University of Virginia Library

CANTO THE SECOND. The Well of St. Loy.

I.

II.

Sweet Sleep! the balm to toil — the dew
That doth our morning strength renew;—
Sweet Spirit of Forgetfulness,
The unfabled Lethe of Distress;—
Blest soother of the Peasant's pillow,
Hushed by the night flies to his rest;—
Companion, o'er the stormy billow,
Of the wet Seaboy on the mast,
Cradled on surges, and rocked by the blast
To and fro, full giddily;—
While Death is awaked by the summons so rude,
He heedeth it not, and his slumber's as good,
As danger were not nigh;
And when, like the Sun, he springs blithe from his bed,
Knows nought of the night, nor the feeling of dread:—
But oh, thou hast been by rude tempest and rage,
Startled from this lone Hermitage.

III.

The string that throbbed in Almar's breast
Was not, nor could it be, represt.
Remains that first vibration still,
Which awakened with the heart's mysterious thrill,
For the hapless doom of that lady fair,
Endeared by her misery, and, haply, more dear,
And called up the chords of sad Memory, to tell
The sorrow for her he had loved so well,
But wronged her from that love's excess!
Yet who might wish he had loved her less?

IV.

His anguish to conceal he striveth—
'Tis vain, ah, very vain—
Still, still—that fitful string reviveth,
Again, and yet again.
“Too faithful Memory!”—Almar said—
“Whose voice vibrates within;
“Nor goes with the past, nor dies with the dead,
“To misery e'er akin.
“O, fondness — dotage! that mine age,
“Tempered in this still Hermitage,
“By long experience rendered wise,
“And proof 'gainst wonder or surprise,
“That from aught new or strange might rise,
“Should sink, by Fancy thus o'erthrown,
“And find in other's doom, mine own
“Conjured by necromantic spell,
“From retrospection's airy cell.
“List, Edwy, thou my tale shalt know,
“Why heave my sighs, my sorrows flow!
“To none revealed, not even to thee,—
“But thou, it's dwelling place shalt be
“I'll pour it in thy genial breast,
“To sooth in friendship, and be blest.
“After these bursts of heart and soul,
“That rent my frame, and scorned control,
“Nor could unnoticed pass by thee,
“As from thy gesture I may see,
“'Tis fit, that by the pride of eld,
“It should not be from thee withheld —
“List, Edwy, thou my tale shalt know,
“Why heave my sighs, my sorrows flow!

V.

“Good Heaven! Oh, once didst thou not shower
“Thy blessings on my sway?
“Nor even fate herself might lour
“Upon Lord Almar's way.
“Noble and honoured, young and gay,
“With songs began the light;
“Flowery the path of the jocund day,
“And blest was the pillow of night;
“For thou, the sunbeam of my soul, wert there,
“My Arabel, to lighten and to cheer.

VI.

“But, oh, I was a Child of Pride!
“And Nature's harmony
“Within my haughty spirit died,
“Dull, cold to sympathy.
“I scorned the Harp, which pours along
“The Bard's deep melody of song,
“And deemed its raptures pure and high,
“The bursts of phrensied extacy;
“And to the music of the Mind,
“Was deaf — yea, dead — as one confined
“Beneath Trade's harsh and sordid bane,
“For ever sedulous of gain.
“Ye charms of Nature, Fancy, Love,
“Blest with the smile of God above!
“Ye warbling woods, ye echoing groves,
“Where Flora with Apollo roves,
“Beauteous in hue, and sweet with song,
“Ravishing the rich air along!
“Ye fields, ye mountains, gently-wild,
“Awfully-pleasing! rocks up-piled,
“That barrier the resounding shore,
“Laved by blue ocean's stormy roar!
“Ye flowers, ye labyrinths of green,
“And all the garniture between!
“Ye beauties of the morn and even,
“The bright magnificence of heaven!
“Thou sun, thou moon, and every star,
“That beam with blessings from afar,
“And deck the radiant zone of Love!
“Your Maker, the great God above.
“Beholds ye with complacency,
“Yet lacked ye homage from mine eye —
“Yes, I renounced the holy train,
“Which are the smiles of God to men!

