 | Young Arthur |  |
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SUBJECT IX.
Proem. — Isabel's Tale. — Sir Brandon's History.
See the sun, the west adorning,
Dart to other climes his ray,
Which gladly hail their coming morning
Gain'd from our departing day.
Dart to other climes his ray,
Which gladly hail their coming morning
Gain'd from our departing day.
Low twitterings tell the songster parting,
Flocks are penn'd, and herds reclin'd;
Thro' each window tapers darting
Tell the hour to ease resign'd.
Flocks are penn'd, and herds reclin'd;
Thro' each window tapers darting
Tell the hour to ease resign'd.
Now the head of care is pillow'd,
Health an opiate sweet bestows;
Now the brow of grief is willow'd,
To her no pillow brings repose!
Health an opiate sweet bestows;
Now the brow of grief is willow'd,
To her no pillow brings repose!
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Now the nightingale is singing,
Sorrow bids her warbling flow;
Now the bat thro' air is swinging;
Now the night bird screams of woe.
Sorrow bids her warbling flow;
Now the bat thro' air is swinging;
Now the night bird screams of woe.
Now the ruffian, gliding, stooping,
Prowls to rob, and “murder sleep.”
Now the houseless wand'rer, drooping,
'Neath the hedge-row wakes to weep!
Prowls to rob, and “murder sleep.”
Now the houseless wand'rer, drooping,
'Neath the hedge-row wakes to weep!
Now the poet o'er the embers,
Dun-free, hails “extatic light!”
“Tales of wonder” fear remembers—
'Tis the murky “noon of night.”
Dun-free, hails “extatic light!”
“Tales of wonder” fear remembers—
'Tis the murky “noon of night.”
Is the wild wind fiercely howling?
Now it howls with double force;
Tremendous now the thunder's growling;
Terrific is the lightning's course!
Now it howls with double force;
Tremendous now the thunder's growling;
Terrific is the lightning's course!
While sweet sleep is gaily dreaming,
Should light'ning catch the cottage frame—
Horrific is the hopeless screaming
Of sleeping comfort, wak'd by flame!
Should light'ning catch the cottage frame—
Horrific is the hopeless screaming
Of sleeping comfort, wak'd by flame!
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Here, the lusty hind, confounded,
Rapid thro' the casement flies;
There, bed-ridden and surrounded
By the flame, age, helpless, dies!
Rapid thro' the casement flies;
There, bed-ridden and surrounded
By the flame, age, helpless, dies!
See, the mother, rous'd from slumber,
Catching up her children, run;
One is missing of the number!
Thro' the flames she seeks that one.
Catching up her children, run;
One is missing of the number!
Thro' the flames she seeks that one.
Now, too, is the good man dying,
Night more awful makes the hour;
Is the wicked spirit flying?
Night's scene defies the poet's pow'r.
Night more awful makes the hour;
Is the wicked spirit flying?
Night's scene defies the poet's pow'r.
But see, O, see, the day is breaking,
Hope draws the “curtains of her eyes;”
Superstition, stout heart taking,
Sees no longer goblins rise.
Hope draws the “curtains of her eyes;”
Superstition, stout heart taking,
Sees no longer goblins rise.
“See the rosy morn appearing,”
Health's blue eyes have smiles begun;
Even sleepless sickness, cheering,
Hails a balsam in the sun.
Health's blue eyes have smiles begun;
Even sleepless sickness, cheering,
Hails a balsam in the sun.
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Ruddy day, alert and jolly,
Laughing, makes his toil a toy;
Fear sees nothing but her folly;
All is hope, and all is joy.
Laughing, makes his toil a toy;
Fear sees nothing but her folly;
All is hope, and all is joy.
Such life's portrait will display;
Grief is night, and joy is day.
Grief is night, and joy is day.
Grief's night had pass'd at Sir Brandon's board,
And kind smiles brighten'd the face of its lord;
And seldom his features, once form'd to beguile,
Unbent to the play of the careless smile.
There are modes and mischances that warp the mind,
There are cares, there are crosses, that alter the kind:
Yon crabbed old oak, shorn, and crusted with bark,
Yon frowning old ruin, for night birds the mark;
That oak was a sapling, that ruin was gay,
But time, and rude storms, have brought both to decay;
The sap of that oak and the pride of that tow'r
Have pass'd, and, unsightly they moulder and low'r:
The oak and the ruin are, Brandon, like thee;
For thou hast been chang'd like the tow'r and the tree.
