The Poetical Works of Henry Brooke ... In Four Volumes Octavo. Revised and corrected by the Original Manuscript With a Portrait of the Author, and His Life By Miss Brooke. The Third Edition |
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CONRADE:
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 | The Poetical Works of Henry Brooke |  |
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CONRADE:
A FRAGMENT.
The Song of The Filea of Antient Days, Phelin the gray-hair'd Son of the Son of Kinfadda.
What do I love—what is it that mine eyes
Turn round in search of—that my soul longs after,
But cannot quench her thirst?—'Tis Beauty, Phelin!
I see it wide beneath the arch of Heaven,
When the stars peep upon their evening hour,
And the moon rises on the eastern wave,
Housed in a cloud of gold!—I see it wide
In earth's autumnal teints of various landscape,
When the first ray of morning tips the trees,
And fires the distant rock!—I hear its voice,
When thy hand sends the sound along the gale,
Swept from the silver strings; or, on mine ear
Drops the sweet sadness!—At my heart I feel
Its potent grasp, I melt beneath the touch,
When the tale pours upon my sense humane
The woes of other times!—What art thou, Beauty?
Thou art not colour, fancy, sound, nor form—
These but the conduits are, whence the soul quaffs
The liquor of its Heaven.—Whate'er thou art,
Nature, or Nature's Spirit, thou art All
I long for!—O, descend upon my Thoughts!
To thine own music, tune, thou Power of Grace,
The cordage of my heart! fill every shape
That rises to my dream, or wakes to vision;
And touch the threads of every mental nerve,
With all thy sacred feelings!—
Turn round in search of—that my soul longs after,
But cannot quench her thirst?—'Tis Beauty, Phelin!
I see it wide beneath the arch of Heaven,
When the stars peep upon their evening hour,
And the moon rises on the eastern wave,
Housed in a cloud of gold!—I see it wide
In earth's autumnal teints of various landscape,
When the first ray of morning tips the trees,
And fires the distant rock!—I hear its voice,
When thy hand sends the sound along the gale,
Swept from the silver strings; or, on mine ear
Drops the sweet sadness!—At my heart I feel
Its potent grasp, I melt beneath the touch,
394
The woes of other times!—What art thou, Beauty?
Thou art not colour, fancy, sound, nor form—
These but the conduits are, whence the soul quaffs
The liquor of its Heaven.—Whate'er thou art,
Nature, or Nature's Spirit, thou art All
I long for!—O, descend upon my Thoughts!
To thine own music, tune, thou Power of Grace,
The cordage of my heart! fill every shape
That rises to my dream, or wakes to vision;
And touch the threads of every mental nerve,
With all thy sacred feelings!—
THE SUN now hasten'd down his western Heaven,
And saw his beams reflected from the spires
Of fair Emania.—High, within the Hall,
With all his Heroes, names of wide renown,
With all his Sages, heads grown white in council,
With all his Bards, the sires of song, around him—
Conrade the mighty, sate!
And saw his beams reflected from the spires
Of fair Emania.—High, within the Hall,
With all his Heroes, names of wide renown,
With all his Sages, heads grown white in council,
With all his Bards, the sires of song, around him—
Conrade the mighty, sate!
Wide o'er the festal board, in many a bowl,
The various liquor flow'd.—In various cups,
Metal, or wrought from veiny adamant,
Or of the treasures of the pearly deep,
The social pledge of health went round. Before
The King of Chiefs, the hoar and reverend brow
Of Wisdom was unbent, and every heart
Caught gladness from his aspect. Near the seat
Of lifted Majesty, stood the young bloom
Of Erin's hope, Slemfannon, as a sapling
Sprouting aloft beneath the parent oak,
That overlooks the forest. Now, and oft,
He turn'd his face of filial sweetness upward,
To catch the glance of the paternal eye,
That dropt indulgence and delight upon him:
Now, with both hands, fast by the sinewy wrist,
He grasp'd the First of Heroes—“O,” he cried,
“Will ever, ever, your Slemfannon wield
“The crashing mace, or bend the bow of steel,
“With such an arm as this?”—He spoke, and rear'd
The ponderous hand on high! The shout of joy
Pour'd round the table!—for, in that right hand,
Lay Erin's glory, and the sure resource
Of nations from the wasters of the world!
The various liquor flow'd.—In various cups,
Metal, or wrought from veiny adamant,
Or of the treasures of the pearly deep,
The social pledge of health went round. Before
The King of Chiefs, the hoar and reverend brow
395
Caught gladness from his aspect. Near the seat
Of lifted Majesty, stood the young bloom
Of Erin's hope, Slemfannon, as a sapling
Sprouting aloft beneath the parent oak,
That overlooks the forest. Now, and oft,
He turn'd his face of filial sweetness upward,
To catch the glance of the paternal eye,
That dropt indulgence and delight upon him:
Now, with both hands, fast by the sinewy wrist,
He grasp'd the First of Heroes—“O,” he cried,
“Will ever, ever, your Slemfannon wield
“The crashing mace, or bend the bow of steel,
“With such an arm as this?”—He spoke, and rear'd
The ponderous hand on high! The shout of joy
Pour'd round the table!—for, in that right hand,
Lay Erin's glory, and the sure resource
Of nations from the wasters of the world!