VII.

“In power, and wealth, and wedded love,
“I was so blest my peers above,
“That I became with men to be
“A proverb of felicity.
“But—surely 'twas to my pride—
“Then, then, my Arabella died!
“Thy cradle, with her death she bought,
“My daughter—Oh, that flash of thought!
“Did I not love thee with more love,
“For thy dear mother's sake above,
“Because she died for thee?—yet I
“Spurned thee, for whom she bore to die!
“Though her dear name was given to thee,
“And had of her reminded me,
“Had not that Pride returned with joy,
“And asked fresh trials to destroy.
“Oft I in sleepless dreams had seen
“Thy mother rise in heavenly sheen,
“To bless me, and with whisper mild
“Implore me to protect her child,—
“Oh, how was she at once forgot,
“Her warnings were remembered not!

VIII.

“She was a votary, whose knee
“E'er bowed at Nature's shrine,
“And worshipped her with minstrelsy,
“And love, and awe divine.
“She heard, and saw, in each grove a spirit,
“And nymphs each wildering wood inherit;
“In every stream a Naiad fair
“Pour forth her urn, and braid her hair;
“A Genius in the shaggy dell;
“A voice within the silent cell:
“And peopled each airy solitude,
“With visionary beings rude.
“Sweet forms, of light and music blended,
“On the glad rainbow's arch descended,
“And whispered to her musing soul
“Strains, from the harps of Angels stole—
“Yea, to her purged, less earthly ears
“Revealed the concent of the spheres.
“Her heart so gentle, meek, and mild,
“Upon my Arabel I smiled—
“How could I act a sterner part,
“To such a mild and filial heart?
“But yet 'twas done—and, Oh, by me,
“My gentle Arabel, to thee!—

IX.

“A Youth, whom then I could despise,
“But since is lovely in mine eyes—
“Whose name I fear to breathe, lest I
“Should call some vengeance from the sky,
“To wreak for him those wrongs in thunder,
“That strove to wrench his heart asunder—
“He came—with her in secret roved,
“And the same wond'rous objects loved,
“Rejoicing both in Nature's frame,
“Whose soul again rejoiced in them:
“Her holy hand and voice combined
“Them both in will, and heart, and mind.—
“Fond, rigid that I was! I sought
“To break the links that Nature wrought;
“Against her laws rebelled my pride,
“And did the voice of love deride;
“It scorned to wed my Arabel
“With one whom fortune scorned as well,
“For that in fancy's softer hour,
“He, by a spell of certain power,
“Did with a melancholy tale
“Over her melted heart prevail—
“For he his story told to her,
“And for his sake she loved the youth;—
“He too had lost a brother there,
“Where thine was lost;—and, ay, in sooth,
“His story was most like to thine—
“Yet thou art not that son of mine!

X.

“They wed!—And then with passion wild,
“Oh, horrible!—I cursed my Child
“And since that she had broke the band,
“That links the child to sire's command,
“I wished that Heaven would break from her
“The blessings due to many a prayer;
“Yea, that each prayer of mine might turn
“To curses that would deeply burn!
“I bade her from my halls depart,
“With a blank desolated heart,
“That she might feel the pangs I felt,
“Which rived my heart, unused to melt,
“To know my nobly ancestry
“Debased to such a slave as he!
“But why should I pursue this theme,
“Full of distraction in extreme?
“My vanity and pride expose,
“That uttered words so full of woes?
“Ah! though my heart unused was then
“To melt, yet since I've wept amain.
“And when Man weeps his pangs are great!
“Tears soothe a Woman for her fate,
“But when they dew stern Manhood's eye,
“Oh! they are torn in agony,
“With violence from the soul, as they
“Had rent it from its trammelled clay.
“At once they burst its deepest spring,
“And leave the heart a broken thing,
“Blighted and severed; to the tomb
“Bent in dejection's iron gloom!

