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PERKIN WARBECK. REIGN OF KING HENRY VII.
ARGUMENT.
My Ivy Bower.—Thoughts there suggested.—Lament for Poetry. —Invocation to England.—Warbeck sets out from Burgundy; and description of the Queen of Burgundy, a descendant of the Plantagenets.— Kent, and address to the men of Kent.—The King grieves for the defalcation of Stanley, the same who had won for him, by his treachery, the battle of Bosworth.—Description of the festivities at Holyrood, and the courtship of Catherine Gordon.—Description of Catherine Gordon.—The scene in the Bower.—Description of the Wedding.—Invocation to Holyrood.
My ivy bower—my little ivy bower,
Inwreath'd with myrtle, rose, and jessamine;
Where pleasantly I wile full many an hour,
Pondering on things majestic and divine.
Here, in the summer rays, I intertwine
Quaint fancies, gather'd from the cloudy brain
(That yet, like rain-drops ting'd with sunlight, shine);
Here do I court the muse's solemn train,
And worship at their feet—O, be it not in vain!
Inwreath'd with myrtle, rose, and jessamine;
Where pleasantly I wile full many an hour,
Pondering on things majestic and divine.
Here, in the summer rays, I intertwine
Quaint fancies, gather'd from the cloudy brain
(That yet, like rain-drops ting'd with sunlight, shine);
Here do I court the muse's solemn train,
And worship at their feet—O, be it not in vain!
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Here doth my musing fancy float away,
On wings invisible, of memories old;
How, when my boyhood, like a summer day,
Serenely shone (that blessed age of gold);
And I did love whate'er I might behold,
Suspecting nought, and leaning towards all;
How sorrows came, like wolves into the fold,
And shrouded me in grief, as in a pall;
And hate and hopeless love did bind me in their thrall.
On wings invisible, of memories old;
How, when my boyhood, like a summer day,
Serenely shone (that blessed age of gold);
And I did love whate'er I might behold,
Suspecting nought, and leaning towards all;
How sorrows came, like wolves into the fold,
And shrouded me in grief, as in a pall;
And hate and hopeless love did bind me in their thrall.
How in first youth, ere yet a man, I felt,
What never more can be, proud and elate,
Terribly proud and glad. How oft I knelt
Upon the mountains, like a king in state,
Communing with the tempests as they beat
Among my hair; and saw bright spirits fly
Amid the mists, and with the whirlwinds mate.
How, with a fearless and enquiring eye,
I went from star to star, along the pathless sky.
What never more can be, proud and elate,
Terribly proud and glad. How oft I knelt
Upon the mountains, like a king in state,
Communing with the tempests as they beat
Among my hair; and saw bright spirits fly
Amid the mists, and with the whirlwinds mate.
How, with a fearless and enquiring eye,
I went from star to star, along the pathless sky.
How that exceeding splendour of my love
Came to my heart in utter solitude;
Came like a gentle being from above,
'Mid burning thoughts and madden'd dreams, to brood—
(For O, wild passion then had me subdued,
And I could gaze not on the stainless moon,
Nor on blue midnight in her starry hood,
Without a bitter shame that held me down!)
She came, and vanish'd quite those tempests of my noon.
Came to my heart in utter solitude;
Came like a gentle being from above,
'Mid burning thoughts and madden'd dreams, to brood—
(For O, wild passion then had me subdued,
And I could gaze not on the stainless moon,
Nor on blue midnight in her starry hood,
Without a bitter shame that held me down!)
She came, and vanish'd quite those tempests of my noon.
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She came on wings of azure calm; she came
And purified my tainted spirit quite,
Like sacrifice new cleans'd with incens'd flame,
I felt ennobled in her gracious light;
The pierceless mists dispers'd before my sight;
My chains fell off; I felt elate and free;
My soul became serene, and clear, and bright,
And wanton'd in its elemental glee;
'Twas thou who did this deed—blest Margaret, 'twas thee!
And purified my tainted spirit quite,
Like sacrifice new cleans'd with incens'd flame,
I felt ennobled in her gracious light;
The pierceless mists dispers'd before my sight;
My chains fell off; I felt elate and free;
My soul became serene, and clear, and bright,
And wanton'd in its elemental glee;
'Twas thou who did this deed—blest Margaret, 'twas thee!
“My ivy-bower, my little ivy-bower,
Enwreath'd with myrtle, rose, and jessamine!”
Here, o'er the clouds of ages, do I tower—
The suns and stars that ages yet must shine;
Deeming of actions noble or divine—
Of murder'd kings and fallen tyranny—
Of buried names—of many a mighty line
Wither'd: of empires nought, that once were free—
And of thy patriot dead—thy champion's liberty!
Enwreath'd with myrtle, rose, and jessamine!”
Here, o'er the clouds of ages, do I tower—
The suns and stars that ages yet must shine;
Deeming of actions noble or divine—
Of murder'd kings and fallen tyranny—
Of buried names—of many a mighty line
Wither'd: of empires nought, that once were free—
And of thy patriot dead—thy champion's liberty!
Revenges, bitter hates, and tyranny,
Contentions, strifes, wars, murders, aching woes
By kings and martyrs felt:—all, that the skies
In retribution wield o'er man's repose.
