University of Virginia Library

Where maudlin Affectation holds parade,
Thronged with dull Fop and vacant-simpering Maid,
'Tis true Monthermer oft his hours would pass,
Play the light coxcomb with the flippant lass,
Act the soft smiler with the Thing that smiles,
Race the fleet tongue through adulation's wiles,
Revolve around with Fashion's janty ball,
And seem the giddiest insect of them all.

And yet that nobler charm of life he knew
Which gives man's spirit its distinction true.
He knew and loved those wild emotions well
Which heart can feel, but tongue can never tell,
When, all to nature and himself resign'd,
The wanderer holds communion with his mind.
And much he joy'd with curious eye to trace
Each awful feature of Creation's face;
Explore the mountains, search the wizard caves,
And listen to the eternal voice of waves.
Nor these alone; for as the artless maid,
In unassuming elegance array'd,
Oft more attracts the taste-directed gaze
Than the vain matron in her jewel-blaze.
So nature often more delights the eye
With simple grace, than splendid majesty.
He loved to haunt each loneliest retreat,
Where only Elfin treads with printless feet,
Tints the light foliage with a million hues,
With deeper shade the flexile branch imbues,
The network sly with skilful finger weaves,
And forms a labyrinth of blooms and leaves.
In scenes like these he'd rove, and pause, and gaze,
Till lost amid the vegetable maze,
And thus, imprison'd in a cage of flowers,
He'd wile the dearest of uncounted hours.
As fraudful Time sped by on silent wings,
There would he wake his lyre's enchanted strings;
For he to melody could woo the lyre;
The Muse he loved disdained not to inspire:
There would he steal his very soul away,
Pouring some wildly melancholy lay;
For strangely mournful was his wonted strain,
Like the time-soften'd memory of pain,
Though vulgar observation deem'd the boy,
A child of Mirth, a votary of Joy.

'Tis not the look the tutor'd eye may wear
To meet the world's inquisitorial stare,
'Tis not the cheek in pleasure's semblance drest
That is the faithful mirror to the breast.
Wouldst thou with juster scrutiny survey
That mortal whom the deepest feelings sway?
Heed not his bearing in the throng of men,
But track his solitude, and mark him then;
When Nature rules him, and when none seems near,
To mock the feeling—thrilling to a tear.

First in those bowers where Matlock's fountain Nymph
With mineral virtue qualifies her lymph,
Love on Monthermer prov'd its full control
In Adela's enchantment o'er his soul.
Delight! with her to ramble o'er the scene,
Launch on the river, sketch the landscape sheen,
Or mount the rocks of grey, profuse with livery green!

Those rocks to rapt Imagination's eyes
The giant guardians of the spot arise,
In lengthen'd line embattled proud they stand,
Imparting dignity to beauty's land;
Their rugged heads with various verdure crown'd,
Like warrior's brows with laurel'd honours bound;
With crowding shrubs their hardy bosoms drest,
Like beauty's garland upon valour's breast;
And wreaths of ivy that with strict embrace
Assert their old hereditary place;
And wider spread, and closer cling and climb,
Like faithful friendship flourishing with time.
To these oppos'd, in full ambitious swell,
Tufted with crags, and scarr'd with rift and dell,
Tall hills of fir their gallant heads erect,
With man's white huts irregularly speck'd.
By patient art was nature soften'd here,
Still the effect is wild, but not severe:
Paths tortuous-wound the steep ascent beguile,
And lend its face a hospitable smile.
Between these rival heights, full lowly found,
The dingle lies, Love's consecrated ground.
One modest row of simple dwellings neat,
Fringes the hills beneath, and lines the street;
Wood, walk, and water, gird the adverse side,
Where Taste grows wanton in her happiest pride.
There, the dark mirror of the rocks and wood,
The sober Derwent leads his loitering flood;
Through many a subtle nook, and wildering maze,
Unsocial glen, and issuing glade, he strays;
Slowly he rolls his umber'd course along,
As loth to leave the charms that round him throng;
Gently he kisses his enchanted banks,
Breathing new freshness through their virent ranks,
Whence far-protruding boughs delight to lave,
Bend to the surge, and wanton with the wave.
Sweet Matlock! fairy spot that might impart
A pensive pleasure to the dullest heart!
With all thy fossil caves, thy wild arcades,
And gentle falls, and lover-loving shades,
Fit haunt for musing Bards, or meditative Maids!

