University of Virginia Library

CANTO SECOND.

THE DREAM.

I.

Again before his ravished eyes
The beauteous maiden stood;
Oh! she had ne'er appeared so fair,
So worthy to be wooed.
Her cheeks, with constant blushes warm;
Her large and liquid eyes;
Two seas of tenderness, in which
A world of promise lies;
Yielding, affectionate, and kind,
No frown o'erclouds that face,
As with a soul-revealing sigh
She sinks in his embrace.

II.

He clasps her to his beating heart,
Which guilty passions swell;
With fiery eloquence he pleads,
And pleads, alas! too well.
That night, with quick and timid step,
She leaves her peaceful home,
Trusts to the tempter's promises,
And firmly seals her doom.
Bewildered, wavering, hoping,
She quits her native dale:
Thus perjury wins virtue's self,
Thus arts of hell prevail.

III.

He bore her to her future home,
So deemed the partial maid;
He fondly calmed the rising fears
Of her he had betrayed.
While she, too willing to believe
His trust-inspiring lies,
Regarded every act of his
With love's o'er-partial eyes;
And often, when a struggling doubt
Would into being start,
Took shame unto herself to nurse
Suspicion in her heart.

IV.

It scarce were possible for love
To find a meeter spot;
Embosomed in a mountain's side
Peeped forth a tiny cot,
Far from the busy haunts of men,
Where the romantic Wye
Pursues its infant babbling course
In nature's minstrelsie:
A wood encircled jealously,
A ruin watched above,
Lest some rude mortal should invade
This sanctuary of love.

V.

Here, in an atmosphere of bliss,
Reposed the youthful pair,
Too wrapped in love's delicious trance
To heed the frown of care;
Though, ever and anon would pass
Across her speaking eyes
A transient shade of sadness;
A gentle sigh would rise,
But to be stifled on her lips
By passion's warm caress,
Or echoed back reproachfully
With glance of mute distress.

VI.

Oft on the streamlet's verdant banks
Their truant footsteps stray;
Heedless of Time's too rapid flight,
Till the declining day,
Lengthening the mountain shadow,
With giant finger shows,
That nature is about to hush
The world to its repose.
While the bright coronet of gold,
That crowns the mountain's crest,
Looks like the fond sun's parting gift,
Ere yet he sinks to rest.

VII.

Together oft they watch the sun
Descend the mountain's side,
More lovely in his soft decline
Than in his noonday pride.
So beauty in its zenith height
Doth dazzle and amaze;
Its bright effulgence overpowers,
Nor suffers us to gaze;
But, in its mellower season,
A thousand charms appear,
As mind conspires with loveliness
To render it more dear.

VIII.

Fie, youth! inconstant trifler, fie!
The treasure of to-day
Too soon to suffer cold neglect,
To experience love's decay;
Exacting, jealous, passionate,
Should aught thy fancy thwart,
Callous, cruel, and unfeeling,
To her whose gentle heart
Has once confessed its vassalage.
'Tis sad, alas! but true;
Not only dost thou tyrant prove,
But thou art traitor too.

IX.

A few months o'er (how swift they flew
With her that lady fair)
Produced a gradual change in him,
Which filled her with despair.
He who, but some short weeks gone by,
Had known no higher joy,
Than with his loved one's tresses
Continually to toy,
Now counts each hour of the day,
Each minute of the hour,
And finds time lag but wearily,
E'en in his lady's bower.

X.

Full soon he seeks the neighbouring town,
Joins in its pleasures rude,
Unable to appreciate
The sweets of solitude:
Cloyed with possession (once so prized),
He in his victim sees
Naught but a jealous guardian,
Whose charms have ceased to please.
His now so frequent absence
Is easier to be borne,
Than that thin-wove hypocrisy,
Which scarce conceals its scorn.

XI.

Too well she saw the cruel change
In his averted eye;
And oh! the misery of that hour,
The damning agony.
The brain refused its function—
No! she would not believe
That he, the idol of her soul,
Could wantonly deceive;
And yet she shuddered inwardly,
When venturing to compare
His former fond devotedness
With his now altered air.

XII.

Why should we trace the death of love,
As slowly it declines,
The soul's sad sickness under which
Misguided woman pines;
When, love's illusion o'er, she finds
That she has yielded all
To one whose false and tinsel flame
Has scarce survived her fall?
Why wonder that the dastard blow,
Which hurls her from her throne,
Should turn her honey into gall,
Her heart to hardest stone?

XIII.