Soft smiling, gently bending from his seat,
The Monarch answer'd—“Yes, thou pride of Conrade,
“In whom he fondly joys to live renew'd,
“Fresh born, a dearer growth of young existence—
“Thou art the vessel that shall pour his fame
“On future times!—The day is yet to come,
“When nations, to exalt the name of Conrade,
“Shall say, He was the Father of Slemfannon!”
The Monarch answer'd—“Yes, thou pride of Conrade,
“In whom he fondly joys to live renew'd,
“Fresh born, a dearer growth of young existence—
“Thou art the vessel that shall pour his fame
“On future times!—The day is yet to come,
396
“Shall say, He was the Father of Slemfannon!”
“Thine arm is young, my son, but not inglorious;
“The Romans, from the Rhodane to the Po,
“Have felt it through their steel! The ear of heroes
“Lists not to its own praise—yet know, thy name
“Is in the song of bards; and Phelin, oft,
“To me gives up the music of thy deeds,
“And tunes my soul to joy.—But, mark, Slemfannon!
“The arm of Power is, ever, worthiest seen
“In Preservation—he, who saves, is next
“To him who gives existence. O, Slemfannon,
“That we might save!—that we might save All, then,
“Without offence to Any! In this Hall,
“O, might yon length of sword, yon shining mail,
“Hang indolent for ever!—and, in days
“Of ages yet to come, the Sons of Peace,
“Gazing and wondering, question, with each other,
“What once had been their use!—Attend, my heroes!—
“The Romans, from the Rhodane to the Po,
“Have felt it through their steel! The ear of heroes
“Lists not to its own praise—yet know, thy name
“Is in the song of bards; and Phelin, oft,
“To me gives up the music of thy deeds,
“And tunes my soul to joy.—But, mark, Slemfannon!
“The arm of Power is, ever, worthiest seen
“In Preservation—he, who saves, is next
“To him who gives existence. O, Slemfannon,
“That we might save!—that we might save All, then,
“Without offence to Any! In this Hall,
“O, might yon length of sword, yon shining mail,
“Hang indolent for ever!—and, in days
“Of ages yet to come, the Sons of Peace,
“Gazing and wondering, question, with each other,
“What once had been their use!—Attend, my heroes!—
397
“Man comes into this passing world of weakness,
“And cries for help to man! for, feeble is he,
“And many are his foes—thirst, hunger, nakedness;
“Diseases infinite within his frame;
“Without, the inclemency and wrath of seasons,
“Famines, plagues, pests, devouring elements,
“Earthquakes beneath, and thunders rolling o'er him;
“Age and infirmity, on either hand;
“And Death who, lifts the certain Dart behind him!
“And cries for help to man! for, feeble is he,
“And many are his foes—thirst, hunger, nakedness;
“Diseases infinite within his frame;
“Without, the inclemency and wrath of seasons,
“Famines, plagues, pests, devouring elements,
“Earthquakes beneath, and thunders rolling o'er him;
“Age and infirmity, on either hand;
“And Death who, lifts the certain Dart behind him!
“These we might deem (had any Pitying Power
“Ordain'd the ways of man) were ills sufficient!
“Man thinks not so—on his own race he turns
“The force of all his talents, exquisite
“To shorten the short interval, by Art,
“Which Nature left us! Fire and sword are in
“His hand; and, in his thought, are machinations
“For speeding of perdition! Half the world,
“Down the steep gulph of dark futurity,
“Push off their fellows—pause upon the brink—
“And then drop after!”—
“Ordain'd the ways of man) were ills sufficient!
“Man thinks not so—on his own race he turns
“The force of all his talents, exquisite
“To shorten the short interval, by Art,
“Which Nature left us! Fire and sword are in
“His hand; and, in his thought, are machinations
“For speeding of perdition! Half the world,
“Down the steep gulph of dark futurity,
“Push off their fellows—pause upon the brink—
“And then drop after!”—
“Tell me, ye Sages, tell me, if ye can,
“Whence is the Stream of Life!—It rises fresh
“In smiling infancy; and pours along,
“Short, turbulent, and murmuring in its course,
“To its capacious sea. The sea fills not;
“The sea, from whence it never has return'd;
“Nor ceases, yet, the stream.—Where lies the Fund,
“From whence it flows?—will it be ever, thus?—
“And to no end, no purpose?”—
“Whence is the Stream of Life!—It rises fresh
398
“Short, turbulent, and murmuring in its course,
“To its capacious sea. The sea fills not;
“The sea, from whence it never has return'd;
“Nor ceases, yet, the stream.—Where lies the Fund,
“From whence it flows?—will it be ever, thus?—
“And to no end, no purpose?”—
While, thus, the Hero question'd on the height
And depth of vast Infinitude, intent
To plumb it with his fathom; through the Hall
A sudden Radiance broke!—All turn'd their eyes
Upon the coming Glory; for, of earth,
They did not deem the vision!—On she came,
Shulama, daughter of the gold-throned king
Of Scandinavia—on she came, in all
Her pleasantness of beauty, as the morn,
Blushing amidst the brightness of its east,
Rises on human sight! A train of virgins
Follow'd her steps; to them, twice twenty heroes,
Lords of wide lands and famed in northern fields,
Succeeded; and yet, distant, far behind,
Was seen the long retinue! Through the Hall,
Silent and still, as in the noon of night,
Attention held its breath—the white hair'd Sages
Rear'd their spread hands, in wonder—and Slemfannon
Gazed, as a blind-born man endow'd with sight,
When first he looks upon a new found world!
