The Demon of Destiny :: :: University of Virginia Library

Once on a time, as baleful Satan prowl'd,
With dire designs, this blemish'd world ofman,
A populous city tempted him to stay,
To council for awhile his vassals there.

They told him tales of one whose heart withstood
Their machinations, and confess'd their arts
Still ineffectual on that gifted one.
But so works Providence, whose graciousness,
Like universal light, shines over all,
Developing, from seeming accident,
Help and protection, when Hell grasps for prey.

These Demons minister to Destiny;
Subtile, distrustful, different shapes they take,
Waking by mystic concords in them all,
The master springs that sway mortality:
But whatsoever semblance they assume,
They are constrained to put the natures on
Of those they seem to be. Curb on their powers!
Nor manifested, can they more effect
Than those in whose similitudes they loom;
Yet no seduction of their art's like truth,
Trusting the influence of our earthy nature
Will transmutate, in time, good into ill.
Nor have they foresight; they can but discern,
By some keen scrutiny of things that are,
The probables of what may come to pass;—
High Heaven alone foresees approaching Fate.

Salome, the mortal who perplext the fiends,
Was open-hearted, as the sky which holds
All things in its embrace; the impartial sun
Sheds not more generously its noontide bliss,
Nor is the shower that cherishes the spring
More kindly mild to all that need its aid.
And in the chambers of his bosom lay
Good will to all; and brav'ry to attempt
Whatever youth with hope, in vaunt may dare;
But he had none of that aroma, which
Men genius call, creative energy;
Albeit asleep those frail infirmities,
Which, when they wake, to perils lead the man:
But there Revenge was not, nor Jealousy,
Which are as lees and deadly sediment
To glorious ambition, and molest
The sleepless musings of devoted Love.

A while the Sultan of perdition heard
How shadowless slept there Ambition—for
Revenge is as its shadow—and how Love
Lay in his bosom safe from Jealousy.
In all things else the leagur'd, as the swarms
That murmuring stir in sordid capitals,
Was but a man—a subject of temptation.
“Win him to Love!” exclaim'd the Monarch Fiend,
As if awakening from a reverie;
And some dire flushing of prophetic joy

Glanc'd in the sullen of his dismal breast.
“For if from Jealousy he live secure,
Hate or Contempt, or chang'd mysterious Love,
Betray'd or scorn'd, spurn'd or exil'd,
May prove auxiliars to his overthrow.”

Then all the lurid there shouted amain;
And Satan, pleas'd by such assent, resum'd
His grim perambulation of the earth.

The Demon then of young Salome repair'd,
Swift as the poet's thought wings the abyss,
To him, and found him in the bower of June,
Where, 'midst the fond-embracing boughs, the breeze
Caress'd the blushing rose with whispers sweet.

It was indeed a sylvan leafy place,
Daisies around, the starry of the earth,
Shone as the eyes of some calm holy night;
And from afar a vocal waterfall,
Mellow'd by distance, swell'd that olden hymn,
Which still the choristers of nature sing,
While with their fragrance all the flowers ador'd:
At him the fawns so playful, innocent,
Gaz'd as they pastur'd with their gentle dams.

Aw'd by the mein of such serenity,
The Demon paus'd, lest Heavenly warders near
Would bar intrusion; but anon he took
A stripling's form, and with a bow unstrung,
Rejoic'd along; his whip-like smacking made
The startl'd echoes of his coming tell.

Salome beheld the stranger, and rebuk'd
His trance-disturbing discord. “Cease,” he cried,
“To mar the harmony which reigns around!”
The stripling smil'd, and with his bow again
Tingling the echoes, answer'd with a jeer:
“Ho! who art thou that scowls't in these fair scenes
Does some fair maiden, with averted eye,
Reject the homage of a breaking heart?”
“Away! away! thou pert familiar boy;
Nor with such taunts of losel ribaldry
Molest the soaring of my soul to Heaven.”
Said then Salome, but, with his slacken'd string,
The demon bit his breast, and laughing cried,—
“Redoubted Sir, so valorously grave,

A day will come, when Cupid's fetter'd thrall
Must sigh as hopeless as the sighing wind.”

This mystic prophecy work'd to effect,
As oft predictions cause what they foretell;
For when the seeming boy had pass'd, Salome
Sought, in the haunts of feast and revelry,
An unknown something which might there be found;
Nor sought he long, for soon a highborn fair
Beam'd in his presence, but the wedding chain
Fenc'd her around: of his devoted heart
Her shining image took infeoftment, and
She was as radiance in his solitude.
Thus things in life oft deem'd of no account,
Strangely evolve the purposes of Fate.

She was so fair he could but only love,—
So good—admire—but it is ever so;
For Love is of that heavenly quality,
That those exalted by its blessedness,
Ever delight in immolating self,
Striving to earn that recompense divine,
Which but by servitude can be obtained.

Salome discern'd that though she had been free,
The high condition of her trophied name
To him was death to hope, and, manly firm,
Subdued the energy of rising passion;
While, in the form and semblance of his sire,
His Demon task'd him in the murmuring mart,
Where anxious Trade piles pyramids of gold.

There fickle Fortune, ever changing fair,
Pli'd all her harlotry to quench the star—
That eye, which on his thrilling heart had shed
Being, not light, or aught material, which
The lover's fancy grosser deems than soul.
But still at times, amidst her revelries,
The beauteous glory inaccessible
Would in the trances of his spirit shine;
And oft, when musing at the twilight hour,
He thought that Fortune, deck'd with all her gems,
Was as a fire-fly to some heavenly orb
That shepherds, watching on the hills, behold
The moon, which hath no splendour in herself,
Hide as the occultation of an eyelid.

At length, the Demon of his Destiny

Bade Fortune frown, as with a sudden blight,
Upon the hopes of young Salome; who then,
Indignant, cast her promise to the wind,
And in the form of a courageous youth,
Led him, with proud resounding tread, to dare
A soldier's advents in the tented field.

Through marshy vales and briary woods they hied,
O'er cliffy mountains and far-spreading wilds
Of heath and sand, all desert as the sea.
At length they reach'd a lonely rugged pass,
Which shadows darken'd at the noon of day,
But far beyond, a vista bright appear'd
Of riant villagery, such as seems
When Hope expatiates in the captive's sleep.

Onward they journey'd through that rifted hill,
Which, like the pass of fam'd Thermopylæ,
From rocky nooks and arms of savage trees,
Foreboded danger to the traveller.

Discoursing highly of heroic worth,
They wended on towards the glittering land;
Nor saw between them and its sunny scenes
A spacious river, mirroring the sky,
Till calm before, the wide and glassy flow
Lay as a lake serene. They paus'd a while,
To see what possible of chance might come
To help them o'er; but no chance ever came;
And to the cliffy pass they back return'd,
To seek a refuge from impending night.
When as they turn'd, bright on his mountain throne,
The setting sun array'd in glory, blaz'd;
Nor till that evening apparition faded,
Did rapt Salome from his devotion move,
Amaz'd to think that if to mortal vision
Such manifest divinity was shown,
What must the seraphim behold on high?

Late in the twilight they regain'd the pass,
Where chance propitious led them to a cave,
Which, from its hospitable gloom within,
Survey'd the landscape then in prospect dim.
But bright to hope, as promises to youth,
Salome rejoicing, blithely sat him down;
And nothing by his devious travel worn,
Besought his comrade for a storied song,

Which often he, with voice triumphant bold,
Of battle-fields and leaguer'd cities sung.

But while the song resounded cheerily,
And as the moon her solemn beauty shed,
From the dark ramparts of the orient hills,
A sulph'rous warmth oppress'd the living air;
And in the zenith where, in phalanx bright,
The starry host move brightest, dismal spread
An omen black, the herald of a storm;
And suddenly, as if Jehovah drew
His sword of vengeance, lightning flash'd amain;
Then as an earthquake, hungry as the grave,
Gorging the pomp of some great capital,
Roll'd the vast thunder, cataracts of dread;
While fiercely hissings rose, as if the trees
Were all exasperated, as of old
Was the pest Hydra in its Lernian bed,
When wounded by the iron of Hercules.

The waters rush'd with headlong passion wild
From steep and cliff, and bosky precipice,
And Deluge, with her hundred voices hoarse,
Gave hideous warning that rebellowing Wrath
Might yet again in Ocean trample Earth.

The Demon rose, and in his warrior guise,
As if alarum'd by shrill shrieks afar,
Ran out to aid. Aghast, Salome within
Heard in the turbulence, startling the ear,
As horror glancing from the wrathful skies
Shivers the sight, the cry of one that crav'd,
And answer'd, as a faros beacon's beam
Invites the seaman to a harbour near.

A stranger came, and from a cloud, the moon,
Bespeaking charity for his estate,
Look'd on the earth, benign. A man he seem'd,
Who more of Heaven in contemplation saw,
Than he had tasted of the joys of life.
But his bright eyes shone youthily, endow'd
With such intelligence as beams from those
Who bless or bale bring to the bowers of men.

His garb was threadbare, a caloyer's garb,
And though but from the storm, he was undrench'd;
For demons, oft like traitors among men,
When masquing, unawares betray themselves.

It was again the warder of Salome,
Transform'd to renovate his faded wishes;
For he had notic'd, since the evening show
Inspir'd such admiration, that his thoughts
Were all confus'd. Loose thrums and threads of gold,
A ravell'd skein, still in his bosom lay;
But they were only as the weft and warp
With which th' ambitious, when possess'd of skill,
Rich gorgeous damask and bright tissues weave,
To form the gaudy draperies of Fame.

When he had well the natural bias scann'd,
Which still predominated in his ward,
He baited his malignity with tales,
Knowing the rebel arrogant which rules
In Adam's fated race, and that whate'er
Is most denied to them, they most desire.

He told Salome—as mourning mortals tell,
Suspicionless, to old confiding friends,
Disastrous tidings—how in that gay land,
Which sunny glitter'd o'er the frontier stream,
Misrule career'd, while Anarchy in arms
Defied to enterprize the good and brave,
And how refulgently a glorious crown
Was there predestin'd for some hero's brow.

Meanwhile without the storm had ceas'd; the air
Was all as moonlight, pure, yet visible;
And, in the dome and concave of the welkin,
The vapours vanishing, melted away.
Then rose the song of one who joyful sped
Towards his home, the rain and thunder gone.
Exultingly sweet from their choirs around,
The holy nightingales an anthem hymn'd,
And all was calm, as if Tranquility
Came from the starry azure of the sky,
To sooth blest Nature to her wont again.

But soon, anon, in distant woods afar
Was heard a crash of furious waters sound:
The sound was terrible as ocean's rage
In the auricular sublime of storms;
And for a while, in might and majesty,
The proud ovation down the river roll'd.
But when it pass'd, and the triumphant floods
Had borne the trophies of their victories

Into their Rome and citadel, the sea—
The Demon, as if conscious of his craft,
Wrapt himself up in his caloyer's gown,
And thus the sorc'ries of a legend told.

BOOK II.

“High Heaven, by solemn oracles, of old
A gracious covenant with man proclaim'd,
That if by righteous means, he serv'd the right,
His efforts still should be with honour blest,
But if he swerv'd self-will'd, thence would to him
But shame, and penalty, and woe ensue.

“The recompense, like all that's ever shown
Of Heavens revealments to man's finite sense,
Is given in mystery, for not by aught
In Fortune's harvest, nor in wish'd possession
Of worldly circumstance, is it bestow'd:
Only the righteous bosom's heart enjoys
The Covenanted boon. Hence on his throne
The golden sovereign in his purple pride
Doth pine unblest, while helpless at his gate,
Some loathed Lazarus refulgent bears
A richer jewel in his hidden heart,
Than stars the apex of anointed kings.

“From age to age, that men may ne'er forget
The paction tied of old, proclaiming come,
With more than trumpets and resounding drums,
The heralds of the Lord, to tell the world
That still unchang'd the Covenant remains.

“Once when of late, in all the pageantry,
With which the Heavens invest their avatars,
The harbingers stepp'd on the trembling Earth
Opal was summon'd, with endowments grac'd,
To win such honours as had ne'er before
Exalted man, minion of Providence.

“As in the splendour of the summer's glow,
The tinted tulip brightens into beauty,
With time the gifts of Opal richer spread;
But he was wayward, and, while yet a child,
Bore the undaunted front of masterdom,
Nor ever mingled with the gay of heart,
Where heedless Innocence derides at Care.

“Oft times he, pensive, on the sounding shore,
Would in proud thought the vaulting billows ride,
Or wand'ring solitary o'er the heath,
In aimless reveries of immortal themes,
Think Hope was Fortune, and intrepid zeal
Power to command—ah! phantasies of youth!

“But most he lov'd, when Winter winds his horn,
Beneath the cliffs that gloom'd the wreck-strewn shore,
To muse companionless, or on the hearth
To read romances of stout-hearted men,
Of cities sack'd, and trophies won in war,
When monarchs harnish'd by triumphant victors,
Amidst the shoutings of exulting thousands,
Stoop'd to the yoke, and own'd themselves subdu'd.
For only themes of world-amazing Fame
Had e'er affinity with his bold thoughts.
Thus mineral fires in Etna caverns mine,
Till, with the passion of volcanic rage,
They spurn the mountains to the roaring sea.

“Alas! the blooms and garlands of the spring,
That wreath the boughs with beauty and delight,
Give no assurance to the vernal bower,
Of Vice or Virtue in their future fruit.

“When Time, the stripling, led to Fortune's fane,
That stands refulgent on a lofty steep,
The starry cluster, Immortality
Holds in her hand, to crest their helmed brows
Who strive in darings, twinkl'd, faint, and dim;
And soon the welkin frown'd with direr gloom,
Than e'er till then had lower'd upon the earth.

“With sleeves uproll'd, and to the shoulders bar'd
His arms Herculean, in the market place,
Slaughter toil'd grim with cleaver, dropping blood;
Round him lay martyrs, and men ghastly doom'd
Amidst an aw'd and thrilling throng were seen;
While wives and children clasp'd their hands to God,
Chang'd into widows and wild fatherless!
Mad to thunder, Revelry and Horror
Danc'd hand in hand; Guilt, bold as Justice, seiz'd
Its shrinking victims, and the shuddering earth
Heard Chaos coming, and with earthquake hurl,
Shatter the ramparts of society.

“Then dauntless Opal, with the fervent hope

Of Fame heroical, breasted the waves,
And saw amidst the darkness and dismay,
As 'twere a meteor-apparition bright.—
The midnight moon, within the ominous halo,
Is not so mystical as was that Fair,
Dower'd with the promises of prophecy.

“Her dower to Opal was a philtre charm;
For when he heard of her predicted fortunes,
All love in him, the love of self awoke;
And round him shone, but substanceless as dreams,
Visions of things to be—thrones, as the hills,
Ancient and strong, he saw crush'd into sand,
And Power, a streamlet, leaping from its glen
Become a river, like the epic Danube,
While, through the avenue of future years,
Rose domes and pyramids, as loud afar
Shouted the echoes of posterity.

“He deem'd the possibles of Fortune, Fate,
And felt himself exalted as a God,
Whose will is wisdom, and his wishes power;
But still his fancies were to mend mankind,
For he was conscious of his gifted nature,
And in his spirit's vast would glories gleam,
And nebulæ of radiant worlds to be.

“While thus he rose refulgent into fame,
He rashly thought that in predominance
Might should thereafter arbitrate on earth;
But soon by Nilus, mythologic stream,
Where wonder pores on hiereoglyphics old,
And everlasting structures, vast as hills,
The epitaphless pyramids, avouch
Colossal levers and preadamites
In times primeval—booming from afar,
He heard reveberations thundering rend,
And thus a doubt of what he will'd confess'd.

“What! if the covenant of old proclaim'd
Exist eterne, and Right be lord of Power?
Right ministers to good, good to increase,
And for increase the teeming world was made,—
Power without right is blind—can but destroy;
And if unbridl'd, what may then succeed?
This garnish'd polygon, the earth, which shines
In space immense, beaming as beautiful,

As in the boundless of the poet's mind
Fancy's creation beams, would then become
Such heritage as Death bequeaths to Night.
Yes! 'tis the nature of all things that are,
To prey upon each other. Unrestrain'd
By man, who only has the sense of right,
They would destroy, waste, and eradicate.

“Appall'd that e'er from right he thought to swerve,
Back he return'd to where his name renown'd,
Unclouded, bright, in morning splendour shone.
But carious ossicles and bones of men
Breathe no such influence of mephitic fume,
As did the guilty city from her crimes,
When, as a ghost at midnight, suddenly
To him reveal'd who writhes upon remorse,
The cry arose that Opal was return'd.

“All then obedient to his bidding vow'd,
And order rose restor'd, as when the word
That still is sounding through the void forever,
Bade starr'd creation ‘Be,’ and it out-glanc'd;
While Opal proudly deem'd that man would thence
Sing Hallelujahs and triumphant songs
To him, the true Emanuel of the earth.”

Thus, as the Demon told his mystic tale,
And seem'd preparing to relate the sequel
That would incite Salome, he was disturb'd;
For in the dubious midst of what he told,
A mountain shepherd, pelted by the storm,
For refuge came, and list'ning to the tale,
Look'd oft as if he knew what should ensue.

That pastoral swain was young, and in the garb
Of those who highest on the hills attend
The woolly charge. His eyes were calm and mild
As twin-like lakes that in still upland scenes
Reflect the clear blue sky; belted around,
He deftly wore a snowy toga cloak,
And on his feet were sandals beaming red;
While gently doff'd aside, but gracefully,
His cap betoken'd youth's desire to please.

The Demon winc'd to see him lingering there—
He knew not wherefore; startled by his voice,
As by sweet music heard in other scenes,
He cowr'd unconsciously abash'd; but so

Recondite Heaven its providence unfolds,
And seeming chance pleads advocate for Faith.
The mood of glory by the Fiend inspir'd,
Soon in Salome was chang'd, for then the swain
Began the sequence of the mystic tale.

“Oh never yet has been, may never be,
So craz'd an alchymist with his delusion,
As he who thinks, by slight or stratagem,
That aught of good may be obtain'd by guile.
While the wide world resounded with the fame
By Opal won, for order so restor'd,
All Hell rebellowing through her vaultages,
Prepar'd a gorgeous banquet for perdition.

“Upon one pillow when two heads repose,
Heaven hides mysteriously from mortal ken
On which its boons or banes descend. The Fair,
Whose dower prophetical so Opal charm'd,
Seem'd then no more to his imperial pride
An hostage worthy to secure his hope.
He cast her off, and made the sacrifice,
By Cæsar immolated in despair,
A bail-pledge for the destiny he dreamt of.

“Braving the probables of nature, then
He bow'd in worship down to Might alone,
And as an earthquake shuddering amidst tempests,
Deriding Might he scorn'd the Covenant.

“Ruth, nor contrition, nor the visibles
Of winter omen'd in the chrystalline,
Daunted his will. On he career'd—
A God in fancy, though in might but man;
And, startl'd, kings, on all their thrones upstanding,
Beheld him drive in wrath and thunder past.