Yet must she smile, tremendous task!
The martyr's at the stake
Is child's play in comparison!
Oh! that the heart would break,
And not survive its happiness,
Nor linger at death's door;
Its cherished freight a total wreck
On the world's iron shore!
A prey to all the waves of fate,
The hissing winds of scorn,
Which blow so keenly upon one
Left helpless and forlorn!

XIV.

Quit we the sad, the sickening theme:
The mortal who descends
To practise thus on confidence
For his own selfish ends,
Merits more deep damnation,
Deserves more hissing scorn,
Than the red murderer for whom
The depths of vengeance yawn.
He kills by foulest treachery,
Uproots the fairest flower,
Who blights a maiden's innocence,
Her best, her richest dower.

XV.

The scene is shifted suddenly.
He finds himself among
The votaries of fashion's shrine,
A bright and brilliant throng;
Grouped gracefully, yet carelessly,
A large saloon displays
A well assorted company;
The man of former days
Chats with the ruddy schoolboy,
Well up in cricket's game,
And sighs to find himself so changed,
The world so much the same.

XVI.

Women of every age are there;
The dowager whose débût
Had charmed the courtly group, while yet
This century was new,
Half buried in a couch reclines
In most luxurious ease,
A couch whose soft persuasive shape
A Sybarite might please;
The matron and the blushing bride,
Maidens of every time,
The young, the old, those who are in,
And those long past their prime.

XVII.

E'en happy childhood strikes the eye,
Or rather strikes the ear,
Showing its whereabouts with laugh
So natural and clear;
Those tresses which, an hour ago,
Were not a hair awry,
Now, in disorder scattered,
In rich confusion lie.
How beautiful that rosy tint,
How bright those laughing eyes,
Which mirror each emotion's play,
And scorn to use disguise.

XVIII.

Apart from the more noisy guests,
With grave and solemn mien,
Deep in its silent mysteries,
Whist's worshippers are seen:
That man with lofty forehead
Intent upon the cards,
The destinies of states controls,
And England's honour guards;
Leaving kings, queens, ambassadors,
And diplomatic scuffles,
Their pasteboard representatives
He cavalierly shuffles.

XIX.

There is young Kidglove of the “Greens,”
Who joined the ranks of Mars,
Seduced by the gay uniform,
But never dreamt of wars;
His field duties attendance
At picnics and excursions;
His laurels won at “Fêtes Champêtres,”
Or similar diversions.
The ball room proves his tactics;
Here his polite attention
And simpering smile obtain
“Most honourable mention.”

XX.

That is young Highflier, than whom
No jockey is more able,
More skilled in the “arcana”
Of betting ring and stable;
Who votes all this thing slow,
And wonders what one can see
In music or in dancing
To take a fellow's fancy.
Give him his horses and his dogs,
His betting book and tandem,
He'll leave all bothering parties
To those who understand them.

XXI.

There is a living duke;
Oily, the favourite preacher;
Longlocks, the boudoir poet,
A dear delightful creature;
Puzzle'm, the Cantab don,
That intellectual giant,
Challenging wordy warfare,
With look and eye defiant.
These all have toadies in their train,
For social life is cumbered,
Just like the vegetable world,
With parasites unnumbered.

XXII.

These simper acquiescence
Whene'er, by careful gleaning,
They manage haply to make out,
Or guess his grace's meaning;
The parson's exposition
Receives a due ovation;
The poet's vanity is soothed
By a well-aimed quotation;
The don propound's a theory
With loud and pompous diction,
And deems the silence that ensues
The offspring of conviction.

XXIII.

There are the lesser satellites,
The squires and their ladies;
The doctor and the lawyer;
But no one who in trade is.
These form a group apart,
And seek, with furtive glances,
To catch the great man's eye
When he perchance advances.
There is a curate whose small pay
I hardly like to mention,
Though how he manages to live
Is past my comprehension.

XXIV.

And then the Phœnix of the night
An heiress, to whom rumour
So fabulous a fortune gave,
That it appeared to doom her
To single blessedness at once;
No settlements could offer
A sum at all proportionate
To that which filled her coffer.
And what was stranger than all this,
Oh, union most uncommon!
Nature in her fair person tried
To form a perfect woman.

XXV.

Hers was the poetry of form,
That grace so rarely seen,
The soft voluptuous outline
Of Paphia's peerless queen,
But breathing, virginal, untouched
By sorrow or by sin,
Warmed by a heart that lighted up
The mansion from within:
Her ivory throat a pillar meet
For the small classic head;
While love and virtue round her
Their holiest incense shed.

XXVI.

The sculptor in her perfect form
His own ideal saw;
Her presence on earth's coarser clay
Inspired a sense of awe;
The faultless beauty of her face
Was heightened by the mind,
Which lent each feature eloquence,
And happily combined
The mental with the physical;
Her dark and lustrous eyes
Flash brightly, or cloud languidly,
As various feelings rise.

