Young Arthur :: :: University of Virginia Library

Pipe all hands, for alive's the gale,
Weigh the anchor and set the sail;
Full fresh the breeze is blowing;
The anchor's up, and the sails are squar'd,
The helm in hand, and the harbour clear'd,
And over the seas we're going.

And many's the league from British land;
But, while slow dribbles the glass's sand,
The breeze so briskly blowing,
Many the knots in the hour we pass,
And free as the diamond cuts the glass
We cut the wave that's flowing.

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And, hark, while trimming our canvass wings,
Gay, in the shrouds the sailor sings,
The breeze so briskly blowing;
And the helmsman echoes him as he steers,
And every bosom his burthen cheers,
“To British land we're going.”

The simple feast of the Arab o'er,
Allan and that fair slave implore
Of the grateful chief both guard and guide,
To the nearest port where, 'chance, might ride
Some bark, to the isle of freemen bound,
To bear them for ever from graceless ground.
The grateful chief, with a generous hand,
Supplies their wants and at their command
A guard he places—“God speed!” he cries,
While mist appear'd in the Arab's eyes;
Rude in nature, but rich in heart,
He must with his life's preserver part,
And part for ever, “God speed!” he said,
“And blessing be ever on either head;
Now speed ye well to the Christian shore,
And no better wish can my friendship say

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Than, may you return to no Moslem bay,
Though Irad the Arab shall see you no more;
God speed! God speed!”—and his hand he waves,
Then over the desart the ransom'd slaves
Fly with safety, and fly with speed:
And, blessing the Arab, with joy proceed;
Retrace their track: while the Turkish lord
Is on to Bassorah; for soon the sword
And the matchlock ceas'd to swell death's prey,
And the caravan, robb'd, resum'd its way;
And the Turk, who deem'd his haram's boast
A plundered prize to the Arab host,
Went murmuring on with the caravan,
And there we leave the worldly man.
The pair with rapture retrac'd their track,
And the shores of Aleppo receiv'd 'em back;
Rich merchants' habits disguise supply
To guard from suspicion's intrusive eye:
And an English bark in the bay is moor'd,
Their passage is paid, and they're safe aboard;
The anchor's up, and the sails are squar'd,
The helm's in hand, and the harbour's clear'd,
The breeze is strong, and their fears are o'er,
And, merry, they steer toward's England's shore;

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Full many an hour runs out the sand,
Many a day and night have past,
And, touching at many a foreign land,
On England's shore they stand at last.

SIR ERNEST'S TALE—concluded.

And now (returning to the court of Spain,
Where Charles had landed with victorious train;
Where Ernest stood the warlike chiefs among,
And from his casque the fadeless laurel hung;)
The youth, Sir Brandon on his tale intent
And graceful Edith, to its sequel went.

“Arriv'd in Spain, and panting for the land
My bliss and birthright, I resign'd command;
The bark and treasure from the pirates won
Shar'd by the king, a moiety's my own;
Rich in reward, a knight's degree obtain'd,
I sail'd for England, and a landing gain'd;
Nature then urg'd revisiting the scene
Of budding infancy and childhood green,
In early vigour which I left; and there
Enjoy th' embraces of a doting pair;

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Implore the blessing of parental love,
Crown anxious hope, and boding care remove:
'Twas as I rode, absorb'd by pleasing thought,
My honour'd ear Sir Brandon's welcome caught;
Whose generous notice, and whose princely hall
Mem'ry shall oft to gratitude recall.”

Sir Ernest ceas'd, and, with the graceful grave,
“The House of Brandon;” and “his thanks” he gave.
Sir Brandon's thanks his courteous pledge repay,
And ardent welcomes woo his longer stay;
His grace, his title, and his deeds of fame,
From high Sir Brandon fix'd attention claim;
And as he told his “deeds of valour done,”
Sir Brandon sigh'd, and sigh'd for such a son;
Sir Ernest sigh'd, fair Edith was the source;
And Edith's bosom labour'd with remorse;
Haply, in vain for love's return she sighs—
The slave had charms and slighted Allan eyes;
One fate supporting, by one 'venture freed,
Such mutual fortunes mutual feelings breed;
The mingling sympathies that ease the chain
Of galling slav'ry mingle not in vain,

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And fortune's hands, as oft life's annals prove,
The chains of slav'ry from the sexes move
To bind them closer in the chains of love.