“Still Heaven forbore: while Nature Winter rein'd,
And storms stood satraps to his royalty.
Afar was heard a booming brazen voice,
And wide and wild a scattering crowd was seen,
Oft looking back in terror and in tears.

“Mothers were there with babies at the breast,
The old, the feeble, and the orbicled,
Led by the young, ran weeping from their homes,
The sick, the bed-rid, on rough waggons groan'd;
While Christians, self-yok'd in the wains for horses,
Toil'd, lash'd by desperation, and the lame

Sat on the way-sides with their eyes to Heaven,
Crying, ‘God help us! help our parent land!’

“'Twas then that Opal reach'd the ridge of fame—
A mountain summit—all around him snow;
And then the Avenger bade the Registrar
Bring his archieves, and Mercy plead if aught
Were in them found that might appease Destruction;
But all was blank, and thence dismal ensued
The vindication of the Covenant.

“Winter, that Nature in her dungeon cave
Held chain'd, a maniac furious, was set free;
And Death came quivering as a shivering starvling,
And spread with fleshless arms a seamless shroud.

“Rash squadrons, plunging into fordless streams,
Perish'd outright, or grasp'd by ice, expir'd;
While on the frozen indurated earth
Stood veterans cap-a-pie, valiant afar,
But harmless as the sculptur'd effigies,
That grim the silence of chivalric aisles.

“Hail scourg'd the howling winds, and fiercely rose
Curses, and rage, and yells of foundering souls,
With all that Chaos and Despair invoke,
When Ruin strangles Misery in the dark.

“Ha! who is he that in yon hurdle sleighs,
While the pale frighten'd moon glares on the earth,
Or hides behind the cloud. Rising, he sees
The midnight kindling and behind the blaze:
His hand is on the shoulder of that man,
Who woeful sits beside his empty seat;
And hark! the leafless trees, huzzaing, wave
Their blasted boughs in frantic jubilee—
It is, it is, convicted Opal doom'd!

“He flies! he flies! the faithless felon flies!
The hiss, the hootings of mankind pursue;
Stripp'd of his merits, bar'd for punishment,
Lime, and the juice of guilt, gnaw in his sores;
And in his bosom, thoughts intenser burn
Than Babylonian fires of seven-fold heat.

“Before him, dismal as perdition's mart,
Extends afar the ocean wild and black;
And lo! the cliffs of his grim prison isle,
Where leap and roar the hungry surges ever.
See! see! on vantage, peak and precipice,

The gathering myriads of the famous great—
All skeletons, like morts—derisive grin;
They point at him with their long-finger bones
His hands are chain'd—Prometheus like he writhes—
Remorse, the vulture, feeds upon his heart.
But who is yon, the veil'd, that follows Death?
Lo! in his bronz'd eternal hand he brings
The pond'rous clavis of some torture cave.”

The shepherd ended; and the Demon saw,
Still more perplext, that his terrific tale
Had cleans'd the bosom of Salome of all
He had himself of Opal's fortune told,
And that no more by lure or enterprise,
He ever would, e'en by Ambition urg'd,
Now seek a recompense for being born,
In the sylvannahs of that beauteous land,
Which smil'd so heavenly to the setting sun.
So seem'd the Covenant to him unchang'd.
But ever and anon, as thus he thought,
His eyes askance upon the stranger turn'd,
As if he dreaded him, and deem'd he might
Be some mysterious incarnation there.

Meanwhile, Salome, with reverence for the Right,
Had, in the region of his native land,
Resolv'd to front his destiny again;
But in his heart Pride and Ambition then
Lay fast asleep; nor did the slumberers wake
When the young shepherd to his flock return'd.

The gallant semblance which the demon bore,
When they abroad on vague adventures roam'd,
Was hidden in the hoar caloyer's form;
And when they parted, at the shelt'ring cave,
The seeming father feign'd to bless and pray.—
A gracious spirit, in that crisis-time,
Prompted the meditations of Salome,
How best he might that blessed boon obtain,
Of sweeter odour than the Egyptian gum,
Which keeps the dead in everlasting beauty;
The recompense of those who with good deeds
Bespeak the plaudits of the wise unborn.

But such benevolence was as the hope
Which warm assurances to youth impart;
Or as the dawn of morning, that betides

Sunshine and revels for the holiday;
Or that more beautiful, great Nature's blush,
When smiling Spring round every orchard bough
Twines vernal garlands; singing as she twines,
Dreadless of blasts and withering winds that harm.

BOOK III.

Behold Salome, amidst his native scenes,
Pensive, repentant that he e'er had heard
Such tales of hope, as charm romantic youth
To dare adventures, eild can but deplore.

All seem'd unchang'd, yet all was chang'd indeed;
As the gay landscape, that in Summer shines,
Scowls grey and joyless when the Winter cloud
Spreads its o'er shadowing on the sullen hills.

A friend behind, unknown, passed on, unnoting
Faded Salome, who then appeared unknown;
For with such taint doth Poverty infect,
That all the prudent timeously eschew
The wasted patient of the loath'd disease.

Salome, awhile, went wandering up and down,
And at his heels the Demon of his fate
Dogg'd unrelentingly; for well he knew
Who suffer most, are readiest for ill.
But round he rais'd a sympathetic crowd;
And those who erst had slunk from poor Salome,
As votaries, soon worshipp'd at his feet,
Deeming his alter'd mein and lowly air
Assurances of some converted state;—
But man, in every casting, is the same,
Seem what he may, the metal is unchang'd.

To be so reverenc'd, surpris'd Salome
With strange affliction, and his spirit own'd
An influence unblest, for he beheld
The fervid numbers that around him throng'd
As sordidly as he who deals in slaves:
And but as slaves he deem'd all those who yield
The charter Nature, when she made them, gave;
Such as fanatics in delusion yield,
When they, implicit in unreasoning faith,
Adopt the dogmas of the craz'd or crafty.

Apostate from himself, he mingled then

With those who traffic with religious fears;
But ever guardian Providence is nigh
When most unseen, and oft in troubl'd hours,
Celestial purposes divinest shine.

Rais'd by Ambition, and by Pride, which spoke
Of worship, honour, and immortal fame,
He something form'd, like what, in idol climes,
Forecasting Mahomet devis'd of yore:
And near, the Demon of his Destiny
Smil'd with anticipations of success,
As one that smiles, who, with a glimmering knife,
To some gaunt chamber, at the dead of night,
Stalks stealthily with Tarquin strides, to strike
Defenceless Confidence entranc'd in sleep.

But in that moment, when on tiptoe, Hell
Look'd to behold a conquest long desir'd,
A student came, and with white meagre hand,
Clutching the right arm of Salome, exclaim'd,
“The time is past when thou mightest have hop'd
To raise such phantoms in the zealous breast,
As craft bewilders in phantastic brains:
I have remark'd thee—I have heard thee speak;—
Thou art not true, nor what thou seemest art;
But would make men, for thine own exaltation,
Unconscious agents of unknown designs.

“The world is old, and none may ever now
Attempt to build the Babel tower again:
He would be mock'd, not by the Heavens, but man.
Priests now are vassals; yea, anointed kings
Are dim and clouded in their royalty;
Nor may the past be e'er by man unroll'd.”

Salome confess'd in spirit this rebuke,
And answer'd lowlily, like one afraid,
Who hath been marr'd—discover'd at a crime,—

“Can it be evil to instruct mankind,
And teach the froward what they should eschew,
That Earth's great garnish'd theatre may be
Cleans'd from the pageants that its purpose mar?”

“No!” said intrepidly the student; “No!
Cleanst as thou canst—it is a Godlike task
To purify as 'twere the ore of truth;
But to invoke for even such a blessing,
The heavenly power, to tend thy crucibles,

Denotes a spirit of some olden time.
The days of holy martyrdom are past,
And with them long have vanished away
The dominations of theocracy.
Statesmen now struggle in the bigot's part,
And reckless mar the conquests of the truth;
Yes! crimes, the spawn and brood of human law,
For sins are substituted in the world,
And in the judgment seat, Almighty God
No longer sits, but statute with a wig.
In ancient times and legendary days,
When priests were lordly in pre-eminence,
Duty and Truth were then in enmity;
For 'tis the nature of celestial light
To be deem'd fatal when but new and dazzling.”

Salome, half unawares, blushing, confus'd,
Enquir'd what sacred martyrdom had been,
When yet but idols were by men enshrin'd;
And the undaunted student thus replied,—

“Then, as it is—test of sincerity—
No evidence itself is it of truth;
But only that the martyr is sincere,
And yet not always was it truth he taught,—
Such as the servants of the gods approv'd.”

“What!” cried Salome, as wak'ning from a trance,
“Has it been e'er, that He, who is the highest,
Could be accounted as a meaner thing
Than the hew'd marble from the sculptor's shed?”

“Yes,” said the student, “It may have been so;
For to but think there is a Sire of all,
Betokens knowledge of a wider sweep
Than the conceptions of stone worshippers;
And I have heard, that, when in fabling times,
With bright'ning foreheads and in robes of shadow,
All things in Nature hail'd the rising sun,
One lived, whom men do still account in legends,
The first that perish'd in what then was deem'd
The cause of God. 'Twas thus the story ran;
Give ear and hear the mythologic tale—

“Far in the wilderness Abdallah roam'd,
And from his tents, he oft, at close of day,
When song or dance or tinkling revelry—
The pastoral pastimes of the evening hour—

Solac'd his swains, would walk abroad alone,
And note the unfoldings of the rolling year.

“One dewy twilight as Abdallah roam'd,
When from their haunts with slow sobriety,
The calm-eyed heifers to blithe damsels came
Around, observant of the evening sheen;
And while the Bulbuls warbl'd in their bowers,
Melodious serenades to sweeten night—
He saw a stripling and a matron come,
As Patriarch Abram saw depart away
Hagar and Ishmael, away, away,—
Their home the desert, and their couch the sod.

“He went to meet them, cheer'd them, for they seem'd
Wayworn and weary, needful of repose,
And bade them sojourn in his errant home.

“When in his tent they, thankful, had refresh'd:
They told him then of mighty images—
The gods of Egypt, upon jewell'd thrones,
By pontiffs serv'd, with ritual of the knee.

“Abdallah listen'd as they prideful spoke,
Till, as if suddenly inspir'd, he rose,
And went alone into the stilly air.

“The silent night to him grew eloquent
With starry demonstrations of the truth,
That all, in vision, form'd but one machine.
While, themes of glory, every orb sublime,
That in the firmament but uttered light,
Beam'd with intelligence. A new found sense
Was in his spirit, first awaken'd then,
And he discerned a mighty, wondrous One,
Who heard the perturbations of the mind.

“In that same hour, an oracle divine,
Within his bosom's sanctuary, bade
Him speed to Egypt, when the morning's sun
Spangl'd the sward, and with intrepid voice,
Arouse the neophytes along the Nile.

“Before the dawn, Abdallah, hast'ning, sped
To where the temples of proud Memphis shone;
And there he stood, with hands and eyes uprais'd,
High on the shelving steps of Isis' fane.
Antres and colonnades extended round,
The huge and pondrous weight of hills they bore,
And calm, stupendous effigies of kings

Smil'd awful, yet benign. Awhile he gaz'd,
And rapt, impassion'd as he gaz'd, thus spoke:
‘The things ye worship are as empty sounds;
But sound that wakens Echo when she sleeps,
Comes from a cause—your shapen stones have cause;
Their sires were men, their mothers were the hills;
Could they, oh, think ye, strew the skies with stars?
Praise Him who did, the only Father praise,
But not His works, nor aught that's visible—
Not ee'n that sun—the Maker only praise!
The glorious rainbow that adorns the cloud,
Gives no assurance, surer of that sun,
Than does the vision of the world, of Him.
Down with the images, and worship God!’

“The gather'd crowd deem'd the extatic swain
Smitten with craze; but in the hearts of others
His words were seeds—the seeds of Amaranths,
Which blessings sprinkled, glare celestial light;
And the hoar high priest tremblingly conven'd
A solemn meeting of the hierophants.

“Deep in a chamber, whose resounding dome
Colossals bore; within its whisp'ring vast,
By chains, enormous as constrictors, hung
A brazon dragon, with extended wings,
Breathing phantasmas of sepulchral light.

“They met at once, by different doors they came,
From cryptic labyrinths obscure beyond,
And all, as if by sympathy, as one
Resolv'd Abdallah should unpitied die.

“'Twas then that Bigotry first call'd on Fear
To vindicate by cruelty her power—
Fellest of fiends is he! With eager file
He rasp'd his prey, beginning at the heel.
And what Abdallah was, simmer'd and burn'd.”

Silent Salome stood shudd'ringly awhile,
Doubtful if e'er the servitors of stones
Had, as a foe, defied Omnipotence;
And then he question'd how it came to pass,
That men in worship ever bent the knee
To the creations of their own conceits.

Severe, unanswering, the student look'd,
While near the Demon thrill'd, alarm'd with dread—
Conscious the purport of the stern reply

Would mar his machinations; but the shadows
Of wind-born clouds, in breezy summer day,
Pass not more swiftly o'er the bright green hill,
Than chang'd the student's form: and mildly thus,
As if in pity for Salome's estate,
That aught was still of heaven from man withheld,
Said, “Oh, repress these turbid questionings.
What may it ever now avail to know,
How the gross creatures of primeval clay
Began to grovel with idolatry;
Or wherefore He, the ever omni wise,
Permits awhile the reign of Ignorance?”

“Then what is truth? what is the end of man?”
Salome enquir'd, meekly and diffident.
And solemnly the student, calm, replied,
As one that in the kingdom of his school,
Some old unquestion'd demonstration gives.

“That which Omnipotence wills to be known,
And He that made the universe to be,
Knows all the purposes for which he made it.
Man only this can know—that he does well
When for increase he aims; and ill or sin,
When he impedes the openings of that flower,
By heav'n ordain'd and planted for delight.
Her beautiful increase, which Nature prompts,
Instructs to duty, and we mortals know
Whate'er arrests it must be therefore wrong;
So works, indeed, God's engin'ry for good—
That we but need to strive in unison,
With its great diapasons! Look around,
How good deeds graciously improve the hearts
Both of the doers and the favour'd subjects,
While evil warns by woes what should be shunn'd.
Man's task in life is not to please himself,
But to perform a duty to the world—
The heavens themselves provide the consequence.”

Salome no answer made, but thoughtful stood,
With his fore finger press'd upon his lips,
And then, unheeding of a crowd that gather'd,
As if in audience to his monitor,
Slowly retir'd, and to the fields withdrew.

The sun was drowsy, curtain'd with a cloud,
The woodland songsters, mute in every bower,

Forbore to sing, as if he lay asleep;
The placid waters, as they softly flow'd,
Were all unrimpled by the gentle air,
That scarcely stirr'd the aspen's twinkling leaf;
And on their cot-roofs, solac'd by the noon,
The doves, reposing, only wak'd to coo;
All then was as if the blest gospel reign'd.

Salome afield, said to himself aloud,
“Is all that is in this fair beauteous world,
So good already, that man may not hope
To serve the end of its divine intentions?
I thought when once, as Fortune's thrall I toil'd,
To win such favour by my earnest suit,
As might embolden me to seek whate'er
To my condition could superior shine;
And when the vision of that hope departed,
I deem'd myself a heaven-selected one,
Who might control misrule. I had no cause
To feel that ought by it affected me:
For thou, the irresponsible, hast made me
But to be bold with Right. Back I return'd,
And thought to teach mankind another lore,
By which they might grow brighter to themselves;
But man, the finite, is not here to guide—
His task is to obey;—what am I, Heaven!
With such desires and panting in my breast,
And may not set them free? why was I made?
Why is it said Thou ne'er madst ought in vain,
And yet I am, and yet I have been made?”

A burst of tears accompanied his words:
He vehemently wept to be so lone,
In all the rimless universe of God,
As nothing void—a solitary sigh.

BOOK IV.

Upon the grave-mound of a fallen bole,
That once had wav'd the lordliest of the woods,
He sat him down; it was a mould'ring seat,
With furry moss and lichens overgrown;
And while he mus'd, dejected, he beheld
An old man coming, whom, in youthful days,
He oft had noted as one dreamy wise
In curious knowledge, to the learn'd unknown.

He call'd him to him, and awhile discours'd
Of young remembrances, till he had drawn
The musing mystic to relate a legend
Of fanciful cosmogony; it ran—
“Spirit and matter are the elements
With which in void the universe was made,
And that which mortals the beginning call
Is but some epocha of transformation.
Metempsychosis rules the organiz'd,
And all the systems in eternity
Have periods term'd; eruca-like they rise
As bright aurelias in the summer's shine.

“One night methought, as on my bed I lay,
The stars in pure unclouded beauty smil'd,
And seem'd to say we are but things like thee,
All beingless—the substance of idea.

“Fancy was startl'd, and, as if with fear,
Wing'd to Oblivion—ocean of the past—
And look'd around, but all was emptiness;
Not then was even old primeval night,
But the demensionless and Deity.

“Anon she saw a veil'd mysteriarch come,
Cloth'd in the tissue of the loom eterne,
And round him wrapt a mantling mystery.

“She bent in worship with religious thrill,
And turn'd to see what glory from behind
Show'd the Immense—the manifested God;
But only from Himself the splendour shone
Like light, but it was truth—that's light in Heaven.

“Anon she heard the monad's fiat sound,
As if the boundless word were circumscrib'd,
It was but “Be,” and instantly outglanc'd
Creation then, as some great worship fir'd
Flames to the welkin in bright numberless.
Primeval darkness shiver'd into stars,
And all the angels, sparkling into view,
Mingl'd an anthem of triumphant joy:
‘The Lord Omnipotent is on his throne!’

“Spurning, as if her starry sandals rous'd
Some dreadful power that in God's fallow slept,
Creation started, and then Evil rose,
Alarm'd, enrag'd, and at th' Almighty flung
Missiles, to which the central orbs of time
Are as to them as sand to yon mid sun.

“Then came Attraction, voiceless orator,
Persuasive, and the universe around
Arrang'd itself, obedient to his will.
The earth rush'd furiously, from chaos hurl'd,
Formless and void—scatt'ring enormous things;
A radiance like herself opaque, but she
Was then the kernel of what since hath been.

“The phase of Fancy's vision then was chang'd,
And vapoury nebulæ that random rov'd,
Aimless and purposeless, the vast abyss,
Came tenur'd vassals of the Voiceless Power.
Some clasp'd the mountains—some, resolv'd to rain,
Ran into hollows, and became the deep,
Quenching the conflagration of the hills
To ashy soil; and some in silv'ry streams,
With lingring links, in herbless vallies flow'd.

“The wond'ring seraphim, amaz'd, beheld
The hidden method of the Maker's course,
And mark'd the mystery. It still endures.
Nothing at first he ever perfect forms,
But ever new developments evolves.
Thus haply from the deficated dust
Of mortals purified, ambrosial flowers
Will bloom and beautify the world restor'd.

