise our sun?
They who gave life, and light, and love,
Warm as the day spring from above,
Their glorious race is run!

Babes! who in peaceful slumbers steep
Those eyes of softest blue,
To-morrow to our knees ye'll creep
To ask if still your fathers sleep,
And seek them thro' the dew,
To rouse them try each fondling art;—
Will it not break the mother's heart
To think on them, to look on you?

Britons! the widow's mournful tear
Alone bedews the brave!
Past the gay hope, the tender fear,
Which many an agonizing year

138

Friends, parents, kindred gave.
We weep alone;—but with the flood,
In mingled tide, the murderers' blood
Sweeps o'er the heroes' grave!

XXXVIII.

Slow rose the morn. Thro' misty tears
The glorious orb of day appears;
The rosy clouds around him roll'd
Awhile his radiant beams enfold;
As draperies, in sculptur'd art,
New charms to loveliness impart,
So the bright vapor's changeful hue
Attraction gave, attraction drew:
The Ocean, mingling with the sky,
Reflected back that rosy dye,
As smooth that glassy surface seems,
As bright that diamond radiance beams!

139

From pebbly sand and dewy flower
Shone that bright ray on beach and bower,
Floated the fragrance on the breeze,
Caroll'd the small birds from the trees.
Nature, fair bride, in all her charms,
Woo'd her gay bridegroom to her arms.
But yester-morn, that ray so bright
Wak'd eyes as sheen, and hearts as light;
But yester-morn across the dew,
With buoyant step the Britons flew;
But yester-morn, the carol gay,
Was echo'd back with cheerful lay,
That hail'd and blest the coming day!

XXXIX.

Oh! who could hail or bless the morn
Amid these scenes of horror born?

140

Lo! on the unpolluted ground
Where never mortal strife had frown'd,
Murder'd and murderers, side by side
Lie weltering in the gory tide:
Both, unprepar'd, unwarn'd, were driven
To meet their dread account in Heaven!
Yet might the retributive sword
Pardon for one foul crime afford,
I would not of Almighty power
Implore to die in happier hour,
Than when upon the feelings press
The husband's, father's tenderness;
When all the stormy passions cease,
And all is gratitude and peace.
For Otaheite's men,—'tis not
For me to judge their final lot,
But they were ta'en even in the prime
Of heinous unrepented crime,
Scarce match'd in the long roll of time!

141

On each dark face and stiffen'd form
Still dwelt rude passion's furious storm.

XL.

Such scene of bloody sacrifice
Struck on my dim and wandering eyes,
When, as one risen from the dead,
I lifted up my drooping head.
Of doubt, of joy, the mingled feeling
From each sad dame to Heaven is pealing!
But not a word Avanna spoke,
She sunk beneath the sudden stroke;
Short was her swoon.—'Tis thine, bright joy,
To jar the frame, but not destroy!
What bliss was her's! Yet she represt
The swelling transport of her breast;

142

To her lov'd friends she strove to spare
The sight of joy, they could not share.
Her cares alone my life could save
From man's last narrow home,—the grave.

XLI.

Long time the widow'd fair ones wept;
Unburied long their lords they kept;
Remnant of Otaheitean rite,
They dwelt upon the dismal sight;
Long in this cave the pile of woe
They watch'd;—and now it rests below.
Here sleeps Avanna too. That form
So fragile sank beneath the storm;
Awhile she liv'd, a drooping flower,
Then yielded to the tempest's power,
Dropt to the ground in youth's fair pride,
Blest me, and her young boys,—and died!

143

I wept not then—Imperious duty
Forbade to mourn o'er virtuous beauty;
Mine was the task to rouse the soul,
Subdu'd by sorrow's fond control;
To wipe the widow'd mourner's tear;
The orphan's tender form to rear,
To guide them on the virtuous way;
Sweet task! how fill'd I may not say,—
But how rewarded would you know,
Friends, sisters, children, ye can show!”
He ceas'd,—Around him fondly prest
Striving for speech each generous breast.

XLII.