Oft would Monthermer from her circle gay
Entreat the unreluctant fair away;
Through paths of coy access would be her guide,
While on his arm she hung like radiant bride,
The young Euphemia ever at their side.
Then where the interweaving branches spread
A rural roof that murmur'd o'er their head,
And Twilight slumber'd in the lone retreat,
And wandering waters gurgled at their feet,
Between them would he take his enviable seat.
While birds aloft their hymns in concert bear,
Poets of nature, denizens of air,
While fluttering gales from odoriferous wings
Waft on the sense unutterable things,
Delicious day-dreams o'er his fancy stole,
Full of the soft enchantress of his soul.
In all the plain obscure of lover's phrase,
His love he utter'd while he breath'd her praise.
With all the arch pretence she gave an ear
Of One accustom'd lover's phrase to hear;
Seem'd half incredulous, and half asham'd,
And laugh'd, and chid, and smil'd, and blush'd, and blam'd.
But with a sad delight Euphemia heard,
Caught every sound, and treasured every word,
And now and then she struggled with a sigh,
Which scarce she could suppress, and wondered why.

Not sixteen summers had Euphemia seen,
The temper of her mind inform'd her mien;
As gems in cabinet of crystal plac'd,
Nature and Innocence her figure grac'd.
A touching music in her accents spoke,
Dawn'd in her eyes a feeling light, that woke
The love of every soul. Too early reft
Of parent aid, her heart more soft was left,
And turn'd with double interest on those
On whom its tenderness could yet repose.
Its dear delight had ever been to blend
In one warm thought her brother and his friend.
For habit nurs'd impartially for both
The pure affection, growing with her growth.
If for Monthermer now a graver hue
Her love assum'd, 'twas ev'n a deeper too;
Heightening its colour to that warm excess,
'Twas Love romantic to devotedness.
In him her fondly biass'd fancy saw
The perfect Youth whom Fancy's self would draw.
The first impassion'd vows she ever heard
Were now to Adela by him prefer'd.
From lips like those so dangerous a strain
Could scarcely reach Euphemia's ear in vain.
Like sorrow's voice in dreams, the lover's vow
Troubles her peace, and yet she marvels how.
And when, alone, she heaves the deep-drawn sighs,
When the tears start unbidden to her eyes,
When the warm workings of young love represt
Tumultuous search o'er all her flushing breast,
She dares not glance at what the cause may be,
And veils her blushes lest the woods should see;
Then whispering, faltering, breathes a name too dear,
And starts and trembles lest the woods should hear.
And dost thou not, O sweet Enthusiast! know
Why the pulse flutters, why the blushes glow?

Still less Monthermer the ascendant guess'd,
He thus commanded in that artless breast.
Like floweret daily opening to the view,
Beneath his eye from infancy she grew.
A brother's love the tender child he bore,
And ne'er did brother prize a sister more;
But for the burning sentiment more wild,
There Adela might well supplant a child.

Yet could suspicion give a breast alarm,
So frank, so vain, so generous, and so warm,
Soon had it taught him Adela to doubt
Less fair within, than beautiful without.

Beside the rocky precipice they stray'd,
Where various heaths their tardy blooms display'd,
When One, superior by its splendent dyes
Attracted Adela, a tempting prize!
Fit emblem of herself, in fair decoy,
The flaunting blossom tempted to destroy;
And as she leans incautious o'er the verge
While the lithe stems her efforts mock and urge,
Her feet o'erbalanc'd their support forego,
And plunge her on the boughs that jut below.
The friendly boughs sustain'd the clinging weight,
Monthermer darted to prevent her fate,
And scarce had lifted her, secure from harm,
Back to the bank above with upstretch'd arm,
Ere, the frail brushwood yielding, from the rock
He fell, low lodging lifeless with the shock.

Scarce conscious wherefore, on a couch he lay,
(The sense of hurt as yet beguil'd away)
When first recovering from his deathlike trance,
He gazed around him with enquiring glance.
On either side, in dumb solicitude,
A lovely trembling mourner o'er him stood,
In dread suspense awaited nature's strife,
And watch'd the languor of returning life.
But when on Adela he fix'd his eyes,
Saw her fond fears, and heard her hurried sighs,
And mark'd her cheek by hope and terror sway'd,
Well, well indeed he thought his risk repaid.

False, transitory joy! the cheering ray
Was but a sun-gleam on a dismal day!
For from that hour she seldom near him came,
And shoots of torment woke within his frame.
Yet while the lover languish'd, thus debar'd,
His generous thought excused the disregard:
More frequent visit maiden coyness check'd,
Grief for his pangs, or all things save neglect.