“The angel multitude then form'd a sphere
Of glorious visages, serene and bright,
A vaster concave round the earth than shines
The spangl'd sapphire of the midnight sky;
And while they gaz'd, the bridling power that rein'd
Wild Motion, suddenly affrighten'd, fled,
And orbs and orbicles exploding, burst
Like havoc shells, and then the planets were.

“Such was the first beginning, but sometimes
In space, as tempests volley in the air,
Almighty wrath in vehemence careers,
Whirling as hail—accursed worlds and suns.
The moon remain'd a portion of the earth,
And then rose mastadons and mamouths vast,
Stupendous things, that fed on forest trees,
And giants drove them forth to pasturage.

“In that great cycle of the wonders, Earth
Flung from her bosom's centrical abyss
A murmuring energy, whose type is steam;
And on its wings the lunar pageant came.

“Attraction soon the flying fragments drew
Around the sun, which thence became the centre,
And will remain till Time's parabola
Be finish'd, and the third beginning come.

“Aw'd Fancy musing then on meteor wings,
Down to the shatter'd of the earth career'd,
And there beheld all perishing around
Those mighties, fodderless, whose mould'ring bones
Perplex philosophy, as famish'd die
Helpless, on wrecks, the shipmen when at sea,
Fierce nitre kindl'd has their vessel torn.

“Here while she wander'd, and could but behold
Rash refted rocks and whiten'd billows drive,
To dark abysses, wherein fury roar'd,
Mocking as drivel Niagara's roar;
She saw around Destruction's wain o'erturned—
Crush'd by its load, the ruins of a world.
Then sounding venter caves, yawning devour'd,
And as they gorg'd, their backs the Andes rear'd;
Broad continents emboss'd with hills arose—
Arose the cyclades with all the isles.
And Nature then unclos'd her eyes—the flowers.

“Huge quadrupeds came gamboling, and sweet
The happy birds in bower and on the wing,

Began that matin hymn, whose harmonies
Still fill the cupola of heaven with joy.
Then came the seraphim, the beauteous bright,
Charm'd to approach by ear-delighting hues,
The heart-seen colours of melodious sounds,
And saw majestical, benign, and calm,
A noble creature decorate the earth:
It lowly knelt, and rais'd its eyes to heaven,
Trembling with thankfulness for being made:
And when it rose, they welcom'd sinless man.
But though on theories of daring wing,
The sage may so explore eternity—
Fly where they will, they can but ever see
That God's corporeal is the universe.”

Salome sedately sat with thirsty ears,
Drinking refreshment to his spirit, while
The old man spoke; but when the tale was told,
He said, as one uneasy and unsated,
“How may I know what you have told is true,
For but the truth in such great sequences,
The being man, may not unerring quest?”

The lored elder half evasive, then
Replied, as if he saw divulg'd around
Heaven's viewless delegates, that daunt deceit:—
“The past is manour'd to imagination;
And that is truth, or meant to be the truth,
Which seems most probable—we know not else,
The esotericks of philosophy.”

“Then go, old man, thy dreams are not for me;”—
Highly Salome said, as in pride of might,—
“All things are God's conductors to effects.”

So saying, hastily he strode away,
From the green grave mound of the crumbling bole—
His mind dishevel'd, and his purposes
Adrift, and rudderless; the world to him
Was barren, as the herbless ebbed shore,
And he himself, as some poor waif astray,
In pastures ownerless, lost and unknown.

Ill, with the friendless, often walks afield;
And at his side, the demon, unrepuls'd,
Took courage from the aspect of his thoughts,
Which then were sullen, full of grudges fell,
That he from Nature had inherited

Such gen'rous wishes to improve mankind,
Such hopes to aid the bias of his breast,
And yet to be as worthless as the gem
Lost in the shingle of the ocean caves.

“Why do I thus,” he cried, “desire to prove
Myself no sluggard in the tasks of Fame,
And yet the world be as a sick man's dream—
Illusion, void, a vacuum, to me?
Why am I here so to myself offensive?
Where is the antidote for what I bear?
But thou art thriftless, wasteful of thy wealth;
The weeds, the tares, the guilty and inane,
Avouch thy reckless prodigality.
If thou hast nought for me, dread Heaven, to do,
And as thy nettle I may but offend,
Canst thou impute to me the sin of being?
When I was glowing with the pride of youth,
The spring in blossom was a budless winter
To my anticipations. Why didst Thou,
Breathing a blight, so wither them away?
Why, when I thought to build a monument,
With blessed bowr's, in yon far sunny land,
Was I so shaken from that bright design?
And why, again, amidst these natal scenes,
Where I to Thee would glorious altars raise,
Am I so met with crude imaginings?”

Pleas'd with his perturbations, which betoken'd
The drossy man, the demon warily
Suggested baleful thoughts, such as arise
When pityless adversity assails
With pelt and scorn, the would be great, who deem
Their own desires to rule, promptings of Heaven.

Thus, when Salome, in that abortive hour,
While Reason play'd such antics, as Despair
Could not extenuate, ev'n to Remorse,
Eternal Providence, with lidless eye,
Sat in accustom'd vigilance sublime;
And, as he rav'd, as one that is repuls'd,
While conscious of deservings, show'd afar,
From out the leafy cloisters of a grove,
A veteran coming from the warring world.

Salome beheld him lingeringly advance,
And waited for him, to partake the cheer

Of his companionship. His mein and visage
Betoken'd trials in courageous fields,
For it was firm and lordly, as the tower
That crests defiance on a border hill,
But calm withal, as the old village fane,
Whose star-tipp'd steeple points the way to Heav'n.

His smile foretold sedate urbanity,
And in the easy of his cheerfulness,
Was nought of that familiar hardihood,
Which gives admonishment to confidence;
Yet was he one, a prankful bragging boy,
With hands behind, had dimpling, stood in doubt,
If he might dare, while irking, to disturb.

When they had paction'd to proceed together,
The shrewd and hoary veteran, felt as if
A thrill descended on his spirit's heart.
He saw the pensive visage of Salome,
But seemingly, as if he saw it not,
And spoke to him of sorrows he had seen.

“The world,” said he, “hath oft, in many a nook,
Sights that would sadden the gay sun to see;
Nor are its holidays all bright and fair,
When Feeling struggles with Adversity.”

“In Venice town, what time her arsenals
Were all as idle as an invalid,
I saw a lady once—a stately dame,
The sudden widow of a proud mercanti,
Who, at St. Mark's, had been a prosp'rous man,
But died of that disease call'd bankruptcy.
She, with her children, in the ribald street,
Thirteen pale daughters, and three pretty boys,
So like my own—my heart! my heart! their cries
Were as if music dead had sent its ghost
To wail sad discords for their poverty.
Their songs were revel songs—so went the words.
And when a begging monk, a capuchin,
Took them away, and ask'd her weepingly,
Why they had sung, she proudly said, ‘Despair
Appeals to man—Rejected by our God.’

“Yet have I nothing witness'd in the world,
But hath its compensation. Direst wounds,
Which either grief or iron may inflict,
Have their's, if we explore, or can but wait;

But man, regardless of the past and future,
Laments his present sufferings as immortal.
Thrall'd by his finity, obtuse and blind,
He gropes in Nature, often all awry,
And mars her music, when he tries to mend
The harmonies that God himself attun'd.
We daring scan the mysteries of Heaven,
And wince and wail at what we deem misfortunes,
As if man were not but an atom thing,
In the dimensionless, the Universe.
He grides, 'tis true, a peg in the machine,—
What if the stress on him relieves another,
And bubbles bursting on the earth, denote
Some first creation of a better world?”

Salome grew heedful as they journey'd on,
And from the veteran learnt—it seem'd like wisdom—
That men but suffer by their vain endeavours,
To make the world of God their instrument;
And thaw'd to confidence, by the free heart
Of his companion, told him all his tale.

The veteran eye'd him with a thoughtful eye,
And then said piteously, “Alas! young man,
Thou still dost deem thyself master of Fate,
And see'st the balanc'd world, as if it were
Not fram'd and impuls'd, like a living thing.
Strive yet, Oh! strive, to see high Heaven's contrivance,
As it was made, not as the cloister'd owl,
Deep in its motley cell imaginest;
Nor as th' enthusiasts, who dwell apart
From men, conceive in their fantastic dreams;
But as a soldier, in a war of perils.
For Fancy, ever holds supremacy
O'er all the faculties of those, who shun
The haunts and habitudes of worldly men,
Writhing like Reason when bewilder'd most.”

Discoursing thus, they slowly journeying reach'd
A modest home-nest, in a rural bower;
And there, as travellers in need of rest,
They sought together refuge for the night.
For then behind the western hills, the sun
Had sunk to his repose, and lengthing dark
Came shadows from the heights; but still his beams
With amber radiance fill'd the summer air,

And all the greenwood glitter'd with the glow.
The hour and aspect of the hazy calm
Bespoke serenity, till holy nature
Diffus'd her twilight, and appeased the heart.
Blest sequence in the ordinal of Time;
When all the many colour'd day has fail'd
To cheer the bosom, oft the troubl'd thoughts
Own the sweet influence of the evening hour.

Allusive to Dr. Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne's hypothesis of the none existence of material things.

This hypothesis was suggested by Dr. Buckland's critique, on the beginning of Genesis. How much puzzling he would have saved had he read for “Heaven and Earth,”—mind and matter.

There could not be evil before creation.

The Newtonian theory—certainly better than any other yet promulgated—explains the cause of the forms of the systems of the universe; but it is only a theory.

Buffoon, in his theory of the cosmogony, makes the Sun the parent of the solar system. But I do not see any good reason for thinking that the Earth could not have been as fit to be the mother of all. An old Lady, in my schoolboy days, speaking of Buffoon, said she made an attempt to read his book: but it appeared to her to be buff, on and on. Can a better criticism be yet made of his cosmogony?

I do not recollect who first imagined that the moon was originally a portion of the earth, but if she was, it cannot surely be heterodox to think that then the mastadons were. I once saw bones of a Lizard which must have been odds of 125 feet in length.

BOOK V.

A blameless pastor in that dwelling, saw
But Heaven's beneficence, and his discourse
Was all of Nature's universal feast.

“Think, think, Oh! think,” to sad Salome, he said,
“If man would but the good and beautiful
Still seek to find, how much of both remains
Amid the penalties that he is heir to?
But ne'er content, in fancy man, a God,
Would, in his folly, mend what God hath made.
Yes; all the harshnesses of Life and Time,
Spring from the efforts of his arrogance,
As if a part could e'er the whole constrain.”

The lurking demon heard him, and awoke
Ambition that lay slumbering in Salome,
With vague desires, to know how it might best
Marshal the efforts, that unfold to Fame;
For only hopes to build himself renown
On noble deeds, he knew, would move Salome.

But lo! the watchfulness that is on high!
In its own way, mysterious Providence
Discern'd the movements of the errant's mind,
And thus inspir'd the pastor to relate
The wayward shiftings of an ancient tale,

To sooth Salome, as if his bosom-gloom
Fell from the cloud of human discontent.

“Bright to the occident,” said the old man,
“Had roll'd in royalty the monarch sun,
And all the hierophants of Belus stood
Before his altar in proud Babylon,
Waiting the time, when by his oracle
He would the fortunes of the throng disclose
Then in the temple, anxious for the time.
Nor stood they long, till, as a clanging gong
Through all the echoings of the aisles around,
A signal sounded that the day was done.

“The priest Adzaar at the altar served;
And stepping forward said, with solemn voice,
To Paturis—a humble artizan,
Who came the fortunes of his child to know:—

“‘Speak to the Deity, by offerings speak;
Man from himself, by hope or fear, may hide
The dire fore-knowledge of predestin'd woe,
But only truth will awful Belus see.’

“‘I am a father,’ Paturis replied:
To me last night an only son was born;
As beautiful as the celestial stars
His infant graces shine. If the endowments
Of his supernal incorporeal part
Equal his form, he has been sent to earth
To raise and purify the race of man.’

“‘You speak with hope,’ the pontiff then replied:
‘Remember votary, that but to one quest
Of hope or fear, will the dread God attend.
Which do you choose?’ ‘Ill comes to all too soon,
And I would learn but good.’—the father answer'd.

“Adzaar then replied, ‘Speak not, but do;
Take in thy hand, and to that veiled priest
The sacred symbols of thy wishes give,
And as to Heaven, in pyramids of flame,
The fragrant emblems of unutter'd thought
Ascending rise, upon the wall behold
In hieroglyphics, Belus voice display'd!’

“Then Paturis, from off the golden censor
Took herbs and flowers, and with a trembling hand
Gave them to the mysterious. Anon,
Bright on the wall, flame characters appear'd.

“‘Courage and honour with your son shall be,
And wealth, or wisdom's great inheritance,
Belus declares,’ said the interpreter.

“‘What! till he die,’ exclaimed glad Paturis.
‘Thou hast forgot thy silence,’ cried the priest,
‘Tremendous Belus will no more be question'd.’

“Meanwhile, without, upon a terrace stood,
Zadig and Ober, kin of Paturis,
Contemplating the cloudless setting sun,
Which on the gorgeous towers and golden domes
Of Babylon, as glory blaz'd; and thus
Admiring, Zadig to his brother said:—

“‘On every spire and gilded pinnacle
Kindles a star; pillars and porticoes
Unfold around, as if the God of light,
Enthron'd in his magnificence supreme,
Sat showering, measureless and prodigal,
Spangles and sparkling gems. Lo! see you that!
Towering to Heaven, engarmented in flame?
Something less short-lived than the lightning's flash,
And yet as bright, now Belus' temple clears.
What could the blazing prodigy portend?’
‘Old Paturis,’ sedater Ober answer'd,
‘Did this day purpose to consult the God,
Of his son's fortunes; and yon tower of fire
Might have affinity to what he sought.’

“While as they wonder'd at the sudden blaze,
Esetorah and Irzah thus discours'd—
Two hierophants of Belus;—Irzah said,
‘Why did you fire the train? since I have been
From marvelling boyhood sacred to the God,
That flaming vision never has so glar'd.’

“‘The son of Paturis,’ was the reply,
‘In the same hour was with the princess born,
The cherub daughter of great Aldrozar.
These are coincidences we should note,
That if hereafter aught occur by either,
It may be then remember'd how our God
Seem'd to foretell the chance, and bring to mind
That, at the casting of their horoscopes,
Shone marvels manifest, and honour thence
Will come by us, to all-discerning Belus.
Your heedful task is to assist in this,—

Find fitting persons to be join'd with you,—
One as her shadow, to attend the Princess,
The other, on her gifted synchronist,
And bring them hither to be taught by me.’

“By such devices, old Theocracy
Maintain'd of yore its awful domination.

“Irzah fit agents found, and they were taught,
To watch, but not affect, what time display'd.

“When years had pass'd, with beauty bloom'd mature
The tended synchronists. The fairest rose
That ever blush'd in Babylon was she;
And he an eagle that would dare the sun:
But still unknown, they to each other liv'd.
Nature, triumphant with what she had made,
Seem'd to declare them destin'd for each other;
But Fate stood by, remorselessly she stood,
As ever gamester watch'd a dicer's throw,
When riches, or when ruin, were the stake:
But those in adverse states, by Nature form'd
To be as one, are never join'd below
Without some forfeiture or penalty.

“At last arose, resounding from afar,
The blast of nuptial trumpets, and the shouts
Of all the multitudes of Babylon;
While beauteous Mauris from the palace came,
The bride of Nizam, aged King of Ind.
Carring magnificent amidst the joy,
She saw, as sages see, some glorious star
Amidst the darkness of tumultuous clouds,
Oram the gifted son of Paturis,
And on the splendour of her beauty fall
Sadness, while he the influence partook,
And from the glory of her beams withdrew.

“‘The stars may be the eyes of Heaven,’ he cried;
‘Dews glance like Gods, and the confiding smile
Of heedless, harmless Innocence, delighting
In those it most should dread, are beautiful,
But cannot shed such blessings on the heart,
As yon bright vision which hath pass'd away.
Born on the self-same day, in the same hour,
I could not but desire, with all the town,
To see the Princess from her bridal pass.
Darkly I stood unseen, high and around

Came forth the shining orbicles of light;
But till she blaz'd, I thought the dazzl'd sun
Had all the beauty that the Gods could give!
But now I feel th' incompetence of man
To think the thought of what they can perform.
Oh! born to drudge, I may not see unblam'd
With beating heart, how Fortune's minions shine.—
Why is it so? is it so will'd by Nature,
Or comes it from the polity of man?
For high and low are states of his contrivance.
I was born lowly—wherefore was I so?
Great Nature marshall'd me as she does heroes,
And but for man made chaos, laws and orders,
I had been as the Babylonian King.
Yet not of righteous Nature I complain—
For all she does is fated with progression;
The bud reveals the leaf and then the bloom,
And the long year, with slow developments,
Rolls to maturity—the child to man.’

“Then wandering lonely to the cypress shades,
Amidst the tombs, around proud Babylon,
He thus till eve indulged in reverie.

“‘Spirits of life, whose mystic domicile,
While on the earth, was in the human breast,
Into what regions have you now return'd?
Nor rank, nor drudgery, molest you more.
Benignant justice—universal love
Reigns over all, and mates you by endowments.
The gentle with the gentle happy join,
The lowly with the lowly, and but there
The beauteous with the beautiful are blest.’

“Gleaming athwart the tombs and trees, he then
Beheld a matron glidingly approach;
And ere his awe could take the form of words,
She rais'd her veil, and thus his mother spoke:—

“‘Why thus, Oram, so at this twilight hour,
Shun your companions, and no longer share
Their jocund pastimes?’ ‘'Tis my mood,’ he said,
‘Here, unmolested, I may gaze on Heaven.
Methinks I see at every star on high,
A wakeful warder holding solemn watch,
As if the Gods had dread expectancy;
While vast afar, the city's ocean-voice

Orac'lous sounds, as if with prophecy.’

“The matron smil'd, as mothers smile, and said,
‘Thou hast been ever a fantastic boy.
The undisclos'd hereafters may possess
Some mystical predominances; but Oram,
The jeering neighbours say thou art in love,—
Thy eagle thoughts, which on the sun undazzl'd
Aspiring gaz'd, must soon, I ween, come down.’

“Delating Oram to her care replied,
‘But is not Nature fetter'd—all in bondage,
And only waits, some freeman's willing arm
To set her free from laws, the gyves of man.
Love is all sight,—It is a heavenly power,
That gives a mortal courage to perform
Those feats of enterprise which Fate requires,
When every common quality of man
Is ineffectual or inadequate.’

“She heard him, smil'd, and led him to her home,
Where soon, consenting to her tender care,
He chose a maiden of his own degree;
But while with friends and joyous gossips round,
The feast of the espousal was complete,
Th' impassion'd bridegroom fled. Fast after him,
The anxious mother pray'd him to return.