Of nightly tournaments, and princely shows;
Of festal merriment and minstrelsie;
Of the proud time when poetry arose
Prophetic, and, in tones sublime and high,
With her majestic hymnings, shook the listening sky.
Contentions, strifes, wars, murders, aching woes
By kings and martyrs felt:—all, that the skies
In retribution wield o'er man's repose.
Of nightly tournaments, and princely shows;
Of festal merriment and minstrelsie;
Of the proud time when poetry arose
Prophetic, and, in tones sublime and high,
With her majestic hymnings, shook the listening sky.
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Of Chaucer, Spencer, Shakespeare, and the rest—
The mighty ones, who o'er the heart and brain
Hold empire, seated deep in every breast—
Gigantic spirits who must ever reign!
To whose huge souls great worlds are but a train
Of worshippers, who worship at their feet!
Oh! how shall we, poor earth-worms, ever gain
Their viewless height?—Their high immortal seat?
The spheric tones are gone—gone the celestial heat!
The mighty ones, who o'er the heart and brain
Hold empire, seated deep in every breast—
Gigantic spirits who must ever reign!
To whose huge souls great worlds are but a train
Of worshippers, who worship at their feet!
Oh! how shall we, poor earth-worms, ever gain
Their viewless height?—Their high immortal seat?
The spheric tones are gone—gone the celestial heat!
“Fallen on evil times and evil men,”
How shall we e'er ascend on high, as they,
Into the golden-sandall'd morn, and when
Meek evening bears the sun's departing ray?
Vainly we strive to gain our ancient sway!
Yet not in vain; not on the desert sand
Unseen, unheeded shall our vessels lay;—
Pure hearts, and high, still throng our kingly land,
There yet are mighty hearts we hold in our command!
How shall we e'er ascend on high, as they,
Into the golden-sandall'd morn, and when
Meek evening bears the sun's departing ray?
Vainly we strive to gain our ancient sway!
Yet not in vain; not on the desert sand
Unseen, unheeded shall our vessels lay;—
Pure hearts, and high, still throng our kingly land,
There yet are mighty hearts we hold in our command!
Beauty, and worth, and genius still attend;
Not all in vain flow'd, Chatterton, thy blood;
Not vainly from thy bosom did ascend,
O, Otway, groans of agony subdued!
Like temples in the wilderness ye stood,
And pilgrims from afar shall crowd to you;
Your worshippers shall be the wise and good;
The poets shall enwreath each lofty brow,
And lay undying hymns before your feet, as now.
Not all in vain flow'd, Chatterton, thy blood;
Not vainly from thy bosom did ascend,
O, Otway, groans of agony subdued!
Like temples in the wilderness ye stood,
And pilgrims from afar shall crowd to you;
Your worshippers shall be the wise and good;
The poets shall enwreath each lofty brow,
And lay undying hymns before your feet, as now.
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The first page of all empires they have writ—
The last page of all empires they shall write;
Priests, prophets, martyrs, in their souls have lit
The incens'd breathings fainting in the light!
Then, let us mourn not, but, in stern delight
Through Death and Hell, still bear us bravely on:
Trusting, ere yet we die, to breathe the might
Of ancient times, the ancient pride of song—
And when our lyres are shatter'd, join the immortal throng!
The last page of all empires they shall write;
Priests, prophets, martyrs, in their souls have lit
The incens'd breathings fainting in the light!
Then, let us mourn not, but, in stern delight
Through Death and Hell, still bear us bravely on:
Trusting, ere yet we die, to breathe the might
Of ancient times, the ancient pride of song—
And when our lyres are shatter'd, join the immortal throng!
O, England, England, get thee up—arise!
Too long thy fame hath slumber'd! all too long.
The nations have contemn'd thee. Break the ties
Of traitors who have bound thee, and the wrong
Of revolution's slaves. Come—hear the song
Once more of patriots:—throw the anarch off!
Thy children once were brave, and bold, and strong,
Scorning rebellion's wiles and treason's scoff,
Tear, tear their banners down—their blood-red garments doff.
Too long thy fame hath slumber'd! all too long.
The nations have contemn'd thee. Break the ties
Of traitors who have bound thee, and the wrong
Of revolution's slaves. Come—hear the song
Once more of patriots:—throw the anarch off!
Thy children once were brave, and bold, and strong,
Scorning rebellion's wiles and treason's scoff,
Tear, tear their banners down—their blood-red garments doff.
What, shall the Puritans come back again?
Th' accursed Roundheads, to pollute the shrine
Of God?—with traitors, Atheists, in their train?
Shall Oxford hear the hypocrite's false whine?
And Isis weep o'er her departed line?
The pillars all are trembling—and the wing
Is pluck'd—the glories gone that were divine—
The plumes, the banners torn!—How shall we sing
When sounds of shatter'd temples in the horizon ring?
Th' accursed Roundheads, to pollute the shrine
Of God?—with traitors, Atheists, in their train?
Shall Oxford hear the hypocrite's false whine?
And Isis weep o'er her departed line?