XXVII.

Yet oftentimes would those ripe lips
Give passage to a sigh;
Those eyes would brilliant drops distil,
When, in her privacy,
She thought upon her orphan state,
Longed for a parent's kiss;
Fortune, so lavish otherwise,
Had been unkind in this.
E'en in the midst of pleasure's train
She felt herself alone;
And loneliness has pangs for which
No fortune can atone.

XXVIII.

Calm, self-possessed, and quiet,
And yet withal as free
From sick'ning affectation
As from idle vanity,
No studied effort marred the effect
Her matchless beauty caused.
Hushed by her voice's Siren tones
Men in their converse paused,
Fearing to lose a single word;
And when she ceased to speak
Were silent, till their silence brought
The blush to her fair cheek.

XXIX.

Oh, charm, to which e'en beauty yields!
Can aught on earth so stir
The soul's most secret feeling, as
The dulcet tones of her
To whom benignant nature
Has, in her bounty, given
Her daintiest gift, “a soft, sweet voice,”
That attribute of heaven?
Oh, doubly, trebly armed is she;
No heart so hard but owns
A mute responsive echo
To woman's 'witching tones.

XXX.

At the first summons, to her harp
She moves with nymphlike grace;
The muse of harmony in her
Might truant fancy trace.
She sweeps the chords, the thrilling notes
Her breast's deep feelings prove;
Now a soft melting cadence shows
A soul attuned to love:
The wrapt and listening heart,
Almost too hushed to beat,
Approaches by degrees the goal
Where pain and pleasure meet.

XXXI.

Oh, Music! would I had the skill
To worthily rehearse
Thy deep and soul-felt beauties
In due and fitting verse.
Oh, lofty theme, alas! too high,
How sing thee as I ought:
Thou eldest born of heaven!
Thou foster nurse of thought!
Awaking in the heart of man
All that is great and grand,
Thou raisest him to that bright arch
By which the world is spanned.

XXXII.

Thou emanation from above!
Thou hast the power to change
The hard and stubborn heart of man;
To extend the narrow range
Of mental vision: fanned by thee,
Nature's warm feelings glow;
At thy sweet summons, from our eyes
The tears of pity flow.
Our hearths, our country, all,
Seem more than ever dear,
As music's wild exciting strain
Falls on a freeman's ear.

XXXIII.

How oft thy magic strains recall
The visions of the past,
Memories which o'er the chastened soul
A holy sorrow cast;
Thou callest up departed friends,
Eclipsed by death's dark night;
Raised for a moment by thy power,
They flash before the sight;
And as thy glorious notes ascend,
Bearing our thoughts on high,
Thou aidest faith and hope to prove
Man's immortality.

XXXIV.

Thou speakest every tongue on earth,
Or rather, all mankind
Interpret that sweet language
Which whispers to the mind;
To thy voice every heart responds,
All worship at thy shrine,
However rude the offering be,
Thou mightiest of the Nine!
In the full womb of coming time,
Methinks I view in thee
A link to join in bonds of love
The human family.

XXXV.

Sweet muse of harmony, forgive:
Thou, whom the heaven-born few
Have striven emulously to sing,
Accept my tribute too,
Humble but heart-felt offering;
To none on earth I yield
In admiration of thy charms,
Else had I left the field
To loftier spirits; yet, O muse,
Let me essay to swell
The world-wide chorus of the praise
Thou meritest so well.

XXXVI.

She ceased her strain, and every eye
Upon the Siren turned,
Each lip o'erflowed with flattery,
Each breast with pleasure burned;
As turning with a native grace
She bowed her thanks and smiled
Upon the partner of her task,
A creature meek and mild,
Whom none appeared to notice,
Whom all passed coldly by,
Or paid her salutation back
With chilling courtesy.

XXXVII.

Not so the lady of the harp.
In kind and earnest tones
She thanks her sister melodist,
And half the praise disowns;
Throws on that slighted being
Some portion of the rays
Which gild a high-born station
In these birth-loving days;
Eschews all airs of patronage,
And with true woman's art
Seeks not to dazzle or amaze,
But aims to touch the heart.

XXXVIII.

Nor hard the task; for her sweet smile
Had thawed the veriest churl
That ever frowned on happiness:
But on a friendless girl,
More lonely in society
Than in her cheerless room,
Where, in the twin companionship
Of solitude and gloom,
Her tears at least were free to flow,
On her such kindness wrought
A cure for half the paltry slights
Of which she was the sport.

XXXIX.

