University of Virginia Library

SONNET

ON FIRST READING THE REMAINS OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE, 9th April, 1819.

And didst thou from obscurity arise,
Resplendent through the gloom of Fate, and sweep
Thy lyre, — wont so melodiously to weep
In solitude — and hail those brighter skies,
Which harsher destiny to me denies?
Thy spirit cheers me up the tuneful steep,
And wakes me from Dejection's iron sleep,
With sweeter than Castalian harmonies!
Oh! why didst thou not visit me before,
And lead me to thy favourite alder tree,
Where still the wild gales through thy harp-strings pour
A dirge of more than mortal minstrelsy?
There, while young Genius it inspires to soar,
One lone unmeasured note might utter hope to me!

THE LEGEND of ST. Loy

Introduction.

CANTO THE FIRST. The Hermitage.

I.

“Daughter of Heaven! whose steps of light
“Stately adorn the vault of night,
“Why dost thou now desert the skies,
“With thy companions? wake! arise!
“Reveal the silence of thy face,
“Pleasant in loveliness and grace—
“And with thy tide of beauty bathe
“The clouds rejoicing in thy path.
“Oh, doth some Wizard's impious spell
“Constrain thee to thy Ocean-cell?
“Or the weird sister's blasting rite
“Blank thy chaste, cold, and paly light?
“And shut up every stellar spark?
“Thine azure path in Heaven is dark!
“In darkness roll the troubled waves,
“While the northern loudly raves,
“Howling through the dismal wood,
“And chokes with trees the swelling flood—
“Arise! ye winds of winter, rise!
“O tempest ye, again, the skies!
“Blow ye blasts along the heath!
“Echo, ye hills, the sounds of death!
“Heaven, rive again the solid oak,
“With the repeated thunder-stroke!
“Remind me of the flashing deep,
“Where all my joys for ever sleep!”

II.

Between each blast the plaints preferred,
Of Edwy young, but sad, were heard
By Almar, of the tresses grey:—
The Hermit, old and sage,
Beheld him, by his taper's ray,
Before the Hermitage.

“The third remarkable thing of this second ternary is the Hermitag, distant Southward from the Crosse about x score, or short of a stone bridge in the bottome vii or viii score: it was, within memory of some yet liuing, a little square building, for the most part of bricke; it is now a pretty dwelling for a small family.” Wilhelm Bedwell's “Brief Description of the Town of Tottenham High Crosse, in Middlesex; together with an Historical Narration of such memorable Things as are there to be seen and observed, 1631”

No other light was thereabout,—
All else was gloom,—within, without—
And that was tremulous and dim,
Like a wan star's reflected gleam
Obliquely glancing in the stream,
As, rippling e'er along,
It gently glides, and softly swells,
To lave the Naiad's coral cells.
But, by that quivering dubious flame,
He watched that younger Hermit's frame,
As started he in frantic trance,
And shot a wild and fearful glance,
Rejoicing in the tempest's yell;
And marked his kindled spirit swell,
Extatical and strong—
Gently the Youth's raised hand he took,
And pierced him with a pitying look,
Tempered with age's gravity,
And waked him from his vision high.
Confused, he drooped his head awhile,
But raised it soon again,
Saw Almar's fond and pensive smile,
Felt his paternal strain.

III.

“Hermit, of yellow locks of youth!
“Hath not this cell the power to sooth
“The passions of the world?
“Where roved thy thoughts? Oh, on the blast
“Was thy wild soul at random cast?
“And on the tempest hurled?
“Son of fond Fancy, Child of Song,
“No Bard, with soul of fire,
“Burns with more raptures, or more strong,
“Though prophet of the lyre.
“Nor grey thy head, nor thick thy beard;
“But yet, from what I've seen and heard,
“Since thou hast here my brother been
“In this deep loneliness, I ween,
“That thou hast grown old in youth, and Heaven
“Hath such experience to thee given
“Of sorrows, as may well compare
“With Eld's accumulated share.

IV.

“Oh, I have proved Affliction's cup,
“E'en to the lees, and drank it up;
“And, though 'twas bitter to the soul
“As the old Prophet's mystic scroll,
“Yet hath it wrought with power so blest,
“That it hath softened all my breast
“To sympathies, unknown before,
“Sweetly delicious, having more
“Of genuine joy, than to the son
“Of dissipation can be known.
“My son — this breast for woe can feel,
“It would not spurn, but strive to heal,
“The agonies of madding thought,
“With many sorrows overfraught.
“When first, before my cell I saw
“Thee stand, with looks of filial awe,
“Blooming in pensive modesty,
“The tear just starting from thine eye,
“Imploring me to shroud, with age,
“Thy youth within this Hermitage,
“From the dull throng of toil and sway,
“Miscalled the grave, the blest, the gay,
“A voice within then spake for thee,
“With more than casual sympathy,
“And whispered thou more kindred wert
“Than a mere stranger to my heart!”

V.

O, 'twas the moment of alarms,
When all the soul was up in arms,
And ready to reveal
What, at all other times, it wou'd
In sorrow's avaricious mood,
Eternally conceal.
“ 'Tis well! ye blasts, roll on, rage, blow!
“Deride me with remembered woe,
“Ye authors of my misery—
“My Brother! thou wert all to me!
“Then, since thou 'rt lost, let pristine gloom,
“And Chaos old, their sway resume!
“'Tis sweet, to think in Winter-nights
“Upon returning May —
“'Tis sad! to muse o'er past delights,
“For ever past away!
“Yet still my thoughts will ponder on
“The joys that are for ever gone.

VI.

“Alike Heaven framed our kindred minds,
“With souls of fire, and free as winds,
“Which shot into our kindled eyes,
“To trace the hues of morning skies;
“And the fair eve's ethereal brede,
“O'er the broad sun's pavilion spread:
“We loved in groves, and glimmering shades,
“By echoing rocks, and prone cascades,
“With thrilling hearts, to ponder o'er
“The bardish tales of times no more.
“Oh, thence were we enflamed to roam
“Far from our own, our narrow home.
“Cambria! thy mountains we have seen,
“Explored each cavern, forest, glen;
“Heard from thy bards, of Arthur's days,
“In many a grove, the wonderous lays.
“Harp of the North! thy magic strain
“Our eagle spirits roused again.
“We roamed the Celtic mountains brown,
“The isles of streamy Caledon.
“On Ocean blue we raised our sails,
“To Lochlin waft by favoring gales,
“That flattered to betray!
“There we arrived—but, O, no more
“Regained the opposite fair shore,
“Across the whirling way.

Referring to Pentland Frith, and the Wells of Swinna, which divide Scotland from the Orkney Isles, anciently called Lochlin, as part of Scandinia. The navigation alluded to is very dangerous, on account of the many vortexes occasioned by the repulse of the tides from the shore, and their passage between the Orkney Islands.”

“The blasts heaved up the mighty tides,
“Which burst upon the vessel's sides!
“Down the dark whirlpool of the deep,
“Horror! descends the reeling ship;
“And all her freighted souls, for aye —
“With them my Brother past away,
“Mid flashing foam, and blasting leven,
“And thunder pealing through the heaven!
“O why, ye surges! did ye spare
“My life to anguish more severe?
“And cast me on the rugged rock,
“That sternly did the billows mock?
“The moon-beam trembled on the wave
“Which washed my Brother's oozy grave!

VII.

“Wish of my soul! Land of my birth!—
“'Twas desolate to me!
“My Parents God had ta'en from earth,
“They cheered me not for thee!
“What should I do? I was alone!
“Friendless! a wretch but made to moan!
“The World's at best but bitterness,
“But double wormwood to distress!
“Oh, could the spirit wont to soar,
“Above the stir of this dim spot,
“Stoop to the crowd? or thence procure
“That peace she in herself had not?
“No; but she bent her to the plains,
“Scenes of my boyhood's joys and pains,
“In pious calm to smooth her way
“To regions of celestial day.
“I came — heard of thy holy life,
“Remote from vanity and strife;
“I thought our moods would well agree —
“Thou hast a father been to me.
“Though sometimes will my plainings rise,
“And interrupt our quiet joys,
“But thine 's a breast, to feeling dear,
“That loves to dry the gushing tear.”

VIII.

Like one, the Hermit old appears,
Defeated in his quest:
Then shook his hoar head, and, with tears,
Strained Edwy to his breast:
At length, with hurried voice exclaimed;
“Of other sequel I had dreamed—
“Yet,—by the voice of sympathy,
“That whispers still within for thee;
“Yet, surely thou more kindred art,
“Than a mere stranger to my heart.”

IX.

Now hath he knelt in piety
Before the simple Shrine;
And on the Cross hath fixed his eye,
To lift his thoughts to God on high,
Whose precious blood divine
Upon that wood was poured and spilt,
To cleanse mankind from leperous guilt,
And rescue them from Death:
Now, kneels that younger Hermit there;
His spirit thrills with grateful fear,
And soars to Heaven with every prayer
Upon the wings of Faith.
That Cross stood on a human Scull;—
Emblem of Earth and Heaven!
It was a moral, never dull,
As in a vision given—
Behold, fond Man! the mystic sign—
Be tutor'd from that simple Shrine,
How frail, how vain, thy hopes below!
The sage, the gay, the high, the low,
Must from their wealth, their bliss, their woe,
Their birth, their beauty, part.—
The foeman's hate will 'vail no more,
And those, who honored thee before,
Who treasured thee in their heart's core,
Thine altered form will not endure,
But thence with horror start.

X.