But oft' in soothing dreams, his best repose,
Her visionary form beside him rose.
With grateful interest o'er him she inclin'd,
Calm'd with assuasive voice his troubled mind,
With tender zeal his burning temples fan'd,
Administer'd the cup with ready hand
To cool his fever'd lip; and to his heart,
More fever'd still from love's inflaming dart,
Applied, from blest compassion's source benign,
Her own soft tear's diviner anodyne.
The fond deluded slumberer thrill'd with bliss,
He rais'd his head her lovely hand to kiss;
He snatch'd it to his lips; the vision died;
He woke, and saw—Euphemia at his side.

No coy discretion o'er-refined with her
Had force, from such an office to deter.
For chill reserve too artless and too young,
Through many an hour she o'er his pillow hung.
His tutelary Angel from above
Watch'd not with warmer or with purer love,
And, while those kind illusions sooth'd the youth,
Applied to her, his dreams were less than truth.
Not long she exercis'd alone her care,
Her brother came the generous task to share.
Soon as his friend's disastrous chance he knew,
Glenville impatient to attend him flew:
The pale eye glisten'd at that welcome face,
The languid arm found nerve in his embrace.

This youth by nature was design'd to lead,
Where virtue's paths invite to honour's meed.
With person fashion'd in a pleasing mould,
Warm was his heart, wit keen, and spirit bold.
But left unguided at too green an age,
Lord of a large and noble heritage,
Enjoyment's garden too enticing lay,
And pleasure hurried fortitude away.
Wherever beauty threw the insidious lure,
The youthful soldier was a prize too sure.
Those baubles rich in woman's eyes that shine,
Pearls, diamonds, gems, he lavish'd at her shrine;
Nor ever dream'd of prudence' tame control,
So he could squander out with her his soul,
Indulge his heart with passion's soft alarms,
And drink the sweet, sweet poison of her charms.
And soon I fear those fair apostates taught
The arts whereby the purer maid is caught;
Taught him the mysteries of perfect guile,
Th' ambiguous sigh, the histrionic smile;
The fascination of refined deceit
Which ill may damsel's candid bosom meet,
Which wilders innocence in frailty's net,
And leaves her lonely then to vain regret.

But how fared Adela? With wond'rous ease
Some gentle ladies can their griefs appease.
Monthermer on the couch of sickness laid,
What could console so sensible a maid?

Among her train of sighing danglers, one,
A young beau-baronet, conspicuous shone.
On him did fate all earthly good dispense,
Forgetting only spirit, worth, and sense.
Ev'n of the last a bastard share it gave,
But just enough to make the fool a knave.
More base a foe, a friend more insecure,
More mean in youth, in opulence more poor,
Nature ne'er made, when most her mood was cross,
From vile amalgama of soil and dross.
But what he wanted of exalted pride
In soft small vanity was well supplied.
He deem'd it fame the fashionist to play,
To be the dancing puppet of the day,
At lady's elbow, perfume all, to trip,
Simper and sidle, prattle, flirt, and skip,
Seize the fallen glove, support the important fan,
A more than gentleman and less than man.
And yet where'er this neuter gender went,
(O blest effect of an abundant rent!)
Where'er It went as sure was It to find
Friends ever warm, and beauties ever kind.
The poor Patrician held it not unwise,
To patch up kindred with the glittering prize;
The wily Matron, parent of the plan,
Through all the lessons of enticement ran,
The adept daughter tried each honied lure,
To catch the fly—Sir Lely Delamour.
But crooked cunning, instinct of all fools,
Here held him place of reason's manlier rules,
And help'd him, as with countermine, to meet
Flattery with gloze, deception with deceit,
And seeming ever caught, for ever to retreat.
At length attracted by the general gaze,
Which with united suffrage look'd her praise,
To Adela the essenc'd creature came,
Resolv'd to wrap her in a fragrant flame.
She just enough repress'd him to invite,
She just enough discourag'd to excite;
To the last thread wound up her artful clew,
And then to Matlock suddenly withdrew.
Not blind the choice that guided her retreat,
Near neighbouring Dovedale rose Sir Lely's seat,
And conscious power to charm, her hope assured,
That the rich insect, to pursuit allured,
Would haste to seek his native banks of Dove,
And migrate thence—upon the wings of love.
So, drawn from rival beauties' gay parterre,
She hoped to fix the fickle flutterer.