The pillars all are trembling—and the wing
Is pluck'd—the glories gone that were divine—
The plumes, the banners torn!—How shall we sing
When sounds of shatter'd temples in the horizon ring?
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Such men as follow'd Warbeck, still are here,
Robbers and ruffians, who, like maggots, gnaw
At rottenness:—whose choicest atmosphere
Is lust and murder:—in whose poisonous maw
The foulest breath's engendered. Men who grow,
As doth the fungus, where's most vile decay:
Thieves, bankrupts, convicts—such as nothing know
But wrong, disorder, death;—loving to stray
'Mid blood and dead men's bones, 'mid desolation's sway.
Robbers and ruffians, who, like maggots, gnaw
At rottenness:—whose choicest atmosphere
Is lust and murder:—in whose poisonous maw
The foulest breath's engendered. Men who grow,
As doth the fungus, where's most vile decay:
Thieves, bankrupts, convicts—such as nothing know
But wrong, disorder, death;—loving to stray
'Mid blood and dead men's bones, 'mid desolation's sway.
O'er Burgundy's green vineyard's there's a shade,
A dimness on the pastures. The proud sun,
Even like some great victorious king, hath laid
His worn limbs down:—his daily toil is done!
But oh, what glorious curtains over-run
His canopy!—What gold and crimson meet
Around the couch where ocean's billows run!
How winds and waters cool his burning feet,
And murmur to his slumbers, symphonies most sweet!
A dimness on the pastures. The proud sun,
Even like some great victorious king, hath laid
His worn limbs down:—his daily toil is done!
But oh, what glorious curtains over-run
His canopy!—What gold and crimson meet
Around the couch where ocean's billows run!
How winds and waters cool his burning feet,
And murmur to his slumbers, symphonies most sweet!
The ships are in the harbour, and like trees
In winter, when their leaves are blown away—
Like skeleton trees they stand. Upon the breeze
Each pennant like a fiery snake doth prey.
The gladsome waves leap up, and waft their spray
Like farewell kisses 'gainst each painted prow—
The glittering dolphins in the shadows play,
And scatter o'er the waves their burnish'd glow,
The mermaids sing for joy among their spars below.
In winter, when their leaves are blown away—
Like skeleton trees they stand. Upon the breeze
Each pennant like a fiery snake doth prey.
The gladsome waves leap up, and waft their spray
Like farewell kisses 'gainst each painted prow—
The glittering dolphins in the shadows play,
And scatter o'er the waves their burnish'd glow,
The mermaids sing for joy among their spars below.
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But who is she that gazeth on that sight
Through glimmering tears?—'tis Burgundy's bright queen!
Proud and majestic in the fading light
Of evening doth she stand, and with a keen
And mournful sorrow contemplates the scene.
And oh, how beautiful! Her dark hair flows
Like midnight shadows; and, alas, I ween,
Those dazzling orbs are dimm'd with many woes
That add to their deep, dark, and sorrowful repose!
Through glimmering tears?—'tis Burgundy's bright queen!
Proud and majestic in the fading light
Of evening doth she stand, and with a keen
And mournful sorrow contemplates the scene.
And oh, how beautiful! Her dark hair flows
Like midnight shadows; and, alas, I ween,
Those dazzling orbs are dimm'd with many woes
That add to their deep, dark, and sorrowful repose!
Her rich embroider'd garments droop in pride
Along her stately limbs. Her spiritual brow
And gorgeous bosom mock the foam-topp'd tide
For perfect whiteness; the meek wavelets bow
To her, as to their ocean-queen, I trow.
Alas, that like a time-defying tree,
Revenge, in such a lovely breast should grow—
O that so pure and bright a shape should be
The monitress of guile and hollow mockery.
Along her stately limbs. Her spiritual brow
And gorgeous bosom mock the foam-topp'd tide
For perfect whiteness; the meek wavelets bow
To her, as to their ocean-queen, I trow.
Alas, that like a time-defying tree,
Revenge, in such a lovely breast should grow—
O that so pure and bright a shape should be
The monitress of guile and hollow mockery.
But, she hath mourn'd the sorrows of her race:
Blood—reeking blood, hath sunk into her brain;
Barnet and Tewkesbury each have left their trace;
She sees each murder'd king, each warrior slain,
Each gentle murder'd prince and battle-plain.
The heart of woman is the bower of bliss;
Its fruits are fed with constant summer rain;
But let the fiend, Revenge, its foliage kiss,
Its flowers are turn'd to blight—its scent to bitterness.
Blood—reeking blood, hath sunk into her brain;
Barnet and Tewkesbury each have left their trace;
She sees each murder'd king, each warrior slain,
Each gentle murder'd prince and battle-plain.
The heart of woman is the bower of bliss;
Its fruits are fed with constant summer rain;
But let the fiend, Revenge, its foliage kiss,
Its flowers are turn'd to blight—its scent to bitterness.
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The ships approach our shore. They shout aloud
With joy to see our abbeys breast the sky—
To see our towers and temples standing proud—
To see our fields and groves that calmly lie,
And fertile inland vales. Far as the eye
Can reach is comfort, pleasantness, and peace.