That moral Scull now read no more;
But turn thee to that hallow'd Cross;—
Thus taught no longer to adore
Earth's perishable dross—
Now, on the ruins of the world,
And thrones in desolation hurled,
Learn to exalt that sign of Faith,
Triumphant over Hell and Death.
Oh, certain of the stroke of fate,
Why shouldst thou, in this mortal state,
Engender everlasting hate,
In vain, against thy fellow frail?
It cannot reach him in the dust,
And thine immortal rancour must
Put on mortality, and fail;
But serving now this life to gloom,
And but Death's mockery in the tomb!
Why shouldst thou wrestle for, and doat
On, the empty vanities afloat
Down the wild ocean of this life,
With idle Folly's envious strife?
Who would not then his wrath resign,
His fierce revenge, his noble line,
Pride—pageantry—and tinsel shine,—
Exchange them for this simple Shrine,
Whose soul was sane and sage?
Devote to God, in conscious peace,
Retire from time's tempestuous seas,
Of chance and change, to calm and ease.—
And end the quest of Happiness,
In this lone Hermitage?

XI.

Their musings have kept them too long from their sleep:—
The clock strikes twelve!—disjointed and deep,
On the wild cadence of the blast,
The echoing sounds came erring and fast,
But still they kneel in prayer—
Devotion's flame hath kindled high,
And from the earth their spirits fly,
Entranced above the upper sky;
While, from his starry sphere,
Sailed many an Angel to that Grove,
Upon the golden wings of love,
To bear their words to Him above,
And truly register
In God's own book, their righteous way,
To be produced at that great Day,
When christ shall come with radiant sway,
Omnipotence and fear,
And bid them to their seats divine—
Lo, all around that simple shrine,
Doth their celestial tendance shine,
And stand in secret there:
Their wings throughout that Cell are bright;
They fill it with unearthly light,
And chase the darkness drear.

XII.

Hark! the sound of rude tumult now thickens in air,
With Woman's sad wail and the shriek of Despair!
Wild Triumph and Anguish together were there!
The wolwish noise silenced the blast of the night,
With blasphemy horrid, and fiercer affright:
E'en like the concussion of maritime fight,
That stills the vast tempest which raged just before,
To dead calm the motionless billows all o'er.—
Those Angel wings no more are bright
Throughout that Cell:—they take their flight
Up to the realms of peace and light.
Those sounds of violence rose with yell
As horrible as that of hell,
Which might not bend an Angel's ear,
Unmeet for purity to hear.
Heaven from such blasphemy with horror shrinketh,
Sparing not Him on whom unawed no Spirit thinketh.

XIII.

But oft, each awful pause between,
Far other sounds do intervene,
That must the soul subtlue and melt
Which ever hath compassion felt;
Seemed as they then stood still and mute,
And Pity's self to that mad rout
Her soul-assuasive voice applied;
While suddenly the tumult died,
As charmed, or thrilled, or awed by her,
With love, or ruth — remorse, or fear.
But soon again the clamours rise,
And, if again the tumult dies,
Those plaining sounds are heard no more
That charmed, and thrilled, and awed before:
Yea, bade in gentler bosoms swell
Anguish most inexpressible —
Such feelings as Compassion knows
When woman claims protection from her foes!
But now the Toteham

Tottenham, in Doomsday Book, is called Toteham.

echoes all around,
The hubbub and confusion wild resound,
Where pause was not, with ruth confounded there,
In sounds of violence advancing near:
Thus from a wreck, with intermitting roar,
While leaves the Fiend of Storms his blasts to pour,
The shrieks arise toward the startled shore.
Anon the Demon of the North
Pours his voice of thunders forth:
But when again it may a moment sleep,
Not a shriek coileth the billowy deep.
Those piercing shrieks the foaming wave
Hath buried in many an oozy cave;
Then, as in triumph for the ruin past,
Mounts up again, and mingles with the blast.

XIV.

Roused by the clamour and the yell,
Sprang Edwy now before the cell.
What sees he there, that thus he stands
With haggard eyes, and lifted hands?
“O, holy Virgin! —Almar, speed!
“Man's made to mourn! his heart to bleed!
“Behold, the Heavens are all on fire!
“The night, with conflagration dire,
“Though erst so dark and dreary, now
“In blood-red hue doth burn and glow.
“See Toteham's vast, high, foggy wood,
“Discovered by the broad, bright flood.
“On her own Western brow, in light,
“Shines All Saint's Gothic, towery height.

“The Parish Church of Tottenham is dedicated to All Saints.” William Robinson's “History and Antiquities of the Parish of Tottenham High Cross, 1818.”

“The time of its erection, the cause of its dedication to All Saints, or Sanctis Dominis, to God and his holy Dons, or Doms, as the old English sacramental obligation used to spell it, I cannot yet account for.” Lord Viscount Coleraine (as before).

Surely, then, a Poet has license to suppose it in existence at any time, if to his own advantage.

“Where join the clouds with the misty hill,
“There the deep blood-red mingles still —
“A blazing canopy, around
“With fiery horizon bound!
“O Christ! that desolate spot behold!
“Where the flames in volumes are upward roll'd,
“Whence, o'er the land, this lustre dread
“Flashes around, and overhead.
“The bickering sparks are cast on high,
“In awful grandeur, to the sky!
“The blasts of night assist the fire,
“And aggravate its furious ire!
“Oh, now, methinks, I hear the cry,
“The shrieks of female agony,
“As th' inmates wild from room to room
“Flee in vain from their wretched doom.—
“And the flame gushes out wherever they enter,
“And a thick cloud of smoke coils them up in its centre;
“They rush forth in their torment — look!—Heavens!—they cling
“To the window-cill, whence they hoped to fling
“Themselves, in mere despair, that seeks
“Refuge in death it strives to shun,
“When terror but within us speaks,
“And peril leaves a choice to none:
“Their hold yet fearing to forego,
“And drop into the void below!
“But some have fallen exhausted there,
“And left their lives in middle air;
“Or in the smouldering flames beneath
“Find torture, and a lingering death!
“The scene is present to mine eyes —
“Blended with this approaching noise,
“It wakes strange thoughts of doubt and fear,
“'Lothbroch wrought that consuming glare!
“Lo! light of torches hither flare;
“Those sounds swell more distinct and near!”
—“And nearer yet, the horrid yell!
“Jesu Maria, shield us well!”

XV.

Scarce to the emotions of his mind
Had Edwy given relief,
And Almar old had scarce rejoin'd
Th' ejaculation brief,
Ere came the Band, with joyous rage,
And covered all the space
Which spread before the Hermitage
With torches glaring rays,
That shed a short and cowering light
Mingled along the mist of night,
And shewed each griesly feature clear;
The lank red beard, the shaggy hair,
The rugged brows that rigid lour
O'er eyes of unrelenting power,
That seemed as never yet a tear
Had claimed its proper channel there,
But spake their souls of sternest steel,
And hearts severe that scorned to feel!
Their numerous feet tread down the grass,
And brush away the dew;
Their shouts disturb that grove, alas!
Which nought but peace ere knew.
Not with more noise the echoing cave
—When from on high the tumbling wave
Dashes down cataracts headlong steep,
In thunder, on the misty deep,
Before its mouth — resounds the roar
From many an answering fracture hoar;
While all its trees the storm-blast meet,
That doth their trembling branches greet
Full roughly, and their wakened voice
Blend with the complicated noise!

XVI.

Like that same hill, of streams that frown
Above the waves on high,
Which throws his thundering tempests down
To ocean from the sky;
Thus towered Lothbroch's giant-form,
Superior to his ruffian band,
Who sways to swell or still their storm
With high and haughty hand,
More stern, more rigid, more severe,
His gesture fierce, and gloomy air;
But in his sovereign voice and mien,
And piercing eye, was heard and seen
The expression of a loftier mind,
For other purposes designed,
Abused to deeds of infamy,
That, well employed, had given
A name of immortality,
Which might have bloomed in Heaven.
Yet who his lofty mien could pass
Without repeated look?
Although that something in his face
No common eye might brook —
That something which appals and awes,
And yet again the chill eye draws,
Unsatisfied, yet dreading too,
At full to meet his fearful view!
'Twas that the greatness of his soul,
Perverted from her first intent,
Yet still retained her high control,
And to his frowns and glances lent
Her native energy divine;
Like Demon, bent on fell design,
Applies his pristine Angel-force,
To aid the horrors of his course.

XVII.

But, lo! 'mid that outrageous strife,
Pale, without any form of life;
With tresses loose, disordered charms,
Droops a fair Lady in his arms:
Closed her fixed eyes in stony sleep,
Whose frozen currents might not weep —
In Nature's pulse an awful pause,
A still suspension of her laws!
But neath those features, coldly sealed,
What anguished thoughts, though not revealed,
May agonize her soul unseen,
With pangs the deeper felt within!
O'erpowered by feeling's wild excess,
She hangs all pale and motionless,—
Lovely; but that her chill despair,
And torches ever-wavering glare,
Had marred her charms, so sweetly fair?
But ah! to what shall I compare,
In her distress that Lady fair?
Like to a flower, by whirlwinds torn
From her glad soil, and wildly borne,
On a bleak rock exposed and bare,
To droop, and pine, and wither there.
And all unfeeling as that rock,
Seemed he her miseries to mock:
And as its height, by morning sky
Purpled with many a radiant die,
Or clad in day's effulgent power,
Appears to triumph o'er that flower;
So his stern pride t' exult above,
That faded form of grace and love.

XVIII.