Her mother taught her to decoy the game,
And much experienced was the prudent dame.
Guile's arrow sped by her maturer wit,
Whate'er the mark, but seldom fail'd to hit.

Through veins of dowager more joy ne'er ran
When younger spouse replac'd the dear dead man,
Than danc'd in Adela's, the welcome day
Succeeding that of mischief and dismay.
For lo! in timely hour to dry her tears,
The soft Sir Lely Delamour appears!

Yes, the ador'd, the incomparable fair,
In all bright attributes so passing rare,
With covert zeal was plying all her charms
To win this thing, Sir Lely, to her arms.

When late Monthermer her attention caught
A double rage for conquest fired her thought.
First that delight, so darling to the sex,
The rival ring with jealousy to vex,
And bear from bright-eyed candidates away
The glorious prize, the Gallant and the Gay;
And next, to use her triumph as a tool,
To pique, and flatter, and secure her fool.

To steal into an unsuspicious breast,
Where ease and happiness perhaps might rest,
To stir the slumbering embers of desire;
To light love's torch, and all the dwelling fire,
To waken hope on purpose to destroy,
To tantalize delight, and torture joy,
And on the altar of a vain caprice
To immolate a noble bosom's peace,
This shock'd not her who ne'er the passions felt,
At scorn that madden, and at kindness melt.
Yet nature gave her feeling; but 't was lost
In vanity, or by self interest crost.
It gave her talent; its inverted turn
But serv'd the analysis of guile to learn.
She in her baronet could well behold
One whose sole pitiful pretence was gold.
And saw Monthermer lofty o'er the crowd
With high and brilliant qualities endow'd.
But when did brilliant qualities prevail
Weigh'd against sterling coin, in worldly scale?
To gain the plaudit of the public gaze,
By her was held ambition's highest praise.
By wealth the world of all degrees is led,
In wedding wealth, her soul's desire she wed.
Not all the proudest ornaments of mind
Without that talisman her choice could bind.
Much grace she thought Monthermer's mind could boast,
And more his manner, and his person most.
Ladies, who barter for estates their charms,
Are seldom teas'd with honour's nice alarms.
No marcid prude, or antiquated maid,
Decorum's forms as yet more strictly weigh'd,
Because the least aberrant step she knew
Might hide for ever all her golden view.
That once assured, it might not then be hard,
Keeping the veil, the virtue to discard:
Sir Lely once the creature of her will,
A graceful soldier might amuse her still.

Such was the Fair for whom Monthermer sigh'd,
Whose image in his heart was sanctified:
Who shone to him in purity so white
The glorified on high might laud the sight.
Ah, little yet of woman's craft he deem'd!
Her eye on him with flattering meaning beam'd;
Self love's fine chord, thus delicately tried,
At once in truest tenderest tone replied.

Scarce to imperfect health was he restor'd,
Ere call'd, with Glenville, to resume the sword,
And join the distant war. Almost as dear
As pleasure's voice was fame's to Glenville's ear;
All gay he dream'd of hostile standards rent—
And Spain's Brunettes dark-glancing soft consent.
Not so Monthermer. Held in silken thrall,
That gallant heart now shrunk from glory's call.
In vain had joy return'd with health revived,
The hour to part from Adela arrived.

Sweet Syren! in that miserable hour,
With what a tenfold force he felt thy power!
Before thy dazzling looks bewitch'd him blind,
Fame was the nobler idol of his mind.
Now honour summon'd, and the sound no more
Delighted, and the joy in fame was o'er;
And lingering, faltering, on thine arm he clung,
Pour'd out his heart with scarce articulate tongue,
Told all its griefs and fears and hopes at once,
And bade thee on its destiny pronounce.
How couldst thou, bright impostor, even now,
Delude that heart with a perfidious vow?
Pretend to plight the sympathy of thine,
And pledge devotion at affection's shrine?
By heaven! thy voice to hear, thy face to read,
Whoe'er had nigh thee stood, had sworn indeed,
Him the most lov'd of all the race of youth,
And thee the radiant Archetype of truth.
Such were thy specious vows, thy murmur'd fears,
And sighs, and liberality of tears.
Ah, light illusive evidence of grief,
Transient as raindrops on the aspen leaf!

