Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

1. Meeting of the Demons adverse to the House of Andarton—their Machinations against the Heir.—2. Jenny Jerkairs employed as their Agent—her Plot communicated to her Brother, Ned Jerkairs—3. Allan's unexpected return—Changes in the House and Family of Andarton.

‘'Twas on that spectred eve when Cornwall fills
With sacred light and joy her echoing hills,
As sudden thro' dim ether they upraise
Their hundred heads and tremble thro' the blaze—
'Twas on that eve the demons, in a file
Of hostile front, to Karnbre's druid pile

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Rush'd forth—fell spirits of the rocks who share
The dreadful charge of pestilential air,
Who, dipt in magic fire, fierce arrows waft
With keener vengeance than the lightning's shaft,
Dismantle, at their will, the sylvan scene,
Lay bare the metals that a mountain vein,
And prison the rude winds in caves, or urge
Their rapid eddies thro' the roaring surge,
The fiends who cower on Brendon's misty brow,
And mark with wicked eyes the woods below,
Their fluttering wings on Menadorva spread,
And shrink with dances proud Penmennor's head,
Or, as around them boils the foamy spray,
Invest Penolva with a crimson ray,
Who for the merchant-sail from Aldren's height
Cast o'er the green expanse their straining sight!
There, too, the valley-fiends their pennons furl'd,
And phosphor-tipp'd, the watery besom whirl'd,
They, who the meadows intersect, and stain
Pure founts with tin, where lurks the ruddy grain,

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Who Ardevora sweep with troublous flight,
Or rich Barallan's reddening harvest's blight,
Or with dire breath pernicious mildew spread
Where sweet Rosvallan pour'd its purple shade,
With heavy clouds Lambessoe's birch o'erwhelm,
Or wild thro' Hellan fire the towering elm!
And, lo! the sprites of subterraneous glooms
Ascending from their mines, the sullen Gnomes
Who far within thro' earth's recesses walk
Where granite glitters from its silvery talc,
And midst cobaltic walls, or gleaming grey
Or dusked azure, wind their dreary way,
In antimonial cells who shun the light,
And in the paths of bismuth hoary-white,
With iron bands the solid mountain brace,
And store the glossy tin beneath its base,
Murmuring amidst the copper's dun abodes
Guide the swart miners to its deeper lodes,
In rocks of alabaster scoope their caves
While, far above, the hideous cataract raves,
And, as its lustrous bloom elusive flies,
Catch the fleet silver with lyncean eyes.

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Such was the throng; when, midst the mystic gloom,
Mounts into ether a tremendous dome;
Dense walls of sulphur in a moment glare;
Basaltic pillars shoot aloft in air,
And, mingled with columnar crystals, rise
To prop a lava roof that mocks the skies.
Lo, whilst the tufa-stone, the pumice light
In various fretwork trembles from the height,
The pavement floods of molten bloodstone lave,
And round each column wreathe a crimson wave.

High thron'd in granite a carne-spirit rear'd
His agate sceptre proudly; whilst appear'd
Circling his head, a stone ring azure deep,
In which a yellow serpent seem'd to sleep;
And thus: “Ye fiends of carnes, of vales, draw near—
“And ye who fill the subterraneous sphere.
“'Tis your's, for aye, against the fields of light,
“O'er Cornwall hovering, to exert your might,
“To thwart the enfeebled Genii, who preside
“With flagging pinions o'er transmitted pride,

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“Stout oaks to destine for the briny flood,
“And sport in triumph o'er a crashing wood;
“To speed the venom that a streamwork wafts,
“Delve the deep clay, and pierce thro' hills in shafts.
“'Tis your's, where Avarice eyes his mouldering hoard,
“To stain the escutcheon of the rustic lord.
“Know then, a fit occasion waits your spleen,
“Where Feri guard yon old umbrageous green.
“Know, late, a Knight who priz'd his generous blood
“Hath, dying, left that venerable wood,
“That castellated mansion to the care
“Of minds but ill affected to the Heir.
“Go, then, and fire them with abundant schemes
“To dissipate the boy's romantic dreams:
“Bid them, assailing the too sacred place,
“Each friendly spirit from the chieftain chase,
“Whether it haunt the hoary-whispering grove,
“Or whether it regard his future love.”
Then, rising more distinguisht than the rest,
Another demon of the carnes address'd
The throne, and wav'd on high his feathery crest.

