 | [Poems by Payne in] John Howard Payne ... his life and writings |  |
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POEMS OF LATER DAYS.
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CANZONET.
Thou,—oh, thou hast lov'd me,—dearest!
When none other cared for me,
When my fortune seem'd severest,
Kindest was the smile from thee!
When none other cared for me,
When my fortune seem'd severest,
Kindest was the smile from thee!
Yes,—Ah, Yes! The lorn and lonely
Hollow hearts of worldlings shun:
Theirs are flowers of day, which only
Open when they see the sun!
Hollow hearts of worldlings shun:
Theirs are flowers of day, which only
Open when they see the sun!
But while theirs were all reposing
In the absence of the light,
Like the cereus, thine, unclosing,
Gave its sweetness to the night.
In the absence of the light,
Like the cereus, thine, unclosing,
Gave its sweetness to the night.
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A BIRTHDAY SONG.
WRITTEN FOR DR. DRAKE FOR A BIRTHDAY PARTY.
Oh! speed the light hours!
With fancy's gay flowers
Life's dearest socialities gracefully wreathe!
Let the shadows of care
Meet like mists in the air,
While the warmth of thy sweetest kisses we breathe.
With fancy's gay flowers
Life's dearest socialities gracefully wreathe!
Let the shadows of care
Meet like mists in the air,
While the warmth of thy sweetest kisses we breathe.
Oh! fill not the bowl!
'Tis the wine of the soul
That must gladden the spirits that mingle to-night:
Let it sparkle and dance
Like the dazzling expanse
Of the wave when the sunbeam has clothed it in light.
'Tis the wine of the soul
That must gladden the spirits that mingle to-night:
Let it sparkle and dance
Like the dazzling expanse
Of the wave when the sunbeam has clothed it in light.
Oh! spread not the board
From luxury's hoard:
'Tis the pure feast of feeling we gather to share,—
Ambrosia of Heaven
Free, bounteously given,—
The East cannot furnish a banquet so fair.
From luxury's hoard:
'Tis the pure feast of feeling we gather to share,—
Ambrosia of Heaven
Free, bounteously given,—
The East cannot furnish a banquet so fair.
Oh! cold is the heart
That would scorn to impart
Its brightness and glow to the hours as they glide:
Then hasten to weave
Sweet garlands; they'll leave
A beam, as we float, on Time's cold, ebbless tide.
That would scorn to impart
Its brightness and glow to the hours as they glide:
Then hasten to weave
Sweet garlands; they'll leave
A beam, as we float, on Time's cold, ebbless tide.
STAR-GAZING:
AN EXCHANGE OF “IDLE THOUGHTS.”
Like thee, I love the stars. In distant climes
I've stood alone and watch'd them; and have thought
I saw the spirits of departed friends
Smile in their loveliness; and then would dream
That some, not yet departed but far off,
Gazed with me on them; and that I could feel
Their glance of kindness in the gentle light
Which cast its sweet spell round me. Then there seem'd
A music in the sphere, to charm away
The serpent sorrows gnawing at my heart,
Till, one by one, they dropp'd their demon hold,
And left me, all alone with contemplation,
Like thee, to love the stars.
I've stood alone and watch'd them; and have thought
I saw the spirits of departed friends
Smile in their loveliness; and then would dream
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Gazed with me on them; and that I could feel
Their glance of kindness in the gentle light
Which cast its sweet spell round me. Then there seem'd
A music in the sphere, to charm away
The serpent sorrows gnawing at my heart,
Till, one by one, they dropp'd their demon hold,
And left me, all alone with contemplation,
Like thee, to love the stars.
Like thee, I love the stars. And thou hast made
Their radiance dearer yet. The poetry
Of thy imaginings, like sunbeams flung
Upon the waterfall, has wrapp'd those stars
In colors new and beautiful; and now
O'er me bring visions of deeper power:
They call the mighty from their monuments;
They fill the sky with old historic wonders;
And, all commingling with the thoughts of her
Whose wand has wak'd this witchery, my soul
Swells with the blended glories, and I thrill
Like thee, to love the stars.
Their radiance dearer yet. The poetry
Of thy imaginings, like sunbeams flung
Upon the waterfall, has wrapp'd those stars
In colors new and beautiful; and now
O'er me bring visions of deeper power:
They call the mighty from their monuments;
They fill the sky with old historic wonders;
And, all commingling with the thoughts of her
Whose wand has wak'd this witchery, my soul
Swells with the blended glories, and I thrill
Like thee, to love the stars.
Like thee, I love the stars, and yet my fortunes
Have often seem'd to tell me, “Do not love them,
But give them hate for hate!” They never bless me;
They hurl'd me forth on thwarted hopes, false friends,
And left me to those triumphs from the little
Which make the spirit wither up in scorn,—
But I can have no quarrel with them now,
Since one has risen o'er me in the west
Whose gentle beauty speaks for all the rest.
Shine on, sweet star! still let me feel thy light.
For, though I know that light is not for me,
I would not have thy pity cloud the spell,
Whate'er its peril, which has taught me here,
In thee, to love the stars.
Have often seem'd to tell me, “Do not love them,
But give them hate for hate!” They never bless me;
They hurl'd me forth on thwarted hopes, false friends,
And left me to those triumphs from the little
Which make the spirit wither up in scorn,—
But I can have no quarrel with them now,
Since one has risen o'er me in the west
Whose gentle beauty speaks for all the rest.
Shine on, sweet star! still let me feel thy light.