“‘Alas! my son,’ the sadding matron cried,
‘Is not thy bride as fair as maidens be,
In that estate in which thy lot is laid?
It is a dream which says that aught but toil
Can ever be in thy abas'd condition.’
‘But my condition,’ sternly cried the youth,
‘Comes of the doom'd contrivances of man,
And may by man be chang'd. How is the King
In more esteem with Nature than myself?
Do pearls, diseases that in shell fish ache,
Exempt him from the penalties of life?—
I will return no more: advis'd by you,
I took upon me man-invented vows,
Which now, too late, I rue. What is the world?—
A thing of kings and slaves which man has made!—
That I should shrink from that inheritance,
Which righteous Nature tells me is my own?’

“The yearning mother said with flowing eyes,
‘To feel the right is not to rightly feel.’

But he, regardless of maternal sorrow,
Shunn'd her caress, and sullenly withdrew.

“Meantime, a startling peal at Belus' portal,
Demanded entrance for a visitor,
And presently another louder clang
Proclaim'd the stranger was of great account;
Then Aldrozar, the King of Babylon,
Came in alone, and thus himself announc'd:—

“‘Why have I waited at your lordly door?
Had I been sordid as a menial slave,
You and your God could not have been more haughty.’

“A priest, intrepidly made this reply:—
‘The awful Gods, Sir, know not kings nor slaves;
These are conditions of the world begotten.
They know but men, things of their own creation.’

“The King rebuk'd, with humble accents said,
‘I came to know what Fate to Belus tells.
My daughter Mauris, form'd so beautiful,
Shall now endure from her predestin'd fortune;—
She has return'd: her aged lord is dead.’

“Esetorah, unbending, thus replied,
‘But one day in the cycle of the year,
The Deity his dread responses gives
Of dooms and fortunes. This is not the day;
The God is absent now, nor will return
Before the unclaim'd hour, that floats between
The past recorded, and to morrow's promise.’

“Aw'd by the hierophant, the monarch said,
‘We know that Mauris was to Nizam wedded;
On that great day, she saw amidst the throng,
A low born youth, with such endowments grac'd,
That since the sight her bosom's peace has pin'd,
As if with guilty thoughts almost possess'd.’

‘Tell me not that,’ said the calm hierophant,
‘But come at midnight, and prefer your prayer,
In all your pomp as King of Babylon.
The gorgeous outside shows a humble heart,
When mankind render homage to the great.’

“Then from the portico, a cry arose,
‘Come Aldrozar, come King of Babylon!
For Oram now with all the fiery youth,
Demands in thunder, at your palace gate,
The Princess Mauris, his created bride.’

“‘Another,’ as an oracle exclaim'd:—
‘But all the high born who have social strength,
In treasure, knowledge, and the wit to give,
Without offence—from old-time honour'd means—
Aid to their fellows, now determin'd arm;
The gates are guarded, and the towers are mann'd.
The frantic rave of Oram's frantic throng,
Is all awry from that which Nature teaches;
No two things ever that by her was made,
Although most similar, were e'er alike;
The very faces of mad Oram's men
Refute his notions by their hues and forms,
And prove that there will be, as ever was,
A difference—though a similarity.
Come Aldrozar, come King of Babylon!’

“Thus so it chanc'd; and at the midnight hour,
With all his pageantry, King Aldrozar
Attended the responses of the God,
And cried aloud, ‘I would but vengeance know!
The low born Oram, whom my daughter Mauris
Saw in the crowd upon her wedding day,
Led forth in arms the shouting multitude,
And claim'd the overthrow of all the bounds
With which society was fenc'd of old.
But now he is my captive safe in chains.’

“Highly and solemnly the priest replied,
‘The emblems of the God's response in flames,
Will shine athwart—tell me now what thou seest?’
He look'd, and then with awe and reverence said,
‘A sun, and moon, and stars, in a blue sky!’

“‘There always will be sun, and moon, and stars,’
Replied the hierophant. ‘What dost thou see?’

“King Aldrozar again said, ‘Loaded trees;
And every tree is of a different kind—
The leaves are different, different as the fruits.’

“‘That is society: there every man
Must in his season, as the branches bend,
Bring forth his fruit. What dost thou now behold?’

“‘A spectre with the types of royalty;
Around, as subjects, kneel all earthly kings.’

“‘That form is Death, king over all is he,
And Belus wills the daring youth should die.
What dost thou see?’ ‘Nothing; 'tis all now blank.

“‘The God reveals no more,—Belus is mute.’”

An invalid is occasionally subject to strange ruminations. One day in Autumn, I was placed at the window, when soon after a violent showery squall rattled the house, “What,” said I to myself, “is the use of such a day as this, but to spoil a' the puir folks corn.” But just in the moment, an old woman appeared in the streets truggling with the blast; her shoe, or bachle rather, came off, and she stooped to put it on. The action suggested the thought, that such days, at least, helped to improve the world. Thus shoes give employment to cordwainers; these employ tanners, who deal with butchers, butchers with farmers, farmers pay rent to landlords, landlords buy books and employ artists, and authors and artists promote the edification of mankind.

BOOK VI.

Th' Assyrian tale the aged pastor told,
As if he thought the sadness of Salome
Proceeded from some unavailing fondness
Which the fram'd system of the world forbade;
And the shrewd veteran mark'd, with heedful eye,
The coursing shadows that his visage show'd
At every incident, and saw his fancies
Were all the issue of some early passion,
Like that which fir'd the Babylonian boy;
But nothing said, for night was wearing late,
And sleep invited to the bower of dreams.

Salome, still thoughtful, restless on his bed
Writh'd, as if struggling with a malady,—
And with a malady he did contend;
For o'er his spirit, with the grasps of passion,
The Demon of his Destiny was lord,
Or tried to be, despite of all the aids
That Nature lent him for such midnight strife.

At last the orient mantl'd morning smil'd
Into his chamber, and the birds without
Sooth'd his rack'd bosom to tranquillity;
But, with the contest of the dismal night,
He look'd so woe-begone, haggard, and wan,
That all might see how dreadful in his breast
Had been the Earthquake of his cogitations.

The blameless pastor ponder'd at the sight,
Deeming, perchance, in some unguarded hour,
He had obey'd the instigating fiends;
For deeper far he saw into his soul
The iron had enter'd, than he ever thought—
Mild blameless man—could passion without guile;
And thus while yet the way-worn veteran slept,
His legendary lore a tale supplied,
By which he thought to calm his guest again.

“Lone on the moorland liv'd an Anchorite,
Who ever silent mus'd, and with his sighs,
Which burst in anguish as he sat forlorn,
Oft Nature sympathis'd, and from their caves
The pitying Echoes, moaning, shar'd his woe.

“What care or crime had scorch'd his sinless heart,
When in the world he brav'd the war of men,

Was undivulg'd. The list'ning solitude
But only heard one sad lamenting moan.

“Once, in the sultry of a summer's day,
When rills from uplands were as strings of stars,
Where torrents rag'd, sleep on him fell.
And when he woke, his alter'd look appear'd
As if the slumber had subdued his pain.
And it was so; for he in trance had seen
The Great Assize,—the solemn day of Heaven;
And thus the vision of his dream disclos'd:—

“‘Methought I stood upon a lofty tower,
And from the battlements, beheld around
The rimless realm of the Almighty God;
And where I stood, refulgent roll'd below
The cycl'd and the circling worlds of time.

“‘The sight was glorious; countless orbs around
Shone in the boundless vast, and forms all sight
Were visible, on merciful intents,
Amidst the linked spheres—Angels of God
Bright issuing ever from the gates of Heaven.

“‘While I that horizonless scene survey'd,
And that infinitude of holy fires
Which, wing'd with glory, erranded with bliss,
Pervaded all the orbits of Creation,
I saw reveal'd, as to the guardian powers
That ward the several destinies of worlds
All things are shown, whate'er in them is seen:
The secret hearts of those that there inhabit
Were not laid bare; but by the eye of God
Their occultations are alone discern'd.

“‘Startling my mood of wonder, as I gaz'd,
A mighty seraph came to Heaven's gate,
And with a trumpet blazon'd an alarm
So mighty, universal, and so dread,
That it was almost as the judgment voice
Of the Omnipotent, pronouncing doom.

“‘But ere I could from my amazement rouse,
I saw the space in which the planets roll'd
As in the air, all scintillate,—and from
Each orb, past angels' computation, rise
Millions on millions of the souls of those
Who had as mortals liv'd responsible.

All different seem'd,—not two were there alike,
And each was by itself to be adjudg'd.

“‘Anon I heard, while standing on that tower,
A hurl far louder than the thunder's hurl,—
Yea, more tremendous than all sounding sounds,—
And presently from out Heaven's portal came
The winged chariots which were stor'd of old
In God's great arsenal, between the Mounts,
Moving instinctively; for now was then
The solemn day for which they were prepar'd.

“‘Then I beheld, descending to the Earth,
A stream of radiance,—as down Etna's steep
The fiery torrents of the lava pour,—
But more in splendour, brightly luminous,
Than sheen of day, seen in some vault obscure
Piercing the gloom—all other light shut out.

“‘Then o'er the spirit of my dream a change
Came suddenly, and I upon the earth
Stood in the valley of Jehosaphat,—
Where, like the morn unfolding, I beheld
The Judge of all, with all his angels, come—
A blaze unspeakable. Upon my heart
I felt the glow of that sublimity—
And round arose as 'twere th' autumnal stir
Of wither'd leaves in lone primeval woods.
Then I beheld, all holding hand in hand,
The generations of the human kind
Conven'd from Death to learn their final doom.

“‘Bare beggars of a Royal line were there,—
Those who had rotted in uncoffin'd rags,
Yet heirs of thrones and principalities.
There, too, were scions of the proud superb,
Humbl'd and pale; and from the gallows tree,
The felon sons of many a virtuous Sire:
Born slaves, with diadems of Kings, and all
That sullied or adorn'd the sentenc'd earth.

“‘I saw there, too, my deadliest foeman frown
Only at me, and him I deem'd my friend,
Blush as he saw me. All my father's house
Scowl'd at me sullenly, and all my mother's;—
But she received me with a mother's heart,
As if well pleas'd the Great Assize was come.

“‘There, too, was seen, benign as lunar light,

The fair that cheer'd me in the vernal day,
Shining as lovely and incredulous,
As when I wept to see her pass away.
But who shall reckon the assembl'd there,
Save only Him who keeps the Book of Life.

“‘While all stood waiting, in a twinkling gather'd,
A voice was heard above the glorious throng,
As if a father called his little ones,
At which the children from their parents sprung—
And sparkling, numberless, flew up to Heaven—
The destin'd cherubs of Eternity.

“‘Then was the volume of the Lord unclasp'd,
And all around a wail of fear arose—
Th' unconscious utterance of the self-condemn'd.—
And an archangel bade the convicts then
To fit appointed cells and dungeons go,—
Their everlasting jails. The blest serene
Mounted aloft into beatitude.

“‘Another change then on my spirit fell,
And I was all forlorn; around me lay
Strange vestiges of men, with creatures dead;
The channels of all streams run out, were dry,—
The mountain springs had leap'd from their last rocks—
All leaves were fallen,—sound itself was dumb,—
And every wind was as a dead man's breath.
Great Niagara! voice of inland seas,
Mute as the mummies of the pyramids,
Show'd life was done, and time itself no more.

“‘Then soon I heard myself, the final one,
Summon'd by name, commanded to declare
Why I still linger'd last of all that liv'd.
Glowing with courage never felt before,
I lowlyly but firmly made reply:—

“‘Thou know'st my heart; within the Book of Life
Is written all I ever thought or did:
And thus, too, are unmitigated told
Those dismal sequences I could but rue
Of my mysterious fate. Why was it so?
Why did all others prosper by the guide
That here remains, the ultimate of men?
Grant me but justice! Thou canst but be just,—
Life was unsought, and I have known but woe.

“‘With that compassion which a parent hears

The themeless babble of his idiot child,
The piteous Judge then motion'd to reply;
But, ere his words my anxious hearing blest,
The trance departed, and I woke appeas'd.’”

Salome survey'd the pastor while he spoke,
And thoughtful listening, as he sat beside him,
Said, with sad pregnant eyes, when he had done:—
“Why sound me thus, as if within my heart
Were aught all-sighted Heaven did not discern?
My aim in youth was Fortune's aid to gain,
Which rules mankind,—that I might then command:
And when she turn'd from me, I deem'd myself
Still fit to earn some guerdon of renown,
The hire of noble deeds,—that glorious prize
Which, more than gold, is worshipp'd by the world.
But all that was in me of hope is wither'd—
My life's abortive, and for that I mourn.
All things have purpose, but untask'd, I pine.
The tear of grief relieves the heavy heart,—
The pains of suffering waken anxious love;
But I am useless,—ay, as fortitude
That cheats compassion at the couch of ail.”

Meantime the veteran of the world had enter'd,
And heard Salome, as to their host he thus
Pour'd the corrosive of his discontent;—
He look'd at him, beheld his hopeless mein,
And warily, like one in cities bred,
Said, as unheeding, but advisedly:
“Men often fall the victims of themselves,
Mistaking wishes and desires for powers
That justify their ineffectual aims.
None but the gifted, Heaven's mysterious own,
Have influence on the structure of the world.
The multitudes, that into being rise,
Are but as hands and limbs, agents of toil;
And those who think that impulse is endowment,
See not themselves, alas! as others see them.”

“Yes!” cried the pastor, taking up the theme,
“Since the first taste of the forbidden tree,
Men have been thralls to what they Reason deem.
Reason, that is in every one unlike,
Is judg'd by all as if it were the same;
And yet 'tis but some mystical secretion

Of Nature, as she works in different men
With humours, passions, likings and dislikes.”

“But think not, stranger,” said the veteran
To pale Salome, “that though on all the earth
Man, with his Reason, can but ill achieve,
There is not yet some high controlling might
That turns his errors to a blest account.
Whatever is, is but as is a germ
That will unfold into the amaranth;
And he who deems that we are but for life,—
Our only end,—and death maturity,
Should ask himself, why does the vernal wind
Shake buds to leaves, or summer's blandishments
Caress the harvest till the autumn come?
No, no; poor man, in wit so arrogant,
Forgets his momentary state,—a mote
That flickers in a ray, vouchsaf'd of God;
And judges of the boundless engin'ry,
As of a thing wound up to tell him time.
All that shall be, is, and will come to pass;
But nought that man may of himself resolve
Bears any vouchers for a progeny.”

In such discourse they pass'd the morning hours;
And when they had dispatch'd their temp'rate meal,
The pastor rose, on rural cares intent,
As well became his frugal homeliness,
While the staid vet'ran show'd that he conjectur'd
The bosom's malady that irk'd Salome.

Unansw'ring long, the Errant musing sat,
Till, as the daylight of a cloudy morn
Dawns dubiously, the cheerless thought arose,
That, though so goaded by his Love, unblest
In early youth, he strove for eminence,
Nature on him had but bestow'd desire,—
Withholding that diviner faculty
Which is the motherhood of wealth or fame,
And hung his head like one that feels, when late,
He has too bravely challeng'd destiny.

Just then the demon, as the pastor, enter'd,
And as if coming from his rural thrift,
Join'd the wayfarers, mingling in discourse;
For in the shaded fancy of Salome
He saw the omen of a change portend,

That might effect his wiles and stratagems:
Aware that hitherto the youth conceived
Himself predestin'd for some great design.

With artful phrase, the guileful wove his speech
To rouse the hopes which he in youth inspir'd,
To urge Salome to crave pre-eminence.
And chiefly then he tried to work anew
The young conceit of gifts inherited,
To work the defication of mankind.

Believing him to be their pious host,
The veteran heard, as one submissive hears,
Impassion'd eloquence, beyond the need.
And when he told, with many a devious bout,
Of how the pristine world was sinless fram'd,—
And how by forfeit, for their parents' sin,
Men had incurr'd vengeance and wrath, he turn'd
To sad Salome, and feign'd a mystic tale
Of things devised on high,—what time the world
Was for its guiltiness all wash'd away.
“Yes!” he exclaim'd, “though penalty of old
Stood sentinel in arb'rous Eden's bower
Like the fam'd griffin in Hesperides,
Guarding the golden fruit,—Genius was not;
And Heav'n, that ne'er undoes, nor turns to mend,
When it decreed the world should be restor'd,
Created Genius,—and at times assigns
That glorious emanation of itself
As a new quality, ordain'd to bear
Mankind into a brighter state on high,
When Death, Its messenger, summonses us hence,
Or in this domicile to cleanse the mind.”

Thus, till convinc'd he had secur'd his hearing,
He seem'd in Fancy as a bard to dream;
And then, as an apocalypse, he told
Of mysteries past, and ratified by Fate.

Milton.

BOOK VII.

“At that solemnity,” said he, “in Heaven,
When Justice told how the Avenger Wrath
Had sternly swept the guilty world away,
The wonted oracle of God proclaim'd

A new creation, destin'd to unfold
The renovation of the world destroy'd.

“‘Now Hell rejoices,’ said the oracle,
‘And rings with triumph, as for vict'ry won
O'er Heaven's all-conquering host, deeming mankind,
In direful preference for ill, will now
As vassals serve her spirits doom'd to woe;
But a new myst'ry shall anon appear,
And from the remnants that sail rudderless
In yon black ark upon the shoreless sea,
Superior beings shall hereafter rise,
Made hence perfectable; for with the swarms
Cleans'd by the deluge from the world destroy'd,
Ends the stain'd lineage of the Adamites.’

“Silence did then awhile prevail on high;
But soon anthems of thankfulness arose
From all the choral, numberless around,
For the glad tidings. And as flame afar,
An angel rising with his wings unfurl'd,
Bade them repair to where embattl'd tower'd
The walls of Heaven, to see in space below
New wonders, and the myst'ries of the Great.

“Obedient to the summons, they arose,
And wing'd their solemn flight to where sublime
The ramparts guarded by the seraphim
Survey the realms wherein the planets spher'd,
Bowl'd by Jehovah, in their orbits roll.
Their flight was as the emigrant beholds
Millions on millions of star-sparks ascend
When flaming forests fire the viewless air.

“They saw advance the legions of the fiends,
With banner'd pride and crested insolence,
Forth from the darkness that black shadowing screens
The gates of Hell,—and deem'd would thence ensue
Thunder and war; nor did the demons arm'd—
By Satan marshall'd—when on high they saw
Heaven's armies bright, for less prepare to dare.

“But in the instant of defying vaunt,
A trumpet sounded, and the startl'd souls
Of all the sentenc'd of the world appear'd,—
Dismal and wild they were, lurid and grim;
And at the sight, the banded fiends, appall'd,
Paus'd in their course, while with magnificence

The glorious myriads of the seraphim
Exulting shouted, ‘our eternal Lord
Reigns irresponsible,—behold him here!’

“Hell's squadrons heard, and turning round in dread,
Their haughty banners stoop'd when they beheld
The blaze with which Omnipotence is veil'd;
And ere their former habitude of awe
Relaps'd to ill, the oracle of God
Paling declar'd, that to the rebel fiends
The guilty spirits, sentenc'd to perdition,
Were then consign'd. Loud, at the word of doom,
The hollow vast echo'd with cries of woe;
For all the convicts with one wail confess'd
Their sentence just; and the blasphemous fiends
Banning, exclaim'd, that only for themselves
They, by their craft, had earn'd new punishment.