And Ernest and Edith met, serene,
For he the true love of his heart had seen;
The maid for whose sake he was doom'd to sigh,
But he griev'd her lost; and the youthful eye
Rests seldom, but roves where the graces lie;
And, hence, lovely Edith his fancy had won;
But Isabel came, and the charm was done—
Sweet dreams disperse with the rising sun.
And kind smiles brighten'd the face of its lord;
And seldom his features, once form'd to beguile,
Unbent to the play of the careless smile.
There are modes and mischances that warp the mind,
There are cares, there are crosses, that alter the kind:
Yon crabbed old oak, shorn, and crusted with bark,
Yon frowning old ruin, for night birds the mark;
That oak was a sapling, that ruin was gay,
But time, and rude storms, have brought both to decay;
The sap of that oak and the pride of that tow'r
Have pass'd, and, unsightly they moulder and low'r:
The oak and the ruin are, Brandon, like thee;
For thou hast been chang'd like the tow'r and the tree.
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For he the true love of his heart had seen;
The maid for whose sake he was doom'd to sigh,
But he griev'd her lost; and the youthful eye
Rests seldom, but roves where the graces lie;
And, hence, lovely Edith his fancy had won;
But Isabel came, and the charm was done—
Sweet dreams disperse with the rising sun.
ISABEL'S TALE.
But how came Isabel there?—the night
She fell in the wave, as a star so bright
Shoots from the sky as the lightnings go,
And is lost for ever, but how none know.—
In the harbour there moor'd a foreign bark,
Which traded in traffic which Christians mark
As the bane that shall barter the trembling soul
When the heavenly scribe shall unfold the scroll
Where ev'ry mortal his name shall read,
And a blush shall rise for his purest deed;
For his purest deed shall as scarlet show—
But there is that shall make it as driven snow;
But who in man's birthright tamper and trade
Shall they hope grace from that heavenly aid?
Shall the sellers of man hope for heavenly good
Thro' him who bought man with his sacred blood?
But the reign of that heart-rending traffic is o'er,
Or looks to its fall like the leaf in the sear,
And blessings, O Britain! shall gladden thy shore,
For an off'ring to Heaven so hallow'd, and dear.
She fell in the wave, as a star so bright
Shoots from the sky as the lightnings go,
And is lost for ever, but how none know.—
In the harbour there moor'd a foreign bark,
Which traded in traffic which Christians mark
As the bane that shall barter the trembling soul
When the heavenly scribe shall unfold the scroll
Where ev'ry mortal his name shall read,
And a blush shall rise for his purest deed;
For his purest deed shall as scarlet show—
But there is that shall make it as driven snow;
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Shall they hope grace from that heavenly aid?
Shall the sellers of man hope for heavenly good
Thro' him who bought man with his sacred blood?
But the reign of that heart-rending traffic is o'er,
Or looks to its fall like the leaf in the sear,
And blessings, O Britain! shall gladden thy shore,
For an off'ring to Heaven so hallow'd, and dear.
In the offing a bark there riding lay,
And a boat from that bark was in the bay;
In it a ruthles sailor, who
Serv'd with that slave-purloining crew;
And a boat from that bark was in the bay;
In it a ruthles sailor, who
Serv'd with that slave-purloining crew;
And his soul and body one hue they bore,
Like the pitchy belching of Etna's throat;
His mind that dark night's livery wore,
And his soul on the darkling deed could doat.
He heard Isabel plunge, and he heard their cries
That so lovely a maiden lost should be;
And his fancy suggested that maid a prize,
If darkness shrouded his villainy.
And deeply he div'd in the darken'd wave,
The maid he sav'd from a watery grave;
Then, silent and swift, with his beauteous prey—
As the fiend would inveigle a soul away—
Silent and swift, the bark he made,
And Isabel was to Aleppo convey'd.
Her chains were fitted, her chains were freed;
And with Allan she sought the favor'd isle
Where sorrow never unsooth'd may plead,
Where every sympathy loves to smile.
O, Britain, and thou art a land of souls,
And thou art a land of hearts of gold:
Through thee the river of mercy rolls,
And the joys on its banks their high days hold.