For, though I know that light is not for me,
I would not have thy pity cloud the spell,
Whate'er its peril, which has taught me here,
In thee, to love the stars.
THE WATER-WITCH AND THE PILGRIM.
There is a tradition of Correggio, which some Italian poet has wrought into a play, that contains the following singular fancy for its plot. Penniless, he had hurried from his home to the mansion of a rich man with a picture which had been ordered, urging him for immediate compensation. The rich man pompously paid the amount all in coppers, but Correggio, exulting in the good fortune of getting all his pay, accepted the
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And a pilgrim lies faint by the wild, whirling tide;
Where, 'midst rainbow and cloud, the lone waterfall springs,
And its curtain of foam o'er the haunted cave flings.
Hark! the lay
Of the Fay!
“Come hither, come hither, poor pilgrim to me;
From sorrow and sighing thy bosom I'll free;
And thou shalt a fairy's blest paramour be!
“Plunge, world-weary pilgrim! plunge deep in the wave!
Once mine, thou wilt smile as it storms o'er our cave;
For never false friend or sad heart-ache may come
Through the rush of white waters that curtain our home.
And away
Shall the spray
Wash mortality's clay from the care-canker'd soul;
Long dreams of delight o'er thy senses shall roll,
And new life wilt thou quaff from the fairy's charm'd bowl.”
He struggles to rise as he hears the fond strain,
But sinks on the flood's giddy margin again;
From her wave-curtained cavern the water-nymph trips,
And fatal the goblet she holds to his lips.
Quick the thrill
Of death's chill
Has run through his marrow and curdled his blood;
His faint shriek is echoed by cavern and wood,
And wildly he plunges beneath the dark flood.
His winding-sheet was a whirlpool's white spray,
And a bubble bore his last life-breath away;
Deep, deep lies the pilgrim beneath the cold stream,
And dimly his bones through the clear water gleam.
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The false sprite
In pale moonshine oft glides from her damp-dropping hall,
The ghost of the wave-buried pilgrim to call;
And they dance, and they shriek o'er the wild waterfall!
THE THRONE AND THE COTTAGE.
I.
There once was a king on his throne of gold seated;
His courtiers in smiles were all standing around;
They heard him with news of fresh victories greeted;
The skies with the joy of his people resound;
And all thought this king was most thoroughly blest,
Till sadly he sigh'd forth his secret unrest:
His courtiers in smiles were all standing around;
They heard him with news of fresh victories greeted;
The skies with the joy of his people resound;
And all thought this king was most thoroughly blest,
Till sadly he sigh'd forth his secret unrest:
“How much more delight to my bosom 'twould bring
To feel myself happy, than know myself king!”
To feel myself happy, than know myself king!”
II.
“Ah, what, while such power and such treasure possessing,”
(A courtier, astonish'd, stept forward and cried,)
“Could fortune bestow in exchange for the blessing?”
And thus to the courtier the king straight replied:
“Health, a cottage, few friends and a heart all my own
Were Heav'n, in exchange for the cares of a throne!”
(A courtier, astonish'd, stept forward and cried,)
“Could fortune bestow in exchange for the blessing?”
And thus to the courtier the king straight replied:
“Health, a cottage, few friends and a heart all my own
Were Heav'n, in exchange for the cares of a throne!”
“Then, sire, if no longer to empire you cling,
Seek these, and be happy, and let me be king!”
Seek these, and be happy, and let me be king!”
III.
The king gave the courtier his throne and descended;He long'd for delights of retirement to prove,
And now for the first time around him there blended
The smiles of contentment, and friendship, and love
But the courtier soon came to the king in his cot;
“Oh, no!” said the king, “I'll no more change my lot!
Think not, that, once freed from the diadem's sting,
I'll give up my cottage and stoop to be king!”
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VALENTINE.
TO A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG ACTRESS.
There is a heart, (I dare not say
Where that heart dwells,) whose fondest dream
(Though wild and hopeless,) many a day
Has been the angel which you seem:
And though the world has taught that heart,—
(Oh, may such lessons ne'er to thee
The world—stern monitor!—impart!)
Taught it to seem is not to be;
Where that heart dwells,) whose fondest dream
(Though wild and hopeless,) many a day
Has been the angel which you seem:
And though the world has taught that heart,—
(Oh, may such lessons ne'er to thee
The world—stern monitor!—impart!)
Taught it to seem is not to be;
Yet who would not such doubt discard,
That see thy loveliness and youth
Enshrine the visions of the bard,
And turn his poetry to truth?
Would that I knew thee! and yet still
So strongly do I feel its dangers,
The very wish to know thee will
Perhaps forever keep us strangers!
When once we met, of all who live
I thought that there was none but thee
Who could a charm to bondage give,
Or take the charm from liberty,—
And therefore 'tis on such a theme
My truant feelings dread to dare,
And rather choose of hope to dream
Than rashly to ensure despair;
For I'm not vain enough to think
It were not madness to aspire
To charms like thine,—and so I shrink
From that which I the most desire—
The most desire, though love which seeks
By selfishness its truth to prove,
Is undeserving thee—and speaks
The voice of passions, not of love!
Then never shalt thou know whose hand
'Tis now declares the secret feeling
Which at once dreads disclosure, and
Still finds relief in the revealing!
And while, at times, I hope once more
That we may meet as once we met,—
Grow more acquainted than before,
With chances more propitious, yet
If ne'er by me to be possess'd,
Elsewhere thy love turns,—let it go—
Enough for me to know thee blest,
And feel thee worthy to be so.
That see thy loveliness and youth
Enshrine the visions of the bard,
And turn his poetry to truth?
