Bertram A Poetical Tale, In Four Cantos. By Sir Egerton Brydges. Second Edition |
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| I. | CANTO I.
INFANCY, AND FIRST ENTRY INTO LIFE. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | Bertram |  |
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CANTO I. INFANCY, AND FIRST ENTRY INTO LIFE.
I.
“Why hangs that darkening gloom on Bertram's brow?Why seems he muttering still some secret vow;
Revenge upon his lips, and swelling pride,
That insults would in mockful scorn deride?
Is yonder massive castle turret-crown'd;
Are yonder forests, by his Sires renown'd,
Unequal to the pomp his lofty mind
Claims in the eye of light and base mankind?
Driven by his frowns, or envious of his powers,
See how the vulgar herd around him lours!
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His converse seeks, or grave or gay, to hear:
While pleas'd and pleasing, every babbler round
Finds his pert nonsense with attention crown'd.
II.
What are the gifts of Nature, or of Wealth,If some insearchable disease, by stealth,
Or seated in the body or the soul,
Of bliss all outward seemings can controul?
Shap'd in a mould of noblest symmetry,
Where grace with vigorous strength appears to vie,
His melancholy visage, pale with thought,
Is with the flame of soaring genius fraught!
With gifts like these, how curst, above the state
Of common men, appears Sir Bertram's fate!”
III.
Such were the words I heard from Montfort fall,When years long past we met in Redbourne's hall!
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Have pass'd his days? contented, or in woe?
The tale is sad! Shall then the tale be told?
And will ye listen, if I should unfold
Mysteries, will make, perchance, the blood run cold?
IV.
Ere yet the Norman Conqueror's earthly swayHad seen in Britain's isle its final day,
Those self-same towers to Bertram's grandsires came,
That Time had ne'er dissever'd from the name;
And round, of lordships, forests, wastes, a store,
That't would be tedious, did I count them o'er!
But Bertram came into the world too late
To be the chief of such a wide estate:
Shorn of its beams, it yet was spread around,
With many a proud and noble feature crown'd.
V.
In his fifth year his father lost his life,Cover'd with honours, in a glorious strife.
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His mother sought, and clos'd in death her grief.
Too young to know the loss his fate had given,
Not yet his heart with lonely pangs was riven!
But Morning rose upon his boyish sports,
And still the live-long day the light he courts:
Rays of the sun, or shadows of the cloud,
Alike to him with pleasures are endow'd:
He basks in sunshine on the flowery grass;
Within the hall, with armour loaded, pass
Those hours, the frowning elements employ
In schemes less full of zephyr-breathing joy.
To live, to breathe, to feel the genial glow
Of health through every vein in currents flow,
Oft was calm bliss; and oft was ecstasy,
And oft would rapture kindle in the eye;
And often on the lips in half-form'd accents die!
A thousand airy castles he would build;
With day-dreams half his childish hours were fill'd;
Ill humours, if they cross'd, with visions bright were still'd.
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VI.
But good alone in midst of solitude,Amid companions he was silent, rude;
Or o'er some angry whim, or fancied wrong would brood.
The stander-by in his profound conceit
With pitying shrugs the simple boy would greet:
“Alas! his sluggish faculties! how slow
In him begin the mental powers to grow!
How cold his little heart! O mark the cry,
His comrades use, of sprightlier energy!
Him seem more hapless Destinies to rule,
Mute like an ideot, awkward like a fool!
VII.
Is this thy comment, thou, who deem'st thy sense,Of human Character can truths dispense?
E'en now the Boy the tortuous thought pervades,
And thus within himself the wrong upbraids:
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Of this o'er-labouring bosom shall aspire
In flames, thy slender intellect to fright,
And scorch thy dull wit with unhooded light!
And under foot these comrades vile I'll tread,
Whom thus in scorn thou placest o'er my head!
It is not poverty of thought, that seals
My lips in silence, or my bosom steels.
Swell my wild fancies for my lips too full;
And pride and scorn my utterance backward pull!”
VIII.
But Bertram grew in strength, and height, and forceOf mental powers, as years roll'd on their course:
Amid the struggles of a crowded school
His faculties began to take the rule.
Though shy, and inexpert at common games,
'Twas early known that he had higher claims:
Rapid to learn, and deep to comprehend,
Down to the source his searching powers would tend;
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His mind, by fits, where others trod with ease!
IX.