With Brandon's wish, and oft assail'd
To stay, the youth complies:—
'Twas Brandon's warmth, of course, prevail'd?
Ah! no 'twas Edith's eyes.

And was no thought to home applied
And those who there might moan?—
Alas! fair Edith by his side,
He thought of her alone.

But how could duty reconcile
What all must disapprove?—
Poor youth! he saw sweet Edith smile,
And only thought of love.

But real love, heaven-born, is sure
On duty to refine.—
Friend, was thy love thus always pure?
Was frailty never thine?

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Yet think not I'd his folly mask,
Mankind will errors make;
He was a man, and all I ask
Is, pity his mistake.

Where Edith was love linger'd there,
And Ernest linger'd too;
And had you seen th' enchanting fair
She might have spell-bound you.

Ernest for Edith home forgot,
And duty's sacred right;
But ever repentance is the lot
Of all who duty slight.

The evening was lovely, Sir Ernest had stray'd
Thro' the grounds of Sir Brandon, his guide the sweet maid;
His speech was of love, to her thoughts all he said
Could only young Allan recall.
His footsteps she led through park, lawn, grove, or wood,
Referr'd to each charm in the beauteous, or rude,
'Till they came to the spot where the old ruin stood,
With the ivy that clung round the wall.

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And she stood by that ruin suppressing a sigh,
And she thought of the night when young Allan was by;
She yet saw the anguish that sadden'd his eye,—
Her thoughts Ernest strove to recall;
He urg'd her away, and ask'd questions: but grief
Her steps still detain'd, all her answers were brief,
And her eye ever wandered, imploring relief,
To the ivy that clung round the wall.

And the moon it arose; and reflected the hour
When from Allan she parted: who saw her brow low'r
With the scorning of pride, and presuming of pow'r;
With him her joys disappear'd all;
Ah! then it was Allan who rush'd on her heart;
While Ernest in vain play'd the suitor's fond part:
Her attention too fix'd for the wav'ring of art
On the ivy that clung round the wall.

What glides like a vision her fancy before,
Now hid by the ruin, now shown thro' the door?
She trembles, she totters, her energy's o'er,
Ernest sees, and his arms save her fall:
But he knew not the cause—now the moon beam'd more bright,

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And the full form of Allan it rush'd on her sight;
She scream'd, and her eyes clos'd in transient night,
By the ivy that clung round the wall.

'Twas Allan, returning from where he once laid
The bones of lov'd Simon; and, passing that shade,
With a gay cavalier he by chance saw the maid,
And to move vain his efforts were all:
Her scream made him fly; he escap'd Ernest's view,
Whose alarm and astonishment equally grew,
And, the maid in his arms swiftly catching, he flew
From the ivy that clung round the wall.

And Edith was laid on a sorrowful bed,
And the leech he was summon'd with hasty dread;
But he calm'd her fever'd brain;
Three days of fear he oppos'd death's pow'r,
On the fourth that youth and beauty's flow'r
Began to bloom again.

And merry it was in Sir Brandon's hall,
And merry it was with the cotters all
Who quaff'd Sir Brandon's ale;

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But she to their love had more grateful claim
Since Allan had taught her that pride was shame,
And the lessons of love ne'er fail.

There's a bright beam streaming from the sun,
And to catch it, with hope, the fool has run;
“Ha! ha! I have it,” the witless cries,
And titters, and opens his eager hands;
But nothing is there; and his wondering eyes
Look round for his loss, as aghast he stands.

And this is the picture of human hope
Depending on any bright beam but one,
Which darts from the highest and heavenly cope,
And never shall set its glorious sun.

Ernest on Edith fix'd his heart,
Edith to Allan her heart had given;
Allan's has been an arduous part,
And almost in twain his heart is riven.
The slave, though Edith had waken'd his sigh,
Yet Edith had scorn'd him, that slave had smil'd,
And of half his heart had the youth beguil'd;
But Allan had since met Edith's eye,
And first love's magic bring's victory.