Oft, soaring on the wings of thought,
The bard the patriot's flame has caught;
With force resistless, pour'd along
The rousing eloquence of song;

144

Till, fir'd by brave and warlike speech,
Even “to the imminent deadly breach,”
Start from their sheaths a thousand swords
To prove the omnipotence of words.—
But who can wake the tuneful shell,
The pause of gratitude to tell?
The tear-drop quivering in the eye,
The fond speech check'd by fonder sigh;
The pressure of the hand, the blush
Where tenderest feelings kindling rush,
Emotion thrilling every sense,
Silence more blest than eloquence!
The generous heart's ennobling zeal,
Ah! none can tell,—but all can feel!

145

Canto the Fourth.

147

I.

What grief it is to part! When kindred minds,
And friendly hands co-mingle heart with heart;
When the strong tie of obligation binds
The generous soul, what grief it is to part!
What thoughts across the sadden'd fancy dart
Of pleasures past; Ah never to return!
What fears awake the bosom's throbbing smart!
With restless pangs th' impatient spirits burn,
Or, all dissolv'd in woe, with softer sorrow mourn.

148

Such grief it is, e'en when short interval
Again shall bring that social happiness;
Oft turn the friends, and turning still recall
Some parting word, some cherish'd kind caress,
Or fond behest of anxious tenderness;
Oh there they dwell in memory's treasur'd store,
The silent kiss, the eloquent distress!
Each word, each look, each sigh we number o'er;
And hope full soon to meet, yet fear to meet no more.

How deeper far their woe, whose hope is none
Again to greet the friendly beaming eye,
When from that kind and generous people gone,
Hope, fear, and doubt, subside in certainty.
Oh ne'er again that lovely isle to see,
Those voices hear, those clasping hands to strain,

149

Where, but upon the sailor's memory
Shall trace of thy benignant race remain?
“Race most belov'd, ne'er shall we meet again!”

II.

'Twas Seymor spoke. “To-morrow's dawn
“Must view us from your isle withdrawn,
“Your hospitable isle! No more
“To linger on its pleasant shore!
“Refitted by your generous care,
“The bark we hasten to prepare,
“Reluctantly we haste:—How new
“To sailors' hearts such sad adieu!—
“Peace, bliss, and love, remain with you!”
Wringing Fitzallan's hand, he tried
The tear that fain would drop to hide;
Yet was that tear a brighter gem,
Than shone in Valor's diadem!

150

III.

Fitzallan still the hand retain'd,
And still with generous fervor strain'd;
“To-morrow,” quoth the chieftain, “No,
“To-morrow must no touch of woe
“Invade our joys: we part not so.
“Seymor, I conjure thee, by all
“Which can a sailor's heart enthral,
“By joys, which war and victory prove,
“By friendship's smile, by woman's love,
“For Hubert, for Christina, stay,
“And grace their happy bridal day.”
He turn'd to the betrothed pair;—
Look'd they like love's gay votaries there,
Or the sad victims of despair?

151

IV.

Not Henry, when he shuddering heard
His valiant Captain's parting word;
Not Henry, when he caught the sound
Of sweet Christine to Hubert bound;
Not Henry's self more tremors knew,
Or sterner frown'd, or paler grew,
Than Hubert, when that maiden's eye
Sought a last glance so mournfully;
Than Hubert, when that maiden's ear
Was bent a sad farewell to hear;
Than Hubert, when in Henry's arms,
All lifeless lay those maiden charms.

V.

Oh! never in these regions cold,
Where barter'd beauty yields to gold,

152

Where love's a shade, and vows are air,
Was seen a more reluctant fair:
Nor in the genial clime of Spain,
Where Hymen drags his firm-link'd chain,
(Not fabulous, alas, nor light!)
More jealous bridegroom e'er was dight:
Nor truer lover e'er was seen,
Than that bright youth of anxious mien,
Who o'er the fainting fair reclin'd,
As if his life with her's was twin'd;
Who thought it death from her to fly,
Who deem'd it bliss with her to die.

VI.

Fitzallan mark'd the gathering harm,
And snatch'd Christine from Henry's arm—
“And was it well, rash youth,” he cried,
“To seek the love of Hubert's bride?