“By Woden wild! well have we sped!
“And every oath to boot!”—he said;—
“How glorious rose the blaze on high,
“Kindling th' undulating sky!
“And with what frantic fury, did
“Her doating Lord, the flames amid,
“Encounter me! yet, with one breath,
“I chained his powers as still as death;
“But when I had secured his wife,
“Gave him again his reckless life,
“And dared him to all future strife—
“Poor soul! her ashy lips and cheek,
“The horrors of the night bespeak,
“And Fear's chill hand hath lain such hold,
“That e'en her heart is still and cold.
“But ere long shall her azure eyes
“Rival the bright and morning skies;
“Perhaps, shall languish in their tears,
“While flow diffus'd her golden hairs,
“And to her native loveliness,
“Be added that of sweet distress.
“Her form will swell upon my sight,
“Renewed in undulating light;
“And, rich with dew, her blue eyes roll,
“The liquid lustres of the soul!
“While Beauty sits sublime and high,
“Upon a throne of ivory;
“And words as music sweet, yet strong,
“Upbraid my crimes, and causeless wrong;—
“These hands, as lillies white, and soft,
“Sore-wrung, and madly clasp'd aloft,
“Sorrow to feign, on Heaven to call,
“Where laugh the Gods to see her fall—
“'Till done enough to humour pride,
“And make false shew of hate beside,
“After her hour, she yields her heart,
“And wonders at her former part.”

XIX.

XX.

There Edwy turned to Almar old,
Admonished by his ear;
His altered gesture did behold,
His trembling frame uprear—
“It was her voice!”—that sad presage
O'ercame the feeble powers of age—
“It was her voice!—and seemed, as then,
“It waked an answering voice within!
“And then I dreamed I saw her here,
“As once she was, all charming fair
“In sorrow, loving me the best,
“Then, when I spurned her from my breast!”
—Sustained in wondering Edwy's arms,
He kenned her marred disordered charms—
“It is not she! the features there,
“Are not like her's, as once they were.—
“But yet, 'twas wonderous toned like her's;
“And in the peopled universe
“There was no voice I fondly deemed
“Like her's: and, in my dotage dreamed
“In that deceived I could not be—
“But now I'm a thing of frailty!
“A poor, infirm, old man! whose woe
“Cheats him with fancy's airy show—
“Ideal shadows, sounds, and things,
“Of overwrought imaginings!”—
Faint with the burstings of his grief,
The strong convulsions of the soul,
That, like an earthquake, shook, tho' brief,
The frame of age, and jarred the whole,
Voiceless, in Edwy's arms he fell,
E'en as that Lady, insensible.

XXI.

Meanwhile, that Son of Violence,
And Arts forbid to Innocence,
Dread, secret, dark—which but to name
Would shake this universal frame,
Pluck down the star-attended moon,
And cloud the sun, in lofty noon:
The pillared arch of Heaven torn;
And Earth, with all her mountains, borne
From her firm base of Order, spoken,
When first Confusion's rule was broken:—
Arts, whose wild orgies Nature wound,
Leagued with the storms that rage around:
Meanwhile, triumphant, still, his scorn,
That bandit-Chief had not forborne
Over that victim of his power.
That winter-touch'd, cold-faded flower:
The daughter of distress supreme,
And o'erwrought agony extreme.
Yet, happy she, her wretchedness
Had wrought to such extreme excess,
Her spirit sunk, collapsed and chill;
From too much feeling could not feel!
Nor her ear hear the taunts he made,
As thus the pride of Evil said:—

XXII.

“How her eye opened! yet, soon dark,
“Beneath those fringes, every spark.—
“But with far other glances she
“Shall open soon its Heaven on me—
“For those fierce gleams of haggard ire,
“Oeiliads of love, and soft desire—
“'Tis thus we win the joys of love,
“Which ne'er yon Anchorites can prove;
“Self-reft of all delights they dwell
“Within that solitary Cell;
“Fools of reclusion fond and dull,
“Of worldly disappointments full —
“Cowards! why not revenge their loss,
“Upon the injurious World like us?—
“Even now, within their Hermitage
“They tremble at our threatened rage,
“Loathing our name, and full of fears,
“Though our cause be the same as their's—
“Cowards! whose place the World was joy'd,
“To find for nobler Spirits void.
“From Us she parted with regret,
“And would rejoice again to get;
“But we had the contempt to spurn,
“The wisdom never to return,
“The courage to revenge, or die—
“Which last they lack from Piety—
“Hey! Piety?—a goodly veil
“To hide the fears it would conceal.
“But we can shew as much as they,
“In a more bold and manly way—
“Now, by the thousand arms of Death!
“Give to the song of Triumph breath—
“Ye horrors of the foggy wood!
“Avengers of a Brother's blood!
“Of a Son's wrongs! a Father's fate!
“Sent post to Hell by kindred hate—
“Startle these hermits;—loud and brief,—
“For joyous is your faithful Chief!”

XXIII.

XXIV.

What! is the song of triumph mute?
And where is that tumultuous rout?
O, ye to your dismal woods have gone,
Whose echoes shall answer that Lady's moan!
A dead calm rests upon that Grove,
And Silence whispers around and above:
The Hermitage, freed from that maddening rout,
Is peaceful within, and peaceful without.—
Within?—but more closely that scene let us scan;—
Then judge ye of the state of man!

XXV.

Thou hast return'd, O Almar old,
To life from that deep slumber cold!
Thy soul, winged unto former years,
—With pleasure marked, and many sears,
That make the bliss e'en woe, — away
Returns to her abode of clay.
Ah! how unlike that Lady's state,
Conveyed, by too severe a fate,
Stiffened, and cold, and senseless still,
Upon that Robber's arm;
Subjected to his brutal will,
Bereft of every charm!
And 'tis of her their thoughts awake,
And this the form their musings take.

XXVI.

As starting from his phrensied dream
To Reason's dim-returning gleam,
Almar, on Edwy's breast sustained,
Wondered the calm that silent reigned.
“How still! how awful!”—trembling he:—
“Like silence dead of sepulchre,
“After the bustle of this stage
“Of earth, of care, of mortal rage!
“Or, like that silence, deep and dread,
“When Michael's trump hath waked the dead,
“Which shall succeed its summons high,
“And wait the judgments of the sky!
“But soft — and dream I not? — and have
“They borne thee to their horrid cave?
“Oh, how will thine unwonted sight
“Behold the hideous deeds of Night?
“Behold the rites of Hell, abhorred?
“And Demons rising to his word?
“The spell-appalling change of wile
“Thy heart from Virtue to beguile?
“Oh, they will blast thy tender eye,
“Beneath its lid to pale and die!—
“How shall thine ears sustain the yell,
“The orgies of his fiendish cell?
“Oh, they will sink beneath the wound,
“And never more admit a sound:
“No more, within the evening vale,
“List to the lovelorn nightingale!
“But thou wilt petrify for aye
“In his chill power, and pass away:
“Then find, in cold Obstruction's gloom,
“The end of all thy sorrows come!
“Hell on thy soul, thou man of ill,
“Infernal giant, wild of will,
“Impress its fangs in its dark den!
“While she in endless bliss shall reign!
“Thou, Lady fair of wretchedness,
“God pity thee in thy distress!
“I love thee for thy voice alone,
“So like my Arabella's tone!
“What father had not felt as wild
“As I, so long from his dear child,
“Parted so long?—so very long,
“Estranged by mine, and not thy wrong!—
“Why, when a father's heart of love,
“Like cypress, weeps the tomb above
“Where lies inurned his daughter's heart,
“With whom his hopes did all depart;

Almar's had not all departed, as the Reader will perceive from his Story in the next Canto. His daughter might still be living. The other was a stronger argument to excuse the shock, which his pride — the principal trait in his character—had sustained.

“Oh, think ye that he will not deem
“Each gale her voice, in sorrow's dream?
“Yes, and will bless the weeping trees,
“That rustle with the sighing breeze;
“Form from the sounds her voice so dear,
“Turn them to words, and answer her;
“Bless the sweet spirit that from above
“Soothes him with whispers of her love!”

XXVII.

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

CANTO THE THIRD. The Wood.

I.

Not to the House of Mirth; — where hidden Woe
The loud laugh mocks, and strives with care in vain,
Like triumph o'er the tomb of dreaded foe,
Which trembles still, lest he may rise again; —
Where study e'er invents new arts to stain,
And, after, sear the page of conscience ill; —
Where Death lurks in the mantled bowl they drain,
By Feud preceded, and fell Mischief still: —
Which Wisdom shuns, aye bent to Virtue's pleasant hill;
But to the House of Mourning be my feet
Most constantly inclined! For there the heart
Is bared — compelled the eye of Truth to meet,
That, undeceived, she may scan every part,
Virtues of Nature, peccancies of Art,
Free from the mists of Prejudice and Folly;
And, 'mid her soul-ennobling sorrows, start,
With angel-wing, to things divine and holy —
Ever sacred be my Harp to Love and Melancholy!

II.

III.

But lo! — beside that Well is seen
A wild, and more than human mien,
Albeit no celestial charm
Is mingled in her solemn form;
Yet she, I ween, is not of mortal birth,
And owns not for her mother — Earth.
They see her, and, recoiling, sign
Their foreheads with the cross divine.
I said her form was wild, and, sooth to tell,
It was most strangely beautiful as well,
But still not lovely — for it had an awe
Which did appal the gazer, and not draw
His soul to worship her supernal charms,
And seek the world, yea, heaven, within her arms.
Wild — as the strain each fatal sister sings,
While o'er hell's loom they weave the doom of Kings;
Strange—as their theme, and beauteous—as their song,
While they their horrid labour ply along,
Heard by a mortal ear, if mortal ear
To list the song of Destiny could bear —
Wild — beautiful — as those Valkyrior
Who, in Valhalla's Paradise of War,
Prepare the fabled God, and heroes blest,
Celestial mead, in hour of mortal rest.

IV.