“Ere the lament and rage had ceas'd, the fiends,
Convinced—by their metamorphos'd speares
Chang'd into hissing serpents, and their swords
To torment stings—of their new functions, wept
Their lost condition; for angelic hearts
As theirs could still, though curs'd, fell anguish feel
In baffl'd wishes to be kind, and may not.
With gnash and ban they spurn'd the yelling damn'd;
With wail and woe they rued their own estate.

“While thus dejected to their dread abodes,
The outcasts downward their dark travel held
With the despairing droves, a cry went forth
That the bright Guardian, station'd o'er the earth,
Was smit with change, and withering with decay,
As if immortal beings could partake
Such transformations as the chrysalis.

“Anon he waxed from that wane, improv'd,
Like a rich jewel in augmented light;
And by the sign, the multitudes that blaz'd
On tower and battlement, thought that, disclos'd,
The new creation would resplendent dawn;
And they were stirr'd as forest foliage owns
The summer's breath, when air appears sunshine.
For all imaginations, things that think,
Mete power by pomp, and deem th' Almighty never
Comes with creative energy abroad,
To bid the nothing teem with worlds without

Such show of Majesty as makes to thought—
Might loom a vision that could be reveal'd.

“While they expectant stood, they saw what seem'd
A glorious mental element outglance,—
And heard a voice resounding loud around:
‘This sown in man shall germinate, and Earth,
Now all envelop'd by yon shrouding sea,
Shall, thence reviv'd, a race for Heaven prepare,
Who will for ever bright and brighter grow
Than angels, children of eternity,
Who safe from lapses ever beam unchang'd.’

“A scout of Hell, whose vigil is to watch,
Then brought the tidings of the new creation
To sceptr'd Satan, who, long time perplext,
Rued the new punishment his outcast train
Was doom'd to reap, as earthly monarchs rue
Increase of sorrow with extended sway.
For well he knew, by old Experience taught,
That what seem'd as a seed, to them would be
An Upas terrible, whose scent is death—
If death it may be call'd,—that is, to gnash
In anguish, agony, and woe for ever.

“By heralds summon'd, all the exasp'rate fiends,
On vampyre wings, around him mustering came
Like pestilence that flickers from the fen
To populous cities,—or as flies that swarm
On war-fields, murmuring joyous o'er the slain.

“Enrag'd, perturbed, they malignant curs'd
Whate'er was deem'd an antidote to bane;
For well they knew that the Avenger's arm,
Who hurl'd them headlong from the walls of Heaven,
Would only plunge them more in hopelessness.

“At last grim Satan, as a master fire
Flaps its flame mantle when a war-ship burns,
Declaim'd in rage, as cataracts declaim:—

“‘That which we hate may have created might;
But yet by hostile force, or subtle fraud,
We can unconquerable hatred prove.
All that he makes are as ourselves, created:
And than our ills he cannot make a greater,
Else had his vengeance fashion'd it before.
This mental element which he has call'd
To work us woe, and widen to himself

Dominion, scarcely may be quell'd or quench'd—
Come, therefore, to your banded squadrons,—come
Auxiliar evils to incense new war!
Come forth ye entities who conscious own
Innate possession of all secret banes!
Come Poverty, thou ever squalid fiend!
Come Friendlessness, that pines for lack of kin!
Come starv'd Disease, cloth'd with a winding sheet!
Come Need, with Thriftlessness, parents of crime!
Come gaunt Desire, Need's sullen paramour!
Come wind-wing'd Promise! come Ingratitude!
Come Insolence, with bloated bags of gold!
Come Love betray'd! despis'd Affection come!
Come smiling Treachery! come liar Hope!
Come fawning Friendship, whelp of Scorn and Dread
Come heartless Sympathy, with scalding whine!
Come Fears and Cares, all ye that 'numb and gnaw!
Come dotard Beggary, to weep at walls
For thy old dames sent almless from the door!
Come Crimes that jig around the gallows-tree!
With all for hatefulness, that I must love.’

“The evils, gathering at his dreadful call,
Came forth, as vultures to a carnage field;
And when they saw themselves, awhile they stood
Thrilling amaz'd. Then silence was in Hell.

“‘I will myself go with you,’ the arch fiend
Exulting cried, pleas'd to behold such ills
As he might marshal to rekindle war.
And when towards the Earth they bent their flight,
The radiant wardens, on the walls of Heaven,
Seeing them pass, gaz'd, shuddering, at the sight.

“Slowly and diffident, at first they rose,—
Conscious of their appalling shapes; but as
They near'd towards the fated sphere of man,
Swifter and swifter, they triumphant flew;
So are their tactics still. At first they seem
Simple and fearful, warring by degrees,—
But waxing fierce when firm with mastery—
They grasp and grin with Confidence and Crave.

“Rushing, they pass'd below; and in their rear
Dumb Death, with spectre hand towards them rais'd,
Appear'd to say, ‘my pioneers behold:’
And pale behind came Fame, that follows Death

Like pompous obsequies on bards bestow'd—
Such as insulted the cold clay of Burns.

“Meanwhile before, the warden of the Earth,
Appriz'd by Heaven's sublimest minister,
That Hell was coming,—to the region sped
Where dwelt the angels that allay'd to man
The ills and ails of his inheritance,
When the foul Adamites drove them away.

“He told how, then, with honourless intent,
Their adversaries were on hostile wing.
‘It is enough,’ gentle Religion said,
‘For me again to sojourn on the Earth:
Servant of Heaven, I may but hope to help;
Be as the soil that nourishes the flower.’

“Then leaving her to guide the virtues back,
He to his ward return'd. His meteor flight
Was as a splendour in the midnight air
From depths unknown, dimming the dazzl'd stars.
And to Religion, at her bidding rose
The holy exiles, kirtl'd for the Earth.

“Far different were their aspects, bright and fair,
From those of them that Satan summon'd forth.
And, oh! their smiles,—they were as infant's smile,
Caress'd and fondling on their mothers' breast,—
When they were told what Wisdom had design'd.
Anon so rich, in one harmonious stream,
Their hallelujahs flow'd, that Mercy then,
On some blest errand to an erring sphere,
Paus'd in her flight, and lingering, listening, turn'd
To hear the cadence of their psalm afar.

“When near Mount Ararat, by Satan led,
The squadron'd demons stoop'd their dragon wings.
All round was herbless as the desert main;
The Earth lay black, as if a funeral pall
Cover'd the corpse of some tremendous thing,
By the Jehovah in displeasure slain;
And with a sigh, grieving for vengeance marr'd,
They saw the silent desolation wide,—
Leaving no work for them. Vext Satan scowl'd,
And muttering, cried, ‘Accursed, ye are free!’

“While they dispers'd, the murky morning frown'd—
The awning clouds were as a cavern's ceil
Of vaulted gloom, o'er all the ravag'd earth;

But in his passion of despair, the lost
Beheld the blackness sunder in the sky,
And from his eastern throne the monarch Sun,
In all his glory, look abroad again.

“Amidst the waste, as Satan pensive stood,
He saw the desolation green become—
To him dread evidence of Wrath recall'd;
For Heaven, he knew, with blessings wars with Hell.

“As with defeat dismay'd, he gaz'd around—
Afar the fiends, on dismal quests intent,
Look'd back derisively with mirthless grins,
That one, who strove to earn their gratitude,
Stood needing aid—and yell'd with wild delight.

“But in the arid laughter of their scorn,
They saw the west, as if the morn return'd
Back to the east, with more than morning's glow;
And while they gaz'd, Religion, with her train
Ascending, holy, gladden'd light and life.

“On fluttering pinions, at the sight, the fiends
Towards their Sultan then perturbed flew,
Like sea birds whirling in the van of storms,
To hear what he would counsel, now that those
Whom they had deem'd for ever gone, yet were,
And he conven'd them to a dungeon deep
Within th' Elora caves of nameless space.

“‘Yon bright battalions omen no repose;
For not with Genius,’ said he, ‘but with them—
The foes that you so oft in battle brav'd,
When Violence, our vizier, rul'd the earth—
We now must war. Be vigilant and firm;
Not whatsoe'er is wonderful or wise
Alone should be the target of our aims.
But jealous note with what auxiliar aid
Yon baleful crew portend annoy or woe.
Fraud, Bigotry, and Pride, and Arrogance,
Den in the priestly heart: be there your home;
And you, ye lepros'd ills, whose charnel stare
Begets in Hate what Beauty does in Love—
With Hope, that feeds on woe's substanceless fare,
Make your abiding with the shunn'd and fear'd;
But chiefly imp your several stern resolves,
To grind the heart with grudges undivulg'd,
When conscious worth endures the proud man's scorn;

But wherefore more should I advise? full well
Your natures, prompted by their own desires,
Will best instruct you how to wage the war.’

“As thus he spoke, around the demons near'd;
But when he ended, they dispersing scatter'd—
And since, on earth, voracious to subdue,
They with the virtues wage incessant war.”

Thus, while the Demon, as the pastor, feign'd
Tremendous loomings of eternal things,
To fume Salome to think himself endow'd
With Genius destin'd to improve mankind—
That he might dare—he had the heart to do—
Some bold emprize, which Nature's course would mar,
The veteran sat with meditative eyes,
Whose orbs were patent, though their sense was shut;
And at the close, as from a trance awaken'd,
He said irreverently, “such themes and legends
Beget but phantasies of sceptic thought;
Even when beautiful as on the cloud
The apparition of the rainbow shines,—
They are as unsubstantial, and deceive
Those who, pursuing, stretch their hands to seize.”

The Demon, daunted, shrunk, as if he own'd
Some fearful cognizance of Truth, yet said,
Still resolute to lure Salome to woe—
“What, Sir, art thou, and wherefore so blaspheme
These holy mysteries?” Firmly severe
The veteran answer'd, and towards Salome
Look'd with compassion oft, as thus he spoke:—

“Nine times hath Fortune, with Delilah's smiles,
Invited me to her refulgent feasts,
But never farther than the vestibule
Did e'er my fated feet attain, before
Her vision'd fare and favour disappear'd.
But not unmanly do I droop for this,
Convinc'd, that with the coming round of things,
That which so grides, by sordid movements press'd,
Will issue smooth and radiant at the last,
As the fair moon comes from the cloud of storms,
Serene into the starry of the sky.
Man lives in vassalage to earthly ills;
And he who made the beauty of the day,
For every evil made a compensation.

Time treads the granite mountains into sand,
To fill the hungry of the ocean's vast;
The wither'd leaves become fertility,
And the dead beggar, wrapt in shroudless clay,
Kithes in the likeness of the well-clothed lamb,
Whose cast-off vestment decorates the King;
Yea, purpl'd Cæsar with his golden crest
Sublim'd in Nature's wondrous crucible,
Comes forth, fit alm's-gift for the gentle heart.”

BOOK VIII.

Meanwhile Salome sat thoughtful, and around
Glanc'd piercingly, as if he fearful felt
The sense of some recondite awe, like those
Who hear in Faith, but yet in Reason doubt.
And when at last the vet'ran had replied,
He ask'd with diffidence, like one afraid,—
“If man may not his conscious heart obey,
As it instructs him by desires and hopes,
How may he know his purpose in the world?”
“But,” said the vet'ran, while the seeming pastor
Rose, as if call'd away on rural cares
Remember'd suddenly, “what are his hopes,
Or his desires, if they incite to harm.”

Salome look'd bolder, and again inquir'd—
“But can a man, by ills and ails environ'd,
Owe dearer claims than to himself are due?
What is the world to him, or he to others,
That he should reckon of their weal or woe?”

The vet'ran smil'd, and searchingly replied:
“This wondrous world was made to know itself;
And he who would enjoy, at its expense,
Must pay the price that's set upon its pleasures.
All that maligns is in its essence ill,
But Genius is divine, and cannot be
Aught but expansive, pressing still to bless.
The sign, the proof of its celestial nature,
Is, that it ever ministers to make
This world a mint, where gold is coin'd for Heaven.”

Salome, anticipating the reply,
Said thèn, “what are the common of mankind,
Who never feel those gleams of inspiration,

That glint in Genius to the gifted mind,
The light which is Invention?” Sternly austere
The vet'ran ey'd him with a master's eye,
But softening to compassion, mildly answer'd:—
“Why, Sir, do leaves superfluous busk the bough?
Why die the young? why is the blossom blighted?
Why does disease strike into dust the strong?
Or aught is ey'd that seems to end untimely?
Man thinks the world, that Heaven's own eye illumes,
Was made for him; but may not the vile ens
Which prey on beggary, have as proud endowments?
Who may these problems solve, or tell to God
What Beauty is, or what Benevolence?”

Salome replied, as from a bold advantage,—
“Is man then irresponsible? for all
He can perform, the Heavens must first assent to.”

As if the shadow of menacing gloom
Darken'd the vet'ran, he more gravely said:
“Dread Heaven, by Nature's universal voice,
Hath long proclaim'd that all which harms is sin.
Enrich'd with Reason, to discern what moves
Or mars the gracious tendency of things,
And given a will that may restrain desire—
Can man with these be irresponsible?
The power to injury is forbidden fruit,—
And they who eat of it will surely die;
But for abstaining is there no reward?”

As day immers'd, the lowly pastor enter'd,
And unsuspicious of the Demon's tale,
Bade them remark how o'er the morning skies
A tempest's eagle-colour'd wing was spread,
Omening storm. It daunted them to stay.
For soon th' impassion'd turbulence came on,
As if some dreadful Ire approaching sent
The avalanches of its might before.
Anon, as if the ocean, measureless,
Could but be shown by parts, the waves on waves
Rose, rollingly, from all its wide immense,
While in the wrathful of the hurricane
Fond frantic mothers fled their domiciles,
And left their children shrieking to the blasts.
The sun, eclips'd, was as the blot of doom;
And darkness, as a mortcloth black as night,

Cover'd the Earth, as if it then lay dead,
Pall'd for the sepulchre, of old prepar'd
Deep in the crypt of everlasting chaos.

The hind sat mute, while shrill without was heard,
Sharp as a pang, and wild as agony,
The wailings of an aged mendicant,
Hurried and helpless, effort all in vain,
Along the vantage of the neighbouring height.
His hoary hair stream'd capless, and his rags
Flutter'd, unbelted, in the furious wind.

The gentle pastor, when he saw him driven,
Was mov'd to pity; for not only years
Weigh'd on his strength, but in his looks and mein
Seem'd the dim twilight of a better day.

With beck'ning hand the pastor bade him come
To share the relics of their morning meal;
Nor did the temper'd by the world's trials,
Nor the bland Fame-desiring youth, repress
Those kindly courtesies that Need requires
To lull ecoriated jealousy,
Which ever irks it in the lownest bow'r.
Nor unrepaid was long their charity;
For when his drenched wretchedness was dried,
He told the story of his overthrow.

“Alas! the homefed little know” he sigh'd,
“What pains the proud must in abasement suffer;
But, oh! the anguish that Deceit imparts,
Or conscious Craft that smiles like Innocence.
I was a youth, Affection oft foretold,
Was surely destin'd for renown or fortune:
Behold what I am now—a poor old man
Who may no longer wrestle with the blast,
Stinted to alms that can but life prolong,
To rue new sorrows with more helplessness.”

Salome survey'd him with a tearful eye;
But the calm vet'ran warily replied,
“Full oft the worshippers at Fortune's shrine
Desire too much, and deem that destiny
Starves their desires, when they themselves refuse
The lots in life that might with care be won.
Our passions are the ministers of Fate—
And men, by them, in worldly exhibition,
Are often blazon'd with renown and power,

While he that is with genius only blest
To mend the world, unhir'd by hope or fee,
Must toil neglected; yet, with that bright gift
A largess of ideal bliss is given.
Perhaps to you, for Fortune's empty coffer,
Some rich atonement is by nature made.”
And then he added, looking scrutiny,
“The man of honour fears the world's opinion;
The man of honesty reveres the law;
But he that is the conscientious man,
Observes the maxims he regards as God,
And leaves to Providence th' interpretation.”

The seeming beggar was the tempting fiend,
And artfully, with glozing speech, to charm
The kindling spirit of Salome, replied,—
“It is not, Sir, for mortals weak and frail
To deem as merit what high Heaven bestows
In grace, or excellence of mind or form;
But all of evil in the frame of things
Hath compensation,—for my sad estate
Must, doubtless, though conceal'd in mystery,
Be some equivalent for what I suffer.”

With sterner eye the vet'ran frown'd severe;
And from its jealous inquisition shrunk
The simulating beggar, well aware
He was but feigning craftily the part
Of one who had a blemish'd worldling been.
But rous'd Salome felt in his bosom glow
The gen'rous wish that prompts to virtuous deeds,
And soothing said, “all on the earth may prosper—
And ærid memories of wrongs but serve
To mar the sense of what is beautiful.”
“Yes, rather strive” the vet'ran interpos'd,
“To see but all around the good and fair,
And wrongs will lose their grim severity.
Men ne'er do ill without expecting good:
That Hope gives Guilt the glory of a grace,
Which may obtain from others meed or praise,—
Of this delusion ponder while ye rue.”
And then Salome, with wishes to retrieve,
Said, “Come it will, the era's fixed by Fate,
When pomp shall own the power of that elixir
Which changes Grief to Joy—celestial right!

Right felt by all, but yet by all withheld,
As if participation were to mulct.
Then Genius, bright in the empyrean zenith,
Will vindicate the glory of its beams.
The world shall soon be mov'd to think aright
Of what belong to those whom Heaven endows
As its blest agents to improve the world.”

The vet'ran, seriously severe, again
Look'd at Salome, as if he scann'd his heart,—
And cried, “It is not always meet in life
That men should have what sages deem their rights;
Unless their needs and wants, as advocates,
Make plain th' existence of the exigent.
To know the world, and not do as the world,
Is sometimes wisdom, and allied to virtue,—
But it is harlotry and stratagem
To practice that which custom only sanctions.
It may be fit, in some far future age,
That Heaven's selected should preside on earth;
But Wealth and Precedence and Luxury
Are now the guerdons of terrestrial hope,
And right, untimely sought, engenders wrong.”

Thus, with the pastor, shelter'd from the storm
That brush'd the herbage with the bush and bough,
They sat communing, till the amber'd west
Display'd the golden monarch of the day;
And Evening, pleas'd, on spangl'd nature threw
The soft assurance of a night serene.
Then they arose, and on towards his goal
The vet'ran posted, while Salome, sedate,
Sought with the mendicant the town again.

The mingling confluence of the human streams
Which thither flow'd, denser and denser grew;
And, by the demon's unblest plausibles,
Seem'd many there whom in his youth Salome
Had known, high honour'd as the heirs of Fame;
But old and outcast, in the world forlorn,
They totter'd helpless then towards the tomb.