Huts, villages, and castles they espy;
Rich, golden harvests in their proud increase;
Row after row of vales, and towns that never cease!
With joy to see our abbeys breast the sky—
To see our towers and temples standing proud—
To see our fields and groves that calmly lie,
And fertile inland vales. Far as the eye
Can reach is comfort, pleasantness, and peace.
Huts, villages, and castles they espy;
Rich, golden harvests in their proud increase;
Row after row of vales, and towns that never cease!
And such was pleasant Kent. They, who, of yore,
“Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath,
“Confirm'd the charters that were theirs before,”
And, in the cause of freedom, spent their breath
For truth and liberty, despising death.
Nor were they cowards now, but firm and true
They stood, and drew the faulchion from its sheath!
Them did the spirit of their sires embue,
And Liberty in them regain'd her ancient hue.
“Did from the Norman win a gallant wreath,
“Confirm'd the charters that were theirs before,”
And, in the cause of freedom, spent their breath
For truth and liberty, despising death.
Nor were they cowards now, but firm and true
They stood, and drew the faulchion from its sheath!
Them did the spirit of their sires embue,
And Liberty in them regain'd her ancient hue.
But there were traitors round the monarch's throne,
O, Stanley, Stanley, thou, who, on the field
Of Bosworth, hurl'dst the proud usurper down;
Thou, who, at Bosworth, bore the anointed shield
That sav'd us, and didst make the murderer yield!
My treasurer, my chamberlain, my friend,
The keeper of my heart;—and dost thou wield
The spear of treason?—Stanley, dost thou bend
Thy might against thy king—and, on his peace, descend;
O, Stanley, Stanley, thou, who, on the field
Of Bosworth, hurl'dst the proud usurper down;
Thou, who, at Bosworth, bore the anointed shield
That sav'd us, and didst make the murderer yield!
My treasurer, my chamberlain, my friend,
The keeper of my heart;—and dost thou wield
The spear of treason?—Stanley, dost thou bend
Thy might against thy king—and, on his peace, descend;
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“'Tis my companions, not mine enemies—
“'Tis such as eat my food that have betray'd;
“Yet, ere to-morrow's sun ascend the skies,
“The vulture fierce shall leave his native glade,
“And feed on thee, and gnaw thy aching head!”
Yes, men of Kent, 'twas you who did the deed,
Ye, with the ancient spirit, undismay'd,
Drove your war-horses to their mighty speed,
And made the invaders shake before you like a reed.
“'Tis such as eat my food that have betray'd;
“Yet, ere to-morrow's sun ascend the skies,
“The vulture fierce shall leave his native glade,
“And feed on thee, and gnaw thy aching head!”
Yes, men of Kent, 'twas you who did the deed,
Ye, with the ancient spirit, undismay'd,
Drove your war-horses to their mighty speed,
And made the invaders shake before you like a reed.
Yea, ye were great, and glorious, and free,
Majestic in your natures, with the pride
Of the old heroes, patriots, liberty.
Alas, alas! that in your valleys wide,
Now, atheist, traitor, sitteth side by side;
That flames—red raging flames ascend the sky,
And, round your rose-wreath'd doors, in eddies glide,
Like fires of hell;—that now the incendiary
Stalks o'er your peaceful vales, and doth your strength defy!
Majestic in your natures, with the pride
Of the old heroes, patriots, liberty.
Alas, alas! that in your valleys wide,
Now, atheist, traitor, sitteth side by side;
That flames—red raging flames ascend the sky,
And, round your rose-wreath'd doors, in eddies glide,
Like fires of hell;—that now the incendiary
Stalks o'er your peaceful vales, and doth your strength defy!
There is a festal glare in Holyrood,
The towers are lit, the windows seem on fire;
And Arthur's seat, to pleasant thoughts subdued,
Looks proudly down as if he were its sire.
The ancient pavements echo, higher and higher,
To each loud chariot and sleek, prancing steed;
Thousands look on, and wistfully admire
The noble shapes they hurl along in speed,
And, as they view them, pray for Scotland's ancient breed.
The towers are lit, the windows seem on fire;
And Arthur's seat, to pleasant thoughts subdued,
Looks proudly down as if he were its sire.
The ancient pavements echo, higher and higher,
To each loud chariot and sleek, prancing steed;
Thousands look on, and wistfully admire
The noble shapes they hurl along in speed,
And, as they view them, pray for Scotland's ancient breed.
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They now are met—brave knights and ladies fair!—
(Bold, stalwart knights, who, in the battle-field,
Had rid full oft in triumph, nor did care
For death, but, on Northumbria's hills did wield
Spear, sword, and faulchion, and would never yield!
Pure, lovely maids from vale and mountain-side,
Where lofty castles o'er wild ravines reel'd;—
Maids, like the spirits of their hills, who glide
Among the morning mists and tempests in their pride.)
(Bold, stalwart knights, who, in the battle-field,
Had rid full oft in triumph, nor did care
For death, but, on Northumbria's hills did wield
Spear, sword, and faulchion, and would never yield!
Pure, lovely maids from vale and mountain-side,
Where lofty castles o'er wild ravines reel'd;—
Maids, like the spirits of their hills, who glide
Among the morning mists and tempests in their pride.)