And depth of vast Infinitude, intent
To plumb it with his fathom; through the Hall
A sudden Radiance broke!—All turn'd their eyes
Upon the coming Glory; for, of earth,
They did not deem the vision!—On she came,
Shulama, daughter of the gold-throned king
Of Scandinavia—on she came, in all
Her pleasantness of beauty, as the morn,
Blushing amidst the brightness of its east,
Rises on human sight! A train of virgins
Follow'd her steps; to them, twice twenty heroes,
Lords of wide lands and famed in northern fields,
Succeeded; and yet, distant, far behind,
Was seen the long retinue! Through the Hall,
Silent and still, as in the noon of night,
Attention held its breath—the white hair'd Sages
399
Gazed, as a blind-born man endow'd with sight,
When first he looks upon a new found world!
Tow'rd the gem'd throne of awful majesty,
The Maiden bent the lustre of her eye,
And grace of motion. Lowly, on her knee
She sunk, imploring—“Hail, thou First of Heroes,
“The conqueror of the conquerors of the world,
“King over kings uplifted!—Have I then,
“Beheld the face of Conrade, and survived it?”
The Maiden bent the lustre of her eye,
And grace of motion. Lowly, on her knee
She sunk, imploring—“Hail, thou First of Heroes,
“The conqueror of the conquerors of the world,
“King over kings uplifted!—Have I then,
“Beheld the face of Conrade, and survived it?”
“Ruthamor, monarch of the golden throne,
“Whose deeds light up the north, hath sent Shulama
“To seek alliance with the might of Conrade!—
“I come from far, ambassadress of love;
“And claim a partner for my father's throne,
“Even your beloved daughter, Segaleme,
“The witch who rolls the eyes of young enchantment!”
“Whose deeds light up the north, hath sent Shulama
“To seek alliance with the might of Conrade!—
“I come from far, ambassadress of love;
“And claim a partner for my father's throne,
“Even your beloved daughter, Segaleme,
“The witch who rolls the eyes of young enchantment!”
Rising, and slow descending from his throne,
Conrade advanced. He rais'd the awe-struck maid,
And, to his war-imprinted bosom, clasp'd
The dangers of her beauty—“Welcome, welcome,
“Welcome,” he cried, “to Conrade, to his Erin,
“Thou daughter of delight!—for favouring Heaven
“Hath made thee in its pride of workmanship,
“And planted loveliness, as light, around thee!
Conrade advanced. He rais'd the awe-struck maid,
And, to his war-imprinted bosom, clasp'd
The dangers of her beauty—“Welcome, welcome,
400
“Thou daughter of delight!—for favouring Heaven
“Hath made thee in its pride of workmanship,
“And planted loveliness, as light, around thee!
“Hadst thou, O daughter of the blest Ruthamor,
“Required a province at the hands of Conrade,
“It had been given—or gold, and costly jewels;
“He would have stored your shipping with the burden,
“Till you cried, Hold!—But, here, alas, you ask
“The only thing I covet!—Segaleme,
“And young Slamfannon, are the eyes of Conrade—
“The precious eyes, by which he guides his steps,
“And looks, alone, for joy! And shall I, then,
“Shall I send off the treasure from my soul,
“To enrich the land of strangers?—No, Shulama!
“Haply, when grown infirm, and dim with age,
“When I can only feel around for comfort,
“How shall my hands stretch forth to foreign climes,
“And, to my knees, draw up the little ones
“Of Segaleme?”—While the Monarch spoke,
A distant portal open'd: Segaleme
Appear'd to sight, and fill'd the pass with brightness!
“Required a province at the hands of Conrade,
“It had been given—or gold, and costly jewels;
“He would have stored your shipping with the burden,
“Till you cried, Hold!—But, here, alas, you ask
“The only thing I covet!—Segaleme,
“And young Slamfannon, are the eyes of Conrade—
“The precious eyes, by which he guides his steps,
“And looks, alone, for joy! And shall I, then,
“Shall I send off the treasure from my soul,
“To enrich the land of strangers?—No, Shulama!
“Haply, when grown infirm, and dim with age,
“When I can only feel around for comfort,
“How shall my hands stretch forth to foreign climes,
“And, to my knees, draw up the little ones
“Of Segaleme?”—While the Monarch spoke,
401
Appear'd to sight, and fill'd the pass with brightness!
As, should two moons, at east and west, arise
In aspect opposite; and each, in other,
Behold the image of its own perfection;
So shone, so moved, so gazed, the Rival Lights
Of Conrade and Ruthamor! They approach'd—
Their steps seem'd measured by the sound of music;
And each had lost the memory of herself,
In admiration of the other's beauty!