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“Ye mountain-fiends, your Prince's nod attend,
“Yet to my sovereign skill your favour bend.
“'Tis mine to prosper all the sons of trade,
“And o'er vast seas expand the pendant's shade.
“Behold ye fiends! my power for ages great—
“'Twas I, who guided to this lone retreat,
“'Twas I who guided to Cornubia's isles
“Phenician fleets, and bless'd their dangerous toils.
“'Tis I, who in the spiced Indian air
“Sit on the yellow sands, the first to rear
“The British flag, and speed with homeward breeze
“The embarked traders o'er the silky seas!
“'Tis I the merchant's embryo schemes o'erlook,
“The nurse of commerce in its Cornish nook.
“'Twas I, who bade a Nabob cross the deep,
“To where Cornubian castles idly sleep,
“Old Geoffry with the flatterer's arts invade,
“And teach him the prerogative of trade;
“But chief from slumber wake Andarton's wood
“Where stagnates in dull veins Patrician blood.
“And be it your's, ye Demons, to suggest
“Such projects as may break that torpid rest.”

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“Agreed!” a scowling Gnome replied—“agreed!
“And how to execute the glorious deed
“Be mine to tell: To every word give ear,
“Ye Demon-tribes, and shudder as ye hear.
“Long since 'twas known that woman best could sow,
“Brought from the infernal world the seeds of woe.
“Attend!—Of late, a foe to many a dome
“Of high Cornubian fame, the tyrant Gnome
“With Cornish families fell war to wage,
“A dreadful plague created in his rage.
“A cauldron, bubbling blood that warm'd a wolf
“He seiz'd, and slung it o'er a flaming gulf;
“And blew a blast that fiends can only blow,
“Till all the red volcano roar'd below;
“Then in the vase an adder's venom'd tongue,
“The brains and bowels of a traitor slung;
“The spawn and entrails of two dozen snakes,
“Of sulphur, hot from Erebus, five slakes;
“The stings of hornets and the forked claws
“Of owls; from female corpses the shrunk jaws
“(Jaws that in life were shrivel'd and worn sharp
“By pale detraction ever prone to carp

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“On worth) of rankest envy the black lips;
“The poison that from toads the nightmare sips;
“Then stirr'd the mixture red with sin and strife:—
“And Jenny Jerkairs, chattering, sprung to life!
“Such be the incarnate spirit we employ—
“A form, to palsy every earthly joy.”
He ceas'd; and breath'd such fine metallic fire
As mortals taste, and tremble and expire:
The grateful fragrance cheer'd the infernal rings;
And each glad genius clapp'd his ebon wings;
When, twinkling from the sombrous adder-stone
That circled the rock-spirit on the throne,
A yellow gleam was, three times, seen to glance,
The well known signal for the demon-dance.
Sudden, the palace vanish'd from the gaze,
And, at a hundred carnes, round every blaze
The whirling fiends appear'd, in many a fearful maze.

Her tongue, now weary with its flippant play,
Pale on her pillow Jenny Jerkairs lay;
Effusing from her mouth the fumes of shrub—
The infernal nectar quaff'd by Beelzebub;

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When, issuing from a sable mist, she saw
A lurid hand her shivering curtain draw,
And, as she felt a quick spasmodic twitch,
View'd, slow-emerging from his cloud of pitch,
A form, more dreadful than the Theban sphynx,
With bat-like wings, with eyes that mock'd the lynx:
And, as his tawny lips of shrivel'd skin,
Swell'd, like a bladder, from the breath within,
In short shrill shrieks she heard, or seem'd to hear,
Accents unmeet for other mortal ear.—

Struck with a thousand schemes the maid awoke,
Whilst thro' deep clouds the struggling moonbeam broke:
And, on her restless pillow as she toss'd,
By all the mischiefs of the Gnome engross'd;
On her pock'd cheek her transport cast a gleam,
And flush'd with cruel fervours every seam.

Strait as the dawn had stain'd its eastern gloom,
She flew, impatient, to her brother's room;
And said, ‘How glorious o'er the subject sea,
‘She mark'd, in vision, many a lofty tree;

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‘And mutter'd that Andarton's oaks would move
‘Along the billows a distinguisht grove;
‘Told, how in morning slumbers she survey'd,
‘Where long had wav'd the unprofitable shade,
‘The hills, the vales with mineral treasure dight,
‘As Genii drew the lurking wealth to light;
‘Averr'd she view'd those hills, that dormant ore
‘Laid bare, to swell their friend the merchant's store—
‘Laid bare, to fill their friend the Nabob's purse,
‘Loading the hapless Heir with many a curse;
‘And whisper'd various motives, to detach
‘The whimpering Allan from his lovesick match.’

Whilst not a hint was lost on brother Ned,
He flings the nightcap from his drowsied head,
With ready stomach to digest her dreams,
And ruminates unutterable schemes.

Now hastening to the merchant, to submit
Each lordly tree that seem'd for felling fit,
His ears from every hill-top caught the crash,
How pleasant—to produce young Allan cash!