The rush-entwined floor, unstain'd with blood,
(Since stain'd) delighted, bore their honour'd feet;
The tapestries shew'd Dian in the wood—
Her naked nymphs—her stag-hounds strong and fleet;—
Fair Venus, in her forest-wove retreat,
Trimming the tangles of Adonis' hair;—
Semele woo'd and won;—and yet more meet,
The dancing Bacchanals were pictur'd there,
And loveliest wood-nymphs racing in the open air.
(Since stain'd) delighted, bore their honour'd feet;
The tapestries shew'd Dian in the wood—
Her naked nymphs—her stag-hounds strong and fleet;—
Fair Venus, in her forest-wove retreat,
Trimming the tangles of Adonis' hair;—
Semele woo'd and won;—and yet more meet,
The dancing Bacchanals were pictur'd there,
And loveliest wood-nymphs racing in the open air.
Vases of gorgeous flowers were trimly plac'd,
And shed delicious perfume. On the wall,
In niches, antique carvings fitly trac'd
Stood meetly; and, far-shining through the hall,
With dazzling lustre, that unshrouded all,
Were golden lamps, with silver chains hung high.
The curtains of rich purple, like a shawl,
Were laid around the windows; and the sky,
Nor yet the stars, could view the wild festivity.
And shed delicious perfume. On the wall,
In niches, antique carvings fitly trac'd
Stood meetly; and, far-shining through the hall,
With dazzling lustre, that unshrouded all,
Were golden lamps, with silver chains hung high.
The curtains of rich purple, like a shawl,
Were laid around the windows; and the sky,
Nor yet the stars, could view the wild festivity.
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Now sounds the harp!—now sounds the music, loud
In festive melody. See, how they go
In mazy wreaths of beauty, each one proud
In her surpassing charms. The circles flow
Rapid, and pleasure sits on every brow.
What loveliness! O, how supreme a sight!
What gorgeous bosoms heave before us now!
What angel-shapes! What heads of perfect light,
Burning with locks of gold! What visions of delight!
In festive melody. See, how they go
In mazy wreaths of beauty, each one proud
In her surpassing charms. The circles flow
Rapid, and pleasure sits on every brow.
What loveliness! O, how supreme a sight!
What gorgeous bosoms heave before us now!
What angel-shapes! What heads of perfect light,
Burning with locks of gold! What visions of delight!
Some eyes are dark as is a Lapland night;
Some blue and tender as an Eastern sky;
Some cheeks, like roses bathed in evening's light,
Glow richly; some are pale and fair; some, high
And haughty, do, like ancient queens, move by;
Some, gentle and most sylph-like, seem to ask
Affection and protection from each eye;—
O, lovely!—such as in our visions bask,
Slumbering, in summer woods, without an aim or task.
Some blue and tender as an Eastern sky;
Some cheeks, like roses bathed in evening's light,
Glow richly; some are pale and fair; some, high
And haughty, do, like ancient queens, move by;
Some, gentle and most sylph-like, seem to ask
Affection and protection from each eye;—
O, lovely!—such as in our visions bask,
Slumbering, in summer woods, without an aim or task.
But who is she that towers above them all?
What graceful being? She doth need no crown—
Her golden-cluster'd curls, that amply fall,
Proclaim her beauty's queen. She need not own
A sceptre, all men at her feet fall down;
Hearts are her lands and empires; and her tower
Of strength, the love and admiration shewn
By all: she is a rare and perfect flower,
On which the sweetest dews and rains of heaven shower.
What graceful being? She doth need no crown—
Her golden-cluster'd curls, that amply fall,
Proclaim her beauty's queen. She need not own
A sceptre, all men at her feet fall down;
Hearts are her lands and empires; and her tower
Of strength, the love and admiration shewn
By all: she is a rare and perfect flower,
On which the sweetest dews and rains of heaven shower.
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Fair is she, yet her sweet humility
Proclaims it not;—yea, beautiful as night,
When moon and stars are spread along the sky—
A sea of beauty and serene delight!
Around her breathes an atmosphere of light;
The ground she treads is sanctified; the place
She fills is lustrous, and the gloom made bright;
And, gazing on her meek and saintly face,
One could not deem that sin had ever left his trace.
Proclaims it not;—yea, beautiful as night,
When moon and stars are spread along the sky—
A sea of beauty and serene delight!
Around her breathes an atmosphere of light;
The ground she treads is sanctified; the place
She fills is lustrous, and the gloom made bright;
And, gazing on her meek and saintly face,
One could not deem that sin had ever left his trace.
She, with her polish'd fingers, trills along
The harp;—O, what delicious sounds are heard!
Her silvery voice doth warble out a song;—
O, it is sweeter than the forest-bird,
And heavenly music seems each whisper'd word!
She dances—fairies, in their rings of green,
And buttercups, and daisies, never stirr'd
More gracefully;—O, would that I had been
Thy lover, gentle one, thy beauty to have seen!
The harp;—O, what delicious sounds are heard!
Her silvery voice doth warble out a song;—
O, it is sweeter than the forest-bird,
And heavenly music seems each whisper'd word!
