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43
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
54
LAMENTATION OF Lady Arabella Stuart; IN THE TOWER.
Thou gloomy witness of my wayward fate,
Let my sad heart its sorrows breathe to thee—
Thy stony walls are kinder than the great;
Thou art more pitying than mankind to me!
Let my sad heart its sorrows breathe to thee—
Thy stony walls are kinder than the great;
Thou art more pitying than mankind to me!
Tho' well I know to thee 'twere vain to sue;
Thy senseless frame can never soothe my care;
Yet James no more of tender mercy knew,
When at his feet I pour'd the useless pray'r.
Thy senseless frame can never soothe my care;
Yet James no more of tender mercy knew,
When at his feet I pour'd the useless pray'r.
His mind, where feeling never held her throne,
Was far more deaf than thee to all my woe;
Truth—Virtue—Nature—from his breast is flown:
Ne'er knew that heart with ought but pride to glow.
Was far more deaf than thee to all my woe;
Truth—Virtue—Nature—from his breast is flown:
Ne'er knew that heart with ought but pride to glow.
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Oh, when I bade him think on Mary's fate,
Did not his mother's sorrows move his soul?
Could nought dispel his stern—his cruel hate,
Which bound me thus beneath his fierce controul!
Did not his mother's sorrows move his soul?
Could nought dispel his stern—his cruel hate,
Which bound me thus beneath his fierce controul!
Oh! all ye shades which once these walls immur'd,
Look down while hapless Arabella sighs!
Ye gentle pair whom early death secur'd,
Sad on the wind methinks I hear your cries.
Look down while hapless Arabella sighs!
Ye gentle pair whom early death secur'd,
Sad on the wind methinks I hear your cries.
Each dismal gust that sweeps these turrets by,
Reminds my shudd'ring thoughts of horror's deeds!
Now murder'd Clarence' groans around me fly—
Now fancy shapes where royal Henry bleeds.
Reminds my shudd'ring thoughts of horror's deeds!
Now murder'd Clarence' groans around me fly—
Now fancy shapes where royal Henry bleeds.
Alas! what shade arises 'midst the gloom,
And bows her white neck to the headsman's blow;—
Oh, lovely Anna! such thy dreadful doom!
A monarch's falsehood brought thy beauty low.
And bows her white neck to the headsman's blow;—
Oh, lovely Anna! such thy dreadful doom!
A monarch's falsehood brought thy beauty low.
The vision fading from my tearful eyes,
But bids my mind on equal sorrows rest;
Thy fate, fair Grey! anew recals my sighs,
And sheds fresh torment on my aching breast!
But bids my mind on equal sorrows rest;
Thy fate, fair Grey! anew recals my sighs,
And sheds fresh torment on my aching breast!
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No more my throbbing sight can bear to view—
Soon dreary shades I join your beck'ning train;
Depart awhile, but for a short adieu,
For soon I feel that we shall meet again.
Soon dreary shades I join your beck'ning train;
Depart awhile, but for a short adieu,
For soon I feel that we shall meet again.
Come, courteous sleep, and yield thy dewy pow'r,
Nor let me longer dwell on sights so dread,
But for awhile believe my sorrows o'er,
And shew me where my Seymour rests his head!
Nor let me longer dwell on sights so dread,
But for awhile believe my sorrows o'er,
And shew me where my Seymour rests his head!
Wrap in forgetfulness my wand'ring mind,
Spurn lurking horror from my wounded breast;
Ne'er let me wake again, such griefs to find,
But bid calm death steal silent on my rest!
Spurn lurking horror from my wounded breast;
Ne'er let me wake again, such griefs to find,
But bid calm death steal silent on my rest!
57
To the Sea.
Oh wide expanse, so awful and sublime!
I gaze with wrapt and melancholy eye,
As 'midst the silent gloom of lonely eve,
I mark thy billows slowly rolling by.
I gaze with wrapt and melancholy eye,
As 'midst the silent gloom of lonely eve,
I mark thy billows slowly rolling by.
That swelling wave, which wet my ling'ring feet,
Has haply pass'd o'er many a woeful scene—
Has wash'd, perhaps, the dismal wreck'd remains
Of some tall bark that grac'd thy surface green!
Has haply pass'd o'er many a woeful scene—
Has wash'd, perhaps, the dismal wreck'd remains
Of some tall bark that grac'd thy surface green!