Like the pitchy belching of Etna's throat;
His mind that dark night's livery wore,
And his soul on the darkling deed could doat.
He heard Isabel plunge, and he heard their cries
That so lovely a maiden lost should be;
And his fancy suggested that maid a prize,
If darkness shrouded his villainy.
And deeply he div'd in the darken'd wave,
The maid he sav'd from a watery grave;
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As the fiend would inveigle a soul away—
Silent and swift, the bark he made,
And Isabel was to Aleppo convey'd.
Her chains were fitted, her chains were freed;
And with Allan she sought the favor'd isle
Where sorrow never unsooth'd may plead,
Where every sympathy loves to smile.
O, Britain, and thou art a land of souls,
And thou art a land of hearts of gold:
Through thee the river of mercy rolls,
And the joys on its banks their high days hold.
A villa there stood by Brandon Hall,
Enclos'd by a moat and a towering wall;
There dwelt a Matron of pious fame,
Who from Iberia's proud shores came;
And many a sorrow in youth she knew,
And the scene of her birth was a mournful view;
Blest with wealth and from kindred free,
Save one, who was distant and rov'd the sea,
(A child he had, but she knew not where,)
And Spain presenting no choice but care,
To Britain she came, and, unknown to all,
Secluded herself near Brandon Hall;
Yet not to all unknown; for there,
Her's was the poor man's daily prayer;
Church and charity shar'd her day,
And her's was the kind heart's milky way.
Enclos'd by a moat and a towering wall;
There dwelt a Matron of pious fame,
Who from Iberia's proud shores came;
And many a sorrow in youth she knew,
And the scene of her birth was a mournful view;
Blest with wealth and from kindred free,
Save one, who was distant and rov'd the sea,
(A child he had, but she knew not where,)
And Spain presenting no choice but care,
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Secluded herself near Brandon Hall;
Yet not to all unknown; for there,
Her's was the poor man's daily prayer;
Church and charity shar'd her day,
And her's was the kind heart's milky way.
The bark which Allan and Isabel bore
Was steer'd by a man from Iberia's shore;
And he heard the tale of the youthful pair,
A scion from his own soil the fair;
His sympathy weigh'd their doubtful fate,
And, landing, he sought that matron's gate;
Whom to Britain he brought, and her race he knew,
And Isabel's tale gave his mind a clue
To a pleasing hope, and the hope prov'd true.
Was steer'd by a man from Iberia's shore;
And he heard the tale of the youthful pair,
A scion from his own soil the fair;
His sympathy weigh'd their doubtful fate,
And, landing, he sought that matron's gate;
Whom to Britain he brought, and her race he knew,
And Isabel's tale gave his mind a clue
To a pleasing hope, and the hope prov'd true.
He came to that villa with prospect fair,
And friendship ever receiv'd him there;
His tale was told, and the matron's heart
Beat as when gratitude bears a part;
For Isabel prov'd that seaman's child
Alone who bore to her kindred name;
And Isabel came where friendship smil'd,
For the matron rejoic'd in the kindred claim.
And there young Allan was press'd to stay
Till fortune should dawn with a brighter day;
And hence oft Allan would stray to lave
With tears of gratitude Simon's grave.
And friendship ever receiv'd him there;
His tale was told, and the matron's heart
Beat as when gratitude bears a part;
For Isabel prov'd that seaman's child
Alone who bore to her kindred name;
And Isabel came where friendship smil'd,
For the matron rejoic'd in the kindred claim.
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Till fortune should dawn with a brighter day;
And hence oft Allan would stray to lave
With tears of gratitude Simon's grave.
And hence oft Allan would rove to stand
On the lot of the alien, his father's land.
And Edith he met; fair Isabel, then
The heart thou had'st toil'd return'd again.
On the lot of the alien, his father's land.
And Edith he met; fair Isabel, then
The heart thou had'st toil'd return'd again.
And was thy bosom in peril or pain
That Allan still wander'd from thy side?
Or did thy bosom reserve maintain,
Like the virgin's delicate, wounded pride?
That Allan still wander'd from thy side?
Or did thy bosom reserve maintain,
Like the virgin's delicate, wounded pride?
Ah, no—first love your hearts still wore,
And O, first love had your bosoms won;
And fancy and friendship your minds cast o'er
The bright wreath woven in sympathy's sun.