At the sad sight his waken'd spirit yearn'd
To be reputed in hereafter epochs,
As the bright first who did the gifted aid.

With humble mein, the Demon at his side
Walk'd, as if mutely thanking him for alms—
And often whisper'd, as one seem'd to pass
With tarnish'd hopes, and faded habitudes,
How worth was shunn'd; but to improve mankind
Was the true road to Fame. For righteous Heaven
Regards the benefits achiev'd for Fame,
As deeds that bravos perpetrate for bribes,
And all effects as its own progeny:
Nought of the earth can e'er be meed to worth,
Whose qualities and essence are divine.

Onwards they journey'd. In the buzzing streets
Many beheld them pass, and turning, sigh'd,
To think Salome—he whom in youth they knew—
Was sunk into companionship with one
Whose scars were worse than patches of the poor;
For they had heard the maxim, and believ'd
That with the tainted but the fated's found.
And yet in this only the Demon work'd;
The infectious worldling that he feign'd to be,
Bespoke commiseration for Salome.

Onwards they winded to where palace towers,
With Babel arrogance, look'd, as from Heaven,
Down on the hives of the surrounding town;
And there, with hope rekindl'd, bold Salome
Before a stately sculptur'd portal stood,
Requesting entrance to the Lord within.

The bellied porter, busy in his bower,
Knew him, and open'd wide the sounding doors;
But from the threshold, with imperious voice,
Debarr'd the mendicant, who soon without
Mingled amidst the crowd, and disappear'd.
But, though unseen, he was not far away;
For ere Salome had scal'd the echoing stairs,
He, in the semblance of his former friend,
Receiv'd him joyously in trophied halls,
As if rememb'ring scenes of festal days.

Salome rejoic'd—and soon with zeal disclos'd
The boon he meditated—to rescue
The ever-suff'ring ministers of good,—

And spoke prophetical, as one inspir'd,
Of radiant halos, and of iris crowns,
That would be theirs who aided him to bliss.

The Demon heard him, as the crafty hear
From vaunting prodigals, of treasure hoards
Long interdicted, but at last possess'd,
And calmly said, “my aid not seek.”

Salome, exulting, thought the starry wreath
Of Immortality was then his own;
But, ere he could reply, viewless to him,
With haste, a messenger from Satan came
To cite the demon to his dread divan,
Held in that Latomey of Erebus,
From which, of yore, the formless mass was brought,
Of all that now in cycl'd nature shines.

Around, on thrones of crimson burning grim,
The demons sat, tier above tier, sublime,—
And in the centre, lowest of them all,
Satan glar'd ragingly—type of his state—
In Hell the highest, but the deepest damn'd;
Him winged rumours had dire tidings told,
That Genius, which, to baffle and subvert
His Legions, most abhorr'd, had come to earth,
Was to ascend into predominance,
And hurl to obloquy, despair, and scorn,
His privileg'd potentates and paladines.

Scowling, he purpl'd to the fiends around;
And, by the dark'ning, they at once discern'd
The cause and purport of his fervency.
Men of the earth must gravitating words
And pond'rous enginries of speech employ,
When they would manifest their cogitations;
But spirits, dark with thoughts, distance and time,
For them care not; and when they would persuade,
Determination is their eloquence.

The Demon show'd what he himself design'd,
While lurid prodigies, dismal and dire,
Loom'd through th' abyss wherein the synod sat.
The fiends with awe beheld them as they pass'd,
And started, as a pall envelop'd thing—
Borne in the rear of nameless effigies,—
Came following slow, unlike all of the Heavens,
Or on the earth, or in the depths of Hell,

Where darkness curtains from Imagination,
Horrors engender'd in the corpse of chaos—
Mother of Nature that in birth-throes died.
Then in the void a midnight star of sound
Rose—as shall rise when nature hears, arraign'd,
Her doom and close—all then her eyes of light:
It knell'd the coming of some mighty one.

That one was Death; and, by his entrance then,
Satan, with all his awe-struck blasphemers,
Knew that some epicycle was perform'd
Within the horizon that encircles Fate.
But who shall read the mystery aright?
Salome was dead—died in the self-same crisis
He found the aid he wish'd for his design;
But, thus it is, when hope's in the ascendant,
And all the aspects of the horoscope
Allure with promises of Fame and Fortune,
Something that's native in the field of life,
Untimely balks the reaping of the harvest.
What man himself does from himself is conduct;
But chances suffer'd without choice are Fate.

I confess myself one of those who think the town is the abode of better virtues than the country. Simpletons,—they may be Innocents —are of the latter; but, with all its faults, where is there such munificence and charity as in the town? Compare a subscription paper of the town, for any benevolent purpose, with the shaking-handed donations of the country gentry.

JUDITH.

Thick myst'ry veils the Deity, but Time
Unfolds the issue of His will sublime.
Thus, when of old the proud Assyrian Lord,
King of the world, unsheath'd th' avenging sword,
The earth resounded with alarm and dread,
Peace flew to Heaven, and Safety sought the dead.
But from God's throne bright Inspiration came—
Her garments glory, and her wings of flame—
To aw'd Judea; and the kindling land
Blaz'd with the spirit of her high command.

In tower and town a bold alarum rose:
“Prepare the shield,—prepare to meet the foes!”
In tower and town, and on the village green,
Determin'd fathers, with their sons, were seen;—
Mothers and sisters knelt in hopeful pray'r,
But little children cried to Heaven for care.

Still on, th' Assyrians, like the flowing sea,
Spread as they came; and threats of Destiny
Shower'd on Bethulia. All her mountain pride
Was scath'd and wither'd, when her wells beside,
The bands of Assur rais'd their tents. Amaz'd,
Despair and Famine from the ramparts gaz'd:
They saw, far glimmering in the vales around,
A leaguering host approach, and heard the sound
Of pond'rous engines surging as they came.
'Twas Holifernes' host—minion of Fame!

Around the elders, soon the trembling town
In crowds assembl'd, heedless of renown,
And of the covenants their fathers made,
As if they thought Jehovah could not aid.

Wildly they cried, “Our cisterns all are dry;
Better to yield than in this horror die!
Why spare the firstlings of the flocks and kine?
Why are they sacred, while we famish'd pine?”

The ancient wise their clam'rous fears attend;
“After five days,” they said, “unless descend
Help yet unknown, Bethulia shall be given
Free to the foe.”—They deem'd not then that Heaven,
True to the covenants, unchang'd, would still
The storied promises of old fulfil.

The widow, Judith, in that troubl'd hour,
Was Heaven-selected, and enrich'd with power.
The wond'ring angels, as they look'd below,
Around her head beheld the halo glow,
And, from the woman's much-enduring heart,
Upborn, by Mercy, Gentleness depart.
And they, too, saw that in its stead, was given
A holy Energy from mystic Heaven.
While in her tent, on the house-top forlorn,
The lonely widow could but hopeless mourn,
The hallow'd Energy, descending, brought,
For mortal sorrow, an immortal thought.

She heard around the panic rumours spread—
The mountains quake, and Zion thrill with dread.
In all the vallies, nearing from afar,
Came Vengeance, hurling thunder, wrath and war;
But calm she stood, and heard the cries and wail
Of shudd'ring throngs—“the conqu'ror will prevail!”
And in her spirit bright and brighter glow'd
The Inspiration wing'd with flame from God.

The hoary elders of Bethulia then—
Chabris, Ozias, and Charmis, old men—
She call'd before her, and reproachful said:
“Antients of Israel, why thus afraid?
Why have ye doubtful sworn to yield the town,
As if the Lord would Jacob's race disown
Before His promise be fulfill'd? Beware!
Repent! Repent! with sacrifice and pray'r;
Do as your fathers did—their sternest best—
Stand as they stood, and leave to Heaven the rest—
Fight as they fought, when yonder glorious sun
Stood with his sister over Ajalon.”

Fir'd by her fervour, they exclaim'd, contrite,
“Our trust is Heaven,—what Heaven decrees is right;
Go thou and pray that Heaven's sufficient will
With gracious rain may the parch'd cisterns fill.
We faint! we perish! In the cattle's veins
The final hope of fever'd Thirst remains.”

Then Judith said, with conscious purpose stern:
“There shall be done a patriot deed eterne.
Go tell the warders of the midnight hour,
I and my maid—our guard Jehovah's power—
Will seek th' Assyrian; and by me shall be
God prov'd a traitor, or our country free.”

The old men trembl'd, and consenting, bow'd,
As if they heard an oracle endow'd
With awful prophecies, and mute retir'd,
Their lowly hearts with confidence inspir'd;
While Judith fell upon her face, and cried,—
“My faith in Heaven will not be now belied;
The crime is glory that I have conceived.
Yes, Heaven! be falsehood from my lips believ'd,
My sin be as the sins that God performs
When good men perish in unfetter'd storms,
When pests or famines sweep the howling earth,—
To angels anguish, and to devils mirth,—
A myst'ry be it—for the deed is thine—
Thou, only Thou, canst make a crime divine;
For this, for this, was my firm spirit given,—
Strike home the knife made for thy purpose, Heaven;
Blest crime, that will the caves of Hell amaze,
And with their echoes swell the psalm of praise.”

While thus with honour, yet with virtue fill'd—
Intents, sublime, by woman's weakness thrill'd—
She rose, and soon—with such untroubl'd mein
As sails the sun o'er the blue depth, serene,
When tempests rage, and driving navies sweep,
Martless and rudderless, the ocean's deep—
With fragrant essences, her braided hair
Sweetens, as roses, all the sighing air;
Her sandals sparkle, bright with many a gem,
And on her head a costly diadem
Shines, as the midnight, in the summer calm,
Wears all her jewels, and comes breathing balm.—

She blush'd, she pray'd, yet, hopeful to be woo'd
With zoneless waste, to Love and Fate subdu'd.

The aged elders, standing at the gate,
Beheld her coming; and awhile elate,
Forgot their country and its dangers then,
Smiling delighted—in their hearts young men.

But soon her eyes celestial radiance beam'd,
And as a phantom, passionless, she seem'd:
Rebuk'd, the fathers of Bethulia stood,
And mourn'd the error of their human blood.
With holy reverence, nearing them, they saw,
As from the world the Heavens a saint withdraw,
Her, with her maiden, unremarking, pass
The open'd gates; while but one sad “alas!”
Was heard from all the wond'ring warriors there—
A mingl'd sigh—love, honour, and despair.

Towards the camp of Holifernes, she,
With her sad maiden, walk'd intrepidly;
No word escap'd, as to the plain they went,
Nor from the damsel aught to mar intent,—
Weeping, but mute, she travell'd on behind,
As if partaking her lov'd lady's mind;
And Judith, rapt, walk'd on before,—a queen
Solemnly calm, but with a victor's mein.

The night was still; at every star, sublime,
The wond'ring angels, anxious for the crime,
Expectant stood. The windows of the sky
Were bright with witnesses that watch on high;
The numerous camp-lights in the vale below,
Seem'd as a lake reflects the starry show;
And dim beyond the eastern mountains, lay
The silver radiance of the lunar day;
While from Bethulia's dark and tower'd walls,
Came, as the foot of pacing warder falls
When hov'ring dreams molest the sleepless bed,
Sounds like the hammer's o'er the coffin'd dead.

Wordless as trees wind-shook, from post to post,
A nightly squadron of th' Assyrian host
Was riding then, and from the gloom beheld
Majestic Judith and her maid reveal'd.

The captain marvel'd why, in per'lous night,
Two so defenceless seem'd, in war's despite,

To dare the darkness, courteously enquir'd
Whence they had come, and where to go desir'd.

The high soul'd Judith said, with lowliness,
“I am a Hebrew, come in our distress
To ask for refuge. I for that will show
How best Judea may be won. I go
To Holifernes; and will tell the way
To win Bethulia,—guide me, Sir, I pray.”

Spell'd by her speech, he chose a hundred men,
To Holifernes to conduct her then—
And from the mountain look'd the Queen of Heaven,
Amaz'd to see how craft, inspir'd, had thriven.

Bower'd in his tent, great Holifernes lay;
The pomps of eastern might his power display.
A purple canopy, with gems and pearls,
Hangs o'er his couch; around, in gorgeous furls,
Embroider'd curtains, golden-fring'd, enclose
Th' Assyrian Satrap lull'd in soft repose.

Around, attendant, silent eunuchs stand,
All fix'd as trees on some fair flowery land,
While from a thousand silver sconces bright,
As watching spirits, blazes fragrant light;
But when the horsemen, coming as with doom,
Were heard, the chief awoke—The guards illume
Their ready lamps; and forth the tent he goes
To where, in beauty, Heaven-led Judith glows.

Admiring wonder churm'd from all the throng,
When she was seen the squadron'd bold among;
But while around, the murm'ring worship spread,
She knelt, a slave, and bow'd her jewel'd head,
Surpris'd, the eunuchs rais'd her, and the chief
Thus spoke in pity, mov'd by gentle grief:—

“Dim not, bright star, so cloudy, thus dismay'd;
Be comforted,—be not in heart afraid;
For never aught th' Assyrian monarch harms
That yields to serve him. Such amazing charms
Would thaw the frozen of the coldest mood,
And warm to Love the sternest tyrants blood.
Tell me, mild gentle, wherefore art thou here?
Why dost thou come to us?—nay, banish fear;
We seek but men,—the lovely here are free,—
The loveliest thou. Oh! who would injure thee?”

Then Judith, humbly, and with downcast eyes,
Heard him, impassion'd, but unmov'd, replies:
“If thou wilt listen to thy handmaid, Sir,
And take her counsel for a minister,
She will unfold how thou may'st best attain
This mountain region, and unquestion'd reign
The King of kings o'er Israel's chosen line,
Of old predestin'd for some scheme divine.

“In starry Chaldee, shepherd swains of old,
Our fathers dwelt, where Abram, at his fold,
Beheld the seasons and their signs on high
Reveal the presence of the Deity,—
And left the pastures of his native hills,
Where man, debas'd by idol-worship, thrills
He knows not wherefore. Thence, a devious road,
He southward came to serve the living God;
To these green vales and thymy mountains brought
His flocks and herds, till o'er the Earth a drought—
By Heaven design'd, to work some blest intent—
His heirs with Jacob into Egypt sent,
Where plenty reign'd, and where, with special grace,
The Lord Almighty blest the Hebrew race,
Till Pharaoh, fearful of their growing might,
Resolv'd to mar their prosp'rous boughs with blight.

“Fell tasks of toil the jealous tyrant fram'd;
But still Jehovah, whom they serv'd, proclaim'd,
By wonders then, the boon he had reveal'd,
And shelt'ring, o'er them held his spacious shield.

“Astonish'd Egypt saw the dreadful aid;
And at the midnight, madding and afraid,
With horses, chariots, and a hurrying host,
Drove and pursued them to the Red Sea coast:
The conscious sea unclos'd to let them pass;
But clasp'd their foemen, and a whirlpool was.

“Then on Mount Sinai, thron'd, the Sov'reign Lord
Renew'd his covenant, and grasp'd his sword.
He paction'd with them, if they would abide
By his decrees, to battle on their side,
Till from the race of Israel should spring
A King to them and to mankind a King;
And free he made for them this gifted land,
Free as the ebbing billows leave the sand.

“They took possession, and with heart and knee
They worshipp'd him triumphant, great and free;
But when they, faithless to his covenant,
Swerv'd from his laws, avenging chastisement
From Heaven came hurling, till the erring race
Repentant pray'd for mercy and for grace.

“Thy handmaid, Sir, has ever faithful been,
And by her spirit hath His justice seen:
Never in aught He paction'd to perform
Hath yet He fail'd, nor stay'd the threaten'd storm,
If Israel falter'd; and for that I come
To claim from thee a respite for my home.
For if, repentant, the Bethulians own
A just alarm of his still dark'ning frown—
In vain, in vain, if they contrite but kneel,
Shall all Assyria all her vengeance feel;
But if forgetful of the Lord of Hosts,
They sin and dare with unavailing boasts,
I will myself instruct you how to slave
The race blasphemous that defiance rave.

“It was of old, on Sinai's sacred height,
Requir'd by God as covenanted right,
That, for his service, consecrate should be
The firstlings of the flocks and herds, and He
Hath ever justly that condition claim'd,
And the religious have contritely blam'd
The doubting elders that for aught incline
To violate the covenant divine.

“But now Bethulia, all her cisterns dry,
Her stores exhausted, burning brass her sky,
Hath sworn to yield,—hath fix'd the doleful day,—
She will the consecrated cattle slay,
Unless reliev'd—assurance of her fall—
She makes conditions with the Lord of all!

“The direful omens of her fate I know,
And thus dejected fly her overthrow.
If in five days his sword Jehovah sheath,
And for his laws the silent will of Death
Reign in her courts, thus at thy feet I swear
To show how best thou may'st be master there.”

Her ponder'd speech the charm'd Assyrian heard;
Their admiration whisper'd all the guard,—

And round arose involuntary cries:
“How bright in beauty, and in words how wise!”

Then Holifernes rais'd her up, and said,
“Fairest and wisest, be not thou dismay'd.
Thy God hereafter shall be mine, and high
Shalt thou amidst the stars immortal vie:
Yes, I accord to thee the boon desir'd,
And here will wait till the fix'd term's expir'd;
Till then, within, partake th' Assyrian feast,
A sacred stranger, and an honour'd guest.”

Resplendent Judith lowlily replied:
“Thy handmaid, Sir, is by her faith denied
To share such courtesies. Her Faith revere:
She stays a pledge—a holy hostage here.”

Then grave Bazoas, with respectful hand,
The richest-vestur'd of the eunuch band,
Led her submissive to a tented bower,
Where soft she slumber'd till the morning hour.
Arising then, she bade Bazoas bear,
To Holifernes, her submissive pray'r—
That, with her maid, she might unquestion'd go
Beyond the camp, to where cool fountains flow:
And there perform, as her religion claim'd,
The holy rites that none may view unblam'd.”

Spell'd by her charms, the brave Assyrian chief,
Subdued by Love, Compassion, Hope and Grief,
Consented courteously to the request,
And gave command that none should her molest;
For the bright radiance of her beauteous eyes
Had, in his bosom, wak'd a lover's sighs.
And while in secret with himself he strove,
He held her hallow'd, and controul'd his love;
But man, poor man, imperial passion's thrall,
May only deprecate awhile his fall;
A smiling demon, Minister of Fate,
Waits for his victim, patiently and late,
Aware that, glammour'd by its subtle art,
Must yield the fated with the longing heart;
And slav'd by Hope, be menial to desire,
Or curs'd with scorn, drugg'd by Despair and fire

The doom'd Assyrian with Love's sadness griev'd;
But Judith Heaven-ward saw, and thus deceiv'd.

Bazoas came to her with crested pride,
And dreading not his suit would be denied:
“The Lord of chiefs,” he said, “O! lady bright
Designs a banquet for his guest to-night;
And all that's gorgeous, from Assyria, there
Will greet and glorify the fairest fair.”