Silent, their arms of ivory they expand;
They fold each other to a polish'd bosom,
And mix their rays of brightness!—Segaleme
First broke the stillness in the Hall of Heroes.
In aspect opposite; and each, in other,
Behold the image of its own perfection;
So shone, so moved, so gazed, the Rival Lights
Of Conrade and Ruthamor! They approach'd—
Their steps seem'd measured by the sound of music;
And each had lost the memory of herself,
In admiration of the other's beauty!
Silent, their arms of ivory they expand;
They fold each other to a polish'd bosom,
And mix their rays of brightness!—Segaleme
First broke the stillness in the Hall of Heroes.
“Welcome,” she cried, “thrice welcome to the vale
“Of Erin, that shall gladden in thy presence,
“O Beam of northern hills!”—“And have I, then,
“Have I, at length, beheld thee,” cried Shulama,
“Thou praise of every tongue?—mine eyes are satisfied,
“And take their rest with thee!”—“Thou art the joy,
“The sister of my soul!” said Segaleme—
She spoke, and kiss'd her forehead.—Whispering soft,
Shulama then inquired—“Say, which is he,
“The force of your Slemfannon, so renown'd
“For feats of warfare in the field of Romans?
“Which is your mighty brother, Segaleme?—
“For mine eye dare not venture in his search,
“Amid the groups of Heroes that surround us.”
“Of Erin, that shall gladden in thy presence,
“O Beam of northern hills!”—“And have I, then,
“Have I, at length, beheld thee,” cried Shulama,
“Thou praise of every tongue?—mine eyes are satisfied,
“And take their rest with thee!”—“Thou art the joy,
“The sister of my soul!” said Segaleme—
402
Shulama then inquired—“Say, which is he,
“The force of your Slemfannon, so renown'd
“For feats of warfare in the field of Romans?
“Which is your mighty brother, Segaleme?—
“For mine eye dare not venture in his search,
“Amid the groups of Heroes that surround us.”
“There, there he grows, the flower of Erin's garden,
“Fast by the royal pillar of the land!—
“There stands the young Slemfannon, in his sweetness!”
“Fast by the royal pillar of the land!—
“There stands the young Slemfannon, in his sweetness!”
Full on the youth, the Maid of Scandinavia
Roll'd the young lightning of the glance of beauty—
His eyes met hers; and down they sunk abash'd,
As caught in some transgression.—
Roll'd the young lightning of the glance of beauty—
His eyes met hers; and down they sunk abash'd,
As caught in some transgression.—
“Ah, thou deceiver, beauteous witch of Erin,”
Rejoin'd Shulama, “this is not thy brother!—
“I ween'd to meet some giant, as in tales
“Of old renown, and terrible to sight!
“But here, I view the Infant of the Spring,
“Like one of us, who pale to look on blood,
“And, o'er the dying songster of the cage,
“Shed tears of mourning!”—Segaleme smiled;
And from the dimpling of her radiant cheek
A glory went abroad!—Forth, by the hand,
She led the lovely Stranger to her bower.
Rejoin'd Shulama, “this is not thy brother!—
“I ween'd to meet some giant, as in tales
“Of old renown, and terrible to sight!
“But here, I view the Infant of the Spring,
“Like one of us, who pale to look on blood,
“And, o'er the dying songster of the cage,
“Shed tears of mourning!”—Segaleme smiled;
And from the dimpling of her radiant cheek
403
She led the lovely Stranger to her bower.
Mean-season, to the Peers of Scandinavia
The Monarch bow'd benevolent, and said—
“Welcome, ye Heroes of the sky-topt hills!
“Thrice welcome all, though each had been an hundred—
“For Plenty dwells upon the vales of Erin,
“And Conrade's palace is the Home of Strangers!
“The night descends—light up my many halls;
“Spread wide the boards; pour plenteous, to the brim,
“The juice of every region!”—It was done.
The Monarch bow'd benevolent, and said—
“Welcome, ye Heroes of the sky-topt hills!
“Thrice welcome all, though each had been an hundred—
“For Plenty dwells upon the vales of Erin,
“And Conrade's palace is the Home of Strangers!
“The night descends—light up my many halls;
“Spread wide the boards; pour plenteous, to the brim,
“The juice of every region!”—It was done.
By hundreds, and by fifties, sat the Chiefs
Commix'd with Bards and Sages; while the voice
Of festal joy was heard throughout Emania.
Commix'd with Bards and Sages; while the voice
Of festal joy was heard throughout Emania.
But, far within, in regal majesty,
Sat Erin's Strength! Slemfannon blest his side;
And, full in view, he placed the high-born maids,
And fed his soul upon the work of Beauty.
Sat Erin's Strength! Slemfannon blest his side;
And, full in view, he placed the high-born maids,
And fed his soul upon the work of Beauty.
Phelin, the seer and song of antient days,
The sage instructor of his loved Slemfannon,
Was seated here—and here, again, Siffrenna,
The white hair'd guardian of Shulama's beauties.
The sage instructor of his loved Slemfannon,
Was seated here—and here, again, Siffrenna,
The white hair'd guardian of Shulama's beauties.