And O, first love had your bosoms won;
And fancy and friendship your minds cast o'er
The bright wreath woven in sympathy's sun.
And thou by chance on a day had'st seen
Ernest, who walk'd with a pensive mien;
And the wreath that fancy and friendship wove
Prov'd by its fading no gift of love.
Ernest, who walk'd with a pensive mien;
And the wreath that fancy and friendship wove
Prov'd by its fading no gift of love.
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(With Edith) young Ernest he met thine eye,
But little he knew that thou wert by;
Had thy form, regretted, been his to see
The heart of thy true love had flown to thee.
But little he knew that thou wert by;
Had thy form, regretted, been his to see
The heart of thy true love had flown to thee.
And, “who is that knight,” wouldst thou, trifling, cry,
“Who paces the green with a port so high?
“And where does that knight so stately bide,
“Whose youth seems drest in the pomp of pride?”
“Who paces the green with a port so high?
“And where does that knight so stately bide,
“Whose youth seems drest in the pomp of pride?”
And Allan has tidings brought to thee
“Sir Ernest reposes in Brandon Hall;
“But he must be tried for piracy”—
And thine was the proving that sav'd his fall.
“Sir Ernest reposes in Brandon Hall;
“But he must be tried for piracy”—
And thine was the proving that sav'd his fall.
And all was joy at Brandon Hall
For Ernest's fame restor'd;
And Ernest's feelings were like the fall
Of heavenly manna on the poor man's board.
For Ernest's fame restor'd;
And Ernest's feelings were like the fall
Of heavenly manna on the poor man's board.
For, O, his fame no stain confounds,
And she, his fate who turn'd,
Whom ev'ry winning grace surrounds,
Is lovely Isabel; the maid he mourn'd.
And she, his fate who turn'd,
Whom ev'ry winning grace surrounds,
Is lovely Isabel; the maid he mourn'd.
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And soon their eyes their hearts display,
And soon their tongues declare
No fate can rend the love away
That grateful hearts for graceful virtue bear.
And soon their tongues declare
No fate can rend the love away
That grateful hearts for graceful virtue bear.
One evening, when the hall was bright,
Young Ernest's pray'rs prevail,
And Isabel of that dread night
The negro seiz'd her told the piteous tale.
Young Ernest's pray'rs prevail,
And Isabel of that dread night
The negro seiz'd her told the piteous tale.
At ev'ry sound of Allan's name
Edith was pale or red;
Did jealousy her heart inflame,
'Gainst beauteous Isabel and bow her head?
Edith was pale or red;
Did jealousy her heart inflame,
'Gainst beauteous Isabel and bow her head?
Ah, no — she saw the hearts entwin'd
Of Ernest and the maid;
She knew her own and Allan's join'd,
But her stern father's pride might love invade.
Of Ernest and the maid;
She knew her own and Allan's join'd,
But her stern father's pride might love invade.
Sir Brandon, charm'd with Allan's fame,
Invites him to the hall;
And learns his birth, his ancient name,
And sympathizes in his father's fall.
Invites him to the hall;
And learns his birth, his ancient name,
And sympathizes in his father's fall.
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SIR BRANDON'S HISTORY.
When fell the white rose from its wither'd stem,
And Beaufort's boy secured the regal gem
Whose proud possession in such peril stood
Griev'd history penn'd its chronicles in blood —
When fell the white rose, or, was pluck'd, and twin'd
With the triumphant red; the feuds to bind
(As bound the roses were) of British land;
And Richard felt the avenger's “red right hand” —
Richard, the “cacodæmon” of our clime,
Our bard's “plain devil,” who shall live with time;
Richard, while Garrick liv'd thought dead in vain;
Fear, shuddering, cried “Richard's himself again!”
Richard, with Kemble, who this hint could drop,
“Our aerie buildeth in the cedar's top:”
Richard, with Cooke, who, “as you guess,” would be
True “descant on his own deformity;”
Richard, with Young, who, scorning trick and fit,
“By circumstance would still himself acquit;”
Richard, with Kean, whose every impulse breathes
“Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths!”
Richard, with many, who thus speaks his guile,
“I do mistake my person all this while,
“And smile, and smile, and murder whilst I smile.”