Beyond the path of Intellect he knewAssociates, helpmates, intimates but few;
Reserv'd, unus'd to jest, unfit to bend,
He knew not to relax but with a friend.
He lov'd distinction: it was in his breast
The hell that ne'er allow'd a moment's rest.
When with the crowd of manlier years array'd,
He sigh'd that Time no speedier progress made:
He long'd to lead the senate or the field;
The sword of war or of the tongue to wield:
But most within Imagination's reign
He burn'd to fix an undenied domain.
X.
Now 'gan the tender down upon his cheekA youth of still maturer form to speak;
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Seem'd as in pride of manhood to rejoice.
“A world to conquer!” See, how gay it lies,
Glittering with spoils before his eager eyes!
Fair damsels, dancing light on every green,
In graceful shapes first deck th' enchanting scene;
Still as they glance their many-twinkling feet,
Still as their locks their swelling bosoms greet,
He looks with rapture, and he sighs with fire,
With mutual love those bosoms to inspire.
XI.
Forth to the world the visionary LadGoes, in the armour of adventure clad:
But, ah! if Hope luxuriant blossoms cast,
Most fatal comes the chilling, blighting blast.
The withering glance of Scorn, the freezing look
Of sad Neglect, his sanguine fancy shook.
Careless of money, he drew round about
His house, large trains that form'd a motley rout.
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They far below the costs they crav'd were deem'd.
A thousand harpies prey'd upon his wealth;
A thousand leeches drew his blood by stealth.
XII.
Thus Care began, in bloom of youth, to dartHer vulture talons on his trembling heart.
Already did he see the feudal sway,
Endear'd by Time, about to waste away:
Not wasted on himself his wealth had gone;
On wings of other joys than his 'twas flown.
But what avail'd it now? Regret was vain!
To him it never could return again!
Ah! is it bootless backward eyes to cast?
Is there no sorrow then for what is past?
In Bertram's anxious bosom Calm was o'er;
And Joy was vanish'd to return no more!
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XIII.
Deep in the gloom of wint'ry nights he stood,To watch the gathering tempests round him brood;
And struggled with the storm, and to the wind
The shrill shriek of his wildering sorrows join'd.
Then through the castle's courts, and hall, and towers,
He rambled, muttering sad, at midnight hours!
To each grim visage, that the pictur'd walls
Shew of his numerous Sires, by fits he calls;
And talks strange things, and listens, in return,
To truths long buried in the funeral urn.
XIV.
But yet—relentless Ruin has not yetHer cloven foot upon the threshold set:
Yet have not come those hell-hounds of the Law,
With fang of torture, and blood-dropping jaw!
Those fiends ineffable, who at the sight
Of human sorrow grin with mad delight!
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XV.
Now schemes of rash ambition, and of boldAdventure, 'cross his troubled brain are roll'd;
Spoils in the wars, or prizes in the games
Of chance, he deems were worthy of his aims.
His fickle fancy dwells awhile on these,
And many a golden vision wakes to please.
Dear forests, where the breath of life he drew,
When Nature open'd on his raptur'd view;
Turrets, through which the breeze's murmuring tone
First taught his boyhood Melancholy's moan,
For foreign climes your long-lov'd haunts he flies,
And seeks in change to soothe his miseries!
XVI.
Now wild o'er many a land his footsteps roam,By fits forgetful of the pangs of home:
The din of war; th' array of tented fields,
To his worn breast a transient impulse yields:
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And havoc 'mid opposing squadrons spreads!
Then glory follows his heroic deeds;
Nor vainly Bertram's youthful body bleeds.
XVII.
Ah! Bertram's body: yet not Bertram's nameWas register'd upon the rolls of Fame.
Too haughty he beneath the first to shine,
The name which birth had given would yet decline.
By some fictitious designation known,
He like an unexpected meteor shone:
But in the conflict of companions wild,
Who no strong passion of the soul beguil'd,
He led a life that had no sense of time,
A life of mingled honour and of crime.
XVIII.
The loud carousal now inflam'd his soul;And bursts of merriment rose o'er the bowl;
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The story of their converse gay would warm;
And Bertram too would in voluptuous joy
His hours of leisure unrestrain'd employ.
XIX.
Amid his wild companions one he foundBy holier vows and firmer friendship bound:
His name was Norville: less perchance of fire
Than suited Bertram did his breast inspire:
For he was of a calmer, softer kind,
Slow in his mien, and patient in his mind;
Fix'd to his word, and faithful to his trust,
Clear in his thoughts, and in his actions just.