153

“Rob her of health, and peace, and fame,
“To feed thy light and fickle flame?
“Thy short-liv'd passion's wavering dream,
“Will fly like the blue lightning's beam.
“Soon some fair girl, whose azure eye
“Reflects the tints of England's sky,
“Columbian nymph, or dame of France,
“Shall charm thee with her witching glance,
“From fair to fair still shalt thou rove,
“And sigh and woo,—but never love.
“But yon poor maid, how sad her lot!
“For thee her plighted love forgot;
“For thee the fondest youth forsaken,
“That ever nuptial vow has taken,—
“My orphan girl!—my noble boy!—
“Oh, thou hast murder'd all my joy!
“But all may yet be well:—Away!
“Seymor, I press not now thy stay.”

154

VII.

One moment with indignant glance,
Saw Henry to the chief advance;—
His eyes that trembling fair one meet,—
The next beheld him at his feet.
There, with the eloquence of love,
To win the matchless girl he strove,
To England's shores convey the fair,
Or dwell her willing captive there!
With chasten'd flow, with purest fires,
With all that hallow'd love inspires,
Glows the high strain; but vainly glows
When duty, reason, love oppose.
Oft Hubert strove his speech to stay,
But yielded to his father's sway;
His father who to passion cold,
Well knew the fiery youth to mould.

155

At length the death-like pause he broke,
And mild, but resolute, he spoke.

VIII.

“Henry, this orphan claims a part
“With Hubert in my ‘heart of heart;’
“At her dear mother's dying bed
“I swore to guard her helpless head;
“By her lov'd father's lowly tomb
“I swore thro' life to watch her doom.
“And shall I send this lily fair
“To that wide world of strife and care?
“And shall I trust my spotless flower
“Where cankers threat, and tempests lower;
“Where calumny her bloom may stain,
“Where love's fierce beam may death contain?
“No; sweetest bud of innocence,
“Kings shall not dare to snatch thee hence!

156

IX.

“Rash youth!” his words in milder mood
The aged chieftain thus pursued;
“Is there no link of power, to bind
“The Briton's self-dependent mind?
“Yes; parent, kindred, native land,
“The patriot tie, the filial band,
“All draw thee from this lonely strand:
“Again to see thy native vale,
“Again to breathe thy mountain gale,
“To see thy mother's fond tears streaming,
“To see thy sister's eyes bright beaming,
“To feel the gratulating clasp
“Of manly friendship's generous grasp;

157

“But most of all, society
“Chains thee with sympathetic tie.

X.

He ceas'd. On Henry's burning cheek
Hope's glowing colors brightly break.
“Fitzallan! vain the high appeal
“To filial love, to patriot zeal.
“Long from that cherish'd mother fled,
“Ere now perchance she deems me dead;
“Long us'd the stormy seas to roam,
“The world my land, the wave my home,
“Here, in this sea-green isle I rest,
“Like Halcyon on his watery nest.
“To trill at dawn my matin song,
“To skim at eve the stream along;
“Unwearied seek the finny food,
“For my lov'd mate and callow brood;

158

“Short toil with lengthen'd joys to blend,
“And many a grateful carol send,—
“Such life, such pleasures, we shall prove,—
“O father! What is life but love?”

XI.

“Love!” Hubert cried, with rising flame,
“Love! dar'st thou thus profane the name?
“Thy love, like beauty's brilliant flower,
“Blooms, fades, and dies in one short hour.
“Mine, from the cradle to the grave,
“Was doom'd the dear Christina's slave:
“In infancy to me she clung,
“And caught each accent from my tongue;
“Her tottering steps I guided still
“To flowery plain, or sunny hill;
“Her mother was my mother too;
“My father her's; alike we grew;

159

“She call'd me brother, but such love
“For sister ne'er did brother prove.—
“What tho' her heart to mine was cold,
“Retiring, coy, of icy mould,
“No rival yet that heart had gain'd,
“By treachery won, by fraud retain'd.”

XII.

“Peace for thy life!” fierce Henry cry'd,
And grasp'd the cutlass by his side.—
“Peace for my sake!” shriek'd fair Christine,
Darting the angry youths between.
“Henry, unless you wish my death,
“Restore thy falchion to its sheath!
“Hubert, my brother, say, canst thou,
“So long my friend, forsake me now?
“Is it for me that ye contend?
“Oh! grief will soon the combat end;

160

“Soon will this rash and fatal strife,
“That rends my heart, destroy my life!”