Would that I knew thee! and yet still
So strongly do I feel its dangers,
The very wish to know thee will
Perhaps forever keep us strangers!
When once we met, of all who live
I thought that there was none but thee
Who could a charm to bondage give,
Or take the charm from liberty,—
And therefore 'tis on such a theme
My truant feelings dread to dare,
And rather choose of hope to dream
Than rashly to ensure despair;
For I'm not vain enough to think
It were not madness to aspire
To charms like thine,—and so I shrink
From that which I the most desire—
The most desire, though love which seeks
By selfishness its truth to prove,
Is undeserving thee—and speaks
The voice of passions, not of love!
Then never shalt thou know whose hand
'Tis now declares the secret feeling
Which at once dreads disclosure, and
Still finds relief in the revealing!
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That we may meet as once we met,—
Grow more acquainted than before,
With chances more propitious, yet
If ne'er by me to be possess'd,
Elsewhere thy love turns,—let it go—
Enough for me to know thee blest,
And feel thee worthy to be so.
HOME, SWEET HOME!
'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like Home!
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
(Like the love of a mother,
Surpassing all other,)
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
There's a spell in the shade
Where our infancy play'd,
Even stronger than Time, and more deep than despair!
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like Home!
A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there,
(Like the love of a mother,
Surpassing all other,)
Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with elsewhere.
There's a spell in the shade
Where our infancy play'd,
Even stronger than Time, and more deep than despair!
An exile from Home, splendor dazzles in vain!
Oh, give me my lowly, thatch'd cottage again!
The birds and the lambkins that came at my call,—
Those who nam'd me with pride,—
Those who play'd by my side,—
Give me them! with the innocence dearer than all!
The joys of the palaces through which I roam
Only swell my heart's anguish—There's no place like Home!
Oh, give me my lowly, thatch'd cottage again!
The birds and the lambkins that came at my call,—
Those who nam'd me with pride,—
Those who play'd by my side,—
Give me them! with the innocence dearer than all!
The joys of the palaces through which I roam
Only swell my heart's anguish—There's no place like Home!
To us, in despite of the absence of years,
How sweet the remembrance of home still appears;
From allurements abroad, which but flatter the eye,
The unsatisfied heart turns, and says, with a sigh,
“Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home!
There's no place like home!”
How sweet the remembrance of home still appears;
From allurements abroad, which but flatter the eye,
The unsatisfied heart turns, and says, with a sigh,
“Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home!
There's no place like home!”
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Your exile is blest with all fate can bestow;
But mine has been checkered with many a woe!
Yet, tho' different our fortunes, our thoughts are the same,
And both, as we think of Columbia, exclaim,
“Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home!
There's no place like home!”
But mine has been checkered with many a woe!
Yet, tho' different our fortunes, our thoughts are the same,
And both, as we think of Columbia, exclaim,
“Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
There's no place like home!
There's no place like home!”
THE LAND OF MY BIRTH.
A SONG.
I.
I've rov'd 'mid the wonders of many a clime,Fair cities, sweet valleys, and mountains sublime,
But ne'er saw a clime half so lovely on earth
As the land of my first love, the land of my birth!
Land of my first love! Oh, land of my birth!
Thou, thou art the loveliest land upon earth.
II.
Far away have I hung on the love of the wise,And bask'd in the sunshine of soul-thrilling eyes,
But the land of true wisdom, and beauty, and worth,
Is the land of my first love, the land of my birth!
Land of my first love! Oh, land of my birth,
Thou, thou art the loveliest land upon earth;
Land of my first love! sweet land of my birth!
III.
Still dear and more dear, the more distant thou art,My footsteps have left thee, but never my heart!
That magnet still turns from all over the earth
To the land of my first love, the land of my birth!
The land of my first love, the land of my birth,
Thou, thou art the loveliest land upon earth;
Land of my first love! blest land of my birth!
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INCLEDON'S DÉBUT IN AMERICA.
[_]
The following was written to be sung by Incledon himself. Shield made admirable music for it: whether it was sung or not, I could never learn—
J. H. P.
Hail Columbia! patriot nation!
Star of hope to the opprest!
In battle, darting desolation!
But in peace, sole ark of rest!
Star of hope to the opprest!
In battle, darting desolation!
But in peace, sole ark of rest!
Parted far from friends that lov'd him,
Torn from children he adores,—
Driv'n from those who first approv'd him
To the shelter of thy shores—
Torn from children he adores,—
Driv'n from those who first approv'd him
To the shelter of thy shores—
Shores which shar'd his youth's affection!—
Hither forc'd in age to roam—
Here, the stranger seeks protection!
The “Wandering Melodist” a home!
Hither forc'd in age to roam—
Here, the stranger seeks protection!
The “Wandering Melodist” a home!
Free as the wave your coast thus dashes,
To glory your young eagle springs!
But tho' her eye with terror flashes,
Comfort dwells beneath her wings!
To glory your young eagle springs!
But tho' her eye with terror flashes,
Comfort dwells beneath her wings!
“Wandering Melodist” was the title given by Incledon to an entertainment with which he travelled, and in which he was the sole performer.
THE WANDERER.
The mother of a young lamb died,
And left it helpless on the wild.
A shepherd found it, 'twas his pride,—
He lov'd it almost like a child,—
It never left him—'till one day
He looked and 'twas no longer there!
“My precious lamb is gone astray!
In vain I seek her everywhere!
She's gone! my lov'd one's gone!” he cried,
“My hope is gone, my joy, my pride!”
