 | Stanzas, by the Author of "Dunluce Castle" |  |
1
[Oft, in romantic fantasy of thought]
Oft, in romantic fantasy of thought,
When holding strange communion with my Heart,
I think it is a Harp, which Nature wrought,
Whence all variety of sounds might part;
Where every passing hand might try its art:
And, though the notes of Joy would suit it best,
And Sorrow's touch its sweetest music thwart,
Yet if ungentle hands its strings addrest,
And bade it thrill with woe, 'twould answer the behest.
When holding strange communion with my Heart,
I think it is a Harp, which Nature wrought,
Whence all variety of sounds might part;
Where every passing hand might try its art:
And, though the notes of Joy would suit it best,
And Sorrow's touch its sweetest music thwart,
Yet if ungentle hands its strings addrest,
And bade it thrill with woe, 'twould answer the behest.
This Heart, this Harp of mine, this public Toy,
Hath now endur'd its three-and-twentieth year,
And, save when Hope hath tried the note of Joy,
(And even her strings were warp'd with Memory's tear,)
All have been sounds of harsh affliction here;
The coarse dull fingers of a vulgar crowd
Have struck it still with insolence severe;
And its indignant answers, deep, not loud,
Acutely sad have been; but not more sad than proud.
Hath now endur'd its three-and-twentieth year,
And, save when Hope hath tried the note of Joy,
(And even her strings were warp'd with Memory's tear,)
All have been sounds of harsh affliction here;
The coarse dull fingers of a vulgar crowd
Have struck it still with insolence severe;
And its indignant answers, deep, not loud,
Acutely sad have been; but not more sad than proud.
2
One string there was upon this injured Harp,
Whence Music of sublimest influence woke;
'Twould sooth my cares when most my cares were sharp,
For with a noble melody it spoke;
'Twas Friendship's string; but that is long since broke:
The hand of Falsehood snapt the chord in twain,
And my whole soul so harrowed with the stroke,
That now, when other hands would try again
To bind that broken string, it spurns them with disdain!
Whence Music of sublimest influence woke;
'Twould sooth my cares when most my cares were sharp,
For with a noble melody it spoke;
'Twas Friendship's string; but that is long since broke:
The hand of Falsehood snapt the chord in twain,
And my whole soul so harrowed with the stroke,
That now, when other hands would try again
To bind that broken string, it spurns them with disdain!
O mournful Harp! and shalt thou never more
Breathe tones at which my wither'd soul may smile?
Alas! the season of delusion's o'er!
That soul hath shrunk beneath the blight of guile;
The pestilential contact of the vile:
Yet, Oh! one more last lofty strain endeavour;
Let Pride sustain thine energy awhile:
Let Pride all softer bonds at once dissever;
Then burst thy strings, O Harp! and silent be for ever!
Breathe tones at which my wither'd soul may smile?
Alas! the season of delusion's o'er!
That soul hath shrunk beneath the blight of guile;
The pestilential contact of the vile:
Yet, Oh! one more last lofty strain endeavour;
Let Pride sustain thine energy awhile:
Let Pride all softer bonds at once dissever;
Then burst thy strings, O Harp! and silent be for ever!
August 12, 1814.
3
[Where art thou, Zelia! far from Him]
ZELIA.
Where art thou, Zelia! far from Him,
Whose pensive thought is ever thine?
Is Memory's lamp already dim?
Already vacant Memory's shrine?
Or does thy softer nature deign
Within that bosom's blessed nest
To let a Soldier's image rest,
In pity to the care, the pain,
With which his harrow'd soul is prest?
Whose pensive thought is ever thine?
Is Memory's lamp already dim?
Already vacant Memory's shrine?
Or does thy softer nature deign
Within that bosom's blessed nest
To let a Soldier's image rest,
In pity to the care, the pain,
With which his harrow'd soul is prest?
Or dost thou, lovely sceptic, still
Suspect a Rambler's wavering will?
And deem, as thou wert wont to say,
That like the Denizen of air,
Whose pinions float on every breeze,
Or Insect of the summer day,
That quits his curious waxen cave,
Through Nature's paradise to stray,
A Soldier wanders here and there,
And scorns to be the sober slave
Whom Constancy can ever seize?
Suspect a Rambler's wavering will?
And deem, as thou wert wont to say,
That like the Denizen of air,
Whose pinions float on every breeze,
Or Insect of the summer day,
That quits his curious waxen cave,
Through Nature's paradise to stray,
A Soldier wanders here and there,
And scorns to be the sober slave
Whom Constancy can ever seize?
'Tis true, the Bird, on frolic wing,
Will oft on Fancy's errand rove,
And many a note of folly sing
To distant tenants of the grove:
The Bee will ply his filmy sail
To waft him through a world of sweets,
And thus the perfumed breath inhale
Of every nectar-leaf he meets.
Yet will that Bird, his flight retrac'd,
Back to his native arbour turn:
Yet will this silken flutterer haste,
To rest within his humming Urn.
The Heart, sweet friend, of purest truth,
May thus that plumed wanton seem;
Or, buoyant on the tide of youth,
This Insect float on Pleasure's stream.
Yet after every wayward flight,
Or, after every voyage past,
'Twill with the fonder fervour light
Upon its Heart of Hearts at last.
And that once gain'd, how blissful then,
If there congenial warmth it find!
But worldly rules of worldly men
Too oft incrust the gem of mind;
And then the Heart indeed hath err'd;
And then it sinks beneath its lot,
Like Noah's weary wandering bird,
That sought the Ark and found it not.
Thy lips have often half confest,
Will oft on Fancy's errand rove,
4
To distant tenants of the grove:
The Bee will ply his filmy sail
To waft him through a world of sweets,
And thus the perfumed breath inhale
Of every nectar-leaf he meets.
Yet will that Bird, his flight retrac'd,
Back to his native arbour turn:
Yet will this silken flutterer haste,
To rest within his humming Urn.
The Heart, sweet friend, of purest truth,
May thus that plumed wanton seem;
Or, buoyant on the tide of youth,
This Insect float on Pleasure's stream.
Yet after every wayward flight,
Or, after every voyage past,
'Twill with