One moment, and she was not there,
The next, she stood beside the Well,
Like a tall apparition fair,
In cinctured sheen, the bearer of a spell.
They felt her presence, ere their eye
Had caught her dazzling form of light,
As if a spirit had passed by —
They turned — and, lo! — the Image bright!
Youthful, and yet as age severe,
As stern as she was passing fair —
Her eye;—it was prophetical!
Looked through the heart, and searched it all! —
Again with trembling hands they sign
Their foreheads with the cross divine;
And feel her glance cold, undefined,
Thrill with strange dread the shrinking mind.
She spake — and oh! her speech possest
A supernatural accent wild,
That was so fearfully exprest,
Seemed as the soul it had beguiled,
With the deep, secret, charming tone,
The dialect of the world unknown,
The potent word of spiritual agency,
The spell of irresistible decree,
Of power to wake the dead from gloom,
And sway the spirits of earth and air
To her wild will, and magic doom,
The bane of Nature's order fair!

V.

“O thou, though in grey hermit-weeds,
“Whose youth scarce life's first morn exceeds,
“Whose hands the beechen chalice bear,
“Moist with the balm to pale Despair,
“Vouchsafe a daughter of distress
“With that salubrious lymph to bless!
“Give me to drink the healing wave,
“My wearied lips with health to lave —
“So may my current-frozen blood
“Be, haply, by the genial flood,
“To vital motion wrought again! —
“And, if my prayer I may obtain,
“This offering to St. Loy I give,
“And, oh, the humble boon receive!
“No Lady, howe'er great or high,
“Can boast more wealth or power than I; —
“Accept this Purse — scant though it be,
“Know, 'tis of more a prophecy.”

VI.

The silken Purse, of magic art,
Wrought exquisite in every part,
As though from woof ethereal spun,
With radiant hues bathed in the sun,
She fain to Edwy's hand would bind;
But he the gorgeous gift declined,
Though all its netted folds agnize
Pearl, gold, and gem of richest price.
His chalice, from the spring supplied,
He renders to her hands of pride.
“The waters of St. Loy are free,
“So be to all my charity.”

VII.

“Blest be this Spring!” — said that Lady so wild! —
“That ne'er o'erflows, by no false bounty beguiled!
“The reviving draught I feel
“Glow throughout my veins, and steal
“Pain and anguish from my frame,
“That before, in snow and flame,
“Chilled and burnt with fierce extremes,
“And urged the soul to maddest themes!
“I may not pause to tell them now —
“Speed, Gratitude! to bless the hand
“That did to agony allow
“The cordial cup of solace bland.
“Now, by the fatal Sisters three!
“Without reward, such charity
“Shall ne'er be said was shewn to me —
“I know why ye from patience start,
“Why ye would hence, with furious heart —
“Ye, like the Fates, would mount your steeds,
“And scour the woods with slaughter,
“Vengeance to joy, while battle bleeds,
“For Love's fair Spouse, and infant Daughter.
“Stay — be not rash — that Robber's charms
“Can soon unnerve the strength of arms;
“Ye will before his sorcery stand
“At best but infants — or to stone
“Be stricken by his potent wand —
“Doth Agilnoth forget so soon
“How fell his death-attempting hand
“So idly by his chill side down?
“But wait —” (and from her vest she took,
Of giant size, a golden book) —

VIII.

“Refuse not this — it doth contain
“What all his charms shall render vain —
“Behold where now 'tis opened — see
“A spell! — oh, read it not to me!
“Or it would blast my youth with age,
“And storms in heaven — on earth — would rage!
“Yea, e'en this Well's blest virtues change —
“But spare ye not the robber Dane,
“And it shall work you out revenge,
“And turn his wiles on him again:
“Each fiend he sways, at your command
“Shall lift his free, avenging hand,
“Against his master, who controlled
“Him to his will, and spared him not,
“But chained him to his savage hold,
“A spirit to a mortal's lot!

IX.

“Yes! he falls! My Sisters, sing!
“Ply the loom, and strike the string!
“Weave his fate with mickle mirth!
“The disdainful Son of Earth
“Crush in his rebellion's birth!
“Weave the disobedient's doom!
“Joy above the infernal loom!
“Give his soul to death and gloom! —
“Mortals! believe my prophecy —
“On this wondrous Book rely —
“It shall not fail — though now begun
“The God's dim twilight; and the sun,
“The human-race, the stars were void,
“By the power of Loke destroyed,
“Bursting from his tenfold chain,
“While antient Night resumed her reign,
“Her substantial mantle furled
“O'er the ruins of the World,
“In the Ocean's cavern'd gloom
“Sunk to its eternal doom,
“'Mid the flames that wrap the skies,
“Odin — all his Deities!”

X.

She is seen no more, — but into air
Resolved her form, and mingled there —
In Edwy's hand the Book is left,
That still involuntary clasped —
By wild astonishment bereft,
He knew not what he grasped —
As thus she melts away in wind,
And vanishes to nought;
His Brother, too, had not his mind
Been fixed on one great, master thought,
To more amazement had resigned —
Nor Almar 'gainst its influence fought
So well, had not the pride, combined,
Of age, and of first nature, brought
Resistance to o'ersudden fear,
Or credence to the forms of air.

XI.

In Edwy's hand he saw the Book,
And thus the words of Wisdom spoke —
“Forego that Book — whate'er the spell —
“Howe'er it aid — 'tis wrought of Hell!
“In Him who put the charms to nought
“Of Egypt, and a Nation brought
“Through parted sea, and banded host,
“And deserts, to his promised coast —
“In Him, in Him alone, confide,
“And follow where his beacon guide;
“And He — our toils and perils past —
“Will speed us into joy at last!
“Trust ye in Him, and in His Saint,
“Let not your eagle-spirits faint!” —

XII.

“Faint!” — said the Husband — faint! while she,
“And Love, and Vengeance, call on me!
“Faint! while a Brother needs my aid
“For life or death!” — his Brother said —
And from his hand the Book he threw —
It fired as it fell,
And vanished from their dazzled view
Within the flaming spell.
But now by magic art no more
May their impetuous course be stayed;
Their guardian Saint involved them o'er
With air condensed, and thickened shade:
Concealed from mortal ken they move,
By Vengeance urged, and Heaven, and Love!

XIII.

No thought may sway the Husband's breast
Save Love — and Vengeance fell,
For Daughter lost, and Spouse possessed
By giant Robber's wizard spell!
But Edwy feels, 'mid vengeance, rise
Desire to know his Brother's fate,
And, with increasing fervor, plies
Him briefly to relate.
Though scarce his tale might gathered be
From his distracted words, and wild,
He found their fates did still agree,
By Fortune ne'er from Faith beguiled.
Delivered from the raging main,
He sought his natal home again,
But proved, his dearest hopes destroyed,
The world without his Brother void —
Till that blest beam his soul which cheered,
Consoled his sorrows, and endeared —
“And oh! — that image of my heart! —
“She is bereaved from me now!
“To her, my lost, my better part,
“What is the world? — yea, what art thou?
“Each moment is eternity
“Till fate restore that beam to me,
“And vengeance for my infant Daughter
“Stamp in characters of slaughter!
“Till then there is no peace for me
“In earth, nor heaven — nor yet in thee!”

XIV.

From him hath Almar gathered aught,
'Tis buried in his silent thought,
Though his brow-knitted eyes avow
There's that within he would not show.
Whate'er it be, his Pride, I ween,
Forbids the secret to be seen,
Lest that a Father's wild despair
May for a phantom stoop to err —
No! — he till certainty assure
Belief, the torture will endure,
That if the Truth approve it fond
It go not his own breast beyond.

XV.

That Pride, nor Remorse nor Despair had erased
From the bosom where first it by Nature was placed;
Nor loneliness, nor quietude —
Though they had of occasion reft it
So oft to shew its haughty mood,
Yet as they found they left it;
Nature what man hath e'er subdued,
Her throne to disinherit?
Who can tame her high soul To his own control?
Who curb her giant spirit?
Though the Tempest may sleep, and the Ocean be mild,
Blow the blast but again — and again they are wild!
The Oak, though scathed by thunder,
Still shews that it hath been the king of the hill,
Though shorn of its leaves, majestic and hoar,
'Tis stately in ruin, as glory before; —
And Nature will be Nature still
Though the heart be rent asunder.

XVI.

Pause ye — and linger at the scene
Where conflagration late hath been —
The rafters mouldering in the fire —
The livid flame, about t' expire —
The oaks, seared with the sparks, so fast
Thickening upon the midnight blast —
The cattle in amazement met,
From terror scarce recovered yet —
The smoke, around that dusky wreaths
Over the desolated heaths —
The face of ruin and affright —
Confess the horrors of the night.
Thy dwelling-place of joy was this,
O Agilnoth! — what is it now?
There was thy chamber of nuptial bliss,
The crown of the mutual vow.
There on thy Daughter's innocence
The father's heart was poured immense —
And there — 'mid the noise of the crashing beam —
Her loveliness was clouded!
And, oh God! — there she sank, with a soul-piercing scream,
In the volume of flames darkly shrouded! —

XVII.

That pang subdued, towards the sky
Lifts Agilnoth his pensive eye;
And Gratitude, amid his woes,
In this soul-uttered vow arose:—
Upon that spot of fate, St. Loy!
The avenger of his rifled joy!
To thee to consecrate a fane,
Thy Offertory;

“The Offertory of St. Loy is a poore house sitvate on the West side of the sayd rode. When this began, I confess, I cannot as yet learne.”

Bedwell.

Eld not having accounted for the cause of the dedication of the Altar of St. Loy, surely the Poet has undoubted licence so to do. Besides this, it serves to locate the dwelling of Agilnoth.

— nor in vain: —
For soon the holy fabric stood
A trophy of his gratitude!
Now Agilnoth more urgent grew,
And if of Almar aught he knew,
Impatient Vengeance might not stay
To pierce his eremite array.