And Beaufort's boy secured the regal gem
Whose proud possession in such peril stood
Griev'd history penn'd its chronicles in blood —
When fell the white rose, or, was pluck'd, and twin'd
With the triumphant red; the feuds to bind
(As bound the roses were) of British land;
And Richard felt the avenger's “red right hand” —
Richard, the “cacodæmon” of our clime,
Our bard's “plain devil,” who shall live with time;
Richard, while Garrick liv'd thought dead in vain;
Fear, shuddering, cried “Richard's himself again!”
Richard, with Kemble, who this hint could drop,
“Our aerie buildeth in the cedar's top:”
Richard, with Cooke, who, “as you guess,” would be
True “descant on his own deformity;”
Richard, with Young, who, scorning trick and fit,
“By circumstance would still himself acquit;”
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“Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths!”
Richard, with many, who thus speaks his guile,
“I do mistake my person all this while,
“And smile, and smile, and murder whilst I smile.”
When Richard “set his life upon a cast,”
And stood the hazard of a die so vast,
Against young Richmond; like his 'scutcheon's charge,
The fell tusk'd boar, attack'd, (nor yet at large,
Nor yet in toil) as drives the unfuriate brute
Death while a pulse can vibrate to dispute,
So rush'd the ruthless tyrant on his fate,
Confounding and confounded, blood for blood;
Desp'rate his effort as extreme his hate
To Richmond, on his fortune's neck who stood.
So rush'd fell'd Richard where, appalling sight!
(With'ring the white rose) stood, in awful might,
His rival Harry — borne before the chief,
The red-rose banner, mocking Richard's grief,
Danc'd in the breeze; its flittings seem'd to be
The sportive toying of security.
Cursing he saw, and grinning at the view,
Fierce at the earl the royal monster flew;
Gigantic Cheney
stopp'd him; with a bound
The monarch seiz'd and hurl'd him to the ground;
Brandon who bore the banner, then oppos'd,
Whose threatening eyes in endless night were clos'd!
From him Sir Brandon sprung, and equal blood
Could boast with Brandon, Suffolk's duke, who stood
High in eighth Harry's favour; and had wed
The monarch's sister, from the widow'd bed
Of hoary Lewis; Heav'n, sure, when he died,
Took the worn king in pity to his bride.
Cousin to Suffolk, high Sir Brandon look'd;
The duke had cross'd him, and no scorn he brook'd;
Estrang'd from Suffolk, sour'd by adverse fate,
With wounded pride he liv'd in sullen state:
As stood sour'd Ajax in Elysian shade
When, hateful sight! Ulysses he survey'd,
Stern and reluctant; and the shade of strength
As he approach'd stalk'd off in vapoury length.
Age in his face, his frame, his locks of grey,
Claim'd more of time than warrantry might pay;
Not past threescore, but care oft acts for time,
And grief with grey will often cross man's prime.
When Richard fell went his brave soul at large
Who left young Brandon to bold Suffolk's charge;
What time the orphan's was the dimpled smile
Which rage can soften, and disdain beguile;
The lisping accent, look from whence inferr'd
Infantine triumph at a master'd word;
The restless ardor which pourtrays the mind
Waking to thought, while to its meaning blind;
The mock impatience, and the busy mien,
Endless experiment, and notice keen;
The eye's prompt energy events to scan,
And all the tiny mimick'ry of man.
And stood the hazard of a die so vast,
Against young Richmond; like his 'scutcheon's charge,
The fell tusk'd boar, attack'd, (nor yet at large,
Nor yet in toil) as drives the unfuriate brute
Death while a pulse can vibrate to dispute,
So rush'd the ruthless tyrant on his fate,
Confounding and confounded, blood for blood;
Desp'rate his effort as extreme his hate
To Richmond, on his fortune's neck who stood.
So rush'd fell'd Richard where, appalling sight!
(With'ring the white rose) stood, in awful might,
His rival Harry — borne before the chief,
The red-rose banner, mocking Richard's grief,
Danc'd in the breeze; its flittings seem'd to be
The sportive toying of security.
Cursing he saw, and grinning at the view,
Fierce at the earl the royal monster flew;
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The monarch seiz'd and hurl'd him to the ground;
Brandon who bore the banner, then oppos'd,
Whose threatening eyes in endless night were clos'd!