Has heedless pass'd where desp'rate shrieks arose,
Where sinking beings stretch'd their hands in vain;
Or stopp'd its course awhile, and swelling high,
Dash'd o'er their forms, and onward rush'd again!
Where sinking beings stretch'd their hands in vain;
Or stopp'd its course awhile, and swelling high,
Dash'd o'er their forms, and onward rush'd again!
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Beneath its dreadful force perhaps there fell
The only hope of friends, far—far away!
There, with them sunk, beneath its direful swell
The last sad glimpse of fleeting pleasure's ray.
The only hope of friends, far—far away!
There, with them sunk, beneath its direful swell
The last sad glimpse of fleeting pleasure's ray.
One tender form is present to my view,
Which vainly struggles 'midst the rushing tide,
Then fades from sight, where waves on waves pursue,
And bids the deep the dismal story hide!
Which vainly struggles 'midst the rushing tide,
Then fades from sight, where waves on waves pursue,
And bids the deep the dismal story hide!
Could not a mother's and a sister's sighs
Join with the wind, and waft thee to the shore?
Could not a helpless, orphan, brother's cries
Melt the hard fates, and thou return once more!
Join with the wind, and waft thee to the shore?
Could not a helpless, orphan, brother's cries
Melt the hard fates, and thou return once more!
No! thou art lost—nor those sad rites allow'd
To weep beside thy flow'r-strewn, mournful, grave,
For where the billows sweep with moaning loud,
Thy bones are whit'ning low in Ocean's cave!
To weep beside thy flow'r-strewn, mournful, grave,
For where the billows sweep with moaning loud,
Thy bones are whit'ning low in Ocean's cave!
Tho' stormy sea, thou bidd'st these thoughts arise,
Yet will I linger by thy rocky side:
Whilst to his wat'ry bier my fancy flies,
And views his tomb, altho' on earth deny'd!
Yet will I linger by thy rocky side:
Whilst to his wat'ry bier my fancy flies,
And views his tomb, altho' on earth deny'd!
59
A TRIBUTE TO THE SPIRIT OF ROBERT BURNS.
Oh, why are Coila's banks so gay?
Why there do still the maids delay?
Their sweetest joy is fled away—
The minstrel's song;
For he who sung, no more would stay
Their groves among.
Why there do still the maids delay?
Their sweetest joy is fled away—
The minstrel's song;
For he who sung, no more would stay
Their groves among.
Oh! if ye yet will linger there,
Come join to mine a gentle pray'r,
And we'll a simple wreath prepare
For Ayr's sweet swain,
Of heather bells and daisies fair,
That starr'd the plain.
Come join to mine a gentle pray'r,
And we'll a simple wreath prepare
For Ayr's sweet swain,
Of heather bells and daisies fair,
That starr'd the plain.
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We'll hang the garland on a tree,
And mark the cooing wood-dove flee
From ancient haunts in cheerful glee,
To rest her there;
And there the throstle we shall see,
And lark repair.
And mark the cooing wood-dove flee
From ancient haunts in cheerful glee,
To rest her there;
And there the throstle we shall see,
And lark repair.
Each ev'ning shall the nightingale
To list'ning fairies tell her tale,
Who will, till morning's dawn, bewail
In whisp'ring moan,
For him, the pride of Scottish dale,
So early flown!
To list'ning fairies tell her tale,
Who will, till morning's dawn, bewail
In whisp'ring moan,
For him, the pride of Scottish dale,
So early flown!
We'll bid the gale sweep softly by,
And 'midst the waving rushes sigh,
And breathe to wand'ring travellers nigh
His fav'rite name,
Who, joining in sweet sympathy,
Repeat the same.
And 'midst the waving rushes sigh,
And breathe to wand'ring travellers nigh
His fav'rite name,
Who, joining in sweet sympathy,
Repeat the same.
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Here shall the wood nymphs oft be seen
Smoothing the lawn so fair and green,
Where sportive fawns before had been
Amid the shade;
And haunt where, in the peaceful scene,
His wreath is laid.
Smoothing the lawn so fair and green,
Where sportive fawns before had been
Amid the shade;
And haunt where, in the peaceful scene,
His wreath is laid.
62
WRITTEN ON Her Birth-Day,
Oct. 9, 1816.