XI.

“My words were past—my Child was gone,
“And I was in my halls alone!
“Mute was each shade, each grove, and bower,
“And sadness seemed o'er each to lour.
“Repentance in my tortured breast
“Had deeply coiled her snaky crest.
“She sucked the life-blood at the spring,
“And left within her rankling sting.—
“Often her Mother's shade would rise
“Before my wild and haggard eyes,
“Bathed in her tears, to chide the deed
“For which my heart in secret bled,
“And which, in realms of hallowed rest,
“Disturbed a spirit of the Blest!
“My heart, though sad and desolate,
“Was softened by its rigid fate,
“And in each scene of melancholy
“Found charms congenial and all holy,
“That it from pride had scorned before,
“But, humbled now, shall scorn no more.
“Then what was wealth—the world, to me,
“But cumberous shows of vanity?
“Sorrow loves silent solitude,
“Remorse grows wild if it be viewed—
“I wished to bid the world farewell,
“And find a calm secluded Cell,
“Where I alone my griefs might feed,
“And punish me for my misdeed;
“Where to dream only I might sleep,
“And but with morn awake—to weep.

XII.

“Behold me now—what need I tell,
“This was the calm secluded Cell?
“My Daughter seen not to this hour,
“I left my halls, my wealth, my power,
“Far distant hence.—Now thrice the sun
“His annual course through heaven hath run,
“And from his high and orbed throne,
“Beheld me 'mid these wilds alone,
“In simple eremite array,
“With crooked staff, and amice grey—
“Or with my beechen cup severe,
“My maple dish of humble fare—
“Or tending, in a pensive mood,
“The flowers that grace my solitude,
“And round the oak, and o'er my cell,
“Teaching the ivy flexible
“Quaintly her wreathy arms to twine,
“At Fancy's most fantastic shrine;
“While, from the gadding spray along,
“The blackbird loudly trills his song,
“And while the widowed turtles wail,
“And sweetly mourn their amorous tale;—
“And sadly o'er the brook's dim verge
“Ascends the stockdove's dying dirge;

“While wandering o'er the brook's dim verge,
“I hear the stockdove's dying dirge.”

Warton's Ode on the approach of Summer.

“And as to her sad notes and wild
“I list by sympathy beguiled,
“Perchance, of that thrice hallowed Well,
“Whose waters, charmed with holy spell,
“And dedicate to thee St. Loy,
“Can many a malady destroy,
“Some victim sad of sickness' seal
“May at the blessed margin kneel,
“And from my willing hand receive
“The sacred crystal's healing wave.”

XIII.

He paused—'twas silence all around,
Deep-striking, solemnly profound—
Edwy still seemed to list, and thought
His words again in whispers brought;
As from his rapt and musing soul,
Which mingled with the pensive theme
Full many a moral, like a dream,
The tale in airy murmurs stole—
Like sounds in visionary sleep,
That to the mourner seem to weep.
And when his soul had mused her fill,
And found that Almar, all was still,
He dared not breathe—an holy fear,
Like a keen spirit of the air,
Impressed his powers with a law
Of veneration and deep awe,
As if the pulse of life were ceased,
Yet not the thrilling soul released.

XIV.

But now that solemn pause is broke,
Sudden again old Almar spoke—
“In this deep loneliness, I was
“Not lonely;—for fond sorrow has
“Companions, whom the busy world
“Knows nothing of, in riot hurled—
“And e'en since thou hast been with me,
“I have indulged my misery,
“Apart in some nook of my cell
“And seen the forms I love so well!
“Yet that was sorrow's luxury,
“Her dear infatuated joy,
“And fascinated wretchedness
“That pierces e'en the grave's recess.
“But when I saw such lovely flower,
“Blasted in that rude Robber's power,
“A vision overcame my soul
“With supernatural control,
“And waked the thoughts of woe, alas!
“Of what I am, and what I was.
“Long had I dreamed my Child was dead,
“And many a tear of fancy shed:
“But I beheld her then in Heaven,
“Sainted and blessed—and forgiven—
“But I was not!—Her Mother, too,
“With her was present to my view,
“But pardoned not the rigor wild
“Which urged to last distress her Child!
“My Daughter's eyes were rich in ruth,
“And beamed with charity and truth;
“But oh, her Mother turned from me,
“And looked not on my misery:—
“O canst not thou then pardon me?
“My Arabel!—if this from thee,
“What may I hope from Heaven!—I cried,
“And thought Despair, in giant pride,
“Had all his waves dashed o'er my head,
“And whelmed me, mingled with the dead—
“Oh, then what sights, what sounds of woe,
“Horribly threatened me below!—
“Thank God! the vision broke, and I
“Returned once more to hope, and die!”