XVIII.

They thrid the wood, and climb the hill,
Still upward wend, unwearied still —
Though high the hill, and vast the wood,
And thick the forest brethren stood —
Thou, wizard Wood of Toteham's brow,
An Omen to the valley thou!

“When Tottenham Wood is all on Fire,
“Then Tottenham Street is nought but Mire.

The occasion of this prouerbe arose from a great Wood, called Tottenham Wood, of many hundred akers, upon the top of an high hill in the West end of the parish, which may easily be seene of all those which dwell elsewher in the same, as also in Edelmton, and into Essex. It is obserued, that whensoeuer a foggy thicke mist doth arise out of this Wood, and hang ouer it, or houer aboute it in manner of a smoake, that it's generally a signe of raine and foule weather; and in rayny weather, the streate lying very lowe, although gravelly, is for the most part drown'd or ouerflowed with water. This, therefore, to them, and to those adjoining neighbours, is in this case in sted of a prognostication: the like vse doe the inhabitants of Staffordshire, and other their neer neighbours, make of Snowden Hills, in Wales, and Malborne Hills, in Worcestershire.”

Bedwell.

Hovering like smoke upon thy crest,
When mist involves thy fiery breast,
Dark as on Snowdon lowers,
In many an eddying volume rolled;
The trembling tenants of the Wold,
Prophetic of the showers,
Dread the dark augury of the Flood,
Which, aye to make thy warning good,
Still on their harvest pours,
And sorrow o'er the deluged plain,
Which Hope had blessed, but blessed in vain!
And ever superstitious Eld,
As oft as she the Fog beheld,
Accused the spirits ill,
Who haunted then the wildering Wood,
And raised the portent of the Flood
That mantled o'er the hill;
And laughed to see the ruin spread,
And triumphed in the peasant's dread:
But now she smiles to see
The winter morn so clear and blue,
The wood of such a snowy hue,
From cloud and vapour free;
And that the tempest of the night
Had passed, when many a wicked sprite
Joyously revelled there:
And lo, the hill no threatening bore,
And the calm azure sweetly wore
A look of promise fair —
But through the Wood of Toteham Hill
They wind their way the while,
All silent and invisible,
Regardless of her smile.

XIX.

Thou giant Dane! feel'st thou not now
The dew of terror chill thy brow?
Nor thy haunted cavern shake,
Which enchanted arts did make?
Nor thy secret spells forego
Their prompt obedience to thy low,
Yet potent, murmurs? Sway they still
Reluctant spirits to thy will?
Or is Danger mute, though nigh?
And still Revolt and Treachery?
That, plunged from false security
To Destruction's sudden hell,
Thy fall may be more terrible.
Nor amulet, nor talisman,
Nor sword of Solomon — nor all
Wherewith the enchanted Orient can
Hold mortal man in magic thrall;
Nor all the incantations wild
Of Greece, and of Hesperia old —
Though he, a favored wizard child,
Their universal power controlled —
Could save him from the sainted sword
Of Justice and of Heaven,
That hath his horrid haunts explored,
To Love and Vengeance given —
Yet still in proud contempt he stands
Over that Lady prostrate there,
Who clasps his knees with phrenzied hands,
Her eyes without a tear,
Haggard in anguish, to demand
Her death from his blood-practised hand.

XX.

“Kill thee! what blast the fragrant root,
“Ere tasted the delicious fruit?
“That sure would be folly — and pity as well,
“That vainly thy Husband should fall as he fell!
“Not so did my fathers — the sons of the wave —
“From Scandinia's stern Desart—the nurse of the brave—
“With a conqueror's hand when they seized on the gold,
“And the shrines of the vanquished, that could not impart
“To their owners the spirit of Victory bold,
“The spirit of Valor! the life of the heart!
“They took from the Virgin the bloom of her flower,
“Grew rich on its sweetness, and prized her the hour —
“Then I grant that they left her to fade or to flourish;
“To fall by the sword, or her shame sadly nourish.
“But be joyful, my fair! — between their fate and thine
“The distinction is wide — only less than divine,
“Thou shalt be my queen — in my love aye delight,
“The balm of my toil, and the joy of my night.
“For ever and ever my heart thou shalt share,
“Secure of my faith, and exempted from care —
“The Lord thou lamentest so much could not love;
“I but freed thee from him to exalt thee above —

XXI.

“Think not that 'twas plunder which fired thy dwelling;
“'Twas Love, in despair strong — all other excelling!
“On a moon-sheeny eve, when thy Husband and thou
“Enjoyed the soft breeze, and the sun's setting glow —
“I beheld thee!—and instant my breast was on flame!
“Then what was — except thine own beauty — to blame?
“Thee then, in wild fury, I sought to divide
“From thy lord, thy protector, thy strength at thy side: —
“But my charms they all failed me, as Jealousy had
“Them withered, who even drives Wisdom's self mad!
“But my Love was no coward, to yield to the storms,
“Much less to a breath — when the cause was thy charms.
“Be happy! — oblivion veil over the dead! —
“Rejoice in thy fortune — be free from all dread —
“Lo! spirits and men to thy will are subdued,
“Thou spouse of great Lothbroch! the Queen of the Wood!”

XXII.

XXIII.

“Talk not of love! hate be the theme
“Of raving agony extreme!
“Each horrid cell re-echo still
“Hate! — and the same the forest fill!
“Resound, ye demons of his spell,
“The same on earth! the same in hell!
“Till all around, above, below,
“It rive his maddened spirit so
“It start his stained steel from its sheath,
“And dole my invocated death!
“And wed me with my Husband slain,
“My martyred, innocent child, again!
“Or if thou love me — hear me still —
“And, if thine heart may know to feel,
“Let thy sword free me from my woe!
“Which is not hard for thee to do.

XXIV.

“A Father spurned me from his breast,
“Because I loved whom he forbade;
“Nor elsewhere might my sorrows rest
“Than in the bosom of the dead!
“He too was in the world alone,
“And sought the scenes of memory,
“Where he his youth's past joys might own,
“And bless himself with them and me.
“One were our lives—our thoughts were blended—
“Nor be our lovely child forgot —
“Her cherub smiles our bark attended —
“In death divide us not!
“United in felicity,
“Why separate in woe?
“Why two caught up into the sky,
“And left the third below?
“In that blest world, without me — he
“Must feel a want in bliss;
“Nor can his joys all-perfect be
“While I remain in this!”

XXV.

“It is! it is my child!” —
The Robber heard,
Yea felt, the Father's bursting word,
And rolled around his anxious eye,
That met no object to reply:
That friendly shade conceals them still
From the astonished Robber's ken,
And on the Lady Arabel
He wildly gazed — and gazed again —
In Almar all the Father's soul
Had risen above its stern control!
Like the waters, confined
In a barrier of mountains,
Burst at length from behind
Their strong cataract fountains;
Like the stream from her cave
Breaks the ice that late bound her,
Rolls her bright-gushing wave
To the spring-banks around her;
Like the sun from wintry solstice freed,
Rejoicing o'er the wonted mead;
Like exile brought to native shore,
All — all his years of sorrow o'er! —
Thus sprung old Almar's heart on high,
And flowed and beat in extacy;
And with quick-mingling joys confessed
The feelings pride had long repressed —

XXVI.

“My Arabel! my injured child!
“But oh! to meet thee thus at last, —
“Remorse might drive my spirit wild,
“And all be dreary as the past!
“O Edwy, gaze not on me so —
“Canst thou forgive my haughty heart
“That urged thy Brother still to woe,
“Whereof the present is but part?
“Or can he, 'mid his vengeance, throw
“A thought on me, that would not start
“His sword? — thy sword, O Agilnoth,
“And make me Lothbroch to thy wrath!”
Here Agilnoth found words, and turned
His eyes from her for whom they burned —
“If thou be he in hermit weeds
“From whom my Arabel proceeds,
“Who loves thee still — the cause of age
“Shall wet the steel to keener rage,
“That I may gain thy full esteem,
“And all my past offence redeem.”

XXVII.

The waters to their level tend,
And speed with kindred streams to blend;
Each atom hasteneth to embrace,
Attracted to the next in place;
And soul to mutual soul replies,
And heart with heart to mingle flies;
So Agilnoth might not be stayed,
But longed to break the guardian shade;
With all the husband in his heart,
He sprung unto his Arabel;
The Saint was present on their part,
And joined them in the friendly veil:
At once, to the Dane's fierce surprize,
She vanished from his bloodshot eyes —
But she, with faithful kisses prest,
Is pillowed on her Husband's breast!

XXVIII.

Thus snatched from fate, it seemed a vision
Of Fancy, bathed in dreams Elysian,
That from the ruthless grave restored
Her lost and all-lamented Lord:
And still she looked from her assay
To find him melt a shade away.
She feels him — doubtful to explore,
With phrenzied gaze — each feature o'er:
He moves — his lips to hers are prest —
His heart throbs on her heaving breast —
She is unutterably blest!
No word might ease the extatic weight
That on her very spirit sate —
One thrilling shriek burst wildly forth,
And bent her helpless to the earth —
She shivered — sank — but not to ground —
Her Husband's arms have clasped her round;
Her head reclines upon his bosom,
As on its stem the withering blossom —
So sad — so wild — so still was she —
So motionless and silent he —
They seemed but marble forms of life —
The Husband, and swoon-sunken Wife!

XXIX.