Thus, as with honour loaded and oppress'd,
The blest of Israel her joy confess'd:
“I will attend,—oh! what am I to share!—
The golden splendours of Assyria there;
But on the weed, as on the gem, the blaze
Of Heaven's own sun alike impartial rays.”

Then with her maiden, who, lamenting, wove
The lures of beauty, and delight and Love,
She deck'd herself; while, in her spirit's core,
Her blushing mind did Heavenly aid implore,—
And it was granted; for upon her shed
Was virtue beaming from the fountain head,—
And o'er the nakedness of harlotry,
The grace of Eve in her first purity.

As round the moon the holy halo bright
Augments the show, yet mitigates the light,
Down from the diadem on Judith's brows,
A veil, in dalliance, unfolding flows;
And while with Love she seems to warm the air,
Desire, attending, almost feels to dare.

The golden Satrap, with his peers around—
“Their brows with roses and with myrtles bound,”
Await the brightening of the eastern star,
With festal splendours, and the pomps of war.
The grave and wise the feast's intent declare;
For but the jocund and the young are there.

“She comes, she comes,” admiring thousands cry—
The startling trumpets to their shouts reply,—
“Ring, cymbals ring,—resound ye thund'ring drums,—
The Queen of beauty in her glory comes.”

“When in the eyes of all the Assyrian great,
The dazzling Judith blaz'd in all her state,
With beaming smiles she cheer'd, and shining said:
“My lowly life till now hath droop'd in shade—
But here noon-sunshine banishes the sight,
And my glad spirit revels in delight.”

Love strains musicians then impassion'd sung,—
Gay, from the tent, the joyous chorus rung,—
And sounds, melodious, in the calm arose,
Sweet, as the breeze from blooming Sharon blows;
Thus pleasure bright'ning, rapt, triumphant reign'd—
There Hope with ecstasy was almost pain'd.
The ravish'd bold felt flying Time annoy,
And Holifernes brimm'd the Cup of Joy.

But sleep is needful to the happiest heart,
And hours of bliss, as glittering wings, depart.
The guests retir'd,—old Bazoas hath spread
The furr'd temptation of the fragrant bed;
And Judith, vigilant, serene, sublime,
Nerves her great spirit for the holy crime.

She sees the tent to her dominion given,
And upward looks, as if reminding Heaven;
For on the couch, betray'd by wine, asleep,
She saw the brave, and scarce forbear to weep.

Now, with a patriot's firm determin'd hand,
She grasps the vengeance of his warrior band,
And cries—“assist me God, that is the Lord”—
His head was hers, and bloody dropp'd the sword.

Within the sack, in which was brought her fare,
She plac'd the head; and conscious that her pray'r
Was heard on high, forsook the dreadful tent,
And to her maid, without, in tears, she went:—
“Arise, let us go forth to pray,” she cried—
And anxious, to the fountains seeming hied.
But soon aside they left the wonted road,
And to Bethulia fast and faster strode,—
“Unclose the gates,” she cried with nerving voice,
God is with Israel, rejoice! rejoice!”

The gates unclos'd—through all the gathering town,
Triumphant victory hath shouting flown.
The young, the old, the virtuous and the frail,
And maids and matrons, wing the glorious tale.
Afar the Assyrians, in their camp below,
Heard the glad tumults—But a shriek of woe
Rose as they listen'd: cries were heard amain,—
“Slain Holifernes!—Holifernes slain!”

Alarm'd; pursued by Horror, scourg'd by Fear,
Death and Destruction hounding in the rear,

Thousands on thousands fled. The angels then
Stood on the mountains, though unseen by men:
And saw the anthems of Bethulia rise
Like incense, grateful, to unclouded skies.

Dryden.

FIRE IN THE FOREST.

The plant transplanted from its native bed,
Where long it languish'd with a drooping head,
Oft finds fresh vigour in another soil,
And blooms again with its primeval smile.
Thus the sad emigrants, who friendless roam,
Feel hopes recruited in the forest home.

When Fortune, shelter'd, makes her fane the wood,
Where Nature, buxom, forsters Fortitude;
Birds new-come cheer, and flowers unfolding gay,
Adorn the clearance, widening to the day.
There, too, when ev'ning brings task-won repose,
With songs of father-land the maiden glows;
And there afar, while list'ning boughs hang mute,
Is sometimes heard a gently warbling flute,
As if the polish of its pathos then
Held in remembrance distant murmuring men.

But never always, does blest calm pervade,
More than the town, the forests' twilight shade;
For dangers lower when winter rides the storm,
And fickle winds false Fortune's part perform,
As found the strangers whose sad Fate I sing:—
Their hopes were blossoms, blossoms of a spring,

Ordain'd to perish, yea, themselves unknown,—
Their grave the greenwood, and their name a groan.

Bright was the morn,—the silver lilies bright
Shone, as the stars and breezes breathed delight,
When they with love their abbion name suppress'd—
Went to the wilderness to build a nest;
Their hearts entwin'd, embrac'd one cherub child,
And Love, with Youth, their truant feet beguil'd.

Of rustic rank, by their plain garb, they were;
But small white hands, superior mein and air,
Seem'd surer signs of deficated blood,
And boist'rous Rudeness in their presence stood
Aw'd by the influence of a charm serene,—
The urbane spirit of what they had been.

O! gorgeous Commerce, changeful Proteus pow'r!
Thy smile a minute, and thy frown an hour,
Were these mild beings of the storied world
Thy fated victims, with disasters hurl'd
Down from the sphere in which they once had shown
With sanguine sires, who, drugg'd by Fate, were prone
To snatch the fare of Tantalusian feasts,
Yet doom'd like Lucifer to fall—thy guests?
It matters not, whatever decent pride
Sought in the loneness of the woods to hide,
In silence still, upon their nameless bier,
Will sacred flow a soft religious tear.

Content they labour'd in Canadian bowers,
Love their companion, and their neighbours, flowers—
Cheer to their tasks, the cherub child would call,
Like Innocence in Eden ere the fall,
Of some new songster in the forest heard;
And they would listen to the feather'd bard,
Sharing, delighted, the glad prattler's glee,
To think that buds grew tuneful on the tree.

Thus summer pass'd, and bright the noontide beam
Then first ran sparkling with the woodland stream,
And over-head, with vivid wakeful rays,
The orbs of Heaven, by leafy vaultages
No more conceal'd, seem'd eyes endow'd with sight,—
Argus of Providence was then the night.

In autumn, still the mild unknown enjoy'd
But varied sweets,—true Love is never cloy'd;

They oft admiring saw, at blush of morn,
Amaz'd, how Nature could herself adorn,
With wreaths and garlands, as if leaves became
Gems, flowers, and fires, and branches flakes of flame;
The Earth, refulgent with autumnal dyes,
Mirror'd the glories of the evening skies,
As if such scenes were to the sense reveal'd,
As raptur'd saints in trances have beheld.

But when the solemn hoary winter lower'd,
And glowing leaves, like showers of stars, were shower'd,
While ruthless stern the homeward Indians past,
Warn'd by the gloom, and crash-proclaiming blast.

They sat beside their hut's enliv'ning blaze,
And thought of distant scenes, and other days.

Then oft the anxious, list'ning, gentle fair
Would, startl'd, utter an unconscious pray'r,
And closer to her pensive husband cower,
Aw'd by the terrors of the dismal hour.

In such a time, while wildly rav'd around
The wrestling boughs, and all the forest own'd
The howling demon of the tempest's wrath,
A sullen savage left his trodden path,
And at their fire, uncourteous stoop'd to light
His quench'd cigar, to dare the gath'ring night.

They saw him soon, unspeaking still, resume
The Indian track, and vanish in the gloom,
Though in the dark they long beheld afar,
The crimson radiance of his fir'd cigar,
And sparks, like fire-flies, ever and anon
Stream from the star which then red-twinkling shone.

Boding, they knew not why, they shelter'd stood
And ey'd the dwindling motion of the wood;
But ere they wist, a bright unfurling flame
Behind it rose, and with the wind it came
Roaring towards them with terrific glare,
As if in conflagration blaz'd the air.

The fiery hurricane increasing spread,
Devouring rag'd and hunger'd as it fed;
Around and effortless the father gaz'd,—
The frantic mother, madding and amaz'd,
Heard from the hut her pretty prattler sing,
Deeming the light the splendour of the spring,

And rush'd to snatch him where he happy lay,—
Upbraided Heaven, and then began to pray.

With wings of flame, like fiends incens'd from Hell,
The burning boughs and blazing branches fell
Fierce on the kindling shingles of their home,
Till houseless, beggar'd, they prepar'd to roam.
But in the anguish of their misery,
A fearful hissing rose from every tree,
As if dread Heaven had, as of old, again
From opening windows pour'd a deluge rain.
Then chang'd the wind, and rattling from the north,
The hailing cruelty came hustling forth,
Till where in pyramids the fires arose—
On ashes thron'd, vindictive winter froze.

The hopeless strangers with their all—the child,
Their vernal blossom that so blest the wild,
Mov'd on towards—they knew not where to go:
The cherub trembl'd, and thick fell the snow—
The skies were black—they sat them down and sigh'd,
And soon the mother, then the father died.

Thus when at morn, the settlers, half afraid,
Who saw the burning, came intent to aid,
They found the baby, yet still breathing there,
Clasp'd by his mother, with a mother's care,
And stoop'd to free him from her cold embrace;
But it too died—oh! gentle, nameless race.

IRVINE WATER.

[_]

On seeing a Picture of a Favourite Scene of my Boyhood.

How beautiful!—not childhood's glad blue eyes
Are half so beautiful as shines the skies,
Mirror'd in yonder calm and summer flow—
A radiant vista of a noon below:
As if the Universe—the Infinite—
Were one bright vast of sunshine and delight;
And the great globe, with all that it inherits,
Hung in a halo form'd of glorious spirits.

Why hymns sad Fancy thus on solemn wing?
And Mem'ry back to me would boyhood bring,
Ere care I knew, when I might freely rove
The green Goffields, or sylvan Howmills grove—
The skyey vision in the witches' linn?
I then had visions too—alas! as thin.

But wayward, pensive, more I lov'd to muse—
Tranc'd in the churchyard, and the tombs peruse:—
At one I sadden'd, half inclin'd to flee,
Which spectral said, “Prepare to follow me!”
For I had heard that none in life may know,
To where, with Death, the dead hereafter go,
And often wonder'd, in the grim of night,
To what dread land the dead-man did invite.

The green oblivious grave was then a mound—
Nor kind nor dear had the mute beckon own'd
Of Him that's ever far, yet ever nigh,
Shadow of life, the dumb, black Deity.

And rife around me comrade boys were gay,
Our business pleasure, and our labour play—
Then but to be I thought sufficient bliss,
But now I long for Heaven's unknown abyss.

Well I remember all the golden prime,
When sleep and joy were night and day in time,
That to be drowsy on my mother's knee,
Was almost sweeter than blest liberty—
Oh! how my heart enjoy'd the lov'd caress,
The patted cheek, the fond maternalness;
And that soft blessing, Heaven could not but hear,
While on my neck fell the delightful tear.

Stern Fortitude, proud self-commanding power!
That calmly sat around misfortunes lower,
And ever wears the smiling masque of ease,
As if Affliction could have aught to please,—
Is thine the strength that's rosy, firm, and fair,
Or but the grasp of consciousless Despair?
Canst thou to him, that's begging at thy door,
The glowing hopes of bounding youth restore—
Restore the associates of the sunny scene,
Unseal the tomb, and wake the who hath been?—
Poor ineffectual hypocrite, begone!
And take life with thee—now an anguish'd moan.

Yet Heaven I thank for making me still see
The good and beauty of His mystery.
The world of terrors, for I have ever found,
But prompts to equanimity around,
Though Hope be dead; and by Thy laws I know
My ails and cares are cureless now below.

They think not wisely, and turn Truth awry,
Who deem that life's as an infectious sigh:—
From me and mine be far that murky thought,
Which Grief for guilt hath to the wretched brought,
And ever shine that blest benignant plan,
Which helps to mitigate all ills to man.

Oft in the trances of my wond'ring youth,
When life was light, and hope believ'd as truth,
On the green hill I lov'd to muse alone,
Where gold-ey'd daisies bright around me shone,
And think, in innocence of boyhood, then,
How all was lovely that was made for men.

That young conceit, in Fortune's darkest hour,
Has been the candle of my midnight bower;
And still, while ails on wrongs increasing come,
It is the torch that lights me on to home.

Well do I mind the thrilling gush of bliss
With which the energy of cheerfulness
First came upon me in those simple days,
When discontent could but the boy amaze.

A Sabbath stillness sweeten'd all the air;
The fragrant sunshine of the summer glare,
Visible blessedness, felicity,
Was as if Goodness could partake of glee.
Boundless afar the shining ocean spread,
The azure infinite was over head,
And in her robes maternal Nature smil'd,
As if the world and Heav'n were reconcil'd.

In that calm noon, as on the grass I lay,
Methought I heard some gentle spirit say:
“Man cag'd in finitude can never know
The happiness of full perfection's glow;
But he may taste, and ever more and more,
Something of what the future has in store:”
Ever since then, by compensating Heav'n,
For all of suffering, recompense was given.

'Twas then I fancied that if hopeful power
Make youth in life, Aurora's orient hour,
Age, the dim vesper, by experience taught,
Hath strength in slights that ne'er by power are wrought.

But not alone the feeble or the frail
Gain bright equivalents, by lore, for ail;
All, all in life the mystic blessing share,—
The boon of being,—Heaven's spontaneous care;
And since, my pilgrimage has serv'd to prove
The gracious tendence of that unsought love.
Yes, though the finite, ever less or more,
Must own some lack,—a craving or a sore,—
Still each and all that is, or that shall be,
May taste the bliss of my blest reverie;
Ev'n those who feel but misery in breath,
Know there is shelter—they may fly to death.

But tho' the thought, as boyhood's thoughts, was crude,
I glow'd with it, as if the sense of good

Was first experienc'd then. Oh! many a time,
Amidst dismay, has it appear'd sublime,
Serene and clear, beyond the hurrying strife
Of storms and clouds that aw'd the scene of life;
Oft it has seem'd, o'er streamers glaring red,
The morning's harbinger, forbidding dread.
E'en yet, thank Heav'n, though all be dark and drear,
Around again, and Reason beckon Fear,
The cheerful dream that visited my youth
Smiles beautiful. Oh! beautiful as Truth.

What though no more I ever shall enjoy
The radiant fancies of the musing boy,
No more partake what Health and Hope impart
To youth unwitting, ere in life we start,—
Still all that come might yet be worse, I say,
And thus the sternest pass as almost gay.

But why is it that in this solemn hour
I can but think of boyhood's nest and bower?—
Around but scenes of love I see. Alas!
All that I see is but in mem'ry's glass.

Oh! never more must I again behold
Such sunny days as were so bright of old,
When she that's dust embrac'd her wayward own,
And all the claims upon me were unknown.

My native burgh, its window-eyes so bright,
Basks in the noon, and purrs as with delight—
Sweet is the thought, as in that hour of ease,
When all of life was but to play or please.
Mysterious Nature! why should he complain,
Who plays a child in memory's hall again,
Who sees around him, ever bright and fair,
The hopes of life, though but a picture's there;
And with the past, when griefs and cares annoy,
May be again a happy-hearted boy.

THE DOOMED.

A FRAGMENT.

What time the orient with the morning glow'd,
A peal of horsemen shook the London road;
They bore a myst'ry,—they heeded none,
But onward thunder'd, wordless thundering on.

From tower and battlement, and rampart town,
With armour donn'd, determin'd warriors frown,—
They hear afar the hurrying horsemen come,—
The startling trumpet wakes the rousing drum;
But sternly past the dismal band is gone,
Onward they thunder'd, wordless thund'ring on.

At abbey gates the monks amazed stood,
And many a nun at convent windows bow'd,
Deeming the myst'ry, as they pray'd for grace,
Some holy thing for a more holy place:
With awe they pray'd; the horsemen heeded none,
But onward thunder'd, wordless thund'ring on.

Great borough magistrates, burly and proud,
Who awe, with halberdiers, the murmuring crowd—
Honour'd; unhonouring the horsemen pass'd,
Irreverent rushing, as the northern blast;
They bore a myst'ry, they heeded none,
But onward thunder'd, wordless thund'ring on.

The pond'rous waggons signal'd from afar,
Dreading the hurricane of horse to mar,
Mov'd from the road—aghast the wainers stood,
They saw the squadrons come, a raging flood;

But while they gaz'd, the furious band was gone,
Onward it thunder'd, wordless thund'ring on.

At night their lodge in barns afield they found,
And lonely churches, with white tombs around,—
To which at morn, ere matin psalm was sung,
Fresh steeds were brought; on them the horsemen sprung,
And with the myst'ry, they heeded none,
But onward thunder'd, wordless thund'ring on.

They met the funeral pageant of a peer,
And censer'd fragrancies enveil'd the bier;
“Dust unto dust,” the holy father's sung,—
The widow wept,—“Amen!” the mourners rung,—
They plung'd amidst them, they respected none,
But onward thunder'd, wordless thund'ring on.

They met the wedding of a happy pair:
The bridegroom carol'd, and the bride was fair,—
A pipe and tabor gladden'd every guest,
And blithe mess John went dancing to the feast;
Heedless as Death, the horsemen answer'd none,
But onward thunder'd, wordless thund'ring on.

They enter London, all the stars shine bright,
The world is cover'd with the pall of night,—
Up fly the windows, maids and matrons hear
The myst'ry coming, and look out in fear;
Their sires and husbands, helpless, trampl'd, groan
Beneath the horsemen, wordless thund'ring on.

With torch and taper, and the sounding bell,
The host approach'd—a soul for Heaven or Hell
Was then departing; but the presence stood,
The warriors pass'd, in their unrighteous mood;
Gates now unfolded, and they thunder'd in,
Valves clos'd, Heav'n shudder'd at the royal sin.
And when the darkness melted in the air,
The Wallace captive stood unsworded there!

INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF DALHOUSIE, G.C.B.

I

His hopeless songs, the nestless bird,
That's cag'd afar from woodland bowers,
For pastime sings, heard or unheard,
To wile away the weary hours:
So are my chamber'd moments spent,
“Dalhousie, of an auld descent.”

II

Embalm'd by gratitude, entire,
I still remembrances behold,—
When Hope, all-shivering, needed fire,
And warm'd, resolv'd to face the cold:
Cheer'd by the shelter then bestow'd,
I dar'd a dark and drifted road.

III

The worth of gift or grant, my Lord,
Can ne'er in sterling well be known:
The value of the heart'ning word
Is in the kindness of the tone.
Thus feeling made the widow's mite
A pearl in the Appraiser's sight.

IV

Although your Lordship may forget
The boon which I so much esteem,
I still delight to own the debt;
But how to pay, is now a dream,—
For all my vernal blossoms shed,
Are crush'd by Fortune's truant tread.