From him Sir Brandon sprung, and equal blood
Could boast with Brandon, Suffolk's duke, who stood
High in eighth Harry's favour; and had wed
The monarch's sister, from the widow'd bed
Of hoary Lewis; Heav'n, sure, when he died,
Took the worn king in pity to his bride.
Cousin to Suffolk, high Sir Brandon look'd;
The duke had cross'd him, and no scorn he brook'd;
Estrang'd from Suffolk, sour'd by adverse fate,
With wounded pride he liv'd in sullen state:
As stood sour'd Ajax in Elysian shade
When, hateful sight! Ulysses he survey'd,
Stern and reluctant; and the shade of strength
As he approach'd stalk'd off in vapoury length.
Age in his face, his frame, his locks of grey,
Claim'd more of time than warrantry might pay;
Not past threescore, but care oft acts for time,
And grief with grey will often cross man's prime.
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Who left young Brandon to bold Suffolk's charge;
What time the orphan's was the dimpled smile
Which rage can soften, and disdain beguile;
The lisping accent, look from whence inferr'd
Infantine triumph at a master'd word;
The restless ardor which pourtrays the mind
Waking to thought, while to its meaning blind;
The mock impatience, and the busy mien,
Endless experiment, and notice keen;
The eye's prompt energy events to scan,
And all the tiny mimick'ry of man.
Such is the age when painters cherubs trace —
E'en now I witness such a form and face;
Yonder the infant stands, his little arm
Round a ferocious dog, that yesterday
Tore down to earth a rough gigantic form;
Its tail now wags, pleas'd at the infant's play,
Who twists within its shaggy coat those hands
Dimpled with fulness; and the creature stands
Tame as the placid sheep at evening's grey:
Now on the ground together as they roll
The dog delighted at the child's control
Gapes wide, his teeth terrific to the eye!
The mother starts, in agony to fly
To stay the waxen arm that now explores
Those yawning jaws, which seem destruction's doors;
That arm is buried in the crimson grave;
But there's a charm in innocence to save;
Pluck'd from the gulph, unhurt the arm appears
And thrilling joy dispels the mother's fears.
Such is the age when every breath's a pray'r,
Asking, unconsciously, Heaven's guardian care;
When every smile to Heaven sweet homage pays,
For guiltles joy is gratitude and praise.
E'en now I witness such a form and face;
Yonder the infant stands, his little arm
Round a ferocious dog, that yesterday
Tore down to earth a rough gigantic form;
Its tail now wags, pleas'd at the infant's play,
Who twists within its shaggy coat those hands
Dimpled with fulness; and the creature stands
Tame as the placid sheep at evening's grey:
Now on the ground together as they roll
The dog delighted at the child's control
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The mother starts, in agony to fly
To stay the waxen arm that now explores
Those yawning jaws, which seem destruction's doors;
That arm is buried in the crimson grave;
But there's a charm in innocence to save;
Pluck'd from the gulph, unhurt the arm appears
And thrilling joy dispels the mother's fears.
Such is the age when every breath's a pray'r,
Asking, unconsciously, Heaven's guardian care;
When every smile to Heaven sweet homage pays,
For guiltles joy is gratitude and praise.
Such is the age that, like the pure white leaf,
Awaits its future value from the hand
Which traces there, or bounteously or brief,
The superscription which for life shall stand.
O, from the dove's wing, ye who write, provide
The pen which traces what shall ne'er subside;
Bless'd be the hand whose record's fair and sage,
And curs'd the demon who shall blot the page!
Awaits its future value from the hand
Which traces there, or bounteously or brief,
The superscription which for life shall stand.
O, from the dove's wing, ye who write, provide
The pen which traces what shall ne'er subside;
Bless'd be the hand whose record's fair and sage,
And curs'd the demon who shall blot the page!
Such was Sir Brandon's age when Richard's hand
Dismiss'd his father from a suffering land;
And then he promis'd all that hope can draw
Of worth 'ere will, inform'd, to mind gives law;
Seed good and ill had in that soil been cast;
The good had suffered from the blight and blast.
Dismiss'd his father from a suffering land;
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Of worth 'ere will, inform'd, to mind gives law;
Seed good and ill had in that soil been cast;
The good had suffered from the blight and blast.
Oft by some chance will stealing nightshade spread
Its baneful branches through the flow'ry bed;
The noxious worm the bud when op'ning blight,
And the rank dock-leaf shade the snow-drop's white.