XV.

Old Almar ceased his tale of woe,
And Edwy sad and young,
Returned him answer, smoothly slow,
Sweet gliding o'er his tongue.
“Their own peculiar planets rise
“On all men, subject to the skies,
“Malignant or benign—
“The rays of thine have shone and lowered;—
“And mine have not unmingled towered,
“But now no more shall shine!
“Their hour is past!—Yet since I told
“To thee my tearful tale,
“And while thine own thou didst unfold,
“To one so young and frail,
“Hope seemed to sooth my breast to peace
“With promises of better days,
“As if the star that rules my life,
“Should yet again emerge from strife,
“And bid the storms of sorrow cease,
“Before it's bright ascendant rays.

XVI.

“But that, I ween, will never be
“Until I am above!—
“That Hope's the Child of Sympathy,
“Participant with Love:
“Oh, when their kindred voice to speak
“Is suffered not, the heart must break!
“'Tis like the many-raptured flute,
“If left to rust alone, and mute,
“Will it not lose its sweetness soon,
“And idle be its polished tone?
“Will not its tube be split and vain,
“Which, haply, might have breathed a strain,
“If fallen to skilful hands, so high,
“Of such delicious melody,
“As would have stilled the storm, and laid
“The waves upon their Ocean-bed,
“The winds within their caves afar,
“And hushed the din of wrath and war;
“Or to the breast by anguish riven,
“A sweet seraphic solace given,
“A pleasure been to every sense;
“Preserving its own excellence.—
“E'en such, O Sympathy, thou art,
“The music thou of Sorrow's heart.
“Be thou repressed, 'tis desolate,
“And discord all—the brood of Fate,
“Ravenous, then lap her vital blood!
“But thou! with thy diviner mood,
“When Love, by gentle Pity brought,
“Awakens the accents of thy thought,
“And gives it motion, voice, and life,—
“Thou dost assuage their cursed strife,
“Dost charm the adders from their prey,
“And sooth the every pang away.

XVII.

“When Fancy shall the veil withdraw,
“That shrouds from us those shapes of awe
“Which in the world unknown reside,
“The unreal scene disclosing wide,
“Intelligent of either's Fate,
“Together, now, may we debate
“The chilling touch of frantic Fear,
“That else would freeze us to despair:
“And, haply, in this vale of peace,
“Where the world ends, or seems to cease,
“O father—in this Hermitage,
“That calms my youth, and suits thine age,
“Our time in meditation spent,—
“Or grateful prayer—or hymned concent—
“Or in meek charity employed,—
“The waters of St. Loy enjoyed,
“Wherewith to steal her agony
“From this most frail mortality—
“Or pouring o'er my harp the soul,
“In richest luxury to roll,
“With themes that fill, and lift it wide,
“In extacy to Heaven allied—
“Ay, here, O father, haply, they
“Our lot may envy, who so gay,
“And gorgeous, in their bannered halls,
“Triumph at sumptuous festivals
“O'er false joys, that in poisons end,
“Which in the bitter chalice blend
“Of fell Repentance, who compels
“Her victims to the thousand hells,
“That in the baleful draught are poured
“For every smile of mirth deplored!

XVIII.