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Fair slave hast thou for young Allan sigh'd,
Thy solace in sorrow, thy partner in joy?
Alas! two passions thy heart divide,
And thou, with Allan, art love's bright toy.

Thy wond'rous story shall the muse display,
But other sorrows first demand her lay.

HUBERT AND ELLEN.

Who sits so pensive in yon lonely cot,
O'er the low embers, while the moon's pale light
Gleams through the casement, picturing the lot
Of human joy, and mortals' shadow'd sight?
'Tis Ellen—Hubert from his home is gone,
And other inmate the sad cot has none.

Who o'er yon mountain bends his weary way
With eager step, and anxious care oppress'd;
His ear still turning to each rustling spray,
His eye to every opening view address'd?
'Tis honest Hubert, grieving as he goes,
Seeking a wand'rer from his cot, repose.

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Mark an old man through yonder valley wind,
Propp'd by his staff, and bending on his way;
His shoulders wearied with a load behind,
His heart which lighten'd in a happier day;
O, 'tis the sage; and whither does he go?
To seek the author of his weary woe.

And where is Arthur? Arthur 'tis they seek;
Arthur whom manhood bless'd with ev'ry grace;
Arthur has left them, and their sorrows speak
For hope's faint dove no hallow'd resting place.
And where is Arthur, pleasure of the plain,
Has that mysterious parent 'snar'd him hence?
Awhile the enigma must conceal'd remain,
And hope, resign'd, must linger with suspence.
For Hubert back to Ellen has return'd,
And, as the embers, Ellen's hopes expire,
No trace discover'd, and no tiding learn'd,
They wait the coming of that woe-worn sire;
But he his harp upon his back had thrown,
Proof his return had settled limit none.

And many a year has pass'd away,
No Arthur they behold;

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Nor long upon the yearly day,
Has mystery left the gold.
And many a year they've number'd o'er,
But ah! that sage return'd no more.

BRANDON HALL.

In Brandon-hall the festive board is spread,
Tho' pensive there reclines fair Edith's head;
Edith, by Ernest with youth's ardour woo'd,
And many a check the gallant youth withstood;
Her Allan liv'd, nay, in her path had gleam'd,
His eye—O 'twas not anger that it beam'd,
Nor beam'd it hope; nor yet inflicted pain;
Soon—'twas no sport of chance—they met again.
Their eyes too met—enough—their souls are known,
Allan is Edith's, Edith all his own;
'Twas but a look, which neither dar'd improve,
But what looks are decypher, ye who love.
Sir Ernest woo'd and he woo'd in vain,
His aim Sir Brandon saw;
And he hop'd that knight the heart might gain

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Of the child of his joy, of his pride, and pain,
For his days towards evening draw.

He wish'd to bestow the maiden's hand
On some such gallant knight;
For soon he might wend to the unknown land,
And to leave her unguarded by wedlock's band
Would many a pang excite.

But he left fair Edith free to choose,
Who never had knight approv'd;
And Sir Brandon griev'd his hope to lose,
For he saw her many a knight refuse,
But little dreamt he she lov'd.

And Allan the lovely Edith met
By that ruin, to him love's bower;
There ever his wandering way was set,
And the evening had not fallen yet
When Edith approach'd the tower.

Sudden they met, nor could withdraw,
Their hearts that instant shown:

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True love knows no other than Nature's law,
And its transcript in each others eyes they saw,
And to each others arms they've flown.

Uncertain love has a jealous eye,
And Ernest at distance stray'd;
Despair had been busy a clue to espy
To the chilling, tho' delicate, apathy
Of the sweet, mysterious maid.

He saw the ruin, and soon survey'd
Young Allan, who wander'd there;
Then trembled Ernest—he saw the maid
Pensive approaching the lonely shade,
And he saw—his heart's despair!

He saw them meet, and he saw them part;
Each slowly coming he saw,
But each homeward hied with a lightsome heart—
When the bosom is pierc'd how keen the smart
The arrow to withdraw!