Can that poor bard, whose sighs keep dreary time,
Breathe forth a lay to grace her natal hour?
Can she delight to sing in sounding rhyme,
Who weeps within a solitary bow'r?
Yet still soft poesy! she owns thy pow'r,
And grateful, loves to hear thy praise arise;
Like that fond, pensive, ever faithful, flow'r,
Which tho' forlorn, still dwells with dewy eyes
On him, who once was kind, and in his presence dies!
Breathe forth a lay to grace her natal hour?
Can she delight to sing in sounding rhyme,
Who weeps within a solitary bow'r?
Yet still soft poesy! she owns thy pow'r,
And grateful, loves to hear thy praise arise;
Like that fond, pensive, ever faithful, flow'r,
Which tho' forlorn, still dwells with dewy eyes
On him, who once was kind, and in his presence dies!
But gloomy strains awake her sleeping lyre,
For early dreams a pleasing prospect show'd—
They once a golden vision might inspire,
And peace o'er all the flatt'ring picture glow'd.
Yet, tho' on life's uncertain dreary road
Small store of years their low'ring course have roll'd,
Too soon the bard its darkest paths has trod,
And sorrow has her dismal story told
To one who thought not e'er to meet such greeting cold!
For early dreams a pleasing prospect show'd—
They once a golden vision might inspire,
And peace o'er all the flatt'ring picture glow'd.
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Small store of years their low'ring course have roll'd,
Too soon the bard its darkest paths has trod,
And sorrow has her dismal story told
To one who thought not e'er to meet such greeting cold!
Her youth, by few of pleasure's garlands crown'd,
Droops 'neath misfortune's wither'd, leafless, band!
For friends when most requir'd are rarely found—
The name is little known in that sad land,
Where stern adversity with sceptred hand
Spreads her unwelcome, soul-appalling, sway,
Love and society desert her strand,
And 'midst gay crowds remembrance chase away,
For little do they love with pain and woe to stay!
Droops 'neath misfortune's wither'd, leafless, band!
For friends when most requir'd are rarely found—
The name is little known in that sad land,
Where stern adversity with sceptred hand
Spreads her unwelcome, soul-appalling, sway,
Love and society desert her strand,
And 'midst gay crowds remembrance chase away,
For little do they love with pain and woe to stay!
64
PARAPHRASE OF DAVID'S LAMENTATION
Over Saul and Jonathan.
Oh lament! for the beauty of Israel is slain,
And the mighty are fall'n in death on the plain!
Oh, tell not in Gath the sad, heart-rending, tale—
Let not Askelon know the dear loss we bewail!
Lest their daughters rejoice with loud songs and with mirth,
And our tears and our woe to their triumph give birth.
Ye mountains of Gilboa, no more let us view
Your summits, all sparkling with fresh fall'n dew!
No more let the rain on your meadows be shed,
No longer the altars for off'rings be spread;
For there was the shield of the mighty destroy'd,
That shield which so fiercely in fight was employ'd!
Alas! for there Saul's fatal death blow was giv'n,
As tho' he had ne'er been anointed of Heav'n!
And the mighty are fall'n in death on the plain!
Oh, tell not in Gath the sad, heart-rending, tale—
Let not Askelon know the dear loss we bewail!
Lest their daughters rejoice with loud songs and with mirth,
And our tears and our woe to their triumph give birth.
Ye mountains of Gilboa, no more let us view
Your summits, all sparkling with fresh fall'n dew!
No more let the rain on your meadows be shed,
No longer the altars for off'rings be spread;
For there was the shield of the mighty destroy'd,
That shield which so fiercely in fight was employ'd!
Alas! for there Saul's fatal death blow was giv'n,
As tho' he had ne'er been anointed of Heav'n!
65
From the arm of the strong—from the blood of the foe,
When shrunk the bold arrow from Jonathan's bow?
Where the battle rag'd loudest the bright sword of Saul,
Like lightning, in heaps made his enemies fall.
They were lovely and pleasant in life's short career,
And death has not sunder'd two bosoms so dear!
More swift than the wings of the eagle they flew,
And stronger than lions their courage we knew!
When shrunk the bold arrow from Jonathan's bow?
Where the battle rag'd loudest the bright sword of Saul,
Like lightning, in heaps made his enemies fall.
They were lovely and pleasant in life's short career,
And death has not sunder'd two bosoms so dear!