And only Echo's voice replied,
“She's gone! she's gone!”
And left it helpless on the wild.
A shepherd found it, 'twas his pride,—
He lov'd it almost like a child,—
It never left him—'till one day
He looked and 'twas no longer there!
“My precious lamb is gone astray!
In vain I seek her everywhere!
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“My hope is gone, my joy, my pride!”
And only Echo's voice replied,
“She's gone! she's gone!”
But soon the thoughtless truant yearn'd
For him she left so desolate,
And when the shepherd home return'd,
He found her at his cottage gate!
The shepherd did not then disdain
The lamb he had so loved before,
But took it to his heart again,
Forgave it, and it stray'd no more!
“She's here!” the exulting shepherd cried,
“She never more will quit my side!”
And both with Echo now replied,
“She's here, she's here!”
For him she left so desolate,
And when the shepherd home return'd,
He found her at his cottage gate!
The shepherd did not then disdain
The lamb he had so loved before,
But took it to his heart again,
Forgave it, and it stray'd no more!
“She's here!” the exulting shepherd cried,
“She never more will quit my side!”
And both with Echo now replied,
“She's here, she's here!”
LEARNING, LOVE, AND VICTORY.
I.
When the Parson woo'd me, thenI could never say “Amen!”
When the doctor,—what a pill!
His addresses made me ill!
When the Lawyer,—what a pest!
I was—“non inventus est!”
But oh! now the soldier comes,
With “presented arms” to me,
He may—“Hurrah”—“Victory!”
II.
What girl in the Parson's whineE'er discover'd aught divine?
When did the Physician's art
Cure the ague of the heart?
Or the Lawyer's habeas move
Suitors to the court of Love?
But when martial steeds are bounding,
And the war-like clarion sounding,
Who would not “ground arms” like me?
To the “Hurrah,” “Victory!”
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THE LOSS OF THOSE WE LOVE.
The pang, of all severest,
Is the deep, withering one, that's borne
In being torn
From those we love the dearest.
Is the deep, withering one, that's borne
In being torn
From those we love the dearest.
Some griefs bear consolation!
There's none for this,—no, none! It breaks
The heart, and makes
The world a desolation!
There's none for this,—no, none! It breaks
The heart, and makes
The world a desolation!
A GIRL'S MESSAGE TO HER LOVER.
I.
Tell him, though fortune dooms that we must part,I cannot make his image leave my heart;
Tell him that they may keep me from him,—yet
He's with me still, as though we hourly met.
II.
Wealth and Glories, tell him, all are dimTo the sweet sunshine of one thought of him,—
And feelings, deeper than the tongue can tell,
Have grown even deeper since I sigh'd Farewell!
FIRST LOVE.
How refin'd the feeling
O'er the bosom stealing,
A new sense revealing,
In the heart's first love!
O'er the bosom stealing,
A new sense revealing,
In the heart's first love!
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Its soft spell extending,
Smiles to all things lending,
The whole world seems blending
With the heart's first love!
Smiles to all things lending,
The whole world seems blending
With the heart's first love!
If to new themes turning,
Soon, such lightness spurning,
Stronger grows our yearning
For the heart's first love.
Soon, such lightness spurning,
Stronger grows our yearning
For the heart's first love.
THE MEETINGS OF LOVERS.
Oh, how sweet, how sweet,
The rapture felt at last,
Wearisome exile past,
When lovers meet, when lovers meet!
The rapture felt at last,
Wearisome exile past,
When lovers meet, when lovers meet!
Then love's sorrow fleet!
Hours so hard to bear between
Are as though they ne'er had been,
When lovers meet, when lovers meet!
Hours so hard to bear between
Are as though they ne'er had been,
When lovers meet, when lovers meet!
BEAUTY'S GLANCE.
WRITTEN FOR AN INTERLUDE.
Woe to the heart! when Beauty's eye
O'er its unwaken'd pulse first rushes,
Kindling wild visions,—like the sky
New lighted up by morning's blushes.
O'er its unwaken'd pulse first rushes,
Kindling wild visions,—like the sky
New lighted up by morning's blushes.
For storm-clouds may convulse the air,
As the uncertain day advances;
And Beauty's eye may flash despair
On the adorer of its glances.
As the uncertain day advances;
And Beauty's eye may flash despair
On the adorer of its glances.
Ne'er did a sigh this bosom swell
Till thy enchantments smil'd around it;
And, oh! it trembles now to tell
Its throb to her whose spell has bound it.
Till thy enchantments smil'd around it;
And, oh! it trembles now to tell
Its throb to her whose spell has bound it.
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But do not, dearest! do not blame
This falt'ring utt'rance of a feeling,
My tongue has not the strength to name
Nor my heart courage for concealing.
This falt'ring utt'rance of a feeling,
My tongue has not the strength to name
Nor my heart courage for concealing.
Cast one—one rapturing glance, to end
The doubt I tremble to discover;
I must—I must be—more than friend,—
And may I not be—more than lover?
The doubt I tremble to discover;
I must—I must be—more than friend,—
And may I not be—more than lover?
THE FORSAKEN.
A SONG.
Scenes of my childhood, the roseate hours,
Passed in your shelter, are faded!
Gone are the spirits which gladden'd your bowers,
Gone with the pleasures they shaded!
Farewell!
Passed in your shelter, are faded!
Gone are the spirits which gladden'd your bowers,
Gone with the pleasures they shaded!
Farewell!
Dove of the ark! to thee Providence gave
Rest, once thy pilgrimage ended!
Fate, which flings me on the world-troubled wave
Dooms me to toss there unfriended!