She dances—fairies, in their rings of green,
And buttercups, and daisies, never stirr'd
More gracefully;—O, would that I had been
Thy lover, gentle one, thy beauty to have seen!
They meet—Warbeck and lovely Gordon meet!
They meet to love. But once did Warbeck gaze
Into the maiden's eyes, but once her sweet
Orbs gaz'd on his, their hearts were in a blaze.
And, when they tread the dance's devious maze,
All do admire, so gracefully they glide;
No after vision can this sight erase,
Of female loveliness and manly pride,
To filmy human eyes, alas, too oft denied!
They meet to love. But once did Warbeck gaze
Into the maiden's eyes, but once her sweet
Orbs gaz'd on his, their hearts were in a blaze.
And, when they tread the dance's devious maze,
All do admire, so gracefully they glide;
No after vision can this sight erase,
Of female loveliness and manly pride,
To filmy human eyes, alas, too oft denied!
137
He whispers in her ear, and they are gone
The moonbeams fell o'er lofty Arthur's seat,
That like a giant slept, whose toils are done:
The sea sent forth his murmurs dim and sweet,
Like faded memories; and the huge sheet
Of living waves look'd upward to the moon,
And the cold moon did kiss them. From the heat
Of day, the stag lay slumbering alone,
To whom the breezes sent their sweetest gentlest tone.
The moonbeams fell o'er lofty Arthur's seat,
That like a giant slept, whose toils are done:
The sea sent forth his murmurs dim and sweet,
Like faded memories; and the huge sheet
Of living waves look'd upward to the moon,
And the cold moon did kiss them. From the heat
Of day, the stag lay slumbering alone,
To whom the breezes sent their sweetest gentlest tone.
Like phantom palaces Edina stood,
Her towers and turrets glittering in the light.
Her castles seem'd a giant solitude,
Where wizards and enchanters, in the night
Might weave their mysteries and try their might.
Nought did distrub the utter silence there,
Save the dim sound of music and delight
That Holyrood sent out into the air,
Love, gentleness, and peace, were rulers everywhere.
Her towers and turrets glittering in the light.
Her castles seem'd a giant solitude,
Where wizards and enchanters, in the night
Might weave their mysteries and try their might.
Nought did distrub the utter silence there,
Save the dim sound of music and delight
That Holyrood sent out into the air,
Love, gentleness, and peace, were rulers everywhere.
The nightingale did weave his sweetest song
On the top branches, and around their bower
The perfum'd honeysuckle twin'd along
With many a curious and delightful flower
Enwreath'd. 'Mid such a scene did Warbeck shower
Delicious kisses, and did sigh his love—
“O blessed maid, who o'er thy sex doth tower—
“Grant me to be thy worshipper, and move
“Beside thee, O thou angel, come from Heaven above.”
On the top branches, and around their bower
The perfum'd honeysuckle twin'd along
With many a curious and delightful flower
Enwreath'd. 'Mid such a scene did Warbeck shower
Delicious kisses, and did sigh his love—
“O blessed maid, who o'er thy sex doth tower—
“Grant me to be thy worshipper, and move
“Beside thee, O thou angel, come from Heaven above.”
138
“I am no courtly wooer—let me lay
“My crown, my life, my all before thy feet!
“Long have I been a wanderer far away;
“O let me in thy bosom find a seat
“To rest and feel thy heart's enraptur'd beat!
“As Apame, Darius did command,
“So thou shalt me—thy slave and servant meet:
“O, loveliest maid that dwellest in the land,
“Upon my knees I ask thy fair and beauteous hand!”
“My crown, my life, my all before thy feet!
“Long have I been a wanderer far away;
“O let me in thy bosom find a seat
“To rest and feel thy heart's enraptur'd beat!
“As Apame, Darius did command,
“So thou shalt me—thy slave and servant meet:
“O, loveliest maid that dwellest in the land,
“Upon my knees I ask thy fair and beauteous hand!”
And oft the lover kist her gentle cheek,
And eyes and forehead heaving many a sigh.
Then did the maiden say, in language meek,
As on the ground she cast the pensive eye,
“I cannot help but love, I know not why!
“Do with me what thou wilt!” They join again
The festal throng, and list the melody;
But, O, their hearts do hear another strain,
They wander far away o'er love's Elysian plain!
And eyes and forehead heaving many a sigh.
Then did the maiden say, in language meek,
As on the ground she cast the pensive eye,
“I cannot help but love, I know not why!
“Do with me what thou wilt!” They join again
The festal throng, and list the melody;
But, O, their hearts do hear another strain,
They wander far away o'er love's Elysian plain!
O joy of love returned—O mighty bliss!
O rapture, ecstacy, and trust divine,
When lovers mingle in their tenderness,
And truth, and hope, and virtue intertwine!
The touch of fire, the eyes that passionate shine,
The speechless happiness, the faultering voice,
These, oh thou mighty power of love, are thine!
Sure blessed angels on their thrones rejoice
To gaze on true hearts beating with a mutual choice.
O rapture, ecstacy, and trust divine,
When lovers mingle in their tenderness,
And truth, and hope, and virtue intertwine!