But Ernest must now the arrow draw
Which its quiver had made his heart;

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Not his to betray the scene he saw,
Tho' to woo her he had her father's law,
Yet from ev'ry hope must part.

True valour ne'er play'd the traitor's game,
Nor may envy his bosom move;
Emulation may ever direct his aim,
But failing, perchance, in his noble claim
Regret he may only prove.

He buried that love scene in his heart,
For neither had seen him there;
And he press'd the hour he must needs depart,
But promis'd return with a blameless art,
For who would return to care?

And now Sir Ernest's farewell day is fix'd,
And Edith, smiling, with the revels mix'd;
Mix'd with the revels; for in days of yore
Wide stood old hospitality's large door;
And ever and anon the banquet brave,
With ponderous plenty, generous grandeur gave;
And, at or fashion's beck or friendship's call,
An host, made welcome, fill'd the Baron's hall.

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Hence should the banquet in my verse appear
Too full, too frequent, for refinement's ear,
Reflect, with Britons now as then the fact,
Whate'er the purpose, or whate'er the pact,
Feasting must seal and ratify the act.
A splendid feast Sir Brandon had prepar'd,
And many a guest the generous welcome shar'd;
Among them one of dark and scowling eye
Survey'd Sir Ernest; chancing to espy
The cross he wore, the ruby cross he won
When death's just work was on Sir Gorman done.
Brooding he sat: his eyes obliquely trace
Each varied feature of that manly face;
And, while the guests impell'd the circling glass,
As glides the serpent thro' the covert grass
It's prey descried, the victim to secure,
He stole, unheeded, thro' the friendly door.
The night wore on, for now the joy was high,
Repeated pledges the large flagons dry;
But soon replenish'd the drain'd flasks return,
All with new ardour glow, and brighter spirits burn.

Loud is the thunder that storms the door,
And the mandate comes at the king's command;

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The Marshal is there, with his silver oar,
While halberdiers in the court-yard stand:
And the body of Ernest delivered must be,
And he must be tried for piracy.

The Marshal of the Admiralty always carries a silver oar when on duty.

ERNEST'S LAMENT IN PRISON.

Scanty, thro' yon iron grating,
Gleams the light, and shows to me
(Cheering not but irritating)
All that adds to misery!

What to me were fame and glory?
Soon my sun shall setting be;
Who shall tell the mournful story
To the hearts that bleed for me?

Why, from truth and duty parting,
Did I leave to misery
(From my post a truant starting)
Hearts that vainly hope for me?

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Hark! that voice—I'm call'd to trial—
Guiltless, shame my end shall be;
Seeming guilt gives hope denial—
Hark! the headsman asks for me!

Without the cell, hark! clanking chains resound,
The lock recoils and ev'ry bar's unbound;
Before Sir Ernest the steel'd jailor stands,
Charg'd with the summons which the law commands;
Sir Ernest bows, and steadily pursues
The jailor's track, yet pensively reviews
His desp'rate fortune; stigmatiz'd his name,
No human aid to vindicate his fame;
On heaven alone depends the hapless youth,
Who knows and estimates his patriot truth:
But thus repays (his equity to prove)
Filial desertion of parental love.
No witness there his honor's claim to tell,
The Cross, his Person, Name, all doubt dispel;
These and his zeal, which desperate hope impos'd,
Attested, sink him; and the dream is clos'd;
The dream of youth, by wild ambition led
To leave the peaceful for the painful bread;

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Unknown to those who every claim could prove
To all his duty, gratitude, and love.
The dream is clos'd—he wakes—to what? despair!
Shame and remorse his rankling bosom tear;
For ever crush'd his fortunes and his fame,
And stamp'd with recreant infamy his name;
His only hope those hearts should never know
His fate whose absence wasted them with woe.

THE TRIAL.