XIII.

Subdued to female gentleness,
Remorse and shame on Henry press;
Yet when he to the maiden turn'd,
Impetuous love bright blazing burn'd;
And when on young Fitzallan look'd,
Rage scarce the sway of reason brook'd.
Hubert, in calm, yet dauntless mood,
Self-master'd, and collected, stood.
Christine would speak; tho' spake her look,
No words her moving lips forsook!
In shame each struggling sound expir'd;
Tho' all the pitying crowd retir'd.
The rival youths, the luckless maid,
Fitzallan, Seymor, only staid.

161

At length from that strong trance she broke
Of agony, and faltering spoke.

XIV.

“Henry, to thee most kind, most true,
“My best, my ardent thanks are due,
“My simple tale, my last adieu.
“Hubert my wayward heart has told,
“In friendship warm, in passion cold;
“Has told our childhood's silken tie,
“Our sweet fraternal amity.
“Our pleasures, friends, and parents shar'd,
“The same our task, and our reward.
“He said my virgin heart was cold,
“Cast in a rough and icy mould;
“But that heart's debt he left untold.

162

XV.

“He said not that 'twas his to save,
“My life from the devouring wave;
“Rear o'er my father's grave the tomb;
“Cheer my dear mother's widow'd gloom;
“Each pain, each care, each toil remove,
“I ow'd him all—but could not love!
“Oft I have prob'd my wayward breast,
“When he his tender passion prest,
“Deaf was my heart to love's wild storm,
“I thought it cold;—I feel it warm;
“Gratitude, friendship, and esteem,
“May they my mighty debt redeem,
“Hubert with them my hand receive;
“My heart—would it were mine to give!”

163

XVI.

Young Hubert, with averted eyes,
Kiss'd the cold, trembling sacrifice,
In agitated woe he mus'd,
But not the proffer'd hand refus'd.—
Not long he mus'd. “Divinest maid!
“I cannot part with thee!” he said;
“O blest with thee, my future life
“Shall win thy love, my angel wife!”
Yet fear'd he on her face to look,
That speechless woe he could not brook,
He turn'd him from the cave away:—
One moment stunn'd and pale she lay,
Then started up, in wild dismay.
“Henry, farewell!” the fair one sigh'd,
And sought the cot her grief to hide.

164

XVII.

In Henry's breast fierce passions swell,
Ah! who their furious storm shall quell?
Fitzallan sooth'd, but all unheard
Was reason calm, or cheering word;
Till dear Christina's magic name,
Lull'd wrathful ire to Love's mild flame;
Forgotten who his passion crost,
He thought but of the maid he lost,
And tears stream down his manly cheek;
And sighs from his fond bosom break.
Thus soften'd to the strand they drew,
And bade a sad, a last adieu.
The crew soon gain the crowded boat,
Soon in the glassy harbour float;
Soon mount the vessel's side, so steep,
And some retire to balmy sleep,
And one to wake, and watch, and weep.

165

XVIII.

Christina sat within her bower,
From eve to midnight's pensive hour;
That hour, so lovely, and so calm,
When Nature sheds her purest balm.
The glorious canopy on high
Glow'd with the wonders of the sky;
Innumerous, the starry train
Lit heaven's high arch, and ocean's plain;
Whilst the pale regent of the night
Bent down, to view her image bright
Now sail upon the crystal lake,
Now on the restless billows break;
As, smooth and regular, the wave
Roll'd on, the silver sand to lave;
Majestic roll'd, in ceaseless flow,
That sparkling wave with crest of snow.

166

XIX.

The vessel, in her proud array,
Stately on the calm waters lay,
Her streamers floated wild and wide,
The billows dimpled on her side;
Her white sails caught the brightening beam,
Her topmast glitter'd in the stream;
And the long shadows seem to sleep,
Like clouds across the tranquil deep.
That scene of loveliness and rest,
Sooth'd not Christina's throbbing breast.
That vessel glittering in the ray,
It bore her all of life away!—
To lull that maddening grief she strove,
And turn'd to view her native grove.