Ah me!
Rest, once thy pilgrimage ended!
Fate, which flings me on the world-troubled wave
Dooms me to toss there unfriended!
Ah me!
Eyes of affection! Life's pathway no more
Beams, with your radiance lighted!
Hope, Love, and Friendship, which shone there before
Leave me to wander benighted!
All's dark!
Beams, with your radiance lighted!
Hope, Love, and Friendship, which shone there before
Leave me to wander benighted!
All's dark!
SUNRISE.
Hail to thee, orb of morning!O'er the darkness breaking,
Earth with thy smile adorning,
Man to his God awaking;
Hail! Hail! may our devotion be
Warm as the light we hail in thee!
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THE CONSOLATION.
Comfort, mourner! why despair?
Storm like sunshine 's from on high—
Tempest only clears the sky—
Man is heaven's peculiar care—
Heaven brings joy from misery!
Storm like sunshine 's from on high—
Tempest only clears the sky—
Man is heaven's peculiar care—
Heaven brings joy from misery!
Comfort, mourner! why despair?
Woe a part is of a plan
Ending in the bliss of man—
Whereof but a little share
Our imperfect sight may scan!
Woe a part is of a plan
Ending in the bliss of man—
Whereof but a little share
Our imperfect sight may scan!
Comfort, mourner! why despair?
All that is disclos'd we find
Proveth an All-bounteous mind—
Impious is it then to dare
Deem what's undisclos'd unkind!
All that is disclos'd we find
Proveth an All-bounteous mind—
Impious is it then to dare
Deem what's undisclos'd unkind!
Arouse thee! comfort! Learn to bear!
No ill is cureless but despair!
No ill is cureless but despair!
UNHALLOWED AND VIRTUOUS LOVE.
Unhallow'd love's a withering flameWhich kills the heart and blasts the name,
By its wild flashes risen;
While virtuous love, like sunlight showers,
But wakes the heart's most lovely flowers
And opens them to heaven.
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THE WORLD.
I.
Oh! no! I have no wish to tryThose heartless mockeries of joy
Whose charm is like the serpent's eye,
Which only dazzles to destroy!
Ne'er let me be among the mad—
Nay, worse,—the guilty million hurl'd,—
I never yet have known the bad—
I never yet have known the world!
II.
Can the world aught, for what is thisSeclusion I should lose, bestow?
Our little home is full of bliss,
But the great world is full of woe!
My humble heart, like yonder vines
Around our lowly cottage curl'd,
With all I here have known, entwines,—
And here, oh, here shall be my world.
BEAUTY SLEEPING.
Sweet is her sleep!
As moonlight that sleeps on the river
Where evening's soft sighs scarcely quiver.
Sweet is her sleep!
As moonlight that sleeps on the river
Where evening's soft sighs scarcely quiver.
Sweet is her sleep!
The charm of that beautiful face
O'er the image of death beams a grace!
Sweet is her sleep!
O'er the image of death beams a grace!
Sweet is her sleep!
The angel of slumber she seems,
Reclined in her heaven of dreams!
Sweet is her sleep.
Reclined in her heaven of dreams!
Sweet is her sleep.
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THE FRIENDLESS ORPHAN GIRL.
WORDS TO AN OLD IRISH MELODY.
From slumbers that cheer not, with dawn's blush upspringing
Woe-worn, I wander o'er mountain and plain,
And hear parent birds to their little ones singing
Songs of affection in that touching strain,
From others
Than mothers
We seek for in vain!
There's many a tie
The world may supply,
But oh! there's no other
The loss of a mother,—
Oh, none!
Not one!
Woe-worn, I wander o'er mountain and plain,
And hear parent birds to their little ones singing
Songs of affection in that touching strain,
From others
Than mothers
We seek for in vain!
There's many a tie
The world may supply,
But oh! there's no other
The loss of a mother,—
Oh, none!
Not one!
But scenes of endearment which round me are thronging,
Bitterly teach me how much I'm alone!
A parent's fond care to all beings belonging—
Tenderness ever in infancy shown
To others
By mothers
I never have known!
There's many a tie
The world might supply,
But oh! there's no other
The loss of a mother,—
Oh, none!
Not one!
Bitterly teach me how much I'm alone!
A parent's fond care to all beings belonging—
Tenderness ever in infancy shown
To others
By mothers
I never have known!
There's many a tie
The world might supply,
But oh! there's no other
The loss of a mother,—
Oh, none!
Not one!
THE HARP.
Oh, lady! take the harp,
And let the silent string,
Exulting at thy touch,
Around its magic fling!
Enshrin'd there, as in thee
Enchantments, slumb'ring deep,
Await a master-hand
To break their bonds of sleep!
And let the silent string,
Exulting at thy touch,
Around its magic fling!
333
Enchantments, slumb'ring deep,
Await a master-hand
To break their bonds of sleep!
Thanks, lady! how the harp,
By thee awaken'd, beams
The light upon despair
Of soft Elysian dreams:
Could I but thus awake
The slumbering thrill in you,
The dreams your harp inspires
Your smile would render true.
By thee awaken'd, beams
The light upon despair
Of soft Elysian dreams:
Could I but thus awake
The slumbering thrill in you,
The dreams your harp inspires
Your smile would render true.
PASSION AND PRAYER.
The holy prisoner doom'd to bear
Demoniac persecution's chain,
Hop'd humbly a protection where
Sincerity ne'er hopes in vain!
Demoniac persecution's chain,
Hop'd humbly a protection where
Sincerity ne'er hopes in vain!