That awful court, where rigid justice stands
The sword and balance poising in her hands,
Sits all prepar'd; appalling silence reigns,
Broke by the clanking of approaching chains;
The culprit's presence the stern judge demands,
There at his mandate the firm culprit stands;
There, graceful bowing, (with a cheek suffus'd
Blushing from modesty, not truth abus'd,)
All he survey'd; but in th' inquiring face
None guilt, or fear, or shame, or ought could trace
But that young wonder valour will display
At unknown danger in a devious way;

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Its form inspecting with a dubious eye,
His chance to calculate, his mind supply
With all the history of its force and fire
Which glance can give, and fortitude admire.
His modest firmness all with zeal survey
With nervous pity, and bless'd issue pray.
His eye, collected, now the judge commands,
And, all prepar'd, for all prepar'd he stands;
And when on Ernest justice asks her claim,
Arthur the God-send answers to the name!
Arthur the God-send, who at issue stood;
Spurious his name, as spurious was his blood;
Whose only solace in the hour of shame
Was of his fate's oblivion in his name;
That name to those his parents deem'd unknown;
Their's but his loss, his shame was all his own.
His crime proclaim'd, his pleadings ask'd, he cries
“I scorn the guilt the treacherous charge implies;
Your proofs produce, then hear my plain defence,
That not sufficing, judg'd for innocence,
I yield submission to resistless laws
And leave to Heaven the issue and my cause.”
Now call'd that man who Ernest's name impugn'd,
(Hence we call Arthur by the name assum'd,)

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With zeal he answer'd, and, on gospel sworn,
By facts according were his words outborne.

“In the first ship Sir Gorman took he sail'd
“From Cadiz port; Sir Gorman's pow'r prevail'd;
“The ship his prize; its cargo, and its crew,
“All plunder'd were—the chain and cross they view
“Were his; and Ernest on the deck he saw
“Tear down the flag, and general plaudits draw;
“The ship a capture from the pirate band
“A chosen captain then assum'd command;
“Witness a pris'ner—Ernest, as he heard,
“Stabb'd his commander, and was chief preferr'd:
“Another bark the pirates then obtain;
“A storm now 'rose and, driven o'er the main,
“The ship in which a prisoner witness lay
“Ne'er join'd her consorts from that awful day;
“The British flag soon after they descry,
“Dreadful the fight, the vanquish'd pirates fly;
“The chase was long; they flew, like fury fast,
“But British force was paramount at last.
“The witness freed, thus, from the pirate's hand,
“His needful evidence had crush'd the band,

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“His and a friend's”—That friend close by him stood—
And in his turn confirm'd the tale of blood.
“The chain remember'd as th' accuser's claim,
“The culprit fought, and Ernest was his name!”

Here clos'd the charge; a moment's pause ensued;
Ernest his eyes to heaven addressing stood,
A sigh he heav'd; then summon'd all the man,
Bow'd and with deference defence began.
His artless pleading needless to go o'er,
The tale he told in Brandon's hall before.
His artless tale, his animated face,
His veteran valour, and his youthful grace,
His modest pleading, free from recreant fears,
Won every heart, fill'd every eye with tears;
And, when concluded the unvarnish'd tale,
Murmurs of “Innocent” around prevail.
But justice stern, by no incitement mov'd
By generous confidence or hope approv'd,
Unknown to sympathy, and firm to fact,
Slow to condemn, but sedulous to act,
Demands the aid of witness'd facts to prove
His bare assertion and his guilt remove.

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Now trembling hope o'er every bosom sway'd,
And busy eyes the awful court survey'd;
And eager ears to catch the sounds apply,
The blissful sounds that should the charge defy.
Yet all was silent as the solemn hour
When speechless grief views life's departing pow'r.
Awhile the judge, with sympathetic eye,
Forc'd by his office to suppress the sigh,
Sat deep revolving in his pitying breast
What justice ask'd; then, visibly opprest,
He rose—that instant ev'ry bosom heav'd,
And sighs and tears their generous pangs reliev'd.
Brief was the detail when the judge began,
And grief oppress'd the venerable man;
For, if the looks a transcript just impart,
Truth had with “innocent” impress'd his heart:
But justice asks for other aid to prove
His bare assertion, and his guilt remove.
The charge he read, the evidence detail'd,
And oft his voice with generous pity fail'd;
“No proof contrasted but the culprit's word,
“No proof to justice can of truth afford—”
He ceas'd, while heav'd his agitated breast,
And to a British Jury left the rest—

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A British jury! Britons, mark the phrase,
A British jury!—Britain's bulwark, base,
Pedestal, plinth, shaft, capital and all
Of ev'ry column in thy freedom's hall.