167

XX.

Could nature charm the bosom's woes,
That hour had lull'd her to repose.
The rosy bloom, the varied green,
That wont to deck the lovely scene,
Was sweetly blent to one soft hue,
Of mingled grey, and brown, and blue.
There rose a mass of solemn shade;
Here light the chequering moon-beams play'd;
Glanc'd on the dew-bespangled ground;
Dwelt on the hill with vapors crown'd;
Kiss'd rippling stream, and shadowy vale;
And slept along the narrow dale.
And nature slept! 'Twas silence all,
Save the low sound of ocean's fall;
The murmuring of the brook; the breeze
Which swept, in cadence soft, the trees;

168

So softly swept, that scarce the eye
Their faint vibration could descry;
So softly swept, that scarce the ear
That soothing plaintive sound could hear.

XXI.

Christina, in her hopeless grief,
Found not the mourner's sad relief;
She could not weep; the sudden blow
Forbade the genial tear to flow.
She could not weep; upon her breast
Th' o'erwhelming tide of misery prest,
Prest on that heart, so good and kind,
That memory clear, that equal mind;
Her brain with gathering frenzy fraught,
Vainly her cause for anguish sought,
All motionless she sate; her eye
Bent wildly upon vacancy.

169

But what is that, whose sparkling gleam,
Has caught the pale moon's trembling stream,
And the fair mourner's joyless beam?

XXII.

She started up, her hands she clasp'd,
Oh soon her glittering prize she grasp'd!
With speechless joy, with sorrow mute,
She kiss'd her prize,—'twas Henry's flute!
Forgotten since the dawn of day,
Hid in the clustering vine it lay;
And now to fair Christina brought
The power of memory and of thought;
O painful power! What pangs she felt,
As on the morning's bliss she dwelt!
Each silver sound so sweetly clear,
Of flute, of voice, she seem'd to hear;

170

Each note his matchless genius prov'd;
Each accent told how well he lov'd.

XXIII.

Once had she sought, but sought in vain,
To swell that soft enchanting strain;
Again the cherish'd tube she blew;—
One low, harsh, hollow note she drew;
Discordant, all unlike the sound,
That wont to swell that narrow bound!
It jarr'd, like the lone harp that falls
In lovely Erin's ruin'd halls;
Where cold despair has broke the lyre,
And quench'd the patriot's glowing fire.
It struck upon that maiden's heart,
Like groan when soul and body part;
It pierc'd to feeling's secret cell,
And the big tear-drops freely fell;

171

They fell, and with them came the calm
Of reason, and religion's balm;
That heart, where pious virtue glow'd,
Felt strongly the vast debt it ow'd.
Yet, as the tedious moments creep,
Fond, fruitless tears her pillow steep.

XXIV.

Slow crept the moments. Yet too fast,
For sweet Christina's peace they past.
The morn arose; the fatal hour
Of bridal vows, of Hubert's power;
Arose in blushes rosy bright,
And darted forth celestial light.
Deep in the fragrance of the grove,
Awoke the burnish'd emerald dove.

172

High on the Maple's topmost spray,
He rous'd his mate with murmuring lay,
Then flew with airy wing away.
When last arose that crimson streak,
It match'd not bright Christina's cheek!
When last awoke that tender dove,
He match'd not Henry's strains of love!
But pallid now and sad, she fled
From Hubert's love, with anguish'd dread.
Needless her fear; he left the cot,
At early morn; and sought her not.

XXV.

But soon the bridal maidens came,
To deck the bright and peerless dame.
Young Helen,—fairest maiden she,
Who trod the green isle merrily;

173

And to Christina's heart most dear,—
Young Helen whisper'd words of cheer.
Yet wonder'd much that there was need,
Of comfort, with such blissful meed;
“For none like Hubert flung the lance!
“For none like Hubert led the dance!
“For none like Hubert good and wise!
“How could she such a heart despise?”
Oh! all, who Helen's glowing mien,
And pale Christina's cheek had seen,
That girl for blushing bride had taken,
That drooping nymph, for maid forsaken.

XXVI.