Lo! on the darkness of his cell
The glory of an angel flash'd!
The jailers slept! the fetters fell!
The bolted portals open dash'd.
The glory of an angel flash'd!
The jailers slept! the fetters fell!
The bolted portals open dash'd.
Prisoner of passion! if sincere
Your trust in Heaven's protection be,
An angel will to you appear,
And when least look'd for, set you free!
Your trust in Heaven's protection be,
An angel will to you appear,
And when least look'd for, set you free!
THE HOPES OF YOUTH.
To youth, exulting, soon delighted,
The coming hours,
Seen by Hope's April sunshine, lighted,
Blooming with flow'rs
Ne'er to be blighted!
Proudly the barque
Sails, when blue skies and blue seas flatter:
The storm comes. Hark—
A shriek! her sides the wild waves shatter!
She's gone!—all's dark.
The coming hours,
Seen by Hope's April sunshine, lighted,
Blooming with flow'rs
Ne'er to be blighted!
334
Sails, when blue skies and blue seas flatter:
The storm comes. Hark—
A shriek! her sides the wild waves shatter!
She's gone!—all's dark.
Such are youth's fairy dreams of gladness;—
And thus they end
In tempests of unlook'd for sadness,—
Tortures,—that send
The soul to madness!
And thus they end
In tempests of unlook'd for sadness,—
Tortures,—that send
The soul to madness!
SLANDER DIES IN LIGHT.
I.
From the coward who stabs in the darkWhat valor can give us protection?
But once let me know
Where to fix on my foe,
And see how he'll shrink from detection!
II.
The pride of the forest, whose strengthBends not to the hurricane's fury,
May fall by the sting
Of the venomous thing
Which the least of its small leaves would bring.
III.
But, drag forth the reptile, he'll writhe,He'll die when the day-beam is brightening,
As the mischievous lie
Of the imposture shall die
In the blaze of Truth's glorious lightning!
335
TO MISS O'NEIL, THE ACTRESS.
[_]
Written after sleeping in the room she had occupied the night before. Waterford, Ireland, July, 1814.
Oh, deep was the gloom which my spirits deprest,
Till each object around breath'd the joy of the past;
And the charm of that room lull'd my sorrows to rest,
As pure as the bosom which beat in it last!
Till each object around breath'd the joy of the past;
And the charm of that room lull'd my sorrows to rest,
As pure as the bosom which beat in it last!
Then my proud love exulted. It felt that the hour
Which succeeds common pleasure, is shrouded in woe,
But gloried in owning the sway of a power
Whose remembrance alone can such comfort bestow!
Which succeeds common pleasure, is shrouded in woe,
But gloried in owning the sway of a power
Whose remembrance alone can such comfort bestow!
'Twas a feeling extatic, I blest its control;
And your image, still beaming on memory's gaze,
Sheds a twilight of joy on my desolate soul,
More soft, though less dear, than the noon of its blaze!
And your image, still beaming on memory's gaze,
Sheds a twilight of joy on my desolate soul,
More soft, though less dear, than the noon of its blaze!
A SONG IN THE OPERA OF CLARI.
In the promise of pleasure, the silly believer,
Home forsaking, to brave
The betraying world's wave,
Is soon taught by woe the truth friendship had spoken,
And virtue a wreck,—pleasure's promises broken,—
Lost at last, the world's scorn by the wily deceiver,
Finds out but too late, that where ever we roam,—
There's no pleasure abroad, like the pleasure of Home!
Home forsaking, to brave
The betraying world's wave,
Is soon taught by woe the truth friendship had spoken,
And virtue a wreck,—pleasure's promises broken,—
Lost at last, the world's scorn by the wily deceiver,
Finds out but too late, that where ever we roam,—
There's no pleasure abroad, like the pleasure of Home!
But droop not, poor castaway! be not dejected!
From the tempest-wave spring!
To your wreck'd virtue cling!
And be certain the angel of mercy takes care
Of the virtue, though erring, that will not despair!
Yes! though from the world's heartless bosom rejected,
From your home upon earth tho' cast houseless to roam,
Throw your glance up to Heaven, and be sure of a Home!
From the tempest-wave spring!
To your wreck'd virtue cling!
And be certain the angel of mercy takes care
Of the virtue, though erring, that will not despair!
Yes! though from the world's heartless bosom rejected,
From your home upon earth tho' cast houseless to roam,
Throw your glance up to Heaven, and be sure of a Home!
336
THE EXILE.
Far from the land which gave him birth,
The lonely exile wandering weary,
Feels that the loveliest land on earth,
When look'd upon thro' tears, looks dreary.
For, oh! when Fortune grew unkind,
And in the spell of sorrow bound him,
There came a shadow o'er his mind,
To darken every object round him.
The lonely exile wandering weary,
Feels that the loveliest land on earth,
When look'd upon thro' tears, looks dreary.
For, oh! when Fortune grew unkind,
And in the spell of sorrow bound him,
There came a shadow o'er his mind,
To darken every object round him.
But, as often the sunbeam breaks brilliant and warm
On the day whose beginning was coldness and storm,
Even thus unexpectedly, fortunes more bright,
Now light back the exile to home and delight!
And though since his escape, he'll oft gaze from the shore
On the billows he saw with such terror before,
Yet to think of a peril that's happily past,
Only heightens the rapture which follows at last.
On the day whose beginning was coldness and storm,
Even thus unexpectedly, fortunes more bright,
Now light back the exile to home and delight!