Its baneful branches through the flow'ry bed;
The noxious worm the bud when op'ning blight,
And the rank dock-leaf shade the snow-drop's white.
When Brandon fell Suffolk (then but a knight)
Was left sole guardian of the orphan's right;
And bred him carefully, and proudly too;
Grafting ambition as the scion grew;
Taught him that grandeur was true honour's aim,
That grace was glory, happiness was fame.
Proud were his prospects, absolute the pow'r
Decreed the guardian in an hapless hour;
That pow'r o'erstrained, effective in its force,
Let flow hope's sluices but to check their course:
Young Brandon's union common claim withstood,
For wealth exacting wealth, and blood for blood;
His guardian's will, imperative, his law,
No hope for love ingenuous Brandon saw;
Ingenuous then — as flows the summer stream
His spirit flow'd when from coercion free;
But as the stream from frost's rigidity
Presents a rugged aspect, so the knight
Warp'd from his will grew harsh in nature's spight,
And life dragg'd on a discontented dream.
To wed at Suffolk's will the youth was doom'd,
Or half his wealth as forfeit he resum'd;
With Edith's mother hands, not hearts, he join'd,
While hate to Suffolk ever rul'd his mind.
Was left sole guardian of the orphan's right;
And bred him carefully, and proudly too;
Grafting ambition as the scion grew;
Taught him that grandeur was true honour's aim,
That grace was glory, happiness was fame.
Proud were his prospects, absolute the pow'r
Decreed the guardian in an hapless hour;
That pow'r o'erstrained, effective in its force,
Let flow hope's sluices but to check their course:
Young Brandon's union common claim withstood,
For wealth exacting wealth, and blood for blood;
His guardian's will, imperative, his law,
No hope for love ingenuous Brandon saw;
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His spirit flow'd when from coercion free;
But as the stream from frost's rigidity
Presents a rugged aspect, so the knight
Warp'd from his will grew harsh in nature's spight,
And life dragg'd on a discontented dream.
To wed at Suffolk's will the youth was doom'd,
Or half his wealth as forfeit he resum'd;
With Edith's mother hands, not hearts, he join'd,
While hate to Suffolk ever rul'd his mind.
He gave his hand, his heart gave never,
That was another's, and for ever —
He lov'd, he vow'd — but love was cross'd;
His faith he broke, and the fair was lost.
That was another's, and for ever —
He lov'd, he vow'd — but love was cross'd;
His faith he broke, and the fair was lost.
Where wanders now that hapless fair?
Sir Brandon, far from thee;
And woes that now thy bosom wear,
The coy-eyed sleep, and the keen tooth'd care,
Are fruits of thy perjury.
Sir Brandon, far from thee;
And woes that now thy bosom wear,
The coy-eyed sleep, and the keen tooth'd care,
Are fruits of thy perjury.
And just the fiat, and just the fate,
That visits with scorpion stings
The heart that can purity's hope make vain,
And cause to close with a sorrowful strain
The song that the virgin sings.
That visits with scorpion stings
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And cause to close with a sorrowful strain
The song that the virgin sings.
The virgin's song is the hymn of joy,
By innocene tun'd and taught;
And who dare such dulcet notes destroy
Shall harmony ever his bosom buoy,
Or love ever cheer his thought?
By innocene tun'd and taught;
And who dare such dulcet notes destroy
Shall harmony ever his bosom buoy,
Or love ever cheer his thought?
Ah no! — and who crops the fairest flow'r
And wantonly leaves to fade;
For him no blessing shall build a bow'r,
For his brow by no balm dispensing pow'r
Shall a garland of peace be made.
And wantonly leaves to fade;
For him no blessing shall build a bow'r,
For his brow by no balm dispensing pow'r
Shall a garland of peace be made.
And where does that fair one wander now,
Sir Brandon, O, where is she?
The ringlets of youth they have left her brow;
But ever she mourn'd thy perjur'd vow,
Nor listened to other than thee.
Sir Brandon, O, where is she?
The ringlets of youth they have left her brow;
But ever she mourn'd thy perjur'd vow,
Nor listened to other than thee.
Ah! wanders she whither? and will she return?
That thine heart, repentant long,
Transported may hope in the haze discern,
And thou from her lips thy pardon learn,
And gratitude be thy song.