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Now speeding to Treglastan-dale, that gleam'd
With granules in its ruddy torrent stream'd,
He bade the Nabob prosecute the plan
Where the same rivulet thro' Andarton ran,
And e'en the rich metallic vein pursue
Thro' fields above where fruitless timber grew:
So, while each tinwork crown'd the Nabob's wish,
His ward should welcome gold in every dish.

Stung with new projects as he told his route,
Wildly the sister-furies bounc'd about.
“Lord!” (Jenny Jerkairs cries, with triumph mad)
“I long to mortify the hectoring lad
“Who doats on his old groves of trees, his lawns,
“And talks, forsooth, of parks and frisking fawns
“Such as, in ancient times, Andarton grac'd—
“Soon shall he see his lands a mining waste.
“And soon another noble scheme, I trust,
“Will bring his soaring spirit to the dust.
“Squire Squintal, to be sure, a little sly,
“Casts on Andarton-grounds a cunning eye,

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“And, therefore, Juliet for the boy designs,
“To these hoar woods to link Trevalso's mines.
“Yet with Squire Squintal and the boy, you know,
“No love is lost: 'tis easy, then, to blow
“The dormant sparks of hatred to a flame—
“Such, such, my brother, is the task I claim:
“And every thought of Juliet must your ward
“Amid the strife of houses quick discard.
“Nor shall my pains be spar'd, to disconcert
“His soft amours with every romping flirt;
“For if he die without an heir, Miss Prue,
“My friend shall hold the manor—You know who!”

With gentle inclination of the head
Prue thank'd her friend, and smirk'd on uncle Ned;
And each, well met, their malice as they nurs'd,
Gloried in all the feelings of the curst!

Such were the mischiefs in each bosom ripe,
When, prompt to seize Andarton at a gripe,
As the pale wretch that flies the lightning storm,
The poor intriguers shrunk—from Allan's form!

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How chang'd that form! By warring passions checkt,
No more he trod with manly port erect.
Fled was that bloom, where erst so sweetly play'd
O'er his warm cheek the light pubescent shade.
Nor less disfeatur'd was the seat serene
Of harmony, Andarton's quiet scene.
Scarce in his absence had the varying year
Thrice bloom'd and faded to the solar sphere:
Yet Allan notic'd with emotions strange
Thro' all the household a portentous change.
Where now the butler grey could Allan hail,
Bent on his crutch, and stor'd with many a tale;
Where meet, in solitary wisdom sage,
That last left relic of Sir Humphrey's age?
Alas! he hail'd, with tresses silver-hoar,
That quaint historian and his staff no more.
Alas! where'er he turn'd, with sickening sighs
He met the stare of cold or curious eyes—
Met the bluff groom, and dizen'd out with lace
Pert lacqueys, strangers to their master's face,
And sluts that brush'd along, and look'd askance,
Sly gipseys tutor'd by the girl from France;

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And, where the glimmering wainscot mourn'd the blaze
That o'er its pannels flung no friendly rays,
Where beam'd no look benignant, to impart
A social spirit to the mantling heart,
Met the dark frown, and caught the insulting tone,
The cold sarcastic sneer, from all but one!

Nor did his eye with rapture's glance survey
The level walks that sparkled to the day,
Where the green moulder on the gravel spread,
As gathering insects shap'd their earthy bed;
The lawn, that whilom lull'd the ruffled soul
In soft repose, upheav'd by many a mole
Where now thro' thistles sprung the seeded blade,
And trembling fescue with the burdock play'd;
The mead, whose fount no more to radiance fleet
Down the young verdure pours a glittering sheet,
Or parts its waters into silver threads,
Where dank and sullen vegetation spreads;
The grove, whose dark luxuriance from the beam
Now shut the mossy sward, the struggling stream;

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Where to the blooms along its margin born
The clear rill blush'd with every tint of morn!
And once, how pleasant at the close of eve
Its tinklings sweet, the cool romantic cave,
Where now rank nettles chill'd the untrodden ground,
And spotted foxgloves hung their venom round.

Yet, unsuspicious of the menac'd stroke,
He hail'd, still vigorous every veteran oak;
Tho' oft alarm'd, he listen'd to the breeze
That bore hoarse murmurs from the heaving trees;
Invisible as hostile demons flew,
And Fayes their cohorts into crescents drew.

Yet, water'd by its old meandering rill,
He hail'd each dale beneath the umbrageous hill;
And, heedless there how far their foliage stray'd,
View'd the same aspins shiver down the glade;
Tho' oft, when evening still'd the glimmering air,
He saw strange phantoms rise, and tremble there,

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Now dart o'er all the marsh an azure ray,
Now sulph'rous glide, now purplish faint away;
As many a valley-fiend with treacherous aim
Laugh'd, where the vision rose, and ting'd the flame.

END OF THE FIFTH CANTO.