Hardest of fates! too hard, alas!
Tuition's wages are
Insult, neglect, ingratitude,
A life of constant care,
A goading apprehension
Of long prospective want,
An absence of all sympathy,
A nauseous flood of cant,
A menial's wages, nay, far less;
This will ye surely find,
Ye who aspire to teach the young,
To train the immortal mind.

XL.

Our youth essays to share the smile
Of her whom all admire;
His winning manners in her heart
A preference inspire:
In shortest space he feels as though
He spoke to one long known;
Their conversation soon assumes
A soft, familiar tone.
Thoughts, sentiments, opinions,
So happily agree,
Each in the other's nature can
A kindred spirit see.

XLI.

Now in the mazy dance her form
Is circled by his arms;
Now some responsive smile gives birth
To captious love's alarms;
Or, turned on him a moment,
A thrilling glance conveys
A world of meaning, and all sense
Of jealousy allays—
A glance whose rapid eloquence
Outstrips the speed of thought,
The electric current of the soul
By kindred spirit caught.

XLII.

Anon upon a vessel's deck,
Skimming the moonlit sea,
The yielding form of her he loves
Encircled lovingly;
The Orb of Night, with lustre mild,
Lights up the fairy scene,
Suggesting to the heart of man
All that he might have been,
Or trusts to be hereafter.
Oh, radiant Queen of Night!
Why are thy soft and silvery beams
So grateful to the sight?

XLIII.

Is it that thou with pitying look
Regardest all below,
And dost not seek too cunningly
Our hidden deeds to know?
Unlike that orb whose searching rays,
Darting through smallest space,
Plainly before the conscious mind
Each imperfection place.
The sun, a stern and upright judge,
With clear, all-seeing eye,
While thou seest nought that haply might
Outrage thy purity.

XLIV.

Fraught with love's silent eloquence,
Their humid eyes discourse;
A single word were treason now;
The softest voice is hoarse
When it disturbs that holy pause
Which tired nature makes,
That hour when, scorning the dull earth,
The soul of man awakes.
The vessel slumbers on the wave,
E'en the rough seaman feels
The dreamy influence of the charm
Which o'er the senses steals.

XLV.

Hark! it is surely fancy. No;
Again I hear that strain;
Borne on the idle wind it floats
Across the moonlit main;
A sound of blended voices,
That charms the listening ear;
Now fading into silence, now
Melodiously clear;
Keeping responsive echo
Unto the dipping oar,
A joyous party slowly gains
The scarce-distinguished shore.

XLVI.

O Nature! how mysterious,
How wonderful art thou!
Before thy rich simplicity
Art's noblest triumphs bow.
How sweetly doth the human voice
In mellow cadence fall:
What tone from pealing organ sent
Can the hushed soul enthral
As chorus of sweet voices,
Attuned by Nature's power,
Sweeping in concert o'er the deep,
At evening's stilly hour?

XLVII.

Now in an ivy-mantled tower,
Whose ruined walls attest
The march of that relentless foe
Whose labours know no rest;
A ruined hearth proclaims the spot
Where erst a noble sat,
And entertained a haughty queen
In all the pride of state:
So mighty then, so lowly now,
No sermon can convey
More wholesome moral than the thought
Of grandeur passed away.

XLVIII.

Amongst his youthful compeers next
He stands with conscious air,
The acknowledged winner of the prize,
The favoured of the fair;
Such various charms, such wondrous wealth,
So many smiling friends,
Rarely indeed the fickle dame
Such store of favours sends.
Ah! youth, beware: a smiling face
Oft like a mask conceals
More venom than the deadliest scowl
Which enmity reveals.

XLIX.

And now at evening's tranquil hour,
That hour to lovers dear,
E'en though its darkening shadows show
The parting moment near.
Too cruel Time! relentless foe!
Nor youth nor beauty may
Arrest thy hurrying progress,
Obtain the least delay;
Oh, couldst thou know but half the pangs
Which youthful lovers feel
When forced to part, lip pressed to lip,
Their sad “good-night” they seal.

L.

“Good-night, good-night!” repeats the youth,
“Good-night!” responds the maid;
Until from sight he is shut out
By night's too jealous shade.
“To-morrow's sun will smile upon
Your oft repeated vow;
Yet two days more a bridal wreath
Will crown that lovely brow.”
Presumptuous mortal! thou art blind,
Short-sighted one, can'st see,
E'en for a moment, through the gloom,
Which veils futurity?

LI.