More swift than the wings of the eagle they flew,
And stronger than lions their courage we knew!
Ye daughters of Israel, lament over Saul,
His kindness—his gifts, to your mem'ry recal;
He deck'd your apparel with jewels and gold,
And gave the rich scarlet your limbs to enfold.
Oh! how are the mighty in battle laid low!
Oh Jonathan! for thee sincere is our woe!
My brother! my friend! and my tenderest care,
My love was more strong than for women we bear.
The mighty are fallen in battle afar,
And broken, and perish'd the weapons of war!
His kindness—his gifts, to your mem'ry recal;
He deck'd your apparel with jewels and gold,
And gave the rich scarlet your limbs to enfold.
Oh! how are the mighty in battle laid low!
Oh Jonathan! for thee sincere is our woe!
My brother! my friend! and my tenderest care,
My love was more strong than for women we bear.
The mighty are fallen in battle afar,
And broken, and perish'd the weapons of war!
66
IMITATION OF AMANTE IRRESOLUTO.
Canzonetta Pastorale.
Alas, my heart, without a guide
Thou wand'rest near love's treacherous shore;
Say, wilt thou stem the glittering tide,
Or haste its beauties to explore?
Ah! yon fair vale too much delights me,
And I must go where love invites me!
Thou wand'rest near love's treacherous shore;
Say, wilt thou stem the glittering tide,
Or haste its beauties to explore?
Ah! yon fair vale too much delights me,
And I must go where love invites me!
Oh, she who knows how much I've lov'd her,
She, who triumphs where she will,
Reigns in beauty—but I've prov'd her
Cruel, wav'ring, faithless, still!
Why should her frowns, her scorn delight me?—
I'll fly—tho' love himself invite me.
She, who triumphs where she will,
Reigns in beauty—but I've prov'd her
Cruel, wav'ring, faithless, still!
Why should her frowns, her scorn delight me?—
I'll fly—tho' love himself invite me.
67
Too true, no smile my bosom calms,
Too true, she's cruel, false and vain!
But ah! not less her magic charms!—
Still, still I cannot quit my chain.
No, no, her ev'ry look delights me,
I go—I fly where love invites me!
Too true, she's cruel, false and vain!
But ah! not less her magic charms!—
Still, still I cannot quit my chain.
No, no, her ev'ry look delights me,
I go—I fly where love invites me!
Oh, how could I in anger name her!
Joy and beauty round her grow;
I was cruel e'er to blame her—
I was false to call her so.
With all her faults she still delights me,
With joy I haste where love invites me.
Joy and beauty round her grow;
I was cruel e'er to blame her—
I was false to call her so.
With all her faults she still delights me,
With joy I haste where love invites me.
69
LINES COMPOSED ON THE SEA SHORE, AT THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
Oft when the sun with many a ling'ring glanceThat tells the world his time of rest is nigh,
Darts o'er the silver of the blue expanse,
His crimson rays of glory thro' the sky;
I stay, in lonely silence on the shore,
While round the wide, majestic, waters flow,
Now gently rippling, now with sudden roar,
Still, while they cherish, seem to chide my woe!
The deep red streaks that mark'd yon purple cloud
Are quickly fading in the gloom of night;
And now the Heav'ns, envelop'd in her shroud
Beam with the last faint ray of setting light;
And sky and sea in misty line are join'd;
No breath disturbs the stillness—nor a sound,
Save the soft moaning of the waves confin'd
By the dark barriers of the rocks around.
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And one fair star, oh! how supremely bright!
Conspicuous in its dazzling beauty glows,
Tinging the billows with its silver light.
Where are my thoughts when all these scenes I see?
Where flies my fancy?—to what distant shore?
Oh then, Eliza! my fond soul's with thee—
Oh then I deeply feel—thou'rt here no more!
Then I review the many happy days
With thee I've known, but ne'er can know again!
Thy looks, thy words, my busy mind pourtrays,
Thy ev'ry virtue—and my endless pain.
Oh! when shall peace return within this breast?
Which, once, admitted but her gentle form,
Shall this sad, troubled, bosom never rest,
Nor time allay its all-o'erwhelming storm!
There is no balm, alas! to ease my grief,
No charm that can my wounded peace restore,
This soul no more may seek to find relief,
For we have parted—and I hope no more!
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