But thou! — 'tis not thy spell's control
Benumbs the frame, and clasps the soul —
Wizard! — whose ghastly eyes declare
Thou feelst superior power near,
That hath thy peerless prize bereft,
Triumphant in the glorious theft —
“Voices! but where are they who spake?”
Why dost thou fear, and quail, and quake? —
“The name of Agilnoth!” — why he
Is scorned both by thy charms and thee —
“She's vanished — gone — but how, and where?
“She was of earthly mould, though fair,
“And could not melt away in air.” —
Thou art perplexed in thine own wiles,
Taken in thine own netted toils —
Thus the fierce Lion foams and frets,
Entangled in the snare — and threats;
Remembering not that they who spread
The pitfall which deceived his tread,
Are strangers as himself to dread;
And well his fallen power disdain,
His strength — his terrors — all, in vain!

CANTO THE FOURTH. The Vola.

I.

Ye Virtues! guardian Spirits of the Good!
Be ye not absent in extremity,
As some have charged ye — when, by Fate subdued,
Ye did avail not: — though, I ween, their eye
Judged of the present too impatiently,
Nor saw of hope the failure and delay
Was Wisdom's work, to aid the future joy —
But, oh! your ready ægis now display,
This be the perfect time! and this the fated day!
Be ye not absent in the groves of bliss,
Culling the dew of time from heavenly flower,
That may reward the present bitterness —
Bend now with aid from your ambrosial bower!
Be ye not like the gale, in needful hour,
Whose distant breath the thistle's beard pursued,
That should have sped the Maid to Etha's tower,
With Usnoth's valiant sons: — so not in blood,
By Cairbar's hate, had fallen the fair, the young, the good.

II.

Such were his thoughts, I ween, whose mind,
'Mid peril, girt with danger,
Ay, still to harmony resigned,
To fear remained a stranger:
Such Edwy's thoughts, whose eagle soul
Of thrilling song spurned earth's control,
Borne by whose wing he soared on high,
Secure, though death itself were nigh!
And now he marked, undaunted yet,
The giant Chieftain foam and fret,
And scanned his dark brow, as it grew
Deeper in its demon hue,
And knitted o'er his fierce red eye
Such gloom, as shades but ill
The flashes that incessant fly
In sidelong fury still.
So lightnings from the pregnant cloud,
Blackened with storms, advance
Before the thunder, that aloud
Peals o'er broad heaven's expanse.
Nor silent was the brooded rage
His meteor glances did presage,
Shooting with wild and maniac fire,
Desperate as wild, and fierce in ire.

III.

“What may this mean? a gnawing chain,
“Invisible, and clankless, still
“My struggling spirit doth restrain,
“In secret — striking cold and chill
“E'en to its inmost, as the hand of Fate
“Had on its shrinking powers sate! —
“Avaunt, ye doubts! suspense, avaunt!
“What! bearded e'en in thine own haunt!
“No! Lothbroch, be as thou art wont!
“Ye are my victims! — ye, whose dread
“Hath borrowed Darkness' guardian shade,
“To meet me front to front afraid. —
“I know ye could not raise that veil
“Without the aid of power more great,
“Who promised you ye should not fail,
“That ye in me might find your fate.
“Presumptuous, as ye were, in hope
“With Lothbroch's outraged wrath to cope!
“Mad that ye were, to tear away
“From his fierce grasp his proper prey!
“No tigress of her whelps bereft
“Through forest rages more —
“My faulchion, to the very heft,
“Is clotted with your gore!
“Though, congregated, every cloud
“Give to your trembling limbs a shroud,
“I'll burst through all, and rend ye thence,
“And wrap ye in far deeper cloud —
“Death, death shall be your recompence,
“And hell shall be your shroud!”

IV.

Furious he said; and, with a giant bound,
Burst through the veil: —'tis scattered all around:
Its part performed, the guardian Saint dismissed
The needless gloom; — and every shadow hist.
Revealed, the Robber's magic brand
Rushed fiercely upon Agilnoth,
His steel is in the Husband's hand,
And meets its falling wrath!
Over his loved one in his arms,
Insensible till now,
Their weapons clashed, and waked her charms
To motion's fevered glow.
Then to her Father's bosom he
Resigned his Arabel; —
“Have care of her for me, and thee,
“While on this miscreant's crest I tell
“Our vengeance, and his doom of hell!”

V.

She is upon her Father's breast,
But not as child her Father meets —
Neither caressing nor carest!
He but sustains, and she retreats
Into his arms instinctively —
On Agilnoth was fixed the eye;
The soul was bound — the heart was bent
On that important strife's event —
In dubious opposition met,
Their looks were into sternness set;
But neither struck — their lifted steel
Was edge to edge opposed —
A pause — that when again they deal,
The conflict may be closed.

VI.

But what of Edwy? — lo, beside
His Brother, to defend,
He stood, and round the Cavern eyed,
In quest of some neglected brand,
To soldier his unarmed hand,
Every danger to attend,
Present to redeem his thrall,
Present to revenge his fall. —
Ay, if he sink, his rushing strength
Shall breast his foeman's sabre's length,
And, plucked from his Brother's palsied hand,
Wave in the Robber's sight the renovate brand,
Like the spirit of Vengeance from Heaven swift-darted,
Incircled with terrors, ethereally hearted,
Incircled with fire, and sworded with flame,
As sudden as lightning, and strong as the same!

VII.

High Lothbroch, master of the spell,
With wonder had surveyed his steel;
No temper yet Its edge had met,
But into shivers fell! —
He little deemed on Virtue's side
The strength of Heaven was allied,
And that the arm of Justice held
A power not to be repelled:
Albeit, I ween, His sword had been,
By charms of darkness, wrought so keen,
Bathed in the Styx, and forged in Hell,
To make its edge invincible;
But he, who on the Right contended,
Well knew the foe, and how defended,
And had, with hallowed murmurs pure,
Blessed its weapon to endure —
Nay more — at his high will, to sunder
Whate'er opposed its dint of thunder!
Of this the Chieftain little deemed,
And less his wild presumption dreamed,
That they, to whom himself he gave,
Had but juggled to enslave
His soul, with promises that were
Meant only to deceive the ear,
And wind him in mad hope on high,
With fiercer pangs to fall and die!

VIII.

The sound of a whirlwind! — a rushing shock! —
The bandit-haunts rock;
Nor Lothbroch himself that tempest may mock:
And terror came on him — the Mariner's dread,
When the white herds of Neptune low over his head!

“Muggiando sopra il mar'va il gregge bianco.”

Ariosto.

And then burst on their sight, though whence none knew,
A Form, that seemed a Spirit to view,
And those storms of dismay, The sounds of her way,
That herald her coming in dreadful array —
But lo! her robes of lucid ether
Condense in deeper folds together,
And to a more substantial form
Resolves the shape that came in the storm —
A form of this world — but still it retained
The air of another — wherever she reigned —
She parted their swords —'tis the Lady they saw
So late at the Well, wildly beauteous in awe!
And Lothbroch beholds, with amazement and dread,
The Vola Gunilda — the mistress and head
Of his Scandinian wild arts, whence his power begun, —
And by the terrible blast of her anger 'tis done!
And comes she in wrath? — those eyeballs of fire,
Those pale cheeks of vengeance, confess her fierce ire,
And the lips that quiver ere they breathe
The fury that struggles her bosom beneath!
The rage hath found way, and her maddening soul
Is streamed in her speech, and is sealed in her scowl.

IX.

“Ingrate! 'tis well! — remember still
“Thou art the vassal to my will,
“Of my mere pleasure but the slave,
“That well can take the power it gave;
“And shudder, as the damned who feel
“The wrath of Jove in thunder-peal,
“In lightning-flash, to groaning hell
“Speaking fresh chains, and torment fell!
“Ay, tremble so at the revenge
“Of injured Love's determined range!
“That Love is turned to gall, and thou
“Too well its bitterness shalt know,
“As I have known it — canst thou pine
“That my afflictions should be thine?
“Hah, hah! ingrate and perjured fool!
“Thoughtst thou of wrong I should be cool!
“Away! to my revenge I sweep,
“Like fiend by serpent stung from sleep!

X.

“What hadst thou been — a servile Dane
“Writhing in England's conquest-chain —
“Had not my fond unearthly heart
“Ta'en in a mortal's bosom part?
“Did I not give thee magic power
“O'er sprites in planetary hour,
“Invest thee with the robe and wand,
“O'er quick and dead to bear command,
“And all the elements to sway,
“With mandate mightier far than they?
“But thou hadst sought to rive my chain,
“And all my secret signs were vain,
“In vain awhile thy spells might fail, —
“I proved thee, and have found thee frail,
“Faithless to my love, and thy vows —
“How true was that, how false were those!
“But that and they by Hell were sworn,
“And entered in that horrid bourne;
“They shall return to upper air,
“With all the mischief gathered there,
“Fraught with the vengeance of the flame,
“So many scorpions through thy frame
“To sting thee into madness fierce,
“And with eternal torments pierce!

XI.

“Blind and infatuate! didst thou deem
“Thou couldst delude me with a dream
“Of what I had not, thy vile heart,
“Or force me from my right to part?
“Ere that thou hadst presumed so far
“With spirit-sight, and matchless might,
“By fraud or force to cheat or dare,
“Thou shouldst have had his watchfulness
“Who holds the Rainbow Pontifice,
“High arched from earth to heaven, prepared
“'Gainst giant-inroad there to guard,
“With sword, and that loud trump, whose sound
“All the worlds answer all around;
“Heimdal, whose eyes at once survey
“A thousand leagues, by night or day;
“And sleep as light as bird, at large,
“E'er conscious of important charge;
“Heimdal, whose ear, of sound divine,
“Is wrought so exquisitely fine,
“It hears the grass in meadows grow,
“The wool on sheep, the falling snow!
“Thou shouldst have been like dreadful Thor,
“The might-sufficient God of War,
“Whose thunder-mace to hand again
“Returns, whence it was launched amain;
“Thor, who at pleasure can repair
“His strength, if e'er decay it fear!
“Vain mortal, know, thou art of earth,
“They deathless, of superior birth!