“Father, my counsel do not scorn—
“The bursts, of strongest feelings born,
“Thy soul's convulsions have been such,
“As jarred thine aged frame too much—
“Then come to St. Loy's healing stream,
“'Twill renovate thine injured frame—
“There miracles have erst been done,
“And thou, in need, mightst hope for one,
“Who art its priest, and dost dispense
“Its medicinal excellence;
“Then less to thee it may deny
“That which to all it doth supply.—
“And I will take my harp along
“To aid the cup of health with song.”
Almar consented, and arose
His arboured entrance to unclose.
They issue forth the Hermitage,
Grey Almar's feeble steps of age,
Sustained by Edwy's youth along,
Whose Harp beside his girdle hung,
Prepared its melody to roll,
When Heaven's own flash shall touch his soul.

XIX.

Gazed Edwy on his Harp, and said,
As mournful Memory brought the dead,
And friendship with his Brother joined,
Rushed sadly on his musing mind—
“Upon this Harp, but known to me,
“Such mystic characters I see,
“As ope the fountains of mine eyes,
“For one who owned its melodies.
“While in the North our travels were
“Rejoicing over Nature there,
“I, and my Brother—Oh, my soul!
“These swelling bursts of grief controul—
“We made us to a Minstrel dear,
“And loved his native strains to hear,
“And gladly on his Harp he told
“The wonders of the days of old,—
“But Friendship, if its arm could save
“Age from the all-remorseless grave,
“Or lay together friends in sleep,
“Had not let me survive to weep!
“While yet the last breath lingered o'er
“His paly lip, to be no more,
“This boon of powerful harmony.
“His Harp beloved, he gave to me,
“With those same withered hands, which had
“Erst swept its strings divinely sad,
“Pensively pleasing, sweetly wild,
“And energetically mild,
“As oft he sung his tuneful lore—
“But now those strings may sweep no more!
“Of Morven was the Bard, and he
“Descended from that Minstrelsy
“Which owned in times long past as king
“Ossian, of heroes skilled to sing.
“And to one of those Sons of Song
“Did this old lofty harp belong,
“And often cheered the King of Men
“With tales of his forefathers then,
“And called the Spirits of the Brave
“From the bright worlds beyond the grave,
“In lucid clouds, around the strain,
“To listen to their fame again.
“Nor had it in this Minstrel's hand,
“Who gave it me, much less command:
“And when I think of him, my heart
“Will heave with sighs, my tears will start,
“But which I wish not to control,
“For they but melt to sooth the soul.
“And for his sake this Harp is dear;—
“E'en in those whirlpools of despair
“Which part the Celt's wild mountain land
“From savage Lochlin's adverse strand,
“Where sank the Brother of my heart,
“From this fond boon I would not part,
“But wed it 'mid the raging deep—
“And for his sake will ever keep.”

XX.

By the chill blasts of night refined,
The air is all serene and kind,
And through a subtler medium shows
The extended prospects clad in snows.
The Anchorites still onward move
Through many a maze of the shattered grove,
By tempest-shock in darkness wounded,
But more by that wild rout confounded,
That burst through them their reckless forms,
More black than night, more mad than storms!
Now Winter reigns o'er half the globe,
And he hath thrown his lucid robe
On Nature, and these Hermits rude,
And Spring-beloved Solitude—
But now each flower the Spring admired
Before his cold touch hath retired,
And each deserted stem and tree
But wears a foliage mockery;
Save that the holly here and there
Hangs out her berries glowing bare,
And the laurestinus, the bay,
The ivy, laurel, still display
Their ever-living verdure gay,
Rejoicing yet, in beauty clad,
While Nature seems a widow sad—
Yet, lo! the Sun his face discloses,
And paly boasts his dawning roses,
In the clear skyey orient sheen,
Like a young bridegroom, bright, serene,
His locks with blithest beams adorning,
To come into the House of Mourning.
Touched with the thought, rapt Edwy struck
His harp, and all his soul awoke!

XXI. The Song of Edwy.

XXII.