Soon as the board lay lighten'd of the banquet,
Fair boys and maidens, into chrystal cups,
Pour'd the rich vintage of the Greekish isles
Of Archipelago. The joy went round;
The wish of pleasing, and the sweets of converse!
Fair boys and maidens, into chrystal cups,
404
Of Archipelago. The joy went round;
The wish of pleasing, and the sweets of converse!
“Slemfannon,” said the Monarch, “take the harp—
“Thou arm of Conrade, take the strings of story,
“And, to the ear of Erin's lovely Guest,
“Tune some of thine adventures, when thou stood'st,
“In southern climates, by the side of Conrade,
“Then, like a glimpse of lightning, shot abroad,
“And overturn'd the foe!”—Yet still obedient
To the high call, the blushing Youth replied:
“I turn'd, and shelter'd me behind your buckler,
“As though behind the walls of Arisphellan!”
“Thou arm of Conrade, take the strings of story,
“And, to the ear of Erin's lovely Guest,
“Tune some of thine adventures, when thou stood'st,
“In southern climates, by the side of Conrade,
“Then, like a glimpse of lightning, shot abroad,
“And overturn'd the foe!”—Yet still obedient
To the high call, the blushing Youth replied:
“I turn'd, and shelter'd me behind your buckler,
“As though behind the walls of Arisphellan!”
Old Phelin from its chain releas'd the lyre,
And gave it, smiling.—O'er the silver strings
Light flew the fingers of the shamefaced Boy,
Scarce audible.—At length the tale began:
And gave it, smiling.—O'er the silver strings
Light flew the fingers of the shamefaced Boy,
Scarce audible.—At length the tale began:
Our tent was pitch'd amid the field of Narbon—
The dead lay wide around—the night came down,
To veil their ghastliness—no star appear'd—
And the moon, sickening at the sight of blood,
Had shrowded up her visage!—Through the gloom,
Mine ear was stricken with the voice of wailing,
Sad as a thousand sighs, when the dark winds
Sob through the yews that stand amid the graves
Of Arnel!—Forth I went to seek the mourner.
The dead lay wide around—the night came down,
To veil their ghastliness—no star appear'd—
And the moon, sickening at the sight of blood,
Had shrowded up her visage!—Through the gloom,
Mine ear was stricken with the voice of wailing,
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Sob through the yews that stand amid the graves
Of Arnel!—Forth I went to seek the mourner.
Through the night's glimpse, that struck upon his mail,
I saw a warrior, tall and fair of stature.
Upon his strenuous arm, he, lightly, bore
The corse of his companion. On a bank
He laid the body down, and sunk beside it.
I saw a warrior, tall and fair of stature.
Upon his strenuous arm, he, lightly, bore
The corse of his companion. On a bank
He laid the body down, and sunk beside it.
“Art thou then gone,” he cried? “for ever gone,
“Companion of my soul! in whom I lived,
“The dearer self of desolated Hugon!
“Wilt thou no more arise, like light, upon me?
“Nor give the smile of friendship to mine eyes?
“Nor cheer my spirit with thy voice of music?
“Companion of my soul! in whom I lived,
“The dearer self of desolated Hugon!
“Wilt thou no more arise, like light, upon me?
“Nor give the smile of friendship to mine eyes?
“Nor cheer my spirit with thy voice of music?
“Why didst thou step before me in the battle?
“Wast thou not safe, behind my wheeling sword,
“As in the fort of Delma?—That my breast,
“O, that my naked breast had met the dart,
“That slew my brother!—Thou hast left me; Berith,
“With Grief, alone, companion'd.—O, stern Grief,
“Sad is thy fellowship! I will not bide it.—
“I will o'ertake thee, Berith!—We will live;
“Perchance, in happier climes; or, in one grave,
“Silent lie down, and sleep in peace together!
“Wast thou not safe, behind my wheeling sword,
“As in the fort of Delma?—That my breast,
“O, that my naked breast had met the dart,
“That slew my brother!—Thou hast left me; Berith,
“With Grief, alone, companion'd.—O, stern Grief,
“Sad is thy fellowship! I will not bide it.—
“I will o'ertake thee, Berith!—We will live;
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“Silent lie down, and sleep in peace together!
“Look not, my mother, from the wonted pride
“Of thine high battlements, to see thy son
“Returning, in the front of all his trophies!—
“Mistake not Arden's forest for his flags;
“Nor the wind's western clangor for his trumpets!—
“Thou shalt look upward, with a tearful eye,
“And sigh to see, how empty is his armour!—
“Thy hall, it shall be hung around with black,
“And one lone lamp shall light thee!”
“Of thine high battlements, to see thy son
“Returning, in the front of all his trophies!—
“Mistake not Arden's forest for his flags;
“Nor the wind's western clangor for his trumpets!—
“Thou shalt look upward, with a tearful eye,
“And sigh to see, how empty is his armour!—
“Thy hall, it shall be hung around with black,
“And one lone lamp shall light thee!”