And though since his escape, he'll oft gaze from the shore
On the billows he saw with such terror before,
Yet to think of a peril that's happily past,
Only heightens the rapture which follows at last.
THE GIRL OF MY HEART.
There's nothing, there's nothing so lovely that lives
As thou art, dear!
There's nothing, there's nothing that pleasure gives,
And thou art near!
As thou art, dear!
There's nothing, there's nothing that pleasure gives,
And thou art near!
When thou art away the world's brightest charms
Look—oh, how drear!
But a magic spell its form disarms
When thou art near!
Look—oh, how drear!
But a magic spell its form disarms
When thou art near!
When thou art away, even summer's beams
All cold appear!
But the coldest winter a summer seems
Beside thee, dear!
All cold appear!
But the coldest winter a summer seems
Beside thee, dear!
337
VALENTINE.
ADDRESSED TO MISS FOOT, THE CELEBRATED ACTRESS.
Though other eyes have warn'd me,
Though other lips have charm'd me,
Yet transient was their pow'r,
Forgotten in an hour!
Though other lips have charm'd me,
Yet transient was their pow'r,
Forgotten in an hour!
Those brows of thine which darkle
O'er eyes which sweetly sparkle
With beams from mind of brightness,
And heart of jocund lightness;—
Have wing'd, like Cupid's bow,
With secret shaft a blow
Which binds one, thine forever
In chains which cannot sever,
Ere this, a captive never.
O'er eyes which sweetly sparkle
With beams from mind of brightness,
And heart of jocund lightness;—
Have wing'd, like Cupid's bow,
With secret shaft a blow
Which binds one, thine forever
In chains which cannot sever,
Ere this, a captive never.
Perhaps, in untold anguish
That captive long will languish:—
Perhaps, a hidden stranger,
He'll guard thy youth from danger:—
Perhaps, an unseen spirit,
He'll climb thy couch at night,
And rock himself to rest
Upon thy heaving breast,
Or drink the sighs which creep
Unconscious through thy sleep.
That captive long will languish:—
Perhaps, a hidden stranger,
He'll guard thy youth from danger:—
Perhaps, an unseen spirit,
He'll climb thy couch at night,
And rock himself to rest
Upon thy heaving breast,
Or drink the sighs which creep
Unconscious through thy sleep.
And then, like memory's gleams,
Glide softly through thy dreams,
And catch without control
The breathings of a soul
So unstain'd in whiteness,
Malice hates its brightness!
Glide softly through thy dreams,
And catch without control
The breathings of a soul
So unstain'd in whiteness,
Malice hates its brightness!
Nymph, by whom all are charmed,
Long may'st thou live unharm'd!
—Be world and Fortune kind!
Be Argus Envy blind,—
And every wish enjoy'd,
Save that which would discover
Thy Valentine and Lover!
Long may'st thou live unharm'd!
—Be world and Fortune kind!
Be Argus Envy blind,—
And every wish enjoy'd,
Save that which would discover
Thy Valentine and Lover!
338
PRINCE YPSILANTI'S ADDRESS TO THE GREEKS.
Ye Greeks, for deeds of glory fam'd,
The gods for freedom have proclaim'd
The password's Liberty!
Convince the foes of human kind
Not adamantine chains can bind
The men who dare be free!
The gods for freedom have proclaim'd
The password's Liberty!
Convince the foes of human kind
Not adamantine chains can bind
The men who dare be free!
Leonidas, your sire of old,
In deeds of arms proud Xerxes told
At fam'd Thermopylæ,
That he and his brave patriot band
Could die to save their native land,
Or perish to be free!
In deeds of arms proud Xerxes told
At fam'd Thermopylæ,
That he and his brave patriot band
Could die to save their native land,
Or perish to be free!
Immortal honors crown your deeds,
To victory Ypsilanti leads—
Now strike for Liberty!
Teach the oppressors of mankind
No manacles on earth can bind
The men who dare be free!
To victory Ypsilanti leads—
Now strike for Liberty!
Teach the oppressors of mankind
No manacles on earth can bind
The men who dare be free!
339
SCENE FROM AN UNPUBLISHED PLAY.
BY JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.
Argument.
Early in life Bianca of Naples returned the love of the reckless and enthusiastic Hyppolito, but his father thought a wealthier wife might be found, and sent the youth abroad; at sea he was wrecked, but saved by pirates and detained a captive. Being supposed dead by his family and Bianca, she is at length prevailed on to listen to a new suitor. She weds a Spaniard by the name of Alvar, equally a devotee to her and to the fine arts, and who met her when he visited Italy on a tour of taste. Hyppolito, escaping, returns, and hears that his betrothed is lost to him. In madness he pursues her to her dwelling in Barcelona, and, being skilled in the pencil, obtains access to her husband by spreading his fame abroad as an Italian painter of eminence, hurrying through the city. Alvar has seen his sketches, and earnestly desires from him a portrait of Bianca. On a carnival night, when she is masked for the festivities, Hyppolito consents, as a special favor to Don Alvar, to spare an hour for a sitting. His object may be guessed. It is a delirious desire to disclose himself, and carry her away with him in the confusion of the masquerade. The scene here given describes the introduction of the imagined painter.
An apartment in Don Alvar's palace at Barcelona. Busts—statues—an easel— swing-glass—painting apparatus.
Don Alvar enters, leading Bianca, both sumptuously habited in masquerade dresses, Bianca as a Sultana. Hyppolito follows as a painter, completely disguised. He takes his colors and pencils from an attendant. While he arranges them and reconnoitres the room, Alvar and Bianca converse apart at the front.
Bianca.