The touch of fire, the eyes that passionate shine,
The speechless happiness, the faultering voice,
These, oh thou mighty power of love, are thine!
Sure blessed angels on their thrones rejoice
To gaze on true hearts beating with a mutual choice.
139
Again, and there is joy in Holyrood!
There was a bright procession moving on
Towards the chapel:—lords and ladies stood
Around the marble stairs; the priest is gone,
White-rob'd, behind the altar. The bright sun
Shines down through painted panes on arch and tomb;
Around each shape his chequer'd lustres run
And light each scarf, and robe, and dancing plume—
But, O where true love is, there never can be gloom.
There was a bright procession moving on
Towards the chapel:—lords and ladies stood
Around the marble stairs; the priest is gone,
White-rob'd, behind the altar. The bright sun
Shines down through painted panes on arch and tomb;
Around each shape his chequer'd lustres run
And light each scarf, and robe, and dancing plume—
But, O where true love is, there never can be gloom.
Her lovely form, all clad in robes of white,
She seems a holy saint before the shrine;
From all her presence streams efflulgent light,
That, like a halo, round her head doth shine—
In innocence angelic and divine!
O guard her well, proud lover, she's a gem,
More precious than a world, and she is thine;
A treasure rarer than a diadem,
A watch-tower and a light to cenotaph thy fame.
She seems a holy saint before the shrine;
From all her presence streams efflulgent light,
That, like a halo, round her head doth shine—
In innocence angelic and divine!
O guard her well, proud lover, she's a gem,
More precious than a world, and she is thine;
A treasure rarer than a diadem,
A watch-tower and a light to cenotaph thy fame.
The sunbeams nestled round her as she went;
The sweetest perfumes sought her on the air;
The warmest winds their hymeneals sent,
And kiss'd insidiously her bosom fair:
Dropping sweet rose-leaves on her cluster'd hair.
The flowers bent forth to touch her fairy feet,
And the blue Ocean, amorous to be there,
Did whisper in her ear his councils meet,
And from his coral depths, sent hymnings wild and sweet.
The sweetest perfumes sought her on the air;
The warmest winds their hymeneals sent,
And kiss'd insidiously her bosom fair:
Dropping sweet rose-leaves on her cluster'd hair.
The flowers bent forth to touch her fairy feet,
And the blue Ocean, amorous to be there,
Did whisper in her ear his councils meet,
And from his coral depths, sent hymnings wild and sweet.
140
And, when at night, that virgin rose was won,
And in her love and beauty she did lie,
Shone down from heaven the ample-horned moon
Upon her dreams—and the star-spangled sky
Her sleeping loveliness did all espy.
The blushing roses, round her lattice spread,
Scatter'd voluptuous incense—and, on high,
The nightingale, on light and glow-worms fed,
Sung loud melodious songs, that might awake the dead.
And in her love and beauty she did lie,
Shone down from heaven the ample-horned moon
Upon her dreams—and the star-spangled sky
Her sleeping loveliness did all espy.
The blushing roses, round her lattice spread,
Scatter'd voluptuous incense—and, on high,
The nightingale, on light and glow-worms fed,
Sung loud melodious songs, that might awake the dead.
Strange sights hast thou beheld, old Holyrood!
Old gaunt and giant kings have dwelt with thee,
And stain'd thy marble stairs with lust and blood—
Thou hast beheld the proud, and great, and free;
And loveliness hath revell'd in its glee
Among thy halls. The sigh of love was thine,
Mingled with murder's savage butchery;
And reeking blood along thy floors did twine,
With which did crystal tear-drops wofully combine.
Old gaunt and giant kings have dwelt with thee,
And stain'd thy marble stairs with lust and blood—
Thou hast beheld the proud, and great, and free;
And loveliness hath revell'd in its glee
Among thy halls. The sigh of love was thine,
Mingled with murder's savage butchery;
And reeking blood along thy floors did twine,
With which did crystal tear-drops wofully combine.
The tempest and tornado, from their deep,
Deep caves, far sounding through the riven sky,
Have shook thy battlements, and woke thy sleep.
The hail, and rain, and snow, and mists that fly,
Have shower'd at midnight on thy turrets high.
Then, in thy wakening trance, the sunbeams came;
The halo-guarded moon and stars that lie
In azure vales—and evening's mellow flame,
And morning's painted clouds and breezes breath'd thy name.
Deep caves, far sounding through the riven sky,
Have shook thy battlements, and woke thy sleep.
The hail, and rain, and snow, and mists that fly,
Have shower'd at midnight on thy turrets high.
Then, in thy wakening trance, the sunbeams came;
The halo-guarded moon and stars that lie
In azure vales—and evening's mellow flame,
And morning's painted clouds and breezes breath'd thy name.
141
And thou hast heard the tempest-riven sea;
The mingled echos sent from Arthur's seat,
Reverberate in his caves. Thou'st heard the glee
Of singing shepherds; and upon thy feet
Hath hung the city's roar, the mighty beat
And clang of human hearts. War's hideous jaw
Hath hurl'd o'er thee its poisonous thunder-sheet;
And Carnage tore thee with his fanged paw,
And spew'd upon thy garments from his blood-stain'd maw.