Straight, by the accent of the Hero's tongue,
I knew him for an enemy to Conrade:
But well I knew, that Conrade was the friend
Of humankind!—With gentle voice, the voice,
As of a brother, I the Chief accosted:
I knew him for an enemy to Conrade:
But well I knew, that Conrade was the friend
Of humankind!—With gentle voice, the voice,
As of a brother, I the Chief accosted:
“My heart, O Warrior! takes a kindred share
“In all thy sufferings.—In the field, indeed,
“My faulchion rises in my country's quarrel;
“But my soul knows no warfare with the Brave,
“The Good, or the Unhappy!—Know, great Hugon,
“That the Distress'd are held as Sons and Brothers
“To Conrade and Slemfannon! Near at hand,
“Extends our camp—whate'er of friendly aid
“Can there be given, is thine!” He answer'd not;
But, with a grateful and assenting clasp,
Confined me to his bosom—while our souls,
Mingling their friendships, coalesced together.
“In all thy sufferings.—In the field, indeed,
“My faulchion rises in my country's quarrel;
“But my soul knows no warfare with the Brave,
“The Good, or the Unhappy!—Know, great Hugon,
“That the Distress'd are held as Sons and Brothers
“To Conrade and Slemfannon! Near at hand,
“Extends our camp—whate'er of friendly aid
407
But, with a grateful and assenting clasp,
Confined me to his bosom—while our souls,
Mingling their friendships, coalesced together.
Attendants straight I call'd; then to my tent
Convey'd the corse, and gently on a bed
Reclined, and soon the steely mail unbraced—
When, strange to tell! upon the astonish'd sight
Rose two twin orbs of beauty!—Back, abash'd,
Starting I turn'd, and sent the female-train;
Then sought where Hugon, all involv'd in grief,
Sat with my Sire. In panting haste I told
The wondrous tale.—The Hero cried, “'Tis she,
“'Tis she herself!—it must be Eliphene!—
“My heart confess'd her, though my eyes refused
“Its attestation, turning Love's fierce ardours
“To Friendship's gentler flame!”—At once they rose,
And follow'd, where the beauteous body lay,
Decent, in virgin sheets.—We sent in haste,
And call'd Elphenor, sovereign of all herbs
And arts for healing—He the deadly wound
E'er long discovered; for it still oozed crimson,
Like a rose springing midst a bed of lilies!
The vital heat, unwilling to forego
Its lovely mansion, feebly held the center;
And still a thread of life gave faint pulsation!
From his elixir'd chrystal, drop by drop,
Thro' the pale lips, the cautious Sage infused
The potent cordial.—Thus, while doubtful life
Hung, fearfully suspended, generous Hugon
Address'd my Sire—
Convey'd the corse, and gently on a bed
Reclined, and soon the steely mail unbraced—
When, strange to tell! upon the astonish'd sight
Rose two twin orbs of beauty!—Back, abash'd,
Starting I turn'd, and sent the female-train;
Then sought where Hugon, all involv'd in grief,
Sat with my Sire. In panting haste I told
The wondrous tale.—The Hero cried, “'Tis she,
“'Tis she herself!—it must be Eliphene!—
“My heart confess'd her, though my eyes refused
“Its attestation, turning Love's fierce ardours
“To Friendship's gentler flame!”—At once they rose,
And follow'd, where the beauteous body lay,
Decent, in virgin sheets.—We sent in haste,
And call'd Elphenor, sovereign of all herbs
And arts for healing—He the deadly wound
E'er long discovered; for it still oozed crimson,
Like a rose springing midst a bed of lilies!
The vital heat, unwilling to forego
Its lovely mansion, feebly held the center;
408
From his elixir'd chrystal, drop by drop,
Thro' the pale lips, the cautious Sage infused
The potent cordial.—Thus, while doubtful life
Hung, fearfully suspended, generous Hugon
Address'd my Sire—
O Conrade, cried the Chief,
Thou Dread of Tyrants; hateful to Oppressors,
But, to the Feeble and Oppress'd, a name
Of sure Asylum—loved of all the Valiant!—
Yes, Hugon swears the Valiant love thee, Conrade,
Even while, as foes, they draw the sword against thee!—
O Monarch, lend the ear of thy compassion;
Thine ear, still open to the tale of mourning,
Lend it a while to Hugon!—He's a Tuscan,
By clime and birth thine enemy—although
His kindred spirit long has held the dear,
Even with the dearest.—Hear then, hear my tale
Of sad distress!—That lovely, hapless Maid,
Of noblest lineage, to my guardian care,
Was by her parents left.—She was addrest
By all the potentates, whose station warranted
To lift an eye so lofty.—I was, then,
In foreign climes, on travel—I return'd.
Thou Dread of Tyrants; hateful to Oppressors,
But, to the Feeble and Oppress'd, a name
Of sure Asylum—loved of all the Valiant!—
Yes, Hugon swears the Valiant love thee, Conrade,
Even while, as foes, they draw the sword against thee!—
O Monarch, lend the ear of thy compassion;
Thine ear, still open to the tale of mourning,
Lend it a while to Hugon!—He's a Tuscan,
By clime and birth thine enemy—although
His kindred spirit long has held the dear,
Even with the dearest.—Hear then, hear my tale
Of sad distress!—That lovely, hapless Maid,
Of noblest lineage, to my guardian care,
Was by her parents left.—She was addrest
By all the potentates, whose station warranted
To lift an eye so lofty.—I was, then,
In foreign climes, on travel—I return'd.