Ere mute the strain, O Almar, why
Recoil thy steps? why starts thine eye?
“Pause, Edwy! 'mid the snows, behold!
“Clasping his mother's bosom cold,
“A sword yet grasped above his head,
“As still in mimic fury spread,
“A human form!—as, in his wrath,
“The stormy blast had crossed his path,
“And dashed him on the groaning ground,
“In the same posture as it found!—
“So from his hill the giant oak
“Is cleaved by the strong thunder-stroke;
“His honors spread the daunted plain,
“Stately his head of pride in vain;
“The Pilgrim pauses 'mid the vale,
“And moralizes on his fall—
“He lives!—he moves!—his ear has caught
“The sounds—they have aroused his thought!—
“Assist him—so—Oh, stranger! say,
“Why didst thou press thy kindred clay?
“Why dost thou glare so wildly sad,
“And fiercely wild, as Vengeance had
“Driven thee to madness,—brooding ire,
“In silence stern, with eyes of fire.—
“As thou some threatening statue wert
“Of pale Revenge, that seems to start,
“Travailing with thoughts so deep and fell
“Would rive the heart and brain to tell!”

XXIII.

Stranger.

XXIV.

“Oh, saw ye not the flames rise on high,
“And illumine the night with a beaconing light,
“A light that was ghastly and horribly bright,
“And kindle the dismal and blood-colored sky?
“A thousand fiends shriek through the fires,
“And them with tenfold rage supply!
“My child! my child! expires!
“My daughter! so sweet in her infancy!
“I fought for thee in vain, my daughter!
“The flame surround thy loveliness!
“The fiends exulted o'er thy slaughter,
“And joyed in my distress!
“Oh, thou art lost for ever:
“To be recovered—never again!
“Oh, never, never, never!
“For thee, my love, I fought in vain,
“Thou mother of my child!
“Wife of my bosom—yea, my soul!
“Profuse of life, my war was wild;—
“His damned charms did my powers control,
“And all my strength beguiled!
“I saw him bear her in his arms,
“While I, withheld by cursed charms,
“Though breathing rage, could not redeem
“Her from his mortal grasp, that chilled
“To darkness that celestial beam
“Which erst my breast with rapture filled!

XXV.

“He bore her away, and relaxed his foul spell,
“Contemned my revenge, and the strength of my steel:
“But ah, I followed him, and his band,
“With rage in my heart, and death in my hand!
“I saw him exulting, with torch and with song,
“These blasted and withering groves among—
“I stood to oppose him—but opposed him in vain!
“His spell of perdition o'ercame me again!
“He and his rout were gone, and she
“Who was my soul! that other me!
“Withering in his fell power! My brain
“So burnt within, with such fierce pain,
“Intensely flashing through and through,
“I flung me in the chilly snow,
“To cool its anguish! and allay
“My beating heart!—'twould not away!
“Not all the ice of winter could
“Quench this hot Etna of my blood,
“This lava of my brain of flame,
“It burns, it maddens through my frame!
“It scorches mine eye-balls; I can bear it no longer!”—
He writhed on the ground, in pangs stronger and stronger.

XXVI.

Edwy surveyed the stranger well,
And every feature traced,
And almost, with a brother's zeal,
A Brother had embraced—
He knew the mien—he knew the tone—
And stood astonied still—
His trembling nerves a Brother own,
And with his accents thrill—
Dropt from his hands the Harp, and hung
Beside his girdle free.
Now to his Brother's breast he clung—
“My Agilnoth!—'tis he!”
And Almar of that name confessed
A knowledge, which he still suppressed,
Howe'er his heart might swell;
But why so strange he started, now
The Minstrel must not pause to show,
But may hereafter tell.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

Bending with his Brother's weight,
Kneeling in the snows,
In all the agony of fate,
Young Edwy's prayer arose.
“Oh, God! thou whom all should adore,
“Thy will be done for evermore!
“O, yet may I presume that Thou
“Wilt to my supplications bow?
“And to my Brother's breast restore
“That peace he needs, and I implore?
“Let not the rod of Fate dethrone
“Fair Reason, seated sad, and lone,
“In his wild desolated soul,
“O Thou! who art the One and Whole,
“The essential Reason over all!
“Let not thy holy Image fall,
“Nor be the immediate beam resigned,
“Effluence from Thee, of human mind,
“Before the woes he cannot bear,
“And leave his heart all waste and drear!
“Oh, to my Brother's breast restore
“That peace he needs, and I implore!”
“Amen!” said Almar, and again,
His heart vibrated yet—“Amen!”