XII.

“Be not deceived: when Love runs wild,
“And cries revenge for faith beguiled,
“'Twill league with what it hates to speed
“Its malice on the perjured head!
“Thinkst thou I shall not take their side,
“For that they are to Heaven allied?
“To Him, whose fierce almighty power,
“Did, in that memorable hour
“When banded hosts of spirits high
“Were crested 'gainst his majesty,
“Hurl, e'en to utter hell's profound,
“Who got them names the nations round,
“Gods, sybils, heroes — with the rest,
“The undistinguished crew unblest!
“Nay — since we cannot hope that he,
“Enthroned in his eternity,
“Can ever yield to conqueror's rod,
“Why, let us of the power of God
“Take 'vantage, and his justice be
“The weapon of our vengeance free —
“And, lo! it shall be mine on thee!
“I ban thee, with my curse and wrath,
“Beneath the sword of Agilnoth;
“From thee I take whate'er I gave,
“And make thee as the veriest slave:
“And this by the nine gates of Hell,
“And by her kings and kingdoms fell,
“I swear! — hark! with the sound of whirlwind they
“Stamp, ratify thy doom, for aye!”

XIII.

Wild was the shock, and fierce, and rude,
Of the blasts echoing through the wood,
That rocked the Bandit's dark abode,
As earthquake swept the ground!
And then were sounds of horror there,
Shrill shriek, and groan of harsher fear,
That pierced and stunned the assaulted ear,
Confusedly all around:
But yet, those sounds seemed not of woe,
But rather the unruly shew
Of uncouth joy o'er fallen foe,
And wassail triumph wild! —
Now louder rose the yell and din,
As though the fiends were rushing in,
Howbeit the actors were unseen,
Mysteriously enveiled!
At once it ceased! — 'tis silence all,
Whose very stillness doth appal,
And hold the wildered mind in thrall,
Conjecture strange and dark.
When lo! — a rushing gleam appeared,
And as a form of light unsphered,
A Spirit for a moment glared,
Then flitted like a spark!
But oh! within that Sybil's arms,
What hath it left? — of cherub charms,
A lovely Babe, that cheerly smiled,
Amid that scene of terror wild!
Aloft she holds the Infant fair,
But fixed, and haggardly severe,
Her brow of frowns on Lothbroch lours,
As though 'twould wither all his powers.

XIV.

“Rage! rage! — I laugh to see thee rage —
“Fool! with a Sybil's wrath to wage
“Contention, to deceive the heart
“Skilled in delusion, and expert —
“What didst thou think me? — deaf, and blind,
“Contented — patient — calm — resigned —
“Humble in dotage — slave to thee,
“Proud when thou mightst bestow on me
“An hour, scarce spared from out the bliss
“Of dearer love's much sweeter kiss? —
“Behold this infant! — vex thine eye!
“She smiles upon thy destiny —
“Her innocent and lovely smile
“Exults o'er thee, and doth revile,
“Who thoughtst in flame her death she found,
“But little deemd'st that hovered round
“A Spirit, by my direction there,
“Secure from fire, exempt from fear,
“That caught her as she fell, and bare
“Her from the doom thou hadst prepared,
“To blast thine eye — its meet reward,
“Which had estranged thy recreant heart,
“From her who claimed the whole — not part!

XV.

“Woman! why hangst so on my arm? —
“To wildness torturing every charm,
“That stole his love from me — 'twas guilt!
“For which his life-blood must be spilt!
“And thou be pardoned! — off! away!
“I am no mother! — soft! yet stay!
“I know not what it is to pour
“A parent's joy, or anguish sore,
“O'er mine own image, born in fear,
“Through peril brought to vital air —
“Yet, by the rage of love, I ween,
“That rapture must be sweet — and keen
“Must be the agony! —And thou
“Dost more than common torture show —
“Thou art a mother! — be it so —
“Superior power prevents the blow —
“The child be thine — And he shall pine
“To see thee clasp it to thy breast —
“That he is curst — and thou art blest!

XVI.

XVII.

The combat thickens — who beheld,
Mingled their spirits with the field,
Which swelled or shrunk as rose or fell
The strokes that either sped,
Till vision, in its wearied cell,
Dimmed with that watch of dread!
But there was one, whose wedded heart,
Still yearning o'er her child,
Bore in that scene a greater part,
With blended feeling wild —
And while the Wife her lord confessed,
Through all his peril pained;
The Mother closer to her breast
Her clinging infant strained!

XVIII.

XIX.

Riven his plate, and pierced his mail,
Battered his crest, and broke his blade,
That had so late, with dire avail,
Repelled his force, whose sacred steel
Waved in a Wife's and Daughter's aid,
Extended huge the Giant lay —
His shield, exempted from the fray,
Hung in its own armorial nich,
Alone unharmed — unconscious — which
His anxious eyes still sought — and ay,
Exposed in utmost exigence;
Still, still he bent to pluck from thence
That stout circumference of defence,
To oppose to the consuming wrath
Of St. Eloy and Agilnoth —
But vain! — in vain! — pressed vengeance there,
His shrinking steps and failing strength,
Exulting o'er his measured length;
While fierce disdain from his despair
Broke forth—as sunk his soul to Hela's dwelling drear!

XX.

Hark! Mercy of Heaven! what tumult and noise
Disturb, as to threaten, the dawn of their joys?
Those yells, and those shouts, that incessantly swell, —
What are they the sound of his welcome to Hell?
And are the fiends so jovial there they cleave
The broad disparting orb with horrid sound
Of general clamour, from their inmost cave,
That sons of earth may hear the wild rebound?
No! 'tis the offspring of Fancy, begot by Alarm,
In perilous hour, and produced by a charm,
In the self-same moment begotten and born,
Fantastic and varying, as ghost tempest-torn!
Far other import those clamours contain —
'Tis the Band of the Chieftain! they rush in amain;
They had heard his loud cry — but, all too late,
Came to save him from his fate!
And now they vow, with general breath,
To avenge their chief, or rush on death!
But Gunilda hath met them — and rages and raves,
Despising their menace high;
Fierce as a fury, and wild as the waves
Tost into the turbulent sky!

XXI.

“Back! back! ye slaves! — without his charms,
“What can your frail and fragile arms?
“Those charms he had from me — and I
“Condeinned him to this destiny —
“I doomed his vile ingratitude,
“Though 'twas his sword that drank his blood —
“His sword, that hath the might of Heaven
“On its avenging temper graven —
“Not I might brook its dint of wrath,
“Though privileged from fleshly scathe!
“But, if ye loved your chief so well,
“To attend upon his state in hell,
“Come — breast the point, and do your parts —
“Urge 'gainst its length your stubborn hearts —
“Till the ground, be deluged with your blood,
“And ye float in the purple flood! —
“Away! — this cavern stands no more,
“I rase the work I wrought before;
“And with my altered breath dispel
“The fabric framed of many a spell! —
“Then to Hela's dark abode
“Swift I take my airy road,
“And embrace the hero's soul,
“Quit of cumbrous earth's control;
“Still beloved, though loathed he fell,
“Mine, and only mine in Hell!”

XXII.

Fled the fierce Band with panic fear,
Fled like a herd of startled deer;
Before her mien, so terrible
And wild, their craven courage fell!
Like the sand o'er the plain,
By the desert blast surged,
Fled the Bandits amain,
To precipitance urged,
From her terrors proclaimed!
With the Band fled as well
The Sorcerer's cell;
By a spell it was framed,
And destroyed by a spell!
From the mutterings of power,
So vanished the grim,
Wizard-wrought, Teraphim!
In the perilous hour,
The shield, sought in vain,
At the word of the witch,
Disappeared from its nich!
And the corpse of the slain,
With a long peal of thunder,
From the vision of Wonder
Past away in its blood!
And the Sybil has gone
To her dreary abode,
In her regions unknown!
And the rest are alone
In the midst of the wood!

XXIII.

Now all is calm — a calm so dead
It falls with cold and heavy dread —
Such lingering sense of terror still,
When the wild storm hath blown its fill,
As presses on the shipman's soul,
That with the tempest's surging roll,
Was wrapt up to the utmost pole! —
Such as the peasant well may feel
After the solemn thunder-peal,
When, 'mid the wilds, the general still
Settles on wood, and mead, and hill;
And not a whisper of the breeze
Wakens the leaf of aspen trees;
And not a motion of the stream
Disturbs the silence of the dream,
That seems each object to invest,
As life suspended were in rest —
Such the suspension of their souls!
Husband and Mother — and Sire and Brother —
And while its frozen breath controls,
They gaze uncertain on each other,
As though they gazed on vacancy,
Where forms unreal met the eye;
Till 'gan the heart flow in the breast,
With fixed ice so late oppressed,
And to its natural glow returned,
And now with rising rapture burned;
The lines of memory now they trace,
And catch the extatical embrace,
Pouring all the rapt spirit forth
In joy, that bursts beyond the earth!
But chief the Infant shared the bliss,
That triumphed in the numerous kiss —
Her parents kissed her o'er and o'er,
With fervor never felt before —
And Edwy pressed her lip and cheek,
So sweetly innocent and meek —
And Almar, of his pride beguiled,
Hath blest his Arabella's Child!!

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI. The Hymn.

Conclusion.

THE Farewell to Cottenham.

POEMS.

THE Lament of the Bard.

I.