XX.
Oft did th' impetuous bursts of Bertram's soulYield to the force of Norville's mild controul;
And oft amid the carnage of the day,
He 'scap'd rash death by his persuasive sway.
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XXI.
There seem'd o'er Norville's bosom to presideSome ruling subject, which he strove to hide:
Some fond and pensive thoughts he fed apart
Within the inmost foldings of his heart.
If Love it was, that o'er that gentle breast
Had such an undivided reign possest,
If in the temple of that tender mind
Some fair maid's form for worship was enshrin'd,
Not e'en to Bertram was the secret sigh'd;
He only guess'd that Norville deified
Some abstract form of female loveliness;
And in his own creation plac'd his bliss.—
XXII.
Far other was the cast of Bertram's frame;His feelings and his soul were all of flame;
He lov'd to paint in every vivid hue.
The lovely maiden that his fancy drew;
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That fill'd his breast alternate with alarms.
In him the soften'd voice, the piercing eye,
The form of graceful strength, the casual sigh,
The tender Fair-one could in vain defy.
XXIII.
But yet he guess'd not, for he was not vain,How wide and flattering was the grateful reign
That Nature's gifts, and mental eloquence,
Gave to his wishes o'er the female sense.
Suspicious of repulse, a timid glance
Too often chill'd his half-recoil'd advance;
And back within himself in sullen ire,
As one forlorn and scorn'd, he would retire:
Then when resentment flush'd the fair one's face,
And moody anger gave a doubtful grace,
Half in defiance, half in love return'd,
His bosom with the scheme of conquest burn'd;
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Forth from his tongue the mental treasures roll'd.
Then by the lightning from his eye that beam'd,
The glowing language from his lips that stream'd,
Too oft a dangerous arrow in the breast
Canker'd in silence, e'en when not confest,
And prey'd in secret on the fair one's rest!
XXIV.
“O Bertram! (Norville cried,) O, would that IHad power like thee to draw the maiden's sigh!
But calm and dull, to me is not reveal'd
The swelling bosom, that to thee would yield.”
“O Norville! dost thou laugh me thus to scorn?
No female gifts my vacant arm adorn!
O Norville! rather bid this heart be still;
Thou know'st with what delightful joy they fill,
Those Syren Charmers, fill this breast of fire;
Then treat with scorn the love that they inspire.”
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XXV.
But now again the idle time was o'er!The bray of trumpets, and the cannon's roar,
And toils exhausting, and that grisly Power,
Grim Death, who talk'd with all at ev'ry hour,
From Bertram's and from Norville's bosoms drove
Far off the softening thoughts of wanton love.
Three days and nights did now the battle rave,
And thousands fell, but found no covering grave:
When Bertram drop'd with many a ghastly wound,
And senseless lay upon the blood-stain'd ground!
XXVI.
Norville, who long with luckier fate had fought,Now with vain care his long-lov'd comrade sought:
Too sure his friend had fallen among the slain,
And in some undistinguish'd heap was lain,
He mourn'd for one, whose likeness never more
The world's wide circle would to him restore;
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With each mix'd charm of mind and body fraught;
Diffident still, as if he never knew
The various gifts that lavish Nature threw
Upon his form, mind, heart, he rather sigh'd
In fear of sad defects, than out of pride.
XXVII.
Ah! where is now that warmth, that could bestowAn energetic interest on woe?
O where the fancy, that its varying hues
Could e'en o'er scenes of vacancy diffuse;
And people deserts; and the darkest night
Fill with the gleams of rainbow-tinctur'd light?
Where is the trembling bosom, which could flow
With sympathy for every human woe?
That intellect, which threw the beam of day
In broadest splendour where it fix'd its ray?
Lock'd in the arms of death that vigorous form;
(No pulse that once o'er-flowing breast to warm,)
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With not a tear that pallid cheek to dew;
And not a hand to throw a mantle round;
And not a flower to consecrate the ground.
XXVIII.
It is not in the horror of the fight,Or when the dart of death's about to light
Upon the shrinking form, the sorrow lies;
It is that after-scene, which still defies
The fortitude of noblest hearts; nor spares,
In midst of conquest, e'en the hero's tears.
END OF CANTO I.
| Bertram | |