XXIX.

Moreover reverend Almar said—
“Be not thy fruitless sorrows shed.
“The counsel that thou gavest to me,
“Edwy, I now transfer to thee—
“Kindle thy soul! and do not yield
“To fixed Despair the coward field!—
“To St. Loy's Well

“The fourth ternary is of three Wells, or Founteins, of running or liuing waters, all which in those days were famous for ther seuerall soueraigne vertues, their waters were supposed to haue against diuers and sundry diseases: the first of these is St. Loy's Well, which nowe is nothing els but a deep pitte in the highway, on the West side thereof, betweene his Cell and the Crosse, almost midde way; it is always full of water, but neuer runneth ouer; the water thereof, as they say, doth farre exceede all the waters nere vnto it; it was within the memory of man cast, to cleanse it, because it was almost fill'd vp with muddle; and in the bottome of it there was found a very fayre great stone, which had certaine characters or letters engrau'n vpon it: but it being by the negligence of the workmen broken and sorely defaced, and no man nere that regarded such things, it is vnknown what they were, or what they might signify.” Bedwell.

our course was bent,
“Forsake we not our good intent;
“Convey thy Brother there, and lave
“His parched lips with the healing wave—
“And Heaven thy prayer May answer there,
“And pluck us from this deep despair—
“Sweet Hope may cheer us from above,
“And link again the zone of love.”

XXX.

Thrice-hallowed Brook! thrice-blessed Spring!
Who from the serpent tak'st the sting—
To thee the family of pain
Flock, nor do ever flock in vain!
Thou art like that famed stream of old,
In the most holy Book inrolled,
To which the impotent, the lame,
The lazar, for their healing came—
When lo! a visiting Angel great
The pool with life did consecrate,
Health in his wing, love in his eye,
His bearing power and majesty.—
Thee would the bard renown with joy,
Thou blest Bethesda of St. Loy.
Then willows in thy clear serene
Were glassed, with all their weeping green:

“This Well is now to be seen in a field on the West of the high road, belonging to Henry Piper Sperling, Esq. on lease to Mr. Charles Saunders, surrounded by willows, close to the hedge row.”

Robinson.

“In a drawing by the late Mrs. Townshend, this Well is represented with a Hermit standing by it, who receives an offering from a Lady. This drawing was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1770-71.”

Robinson.

The Hermit and the Brothers kneeled,
And 'neath their shade the spray inhaled—
And he, who, haply, loves the rhime,
Of olden days and bards sublime,
Whom, now that Spring of Health obeys,
'Tis said, in these degenerate days,
Hath late restored their mournful green,
Though long its marge had shadeless been—
Perchance, some bard there loves to list
Its gurgling, while all else is wist,
And overhead the virgin Queen
Of Heaven shines 'midst the starry sheen,
In all the loveliness of calm,
And the sweet breathing eve is balm—
If I were then that favoured bard,
That hour should bring its own reward;
My heart would feel the loneliness,
And every thought its power confess;
Its mild serenity would make
My soul herself serene, and wake
Musings,—of that first Paradise,
Ere guilt or strife had marred the bliss—
And, since, of all that war unblest
Of the fierce world within the breast—
And then I would the bosom scan
Which still maintains the stamp of man,
And blest itself, is unto all
The blessing of the peaceful vale—
And then my soul should see in heaven
The due meed to his virtues given,
That second Paradise, where sin,
Nor storm, nor strife, may enter in!—
More deeply can young Fancy ponder?
Nor further must she list to wander:
Too long the strain hath been withheld,
From the gay days of storied Eld.