(To Alvar aside.)
Who is this painter? Were't not well, my lord,
That he should come to-morrow, not to-night?
His look is strange. You must not leave me here—
I know not why—I feel a sudden dread—
His countenance is wild—What is his name?
Alvar.
And why so fanciful, my gentle love?
The Signor's name is Manso—known to all
As a most famous artist. He has come
To Barcelona but this morn; and flies
To-morrow—Heav'n knows where!— (to Hyppolito.)
Sir, is this place
The one that suits your art?—Sit here, Bianca,
(Aside to her.)
How your hand trembles! I'll stay with you, love!
340
(Preparing to paint.)
A little from the light—a little more!
(Aside.)
His glance is keen—those lights will show my face—
(He tries to sketch, and stops.)
Pray you, my lord, a little farther back—
The lights fall on your robe—or, take your place—
(—Your pardon, lord)—behind me till the sketch
Is made— (he tries, and flings down the pencil in vexation.)
Corpo di Giovo, wrong!—This crowd of lights—
(Pointing with a fretted gesture to the lamps on the table.)
Alv.
(To Cariola.)
Go—carry off those lamps—their varying blaze
Will mar the pencil. Benedetto!
Order the train to hold themselves prepared
To wait upon your lady to the fête.
[Benedetto and other servants go out, carrying the lamps, and leaving but one light beside the casel. Hyppolito paints.]
Hyp.
Please you, fair lady, cast your eyes above—
Ha! so—as if you gazed upon some star!
(Looking at her.)
Now press your hand—deeply—upon your heart
As if you vowed that heart's fidelity
And sealed it by your hopes of love in Heaven.
Alv.
A most romantic painter! But his art
Or finds men mad, or makes them so—That touch
(Looking at the picture.)
Is life—I see the master-hand! How fine
The power to fix the hue of beauty's cheek,
The sparkling of the diamond eye,—the look
That speaks without a tongue, yet speaks the soul
Quicker than tongue e'er uttered—Glorious art!
That, with the power of miracle, defies
The truth of time, the blight of worldly woe,
All earthly trouble! On its tablet smiles
Beauty unsullied; cheeks unwash'd by tears;
Lips that will ne'er grow pale with anxious sighs;
Youth, love, and loveliness, alike immortal!
(He looks at the picture.)
Magnificent! Divine!
The artist does you justice, my Bianca.
Bian.
My lord turn'd flatterer! Nay, I fear I'll shame
The Signor Manso's pencil.
Hyp.
'Tis but honor'd
Too highly in its subject.—Now look down—
—Heavens, what a rich possession!— (to her.)
But one smile—
(As in soliloquy.)
The arching of that brow—that dazzling eye—
That lip to which the budding of the rose
Were colorless and chill—Thou paragon!—
Bian.
(Aside, agitated at half overhearing him.)
What words are those? Some pressure on my soul
Tells me there's evil nigh! (Aside to Alvar.)
Alvar! My lord!
Stay by me.—Will the Signor soon be done?—
Alv.
Disturb him not, my love. He touches now
341
(Looking over the sketch.)
Bravo, Signor! A Titian were outdone
With that delicious coloring. That glow
Is worthy the Venetian.
Hyp.
I was his pupil—
An idle one—but worshipped at his feet
For some wild years, enamor'd of the fame,
The glory that he threw around his land!
But, when he died, I hated Venice—fled—
And wander'd, on a painter's pilgrimage,
To every shrine of loveliness.
Bian.
(Aside.)
He gazes on me strangely. If on earth
There's magic in a glance—delusion wild,
Or dangerous spell, 'tis in that fiery eye!
Would that his work were done!—
(To Alvar.)
How goes the hour, my lord? Your noble friend
Will think his banquet scorn'd by our delay.
Hyp.
(Gazing on her.)
One look—but one look, gentle lady, one
And all is finished—Pray you, draw aside
That tress which hangs upon your brow like braids
Of silk on ivory. (Aside.)
There's a living smile!
A glance that strikes the soul like sudden flame!
Alv.
(Gazing on the picture.)
It grows in light and beauty, as the sky
Before the rosy chariot the morn!—
—Signor, your task is finish'd for to-night,
And richly finish'd.
My lady well reminds me 'twill be late
Before we reach our kinsman's.— (To Bianca.)
Come, my love!
Bian.
(Aside.)
Thanks, all ye saints that guard the heart from ill!
Hyp.
One moment more. This must be done to-night,
Or may-be never. By to-morrow's dawn
I leave the walls of Barcelona.
Bian.
Nay, Alvar, come—'tis finish'd—lose no time—
(Urging him.)
We must not fail in courtesy.
Alv.
(Looking at the picture.)
'Tis beautiful!— (Then turning to Bianca.)
Yet still, how feebly art
Contends with nature, when that nature's thine!
He that can thaw the ice with pictured flame,
Or banish darkness by a painted sun,
Or fill the summer sky with painted gold,
Or shower the spring's sweet lap with painted buds,
He may portray the living witchery
Of woman in her beauty—but none else!
Hyp.
Fair lady, look again—
Alv.
Yes—rest awhile—
I will but go a moment, to command
That all be ready for our cavalcade.
342
Signor! the moment you sought is given—
I shall return— (to Bianca)
—as swift as thoughts of love!
[Exit Alvar.
Hyp.
(Looking after Alvar—aside.)
He's gone!—Now, love and vengeance!
(Starts up, throws off his disguise, and exclaims,)
Bianca!
Bian.
(Terrified and springing back.)
Hyppolito!—
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