'Tis mockery all! — Who could endure the sneer
That scowls upon my blank captivity?
Albeit no chains, nor prison dank and drear,
Confine my limbs, and bar me from the air,
And stop the circuit of my roving eye —
Such corporal sufferance I might better bear,
Perchance, than this which doth restrain the soul,
Which would beyond the narrow limit fly,
That holds the mass of men in low control,
In commerce with this earth's most gross concerns,
The Sons of Dulness, reckless of the roll
Of rapture, that inspireth him who burns
With thrilling song: — Gain is their care alone;
And poring on the ground, — although above
The heavens in magnificence are spread,
And all around is Beauty, Grace, and Love —
They toil and toil, and ne'er exalt the head
To mark the vast profusion, Nature's own,
That fills the heart with transport, and the mind
With Fancy, — gives Imagination birth —
And makes the wondering gazer, undesigned,
A prompted Poet — wings him from the earth
To regions whence he looks, with high disdain,
Down on the glittering pomp as false and vain,
That worldlings prize — the yellow slaves of Gain!

II.

What mockery? Whereof do I complain?
Of this — that I, who would full-willing roam,
With eagle spirit, land and rolling main,
In quest of Nature and of Knowledge high,
And Wisdom and Observance, and each scene
Which Fancy loves, where Meditation dwells,
And to the Bard give wings wherewith to fly,
Rocks, mountains, forests, solitary cells,
Can scarcely steal one hour from Toil and Home,
To mark Creation's wonders, and to glean
Of that a little, which the Sons of Mind,
In rich abundance, have possessed, and poured
Into their Songs, that nought on earth confined;
Whereof, with much regard, I have explored
Many of soul-deep sweetness; — though to more
A stranger, which I trust have sweets in store
For me, — what time I from my labour strayed,
With some loved book to feed my hungry thought
Albeit oft chid by those who never read
For wandering from the service of my Trade,
Though but a moment — I could snatch no more —
For I've not known the silence of one hour,
To Meditation and the Muse devote!
(Yet I am mute; — none hath a murmur heard;—
Whate'er my thought, 'tis voiceless and interred —
None, save my harp — that answers me again,
And soothes me with a sympathetic strain.)
Nor can long-time my fond ideas dwell
On scenes they mourn to leave, and love so well;
For with the sons of bustle I am pressed,
Bereft of what my soul affects the best —
Perpetual Thought, that in a heavenly mood
Seeks silence, and the pensive solitude,
Whence it can rise as high as angels can,
And prove how near allied to them is man.

III.

This is not all, nor half the mockery
That scowls upon my blank captivity!
I know not why, save to afflict me more,
Fate brought me to the rural scene, where I
Tune, querulous, this Song of mournful lore,
And walk not forth abroad in open sky;
But, cooped beneath a roof of narrow space,
Toil o'er the work that to the town belongs —
Retirement, — not for study, that might raise
Thoughts, worthy of the purpose of my songs,—
But for the aid of business, that my speed
May have no interruption; hence my time
Is filled up closely with the dull routine,
That ever rolls the same, and scarce my reed
Hath space to breathe, or leisure for a rhime;
And scarce one wing my Spirit can put forth,
Galled by the chain that binds her down to earth!
I had hoped reverse of this, and hailed the voice,
Which told me, eve and morn, the rural scene
I should behold, and purely breathe the air,
Franchised from smoke of Cities, and the noise;
And that, perchance, whole days should see me here; —
And then I weened a part of them t' employ,
Pondering on Nature's charms and loveliness,
Harmonious beauty, and melodious grace,
With all the music of her voice of joy;
And breathing fragrant incense of her breath —
Farewell, fond hopes! for I have seen your death —
“But where are Nature's beauties? — they are gone —
“And Winter hath congealed each stream to stone; —
“And Winter blasts the leaves from every tree; —
“Each field is blanched — there is no harmony —
“Neither fair sky — but all is cold and storm
“Which shrink and harrow up the human form.”

IV.

Though now 'tis Winter, yet it hath been spring,
When through the groves the birds were heard to sing,
When Sol was calm, and beautiful, and mild —
And in these shades upon his Poet smiled?
No, not on me — the City held me then, —
Yet since, whole days, hath Summer seen me here,
The Sun's proud, glorious season of the year,
When Splendour glowed above the head of men,
And Bounty blessed around their raptured ken —
But not to me — And Autumn brought her store,
And likewise saw me here — a milder glow
Was hers, and all her waving fields were gold —
I marked her not her rich abundance pour,
I marked her not her calmer day unfold,
I heard not her symphonious music flow —
Or seldom — when I did, I prized the chance,
And treasured every beauty that my gaze
Won from the scene, in soul-extatic trance —
Autumn's calm Sun, or Summer's fiercest blaze.
Hath awful Winter, then, no charms? He hath —
For those whose souls congenial storms delight,
Who love dark Terror's wild, sublimest path: —
And such my soul, that Nature loves when bright,
But loves her best when most she frowns in wrath!

V.

Said I ye, Seasons, have beheld me here
Whole days? — O rather I should say, and true,
Ye strangers are to me, and I to you,
For I, unhoused, meet you abroad but rare,
Blithe bounding o'er the field or up the hill,
Fanned by the breeze, and drinking purest air,
Soothed by the murmuring of a purling rill,
Charmed by the circling objects of delight,
Which Nature loves to press upon the sight,
And through the heart and joyous spirit thrill.—
No! — but the Sun upon my window glows;
I feel his warmth, — I feel the breeze that blows, —
Which, as in scorn, seem to invite me forth,
To gaze upon the enchantments of the earth!
Thus shine the sun-beams through the abhorred grate,
That mars them with its shade, of prison-gate,
Whose hinge shall never turn t' enlarge a limb
Of the sad victim, but where scoffing him,
Bare stands Captivity with laughter grim,
And points the spot, where Freedom's vallies lie,
Where he can enter not, to vex his eye, —
Yet mine is more — his thoughts can revel wide;
And though the dreams of trouble may annoy,
Yet he can gaily image those of joy —
But this stern Trade hath unto me denied!
Mine is the heavy durance of the soul,
Which would in everlasting rapture roll —
Chains that the body and the mind control!
For I am like a lark in cage confined,
Who feels his wings, and thinks to mount the wind;
I spread my plumes, and then attempt to soar, —
But Disappointment makes my sorrows more!

VI.

VII.

Sweet Poesy! whose gentle heart is fraught
With sensibility and tender thought;
Within whose eye is seen soft Pity's tear,
Like water shining in a diamond rare,
Rendering it thence more lovely and more fair;
Whose liquid language is that of the sky,
Such as the stars' angelic symphony,
Which is too pure for the unpurged ear
Of gross unscienced mortals, who thence scorn
The things that are too high for their low-borne,
And thought-estranged souls — and name thee, wild
Enthusiast, and Fancy's maddest child —
Enthusiast! — 'tis the name that I love best —
The very name congenial to my breast! —
And when they term thee so, then most they raise,
In my esteem, her whom they would abase.—
Enthusiast of Nature! Soul enflamed
With fire from her great Altar built by God,
And good by the wise Architect proclaimed!
Thine is the bliss of Angels free from sin!
O kindle all my spirits with thy fire!—
But why? — Trade calls me down to his abode —
Still thou'rt the active principle within!
To him my passive frame alone I give,
For I have never yielded so my soul,
Though subject be my thoughts to his control; —
Albeit he smother them, yet still they live,
And from their darkening shrouds again respire!
Then there I triumph o'er his tyrant power —
Yet when will come the date of Freedom's hour?
And who will lead me up the hill of Fame,
And twine the laurels round my humble name?
How would I bless the hand! my song should crown,
And pay him back those laurels of renown!
Is none to answer? — like an eagle young,
Why leave I not mine eyry then, and dare,
Fearless, the wide and dangerous tract of air,
On the broad banner of my pinions hung?

VIII.

Who would not, for the joys to thee belong,
Endure the sorrows of a Child of Song?
For where's the mortal so completely blest,
That trouble never interrupts his rest?
Why launch I not out on this world's wide sea?
And if storm-taken—well—so let it be —
I reck not! — It were but to grasp at more
Than I could reach, as many have before —
And they have borne it — I could bear the same —
Be mine their sorrows then, if mine their fame!
And have I not, where I the griefs have read
Of many of the learned, and tuneful dead;
— How that the World had brought its tempest forth,
To beat their eagle spirits down to earth,
To its vile level — And, when I have heard
Their sorrows on their magic harps preferred —
Have I not, as each melancholy lay
Dissolved my soul in passion all away,
E'en envied them their woes, and with wild zeal,
To plain like them, e'en wished like them to feel?
Then swell, ye billows! burst above my head!
And I, like them, will wake my harp to life,
That shall reprove you for your uproar dread,
And calm my soul amid external strife!
For it shall have the power of Orpheus' strain,
And charm me from my fate with its sweet tone; —
While its kind voice I listen to alone,
Frustrate the storm shall drive along the plain,
And threatening thunders roar — winds rage in vain!
Then swell, ye billows! high as Jove's arched roof!
I reck ye not — for I am tempest-proof!

On attaining the Age of Twenty-one

THE Grave of the Bard

SONG, to---

STANZAS On the Death of His Most Gracious Majesty KING GEORGE THE THIRD.

SONNET TO ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ.

POET LAUREATE.

Thou! of the wild and wonderous Song! of her
Gallia's prophetic Maid — of Thalaba —
Of Madoc — and the Goth! — Great Reveller
Both in our hearth's sweet charities, and, ah!
Man's vainest mysteries, sublime and far,
The superstitions stricken sinners fear.
Prolific Mind — spontaneous Muse — bright Star,
In the pure Heaven of Verse benign and clear!
Friend of the Dead! who pierced each scattered scroll,
Preserving to all time the Poet's name,
Of that young, resolute, weak, yet ardent soul,
Which burnt out its own fire, and went in flame
To be renewed above the dulcet pole —
Friend of the Dead! — and this shall be thy fame.