With simple taste they deck'd the fair,
And braided her long silken hair;
Those glossy tresses, unconfin'd
Which sported on the wanton wind,

174

No longer o'er her bosom float,
Nor hide her slim and ivory throat;
But the bright ringlets' polish'd jet,
Blended with flowery coronet,
—Where scarlet pea, from Hubert's bower,
Hung o'er the jasmine's starry flower;—
Or wav'd upon her polish'd brow,
Like raven's plumes on Cheviot's snow.

XXVII.

What wily art of courtly dress
Could add to that form's loveliness?
No art was there. The Parou wound
In light and graceful folds, around.
Above the slender ancle, free
Floated that nymph-like drapery;
Her round and polish'd arm reveal'd;
Her bosom's swelling charms conceal'd;

175

For virtue here with beauty join'd,
And modesty with grace combin'd.
Like sea-nymph on her neck she bore
The hidden treasures of the shore;
And pearly shells, and coral grac'd
The girdle that confin'd her waist.

XXVIII.

The light task o'er, in accents mild
She spoke her thanks, and sweetly smil'd.
Was it th' enforced meed of duty,
Or the gay smile of conscious beauty?
'Vails not to ask; it pass'd as soon
As vapors o'er the changeful moon;
Whilst, constant as the sun, remain'd
Those charms by no foul passion stain'd.
Not brighter to the wanderer's eyes
The shawled maids of Cashmire rise,

176

Where beauty frames her magic spell,
And grace enchanted loves to dwell.

XXIX.

The bride's procession to attend,
Come maid and youth, and matron friend;
These sought in vain, by fond caress,
Her heart-felt anguish to repress;
Those with more generous pity strove
To wake her smiles, and chace her love.
The bridegroom's presence now they wait,
Hubert, with hope and joy elate,
But Hubert came not; and in vain
They search'd o'er hill, and dale, and plain.
Fitzallan, from the peep of dawn,
To the lone chapel had withdrawn,
There too perchance young Hubert sought,
To calm perturb'd and jealous thought.

177

“Why loiter here?” Helenia cried,
“'Tis there he waits his lovely bride!”
And soon the hapless fair they lead,
Thro' the rich vale and verdant mead.

XXX.

On Helen's arm Christina leant,
With faltering step, and eye intent;
'Till as she pass'd a woody mound,
She rais'd that bright eye from the ground,
Where she thro' craggy rocks might view,
Short glimpses of the ocean blue.
Shuddering she gaz'd; for glistening bright,
She saw the sails all silver white,
The swelling sails, which Henry bore,
For ever from Christina's shore.
Onward she past; and saw no more.

178

XXXI.

Deep in the windings of the wood,
Lone and retir'd the chapel stood;
Artless and unadorn'd, the place
Breath'd simple nature's wildest grace.
Palm trees erect, of towering height,
With tufted crest exclude the light;
Their frowning columns, dark and tall,
Ascend at equal interval,
And the smooth trunk shines brightly grand,
As marble from the sculptor's hand.
Round the high trees fond creepers climb,
To reach that capital sublime;
And blossoms of a thousand dies,
Beneath the verdant plantain rise;
And fragrant here the breezes sweep,
As o'er Arabia's spicy steep.

179

XXXII.

How soothing sweeps that balmy breeze,
Waking with tremulous sound the trees!
They bend at nature's genial call;
And bends not man, the lord of all?
Yes; here the purest race impart
The incense of the grateful heart;
Here, on each Sabbath's peaceful morn,
To Heaven the choral hymn is borne,
From Pagans, whose repentant sighs
Ascend in ceaseless sacrifice;
From Christians, who the paths have trod
Of peace, of virtue, and of God;
Who still His guiding grace implore,
His Mercy bless, His Power adore.

180

XXXIII.

At the arch'd door, like village church,
Arose a low and rustic porch;
Thence gaz'd Fitzallan on the train,
With throb of pleasure mix'd with pain.
“That girl, how dear to every heart!
“Oh why should love and duty part?—
“She comes!”—He caught her to his breast,
That trembling maid with woe opprest.
He hail'd her “Daughter;” oft the word,
From those dear lips with pride she heard;
But now, as low he breath'd the name,
With anguish shook her quivering frame:
“Calm thee, Christine!” Fitzallan cried,
“These feelings suit not Hubert's bride;—
“But Hubert, where is he?” the sound,
From youth to maid was echo'd round.