409
Upon a stated festival, the chiefs
And princes of the land, with princely dames,
Convened, a galaxy!—I too was there;
And there was Eliphene, as the star
Of beauty, regent, midst the smaller sparklers!
With fond attraction she compell'd me to her,
As the touch'd needle to the frozen north;
For so I did misdeem it.—From that day,
Amidst the noblest of her princely suitors,
I too preferr'd my claim.—She first receiv'd me
With smiling, kind, encouraging complacence:
But soon her looks grew more constrain'd—whene'er
Her eyes met mine, she blush'd and turn'd aside,
As wishing to avoid me.—To all others,
She look'd an elegance of ease, and spoke
In terms as free as air—to me, her speech,
Unfrequent, was abrupt and cautious.—Stung
With scorpion'd jealousy, I, to my soul,
Thus spoke indignant—“What have these to boast,
“These favour'd rivals, o'er rejected Hugon!
“Does their pre-eminence consist in shape,
“Or feature?—eyes, that are not Eliphene's,
“Will answer, No.—And, as to feats of prowess,
“Compared with me, they're nameless!—O shame, shame,
“Shame on this weakness, this degrading passion!
“Henceforth, I will wage war on my own heart—
“And conquer it, or perish!”
And princes of the land, with princely dames,
Convened, a galaxy!—I too was there;
And there was Eliphene, as the star
Of beauty, regent, midst the smaller sparklers!
With fond attraction she compell'd me to her,
As the touch'd needle to the frozen north;
For so I did misdeem it.—From that day,
Amidst the noblest of her princely suitors,
I too preferr'd my claim.—She first receiv'd me
With smiling, kind, encouraging complacence:
But soon her looks grew more constrain'd—whene'er
Her eyes met mine, she blush'd and turn'd aside,
As wishing to avoid me.—To all others,
She look'd an elegance of ease, and spoke
In terms as free as air—to me, her speech,
Unfrequent, was abrupt and cautious.—Stung
With scorpion'd jealousy, I, to my soul,
Thus spoke indignant—“What have these to boast,
“These favour'd rivals, o'er rejected Hugon!
“Does their pre-eminence consist in shape,
“Or feature?—eyes, that are not Eliphene's,
“Will answer, No.—And, as to feats of prowess,
“Compared with me, they're nameless!—O shame, shame,
410
“Henceforth, I will wage war on my own heart—
“And conquer it, or perish!”
At the time,
The tidings of your dread invasion reach'd us.
Quick, at the name of Conrade, my whole soul
Kindled to generous rivalship—“Yes, yes,
“Thou shalt be met, thou mighty one!” I cried,
“Thou shalt be met—thy best esteemer shall
“Oppose thee, front to front!—I ask of Heaven
“No boon, no other bounty, than to have
“My death ennobled by the arm of Conrade!”
The tidings of your dread invasion reach'd us.
Quick, at the name of Conrade, my whole soul
Kindled to generous rivalship—“Yes, yes,
“Thou shalt be met, thou mighty one!” I cried,
“Thou shalt be met—thy best esteemer shall
“Oppose thee, front to front!—I ask of Heaven
“No boon, no other bounty, than to have
“My death ennobled by the arm of Conrade!”
Straight I address'd for war; but Love, uncall'd,
Obtruded, whispering to my secret soul,
“First take thy last adieu of Eliphene!”
Pride, haughty champion, rose, with stern rebuke
Against the gentler Power. He frown'd, and cried,
“What, are we not, as yet, enough debased?—
“Shall we add further forces to the foe;
“And furnish arms, against our nobleness,
“To the tried scorn and insolence of Beauty?”
Obtruded, whispering to my secret soul,
“First take thy last adieu of Eliphene!”
Pride, haughty champion, rose, with stern rebuke
Against the gentler Power. He frown'd, and cried,
“What, are we not, as yet, enough debased?—
“Shall we add further forces to the foe;
“And furnish arms, against our nobleness,
“To the tried scorn and insolence of Beauty?”
Dire was the contest—Love long kept his ground;
But Pride, at last, was prevalent—I rent,
I tore myself away from my Beloved,
From my true Lover—
As a self-murderer, desperate of his state,
Makes a divorce betwixt his soul and body!
But Pride, at last, was prevalent—I rent,
411
From my true Lover—
As a self-murderer, desperate of his state,
Makes a divorce betwixt his soul and body!
I lay encamp'd, my legions tented round me,
When word was brought me of a youthful warrior,
Of graceful mein, and more than matchless beauty,
Who ask'd admission.—To my presence led
He bow'd submiss; and, blushing, pray'd the grace
Of being privileged to do me service.
When word was brought me of a youthful warrior,
Of graceful mein, and more than matchless beauty,
Who ask'd admission.—To my presence led
He bow'd submiss; and, blushing, pray'd the grace
Of being privileged to do me service.
My heart straight took acquaintance with his aspect—
Some strange similitude fond memory found
'Twixt him and Eliphene!—but, my soul
Conceiv'd no thought, that she her tender frame
Should vest in steel—should seek the man she hated—
Should trace her Hugon into death and dangers!