V

Now pale Disease, with folded hands,
Sits eyeing time's life-measuring glass:
How slowly ebb the ebbing sands!
How ghastly grows the churchyard grass!
But fast or slow, or brown or green,
Soon all must be like what has been.

VI

But ere I, moveless, mov'd shall be
To where the weary may find rest,
The debt that's justly due to thee
Is now in feeling own'd, confest,—
That no executor may say,
I scrupl'd e'er in heart to pay.

THREE EPISTLES TO MY SONS.

FIRST EPISTLE—CONDUCT.

Be blithe, dear boys: the hope that you are so
Is all the happiness I now can know;
For ails and cares my weary couch molest,
And aimless reveries prohibit rest.

As one beholds, benighted on the shore,
Stopp'd by the stream he ne'er shall ferry more,
The lights of love in his far home so bright,
And looks, forgetful of the low'ring night,
Fond Fancy giv'n to minister relief,
Renews your gambols, and grows gay in grief.

Ah! gladd'ning scenes that never can return,—
The change that must be, wherefore do I mourn?
But never more shall such dear scenes again
Return to mitigate distress or pain.
For envious Time hath to its dismal den
Convey'd my boys, and substituted men;
Quench'd the pure sparklings of the joyous day,
Like morning dews that noon so sweeps away—
Bade darkening skies with drifting clouds impend,
And Truth austere your bounding boyhood end.

Sometimes I try, with unavailing art,
To raze the pictures glowing on my heart,
And in their stead to paint maturer forms;
But still with yours, delighted mem'ry warms,

Yours ever fair—the dimpled young of joy,
Such as I knew, and know what cares annoy.

Oh! if ordain'd,—and gnawing worms infest
The bowers where Innocence was once a guest,
And hopes grown sere, as yellow foliage there
Omen the season of inclement care—
May still your spirit, blest with Nature's aid,
Encounter Fortune ever undismay'd:
For half the malice which afflicts her thrall,
The eye serene of courage may appal,—
Not the bold courage of the boist'rous brave,
With passion insolent, the vices' slave,
But the calm worthy, who intrepid dares,
With open bosom bar'd, hath honour'd scars.
Feel as your kind, but as your betters show
That golden fortitude that's bright in woe;
And if foredoom'd, you yet must vanquish'd lie,
Grasp firm the staff of your integrity.

'Tis not the booty, when the battle's won,
That makes the honour of the laurel crown,
But dauntless manhood in the strife of Death,—
The deed of glory is the victor's wreath.

And yet not victory ever is the prize
Of him who wrong or insolence defies—
A brighter guerdon in his breast is bright,
When Duty perishes subdued by might.
Abash'd, abas'd, the baffled victor shrinks,
Sham'd with success, and honourless he slinks,
To rue with fame a stain'd ignoble fate;
For but the motive makes the hero great.

Though low and laborous your lot be cast
From storms of strife, the battle and the blast,
Remember still that life itself is war,
And needs the courage which inspires to dare.
Man ever is, whate'er his garb may be,
But as a soldier, and in jeopardy:
The highest posted, Fortune may abase;
None are so low that Fortune may not raise.

Yet 'tis not meet in every turn of life
To show the valour that defies in strife;
For gentle habitudes, and aims to please,
Sweeten the solace of unburthen'd ease.

Yes, life though rugged, hath green nooks and dells,
Where Leisure rests, and Mem'ry sometimes dwells:
Nor is it wise, in such serene retreats,
To think stern thoughts, and muse tempestuous threats.

Oh! rather strive with courtesy to wile
The pensive labourer passing from his toil,
To cheerful fancies as he plods along,
And charm the heavy hearted's sigh to song;
For blessed charity that loves to give
Her alms and boons, and lure the lost to live,
Has a reward from her own gracious breast;
And to be kind is to be doubly blest—
Blest in bestowing sympathy on woe,
And in the bliss of having to bestow.

12th August, 1836.

SECOND EPISTLE. PRINCIPLES.

There is much virtue in a high intent,
However short it fell of what was meant;
Therefore, my boys, still greatly aim, nor think
The prize less worthy effort when you sink.
A sordid purpose is in the essay
To him as difficult, crouch'd with dismay,
As the endeavour for all-honour'd gain
To those who nobly after glory strain;

And be your pray'r but for the meed that's giv'n,
When the pure heart is recompens'd by Heav'n,
For here below it is not always bright,
That what seems prosperous is therefore right.

Do still your best, and ever strive to do,
Nor deem that failure is a cause to rue,
Unless self-will'd you dare to fight with Fate,
And mourn her victor when it is too late.
For success never, in life's anxious game,
Can e'er be known, unless we know the aim,—
Some for renown, and some for grandeur try,
Some play for wealth, some for authority,—
But he that wins, is only him that takes,
Whate'er it be, the prize for which he stakes.

Though o'er the future—wherefore who can say—
As night conceals the landscape of the day,
A mystic veil the Heavens in wisdom spread,
Dark, as unseen, of mingled hope and dread,—
They yet disclose that virtue unsubdued,
Shall see alike the evil and the good,
And prove as plainly as if speech had said,
None but the hypocrite need be afraid.

True; oft the advents as the curtain's drawn,
In shapes and hues, as dire abortions dawn,
And fearful accidents, by flood and fire,
Confound the schemes and projects of desire:
But these belong not to what mortals plan,
Nor e'er for such may hold responsive man;
And still remember, what we evil call,
Is but a consequence, the doom of all;
For all inferior to the Infinite
Is tinged with it, as darkness tinges light;
Yes, all the hues that in the Iris shine
Are but the sullied rays of light divine.

This felt, should teach that pain, and grief, and care,
With every ill that flesh is doom'd to heir,
May in some other state of man display
Some glorious harmony, prismatic gay,
As various densities of darkness show
The beauteous vision of the promise bow.
For but to think some heavenly end's attained,
By what we suffer when the spirit's pain'd,

Allays the anguish of all-darking thoughts,
And cheerful manliness to brave promotes.

Oh! ever strive to quell the selfish yearn,
And milder moods from gentle wishes learn.
The blessed brightens for a better state,
Whose master'd passions upon Reason wait.

Still when blind Fortune, ever devious lures,
Let the clear path still on the right be yours;
And still conducted by the light of day,
Avoid the brambles that perplex the way;
But trust that light,—all other guides eschew,—
The path entangl'd can but lead to rue.

If haply, boys, in some malignant hour,
When storms are roaring, you for shelter cow'r
To some unenter'd cave, remember then
That Fear's Discretion near the lion's den.
Oh! rather front undauntedly the squall,
Than couch with reptiles, or risk headlong fall—
Nor e'er the courteous proffer'd wine partake
Without some knowledge,—flowers may hide a snake.

Besides firm rectitude, I would impress:
Never receive as favour what's redress.
It weakens justice, and makes those that wrong'd
Believe they give more than of right belong'd.
The world requires us to regard effect;
And what is principle should be erect.

Ne'er ask a favour which you may not claim
As due for services of gen'rous aim,—
Nor think you ever in your task succeed,
Until some other ratifies the deed.
Still bear in mind that for the world you live,—
And for its welfare ever bound to strive;
For though it grovel,—even crimes applaud,—
It is the echo that prolongs the laud
Of the pure conscience, and that conscience still
Is God's vicegerent, and should rule the will.

EPISTLE THIRD. MANNERS.

Though cherish'd feelings of high-mindedness
Be the firm basis of all true success,
And health far better than much-envied gold,
They are not all which the rich heart should hold.

In every contest, almost in the van,
Place the calm manners of the gentleman,—
Mask the reserve,—I only say almost,
When in the field defiles your marshall'd host;
For in the warfare man is doom'd to wage,
Promiscuous all his forces must engage.

In action simple, frank, and firmly bold,
Brave not superiors, nor inferiors scold:
The first is ever but a vain attempt,—
The last from scorn is not always exempt.
An equal course serenely still pursue,
And do to others, not what they to you
Will sometimes practice, but still, like the sun,
High, bright and openly your journey run.
Dark clouds, remember, often interpose
Between the world, and where on high he glows;
But still, like him, impartial be to all—
Nor heed the consequence. Man is a thrall—
The thrall of Heaven, though—whose great tasks are still
To search for good—that fossil found in ill;
But what the owner with the good—the gold—
Is pleas'd to do, to slaves is never told;

To form an idol, or to help the poor,
Let Heaven determine, mortals but procure.

Some may deride my sermon and my text,
And say that manners are but the effects
Of heart-lov'd principles, the which, if true,
Becoming manners will of course ensue.
Yes, but not always,—many a noble mind
Is to the faults of early habits blind;
And strangers oft the style of manners scan
The tailor's work, before they trust the man.

“Do I advise,” you then perhaps may say,
“The meek, the dry, the placid or the gay?”
Neither, I answer, but what best accords
With pleasing intercourse, as sheaths to swords:
So shall you, with the confidence and love
Of those you deal with, and of Him above,
As genial breezes, in the vernal hours,
Unclose the roughest buds to sweetest flowers,

“But every station,” you again may add,
“Needs different styles, the vivid or the sad.”
No: every station but the mood requires,
Which Reason gives to mod'rated desires.
All err in masqueing, as the shrewd discern—
Subdue yourselves, and you will manners learn.

Beware of form, 'tis but a thing of files,—
A posture-master, with a player's smiles;
Nor think the world may take ignoble ice
For those bright jewels which but monarchs price.
But, after all, my lecture comes to this,—
Unbridl'd passion will correct amiss.

Nor is it wise to deem the scene of life
A throng'd arena of continual strife.
No: rather, lads, regard it as a stage,
Where, though sometimes proud tyrants strut and rage,
The varied show, the music and the lights,
Make Earth a theatre of wond'rous nights.

If in the drama you sustain a part,
And seek resounding recompense for art,
But fail, depend on't you mistake your powers,
The fault is not the managers, but yours.
Thus laugh-compelling Liston, pensive swain,
In Hamlet prov'd the Danish prince insane.

To know the difference of desire and can,
Makes half the talent of the ablest man;
With aims effortless he is doom'd to pine,
Who strives for triumphs, without power to shine;
And yet how often in the world appear
Men urg'd by Hope, who should be held by Fear.

How calm, how firm, how cheerful, too, is he
Who knows himself, and feels his just degree,
Not of his Fortune,—that he oft may rue,—
But what with confidence he well may do.
For though he, shipwreck'd, on the bed be cast,
And wild around him howl th' impassion'd blast,
Still proudly conscious of a right intent,
He smiles at Fate amidst the element,
And undismay'd by darkness and the storm,
Resumes the purpose that he would perform;
Yea, e'en the harms that made him, wounded, yield,
Become as trophies of a well-fought field.

Success can ne'er a wise design denote,
If success come from what could not be thought.
Nor can disasters prove a scheme unwise,
Unless from things men could foresee they rise.
For accidents the mystic Heavens award,
And mortals may but wonted courses guard.
One truth we know—the man, howe'er distress'd,
That seeks the beautiful, will see the best.

LACHRYMALS.

AN INVALID'S ASSOCIATIONS.

While, all alone, I hopeless sighing sit,
Rapt in the trances of a pensive fit,
Methinks sad symbols of my life appear
In the unfoldings of the rolling year.

What time the spring peeps wistful from the wood,
And love with gambols cheers the field and flood,
Youth comes again, by placid mem'ry brought,
Gay with the hopes that garland joyous thought.
But as the rainbow of the vernal skies,
Away, away, the beauteous phantom flies;
Flowers are but weeds, my aching spirit says,
Dull as the sunshine of these bedrid days.

When as a wreck, a cumb'rer of the ground,
Borne to the shore, and on its margin found,
As if, respited from my ceaseless pain,
To see the summer's gorgeous pomp again;
Full soon the sense that there I useless lie
The solace mars of smiling Deity.

Even gen'rous Autumn yields but anguish now,
In all presented by the loaded bough;
For in her perishable gifts the mind
Can but a type of fickle fortune find.

Yes! all the fruit around the orchard rife
Remind of blights in the fair May of life.

When yellow leaves are rustling sere and free,
And birds swing chitt'ring on the rocking tree,—
While storms are coming in the pride of might,
Like hostile foemen rushing from the height,—
Stern winter bids accorded torrents blare
Their dismal dirges to delight Despair,
And spreads o'er Nature, lying stiff below,
The solemn, seamless, winding sheet of snow.

31st Oct., 1836.

TO COL. H---.

Dear H---, what storms and showers
Have pelted both since morning hours,
And still, when day is almost done,
Black clouds hang o'er the setting sun,—
At least to me—oh! long to you
May health the zest of life renew:
That's if you like its doubtful shine,—
A gloomy gloaming now is mine.

How brightly once to both the day
Unfolded blossoms when 'twas May;
But now November scowls at me,
And shatter'd droops the leafless tree.
No fruit e'er set, some baleful blast
Blighting my buds still with'ring past.

Strange fate!—whate'er I thought might bring
A harvest rich, though late the spring,—
Others still found true prophecy,
But my reward—lo, where I lie!
I ne'er suggested ought that fail'd;
What hopes were mine!—not one avail'd.

Nor profits it that I may dare
The keenest quest; disease and care
Can only prompt a wish to rest,—
What can be found is in my breast!
Superb with “mine integrity,”
I can deride at destiny,
But why of wounds and harms thus tell?
I only meant to say, true friend in need, farewell!

April, 1837.

CANADIAN RECOLLECTIONS.

I

At pensive eve, what time the sun
Peep'd through the trees, his journey done,
I lov'd to walk the greenwood still,—
Where gloom seems silence visible,—
And note the fading hues of light,
My heart partaking, too, of night.

II

When flowers, that in the noonbeam shone
With colours like my hopes, were gone,
Oft in the twilight of the wood,
I own'd that aw'd prophetic mood,
Which sees the future as a dream,
And life a shadow'd woodland stream.

III

Till through the boughs I chanced to see
The heavenly orb's bright revelry,
And felt assured, however late,
That time would be my advocate,
And make my aims, despite my fear,
As stars from darkness come, appear.

May, 1837.

ROSNEATH.

Rosneath! Rosneath! among thy sylvan bowers,
When life was hope, and footfalls fell on flowers,
With truant feet I roving loved to roam,
The future freedom, and my bondage home.
Ah, never more must I partake thy breeze!—
My limbs remind me of thy beauteous trees
Stirred by the wind, shaking, but cannot move—
My uselessness all as a widow's love!
How like thy shades my pensive memory grieves—
Thy shades so sadly strewn with fallen leaves,
Types of the hopes that all so fruitless fell,—
Oh! sweet Rosneath, a long, long, long farewell!

1837.

THE STARS.

A Soliloquy in Bed.

Stars! Stars!—now I remember what they were:
The beauteous daisies of the heavenly plain,—
So like the jewels in Aurora's hair,
Far brighter, far than these sad drops of pain.
Alas! my memory begins to fade,
And years have gone since moon and stars I saw,—
Why does not all the mind own the same law?
The pictures of my youth are undecay'd;
The stars and eyes of friends are all no more!—
Pshaw, I but dream, friends will be by and by;
For, when I rise, the day will soon restore
The cheerful sunbeam of the friendly eye.
Ah, never more shall I unaided rise,
Till the last trumpet startles from the skies.

1837.

RUMINATION.

Repress, oh! repress, irresponsible God,
The fears that are mine when the storms are abroad;
When nature's black mortcloth, night, mantles the earth;
When burghers sit cowering, yet safe, on the hearth;
When the stars are conceal'd, as if Providence then
Had shut all its eyes on the perils of men;
For lone in the trances of care and annoy
I see, as in vision, my venturesome boy.

He's far and forlorn in the aisles of the wood;
Around him is winter and hoar solitude;
Above, on a broken bough, frantic and fast,
Wild Danger swings headlong, defying the blast;
While, like an assassin, the flood on the ground
Is stealthily nearing, and nearing him round.

Sometimes the apocalypse dismaller looms.—
He sits by red embers more fearful than glooms—
The flap of the tempest provokes them to blaze—
And flames in his hovel devour and amaze,
Till hutless, dejected, he wanders away,
And lost in the forest, lies stiffen'd to clay.
Repress, oh! repress, irresponsible Heaven,
My fears for his fate that to Thee has been given.

February 1, 1838.

TO THE PRIMROSE.

Methinks a smile of conscious helplessness
Beams from the primrose in its mossy nook,
As orphan maiden thinks, when shelterless,
Of sire or frere, a spoiler to rebuke.
The rose is fenc'd with many a warding thorn;
The lily stars in gardens safely vie;
And the free daisy of the summer morn,
Beholds the sun with a confiding eye;

But the recluse of glens, as if afraid,
Lingers sequester'd in the dewy shade.
Sweet modest flower! and hast thou, too, discern'd
The half of merit upon praise depends;
And in the hazel bower dejected learn'd
That all must pine who cannot count on friends?

ODE,

Suggested by the ignominious attack on Canada by a gang of Thieves and Burglars.

I

Britannia! glory of the earth!
Serene, sublime, determin'd stand;
Whate'er of wisdom shows in worth,
Be ever thine, God-gifted land!
Boon of the world, like life and light,
Where Liberty's the slave of Right.

II

Law, child of Right, still reign in thee,
And Justice, joined with Mercy, smile
Before her throne; Security
Will then reward thy aims and toil:
That, that alone, can freedom give,
For but the safe in freedom live.

III

Though in their forest-wilds at will,
Th' unbridl'd may careering bound,
Be thine, to law submissive still,
In fenced pastures ever found.
Isle of the free! be thine the might,
That's bold in battle—but for Right!

IV

And never may—oh! never, never—
Thy sons, in error, think the sin—
That power or valour e'er may sever
Honour from Right, or Cunning win.
There is no sov'reignty but mind:
Be thine the reason of mankind.

April, 1838.

THE ABOLITION OF SLAVERY.

High was the holiday in Heaven, when all the sons of God
That ward to note the acts of States, assembled from abroad;
Each brought the rubrick of his charge, exultingly and bright,
The red days of all trophied years of glory and of might.

With lowly mein, but reverent pride, they gave the records in,
And all the holy angels stood, as fiends at the first sin,
Aw'd, fearing woe; but soon they heard a seraph's solemn voice:
“Almighty God approves the rolls, the world amends, rejoice.”

Vast Heaven resounded with a shout, and jubilant the blest,
Te deum sung—the psalm that's sung, when the oppress'd resist,
And then arose a chorus strain of infinite acclaim,
As if th' eternal host around could own the sense of fame.

“At Moscow the indignant Russ, terrific with his wrongs,
Did hurl the patriotic torch, his meed courageous songs;
And when was told the British gift, that bought the negro's chain,
Atlantine Freedom hung her head, and blush'd with selfdisdain.”

With stern sublimity serene, bright millions brighten'd then,
For all “the sworded seraphim” are pleased with gen'rous men.—
O England! Queen of noble hearts, great parent of the free,
Boon to mankind! be ever first, till freemen drain the sea.

[_]

The self-immolation of Moscow, and the mode in which the British slaves were emancipated, are perhaps two of the most magnanimous acts in the history of the world.

Job.

Dryden.

Milton.