181

XXXIV.

“Strange that this fair auspicious dawn
“Should view him from his home withdrawn.
“Christina, hast thou seen the youth?
“No! well I know that bosom's truth!
“But is there none the cause can guess?
“Anna, thy blushes answer, yes!
“O quickly speak!” In accents low
She spoke, reluctantly and slow.
“Yes, she had met at break of day
“Young Hubert, hastening to the bay;
“Had view'd him launch the light canoe,
“Which bounding towards the vessel flew;
“And as he pass'd, her ear had caught
“Disjointed words, with meaning fraught,
“Unconscious breath'd in laboring thought.

182

“The low sounds incoherent came,—
“Yet sure he join'd Christina's name
“With ‘sweet revenge,’ and much she fear'd,
“For one to the lov'd maid endear'd.”

XXXV.

The father's love, the father's pride,
That painful moment mortified;
By anger, woe, and doubt assail'd,
The father's fears at length prevail'd.
“Christina, to the shore I fly,
“This boy's rash haste to rectify;
“This hateful rivalry to stay,
“This jealousy to chase away,—
“For this I go;—await me here!”—
“O banish this degrading fear!”
The maiden cried, “Injurious thought!
“From terror, not from reason, caught.

183

“What! dost thou class thy Hubert then
“With polish'd Europe's treacherous men?
“Who point the death-tube at the breast,
“Which yester-morn to their's was prest;
“Men who, unfit to live or die,
“Unbidden to His presence fly,
“Who sent, at the Redeemer's birth,
“Good will to men, and peace on earth!”

XXXVI.

“And dost thou Hubert's virtue deem,
“The brightness of an airy dream?
“And think'st thou Hubert's love so weak,
“That he Christina's heart would break?
“Ah! well I know that virtue strong,
“Practis'd to render good for wrong!
“Ah! well I know that faithful love
“From me would every pang remove!

184

“At peril of his life would save
“His rival from the stormy wave;
“Share with him board and dwelling free;
“Give all he had to give,—but me!”

XXXVII.

Delighted, charm'd, the father gaz'd,
On the bright glow her ardor rais'd;
From friendship, not from love, it sprung,
Yet on her generous speech he hung:
She sway'd his heart with double claim,
Defender of his Hubert's fame:
Her face, her heart, with feeling burn'd,
And blushing to the porch she turn'd;
She turn'd;—and there, in listening mood,
Link'd side by side the rivals stood!
Hubert advanc'd, and in his arms
One moment clasp'd those blooming charms:

185

“Thanks, sister, thanks!” faltering he said,
And led young Henry to the maid;—
“Oh hands should meet, where hearts entwine,
“Take her, bright stranger, she is thine!”

Oh! it is sweet, in this disjointed age,
To 'scape awhile life's sad realities,
Where history weeps o'er the recording page
Of human crimes and human miseries!

186

From want, from war, th' enfranchis'd spirit flies—
How gladly flies! how mournfully returns!
Still in that Southern isle embowered lies,
Hiding 'mid palmy groves, and glistening burns,
And England's stormy skies and wilder discord spurns.

Still fancy lingers there; to contemplate
The lovely scene, enamor'd of her theme!
Connubial love, most blissful draught of fate,
Mix'd with no rancorous tear, or jealous dream,
Pure, unpolluted, as the crystal stream,
Perfect, as joy in Eden's happy vale;
And peace, content, and piety's mild beam,
Gild with refulgent light the verdant dale,
A softer music breathe, and load the ambient gale.

187

Home, wanderer, home again! The spell is past,
Which lur'd thee, Fancy, to that Southern isle;
The silent lyre from the high plantain cast,
Unvocal now, no longer would beguile
A gentle lady's tear, or critic's smile.
Fancy, why lingerest thou? Thy pleasing pain
Is all gone by; return and rest awhile;
Again perchance to wake the echoing strain
With firmer, bolder hand. Home, wanderer, home again!