'Tis eve: the youth, with youth's hot haste,
Quickens his courser's flight;
Between him and his happiness
There intervenes a night.
What fancies dance through that young brain!
What airy visions rise!
His panting servant finds it hard
To follow as he flies;
The gate is reached; the grinning hind
Has scarce the latch let fall,
Ere he, with passion's fiery haste,
Has gained the stately hall.

LII.

He entered quickly where so oft
A clamorous welcome hailed
The arrival of the expected one;
Sudden his conscience quailed.
The guardian of the heiress played
The ceremonious host:
All was polite but chilling,
Good breeding's glistening frost;
The loved one absent? why this change?
This cold reception, why?
Wouldst know the reason? search awhile
Thy treacherous memory.

LIII.

LIV.

The outraged fair one quits the scene,
Nor does the culprit dare
To offer words in his defence:
Rage, phrenzy, and despair,
Tug at his heart-strings with such force,
That when at length he speaks,
His voice is less like speech divine,
Than some hoarse raven's shrieks:
Too late the guilty youth would fain
Be cleansed from vice's slime;
Too late perceives that vengeance treads
Upon the heels of crime.

LV.

The host, in mercy to his state,
Entreats him to be calm;
His wild and haggard air excite
To pity and alarm;
But, with a curse upon his lips,
The madman breaks away,
Calls for his horse with stern command,
That brooks of no delay;
Nor waits he then, his angry mood
Admits of nought like rest;
He quits the hated spot ere one
Can answer his behest.

LVI.

Alone, to the cool evening breeze
He bares his fevered brow;
Alas! that simple remedy
Will not avail him now.
Within his inmost heart of hearts
The fire so fiercely burns;
Conscience, so often thrust aside,
With tenfold force returns;
With cynic sneer he tries to drown
His torment's sharp appeals;
And with a fiend's philosophy
His stubborn bosom steels.

LVII.

Bracing and cool, the thin night air;
The young moon shed a ray,
Which lightly tipped with silver edge
A ruined tower that lay
Flanking a noble river,
Athwart whose channeled bed
In dark uncertain outline
Its threatening shadow spread:
A time-touched bridge o'erspanned the stream,
Whose gurgling waters strove
To kiss the fabric's massive piers,
While swiftly on they drove.

LVIII.

Upon this bridge the wilful youth
A moment paused and sighed:
Scarce two hours since and he had passed
That spot elate with pride.
But pride is quenched, and to its seat
Far other feelings start;
The promptings of the ready fiend
Are busy at his heart:
As o'er the peaceful stream he leans,
Dark thoughts besiege his mind,
Suggesting that beneath its waves
He may oblivion find.

LIX.

But no! that triumph were too great,
His proud heart scorns the thought,
That he to coward suicide
Should be impelled by aught.
He hurries on; the centre reached,
A shivering female stands,
Intently gazing on the stream,
Upraised her thin wan hands:
His conscience pricks him onward,
Prompts that he here may save
Some wretch who seeks to cheat her cares
Beneath the river's wave.

LX.

He speaks, and at his voice's sound,
Two bright and dazzling eyes
Flash with the sudden violence
Of madness and surprise.
A moment more she shrieks and falls.
That shriek, so wild and shrill,
Chills the warm current of his blood
And nullifies his will;
And coupled with it is his name!
Amazed, in that pale face
The victim of his heartless lust
His eyes too surely trace.

LXI.

LXII.

This said, upon the parapet
With lightning's speed she flew;
Laughing with maniac wildness,
She waved a last adieu,
Then boldly plunged; the treacherous stream
Received in its embrace
That fragile form, of whose dark deed
Its surface showed no trace.
No coward he who sprang to save;
He could not, dared not see,
Without compunction, the last act
Of this sad tragedy.

LXIII.

He sprang to save; but sleep no more
Had power o'er his frame;
At that last crowning horror
His waking senses came.
With haggard look he stared around,
But saw nor bridge, nor stream;
Yet could such vivid scenes be nought
But phantoms of a dream;
But for the room, the morning light,
The open volume, he
Had felt almost inclined
To doubt his own identity.

LXIV.

His waking senses once restored,
His mental vision clear,
He pondered on that warning dream
With conscience-stricken fear.
Who shall attempt to fathom
The dark deceit of man?
The hidden purpose of his soul
Who but himself may scan?
Yet what man's vision fails to note
Cannot escape the eye
Of Him from whom no thought is hid,
“The All-seeing Judge” on high.

LXV.

Humbled, confused, he prayed;
His prayer, that he might be
Enabled to withstand the assaults
Of man's arch enemy.
He rose again with lighter heart,
Entered a garden fair,
And drank in health and confidence
With the pure morning air.
Here leave we him to think awhile,
And commune with his heart,
Later we'll see what counsel
The warning did impart.