That thine heart, repentant long,
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And thou from her lips thy pardon learn,
And gratitude be thy song.
“The ringlets of youth have left her brow
And wanders she, ah, whither?
Tho' grey with grief may her locks be now,
Her cheek be haggard, her body may bow,
O, haste, and call her hither!”
And wanders she, ah, whither?
Tho' grey with grief may her locks be now,
Her cheek be haggard, her body may bow,
O, haste, and call her hither!”
Where wanders that fair the strain shall tell
When fitting to disclose;
So sweet is hope that we love to dwell
On musing and mystery passing well—
When budding most sweet the rose.
When fitting to disclose;
So sweet is hope that we love to dwell
On musing and mystery passing well—
When budding most sweet the rose.
That budding the florist remarks with joy,
Which, blown the rose, is o'er;
No sweet solicitudes then employ
His mind, and no promise his hope can buoy,
But he grieves 'twill be soon no more.
Which, blown the rose, is o'er;
No sweet solicitudes then employ
His mind, and no promise his hope can buoy,
But he grieves 'twill be soon no more.
Sir Brandon he wed, and Sir Brandon he wail'd,
And curs'd his destiny;
That over that maiden he e'er prevail'd;
And Suffolk he curs'd, who his faith assail'd,
Impelling to perjury.
And curs'd his destiny;
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And Suffolk he curs'd, who his faith assail'd,
Impelling to perjury.
And Sir Brandon he put on his armour bright,
And to tented fields went he;
To bury his grief in the direful fight,
Reckless of life, or his lady's sight,
And reckless of victory.
And to tented fields went he;
To bury his grief in the direful fight,
Reckless of life, or his lady's sight,
And reckless of victory.
Reckless of glory, he woo'd despair,
And desperate flew his steel;
And when a foe fell he had little care
Whether he in his place had lain bleeding there,
Such pangs was he doom'd to feel.
And desperate flew his steel;
And when a foe fell he had little care
Whether he in his place had lain bleeding there,
Such pangs was he doom'd to feel.
Sir Brandon he fought, and he wish'd in vain
To fall on the crimson'd field;—
War's sword was sheath'd, but his burning brain
Restless, and rack'd by repentant pain,
To opiate ne'er would yield.
To fall on the crimson'd field;—
War's sword was sheath'd, but his burning brain
Restless, and rack'd by repentant pain,
To opiate ne'er would yield.
Sir Brandon return'd to his native land,
And liv'd with a cumbrous state;
And his lady died, and dissolv'd the band
Sir Brandon tied with an heartless hand,
And Suffolk had all his hate.
And liv'd with a cumbrous state;
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Sir Brandon tied with an heartless hand,
And Suffolk had all his hate.
And Edith his sweet and only child
Was all to him of joy;
Her pratt'ling tongue his pain beguil'd,
Like spring she bloom'd, like summer she smil'd;
To form her his sole employ.
Was all to him of joy;
Her pratt'ling tongue his pain beguil'd,
Like spring she bloom'd, like summer she smil'd;
To form her his sole employ.
Her mother's nature bequeath'd her grace,
Her father's gave her pride;
School'd in the glories of her race,
Scorn often clouded her angel face,
Which pity survey'd, and sigh'd.
Her father's gave her pride;
School'd in the glories of her race,
Scorn often clouded her angel face,
Which pity survey'd, and sigh'd.
But love, whose lessons are all divine—
True love is the child of heaven—
That scorn-clouded face soon taught to shine
With humility's grace, and illum'd each line
By matchless beauty given.
True love is the child of heaven—
That scorn-clouded face soon taught to shine
With humility's grace, and illum'd each line
By matchless beauty given.
Once her father to Edith a guardian gave,
While he travell'd a foreign shore;
But there his grieving it found no grave,
No Lethe's oblivion he found to lave
A heart with a canker'd core.
While he travell'd a foreign shore;
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No Lethe's oblivion he found to lave
A heart with a canker'd core.
And, again to his ancient hall return'd,
He liv'd in a frowning state:
Her loss who had ever his heart he mourn'd,
To the child of his marriage his care he turn'd,
Little heeding man's love or hate.
He liv'd in a frowning state:
Her loss who had ever his heart he mourn'd,
To the child of his marriage his care he turn'd,
Little heeding man's love or hate.
| Young Arthur | |