Monthermer now believ'd he could depart
With, at the least, a somewhat happier heart;
Since (as he fondly thought) he thus had wrung
A tender truth from undissembling tongue.
He nearer to him now Euphemia drew;
Pale, still, expectant of the sad adieu,
Beside them she had stood. Again he felt
His eyes with all a woman's softness melt.
But thee! his more than sister! need I tell
The pang he felt at bidding thee farewell?
Upon the day of pain, and on the night,
Thy love o'er-watch'd him: Heaven the care requite!
May all thy days be smiling days serene,
And not a spot, a shadow intervene:
May health and pleasure live within thy breast,
In all thy nights soft soothing be thy rest;
Peace bless the pillow that shall kiss thy cheek,
While guardian Angels round in whispers speak,
And prompt imagination's pleasant dreams,
And scatter round thee hope's delightful beams!
Such be thy bliss, sweet child! for on thy head
Such bliss Monthermer call'd on Heav'n to shed;
Nor knew, alas, how much Monthermer gone
Must mar the intent of his own orison.

The proffer'd hand of Adela he took,
And all his frame with freezing wildness shook;
He kist the hand with strange voluptuous awe,
And durst no more; 'twas love's instinctive law.
But for Euphemia, in a brother's name
He might a less constrain'd endearment claim.
He drew the meek mute mourner to his breast,
And on her pallid cheek his lips imprest.
Her vermil mouth seduc'd his wandering lips;
It feebly own'd the pressure; in eclipse
Her eyes clos'd gently, till the snowy lid
Their liquid lustre, as in slumber, hid.
His lips clung closely, and, in grief's excess,
Her soul seem'd fainting in that last caress;
Yes, 'twas too much for love, for grief to bear,
Her very life was almost fleeting there;
When Glenville came, and, scarce less moved than They,
Tore them apart, and hasten'd him away.

To gain a Father's blessing now remain'd:
The antique hall with quicken'd journey gain'd,
Monthermer that sad interview sustain'd.

This done, he sought the harbour with his friend
Where swarming troops propitious winds attend.
Few days were o'er ere on the ocean swell
They bade the blue receding hills farewell.
Wild were the waves in Biscay's fretful bay,
Monthermer's thoughts tumultuous were as they.
While blustering winds impel the panting sail,
His spirit mounts on every shifting gale;
Inglorious now to Adela returns,
And now afar in battle's triumph burns;
Now homeward flies, by filial virtue borne,
To cheer a Father in his age forlorn;
Now rushing once again where warriors rage,
Thinks how a son's bold deeds shall cheer his age;
How Adela perchance of Him shall hear,
Tremblingly charm'd, delightfully in fear,
When fame shall waft his name with honour o'er;
Then, then he longs to reach the warring shore.

But for the genuine love he left behind,
Would he could read Euphemia's pensive mind!
Days, weeks, and months drag'd on, a tedious length,
And time but gave the sentiment new strength.
No buzz of crowds her thought of Him could lull,
Of Him her solitary hours were full.
Her Harp, accustom'd to delight his ear,
Rung with the tunes that most to Him were dear.
She sang, how sweetly! the wild moving lays
Which He had written—in another's praise.
The scenes he lov'd her partial pencil trac'd
With all the ease of art, the touch of taste.
Plung'd in the world, (for Adela in vain
At Matlock strove Sir Lely to enchain)
Plung'd in the vast gay world, of wits and beaux
A throng around the opening beauty rose.
In vain by beaux and wits was she beset,
Euphemia wore a guarding Amulet;
A Charm, which none but she must e'er behold,
Fix'd in a frame diminutive of gold.
On ivory tablet, in minutest trace,
There liv'd Monthermer, as in breathing grace!
Though by her own true hand in secret wrought,
Such just resemblance had her memory caught!
This, oft in jealous solitude carest,
Was warmly hid within her budding breast.

When nineteen moons their monthly course had run,
The prize at last by Adela was won!
No more Sir Lely could the lure withstand,
And half his fortune purchas'd all her hand.
Not that the Nymph of so divine a smile
For pelf could stipulate, or aught so vile.
On a sage Mother all the task devolv'd,
A task where mothers sage are well resolv'd.
In vain to spare his avarice he tried,
‘The Jointure!’ still ‘The Jointure!’ she replied.
In vain his odoriferous sighs he sent,
The Mother's cry was still, ‘The Settlement!’
A little less he ev'n at last would strain;
The Mother enter'd; it was all in vain;
He took the parchment, falter'd, argued, sigh'd—
And sign'd—and smirk'd on Adela his Bride.