The mingled echos sent from Arthur's seat,
Reverberate in his caves. Thou'st heard the glee
Of singing shepherds; and upon thy feet
Hath hung the city's roar, the mighty beat
And clang of human hearts. War's hideous jaw
Hath hurl'd o'er thee its poisonous thunder-sheet;
And Carnage tore thee with his fanged paw,
And spew'd upon thy garments from his blood-stain'd maw.
Since thou wert first—since thy foundation-stone
Wast laid, how many a shipwreck on the sea
Hath shriek'd, 'mid lurid lightnings; many a groan
Hath rent the secrets of eternity,
From plague and war, and lust; the mystery
Of death been open'd; kings have lost their crown,
And enslaved nations risen to be free;
Despots and tyrants, from their guarded throne,
Have felt the freeman's majesty, and tumbled down.
Wast laid, how many a shipwreck on the sea
Hath shriek'd, 'mid lurid lightnings; many a groan
Hath rent the secrets of eternity,
From plague and war, and lust; the mystery
Of death been open'd; kings have lost their crown,
And enslaved nations risen to be free;
Despots and tyrants, from their guarded throne,
Have felt the freeman's majesty, and tumbled down.
Blue heavens have look'd on many a woodland bower,
Where love breath'd out its ditties to the air;
Blue heavens have gaz'd on many a broken flower
Of beauty, wither'd when it seem'd most fair.
Bright-headed boys have sunk without a care;
Old grey-brow'd men have bow'd their heads and died;
And youth hath fallen without a changed hair.
The whirling wheel hath turn'd; and, side by side,
With circling spheres, great worlds felt time's majestic tide.
Where love breath'd out its ditties to the air;
Blue heavens have gaz'd on many a broken flower
Of beauty, wither'd when it seem'd most fair.
Bright-headed boys have sunk without a care;
Old grey-brow'd men have bow'd their heads and died;
And youth hath fallen without a changed hair.
The whirling wheel hath turn'd; and, side by side,
With circling spheres, great worlds felt time's majestic tide.
142
Yet Holyrood—august and royal place,
Still tower thy turrets to the setting sun;
The distant mountains leave on thee their trace
Of dimness, still thy grandeur is not gone:
The spangled heavens their constant orbits run:
Moons change, and falling stars disturb their sphere,
But still, of living temples, thou art one,
Thy stones are mov'd not, and thou hast no fear—
Still sun, and moon, and stars, behold thy aspect clear.
Still tower thy turrets to the setting sun;
The distant mountains leave on thee their trace
Of dimness, still thy grandeur is not gone:
The spangled heavens their constant orbits run:
Moons change, and falling stars disturb their sphere,
But still, of living temples, thou art one,
Thy stones are mov'd not, and thou hast no fear—
Still sun, and moon, and stars, behold thy aspect clear.
The old knights and the ancient dames are dead,
That in thy dances whirl'd. Gordon no more
Touches the harp—Warbeck's wild course is sped:
The night of joy and merriment is o'er;
Yet still thou lookest out on hill and shore;
And city-streets, all changed, and fresh, and new:
And Arthur's cliffs are with thee evermore,
And watch thee, like a guardian, firm and true;
And Cheviot, from afar, peers through his mists of blue.
That in thy dances whirl'd. Gordon no more
Touches the harp—Warbeck's wild course is sped:
The night of joy and merriment is o'er;
Yet still thou lookest out on hill and shore;
And city-streets, all changed, and fresh, and new:
And Arthur's cliffs are with thee evermore,
And watch thee, like a guardian, firm and true;
And Cheviot, from afar, peers through his mists of blue.
O, we will leave him in his proudest state,
In all his blaze of fame and happiness!
We will not drag him from his lofty height,
Nor wrench the clasp'd embrace of tenderness,
The wedded kiss and conjugal caress.
Suffice it, that the lovely Gordon still,
In all his woes, was ever near to bless;
And, when the cruel axe of murder fell,
The “pale rose” dropt sweet dews, and sigh'd his piteous knell.
In all his blaze of fame and happiness!
We will not drag him from his lofty height,
Nor wrench the clasp'd embrace of tenderness,
The wedded kiss and conjugal caress.
Suffice it, that the lovely Gordon still,
In all his woes, was ever near to bless;
And, when the cruel axe of murder fell,
The “pale rose” dropt sweet dews, and sigh'd his piteous knell.
143
That blaze of beauty then beheld, is gone—
Warbeck is past away! Gordon is dead!
With myriad flowers and stars that now are none;
With myriad monsters in their caverns dead;
With myriad savage beasts, to silence wed;
With myriad forests fall'n in all their pride,
Warbeck and Gordon bow the drooping head:
Eternity hath whelm'd them in its tide,
With all the various dead that toward its ocean glide.
Warbeck is past away! Gordon is dead!
With myriad flowers and stars that now are none;
With myriad monsters in their caverns dead;
With myriad savage beasts, to silence wed;
With myriad forests fall'n in all their pride,
Warbeck and Gordon bow the drooping head:
Eternity hath whelm'd them in its tide,
With all the various dead that toward its ocean glide.
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