Some strange similitude fond memory found
'Twixt him and Eliphene!—but, my soul
Conceiv'd no thought, that she her tender frame
Should vest in steel—should seek the man she hated—
Should trace her Hugon into death and dangers!
Instant, our hearts commenced a friendship, tender,
Fondly inviolate, as caught together
By hooks of golden grappling.—I, no more,
Sought Conrade on the perilous edge of conflict;
I now had one to care for! and my eye,
My guardian eye pursued and watch'd his motions,
On this side, and on that.—In this day's battle,
I charged him, on his duty, on his love,
To hold him rearward.—Still I turn'd, and turn'd,
Even as a timid deer accompanied
By her loved fawn, to see if he was near—
But yet, alas, in fear of losing fame,
I led my Friend too deeply into dangers!
Fondly inviolate, as caught together
By hooks of golden grappling.—I, no more,
Sought Conrade on the perilous edge of conflict;
I now had one to care for! and my eye,
My guardian eye pursued and watch'd his motions,
On this side, and on that.—In this day's battle,
I charged him, on his duty, on his love,
412
Even as a timid deer accompanied
By her loved fawn, to see if he was near—
But yet, alas, in fear of losing fame,
I led my Friend too deeply into dangers!
At length, toward eve—for who can cope with Conrade?—
Your host prevail'd!—Indignant I opposed,
And would have reinforced the fight—when, lo,
A random shaft rush'd, rudely, through the mail,
The light framed mail of my beloved Companion,
And ting'd his arms with blood! Upon the instant,
Our legions sounded a retreat. Then, then—
Must I confess that Hugon trembled?—Straight
Into my arms I caught my best beloved,
And fled the hindmost: night came on apace,
And parted all affray—Upon a bank
I laid her down, and, to the pitying moon,
Whose doubtful glimpses thro' the darkness broke,
Utter'd my wailings.—Then, our loved Slemfannon
Came, provident of comforts, to console;
And did console, by shewing, that, on earth,
Such Virtue still was extant!—Here, the Hero
Closed his sad narrative!
Your host prevail'd!—Indignant I opposed,
And would have reinforced the fight—when, lo,
A random shaft rush'd, rudely, through the mail,
The light framed mail of my beloved Companion,
And ting'd his arms with blood! Upon the instant,
Our legions sounded a retreat. Then, then—
Must I confess that Hugon trembled?—Straight
Into my arms I caught my best beloved,
And fled the hindmost: night came on apace,
And parted all affray—Upon a bank
I laid her down, and, to the pitying moon,
Whose doubtful glimpses thro' the darkness broke,
Utter'd my wailings.—Then, our loved Slemfannon
Came, provident of comforts, to console;
And did console, by shewing, that, on earth,
Such Virtue still was extant!—Here, the Hero
Closed his sad narrative!
Meantime, Elphenor, pendent o'er the corse,
Still plied his tender offices. At length,
The beauteous Form began to move—each heart
Bounded with expectation—when her eyes
Open'd their faint refulgence to the light,
Look'd wild around her with a sickly gleam,
And closed their orbs for ever!—Then Elphenor:
“By death's cold hand this Rose of Beauty cropt,
“Fades, and shall bloom no more—except in Heaven!”
Still plied his tender offices. At length,
413
Bounded with expectation—when her eyes
Open'd their faint refulgence to the light,
Look'd wild around her with a sickly gleam,
And closed their orbs for ever!—Then Elphenor:
“By death's cold hand this Rose of Beauty cropt,
“Fades, and shall bloom no more—except in Heaven!”
Meantime astonish'd, o'er the lifeless corse,
The Hero speechless stood—then, all at once,
As some high cliff, far jutting o'er its base,
Disparts and dashes on the sea-beat shore,
Bereft of sense he fell—bless'd pause of being!
But O, how fearfully to be succeeded
By anguishings unutterable!—Long,
Long lay he tranced—I thought, I wish'd him dead—
For what had life, midst all its stores of bliss,
For him, save misery extreme?—At length,
He waked to all the pangs of mental feeling!
The Hero speechless stood—then, all at once,
As some high cliff, far jutting o'er its base,
Disparts and dashes on the sea-beat shore,
Bereft of sense he fell—bless'd pause of being!
But O, how fearfully to be succeeded
By anguishings unutterable!—Long,
Long lay he tranced—I thought, I wish'd him dead—
For what had life, midst all its stores of bliss,
For him, save misery extreme?—At length,
He waked to all the pangs of mental feeling!
Five days, and five soul-torturing nights, he lay
By the embalm'd Remains—in all which time,
Nor food, nor word of utterance, past his lips;
Nor word of consolation to his ear
Obtain'd admission—By his side fast laid,
I press'd his hand in mine, and on it dropt
The tear of sad condolence! Through the camp,
Sudden I heard the shout of joint laments—
I rose, and issued forth.—
By the embalm'd Remains—in all which time,
Nor food, nor word of utterance, past his lips;
Nor word of consolation to his ear
414
I press'd his hand in mine, and on it dropt
The tear of sad condolence! Through the camp,
Sudden I heard the shout of joint laments—
I rose, and issued forth.—
| The Poetical Works of Henry Brooke | |