XXXI.

Hath that miraculous Spring of Life
With good to Agilnoth been rife?
Him Edwy tended well, and strange
And wonderous was the sudden change.
His introverted eye, returned
To outward things, less fiercely burned,
Less haggard-wild, and soon became
More gentle, and serened its flame—
The tears 'gan flow with copious tide,
Which had before their aid denied—
The draught but eased his agonies,
The subtle thought that bade them rise
It could not quench—the heart—the heart
Still bore, as it had borne, its part!
For 'twas not Lethe which he drank;—
That stream is not of Heaven and Love!
Hell is its dull and proper bank,
And none would seek its power to prove
Save they whose torture strives to slake
The worm that now will never die;
Though long it slept on earth—to wake
More dreadful in eternity.
Oh! who, in the rapt height of joy,
With fear of change reproved,
Could bear to think aught might destroy
The thought of her he loved?
Who in the depth of wretchedness
That image of his soul would quit,
So he from memory might rase,
The mournful traits which blend with it?
And well I ween, that Agilnoth
Would not exchange his pensive thought
For all the calm that deadened wrath,
And deadened vengeance might have brought!
Oh! how could he forget his love,
And leave her in that Robber's power,
Senseless of all her wrongs to prove,
As he had never breathed the flower?
That thought had been To him more keen
Than the fiercest pang of his agony!
Nor Edwy sad For that had paid
This tribute to St. Loy.

XXXII.

“Blessed Saint! for this arise
“Incense to thee, and sacrifice!
“Be thou ever near the Throne,
“To preserve the benizon
“Of thy sacred Stream of Health,
“More than honours, more than wealth!
“Bending from thy pleasant rest,
“Be thy heavenly vision blest
“With the votaries who can tell
“The sweet virtues of thy Well!
“Be thine ear rejoiced above
“With their gratitude and love!
“Blessed Saint; for this we vow—
“Bend thine ear! regard us now!—
“To erect an altar-frame
“To the honor of thy name.
“Oh! may many a hymn be there,
“Many an orison sincere—
“Our's above the rest shall rise,
“When the sun salutes the skies,
“And the ruby-chambered West
“Varies with his tissued vest!”

XXXIII.

Amid the Elysian groves above,
Musing upon immortal Love,
These sounds of earth, St. Eloy! share
Thy solemn meditations there.
The Blessed felt the powerful claim
Of Virtue in distress supreme—
Nor was he silent to the call,
For soon his votaries, one and all,
Felt their charmed ears rejoiced with sound
Of heavenly music all around!
Soft as the dews of morn it fell,
And anguish soothed, with holy spell—
The frown of Winter wild seems cheered,
The winds are hushed, the heavens cleared;
Each thing assumes a smile of joy,
And all is silence, save
The harmonious train that round St. Loy
Their cherub plumage wave,
And him, with supernatural strains,
Convey from yon ethereal plains,
Floating in his triumphal car,
Upon the azural deep of the liquid air!

XXXIV.

Now Wonder's white, upturned sight,
Beheld the cataracts of light
Descending from the summit high
Of the broad, calm, and lucid sky;
A sanguine sphere of clouds surveyed
Of fluid gold, and purple shade—
And as in airy chariot sheen
The awful form of Loy was seen!
Sceptred in glory, crowned with power,
Woven with amaranthine flower,
In the sweet Land of Mercy rife,
Plucked from beside the Tree of Life—
And lo! the effulgent orb among,
How shine the glorious shapes along,
Like sweeping meteors, gorgeous blending,
Flashing, immerging, and ascending,
And now—attuned—the splendid choir,—
Each rising on his halo bright,
Bent forward to the dazzled sight—
Sweep the rich rapture of the lyre,
In tones so exquisitely keen,
Soul-ravishing and thrilling,—they
The mortal ear with sweetness pain,
And charm the spirit from the clay!

XXXV.

Chorus of Spirits.

XXXVI.

St. Loy.

XXXIII.

Chorus of Spirits