Now through the court low, busy, murmurs rise,
And expectation all her ears applies;
With eager ken the judge the cause inquires,
The jury pause, and panting hope respires;
“Make way!” at distance first arrests the ear;
“Make way! make way!” now louder and more near;
“Make way! make way! make way!” joy wildly cries,
And in the court a fainting witness lies—
Why trembles Ernest when bright hope has dress'd
Each face with radiance and inspir'd each breast?
Why trembles he? why when the rose full blown
Blooms other cheeks the lily on his own?
Why trembles Ernest? why thus rolls his eye?
Why his check'd tongue the struggling speech deny?
See, for support upon the guard reclin'd,
Shades wrap his soul and all his senses bind.
Thus when the seaman braves the tempest's rage,
While yawning deeps and ruthless rocks engage

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His fever'd mind, each vein prepar'd to start,
His frame's all nerve and ev'ry nerve an heart;
Should he by sudden providential hand
On shore be cast and in safe soundings stand,
Rapture's excess his ev'ry nerve subdues,
And grateful breathings all his thoughts confuse:
The blood which rush'd though ev'ry starting vein
Forc'd to his heart, no more his limbs sustain
His o'er exerted frame; to heaven his eyes
Are cast, and, speechless, on the shore he lies.
So Ernest; for an added wonder there
Arrests his soul while chasing his despair;
The witness, rais'd to intellect and voice,
'Tis she, 'tis Isabel! his heart's first choice;
'Tis she, whom all transported view as given
“A ministering angel” from the vault of heaven.
Close by her side, her trembling frame's support,
Stood the bold Captain from Iberia's court:
He to young Ernest's mind who knew the key,
His prudent art, and proud integrity.
The pallid maid, with many a grateful look,
With many a struggle which her weak frame shook,
While many a sigh and suffocating tear,
Her tale suspended, told—while every ear

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Devour'd her accents—that heart rending part
Ernest had told and mov'd stern Brandon's heart.
The hardy Captain with a seaman's port
Then forward stepp'd, and challeng'd the dread court;
And, in a seaman's phrase, detail'd “a round
Unvarnish'd tale,” which ready credence found;
Prov'd Ernest's honors by Iberia's chief
Bestow'd, and ended by a warm, but brief
Attesting eulogy to Ernest's praise,
Such as to worth admiring valour pays.
His detail o'er, at once the jury see
Ernest—“Not Guilty,” and the God-send's free.
The verdict past loud peals the court employ,
Nor would the judge repress the honest joy.
Borne from the court, with joy's resounding cry,
Contending shoulders Arthur's prop supply;
Sir Brandon proudly on a charger led
The busy way to where his bounty spread
The ample cheer, which Arthur's victory hail'd,
And liberal welcome the glad throng regal'd;
Sir Brandon, who thro' all his part had borne,
An anxious part; not his to idly mourn,
Far other mode his yearning mind supplied,
Hid in his bosom (from repelling pride,

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Which ne'er imparted what his mind propos'd)
Was the deep secret which his deeds disclos'd.
While in his cell, desponding, Ernest lay,
(Arthur as Ernest still must we pourtray)
To Spain Sir Brandon's courier “wing'd his way:”
There by the documents his master gave,
He found the Spaniard, generous as brave,
Who lost no instant, but with grateful speed
Reach'd England's shore and his preserver freed.

But whence came Isabel? or from the grave?
Or how mysteriously escap'd the wave?
Not this the season for the wond'rous theme,
But future stanzas shall the lapse redeem.
The steeds prepar'd, with acclamation's voice,
To Brandon hall they journey and rejoice;
Awhile dismiss them to requir'd repose,
Then know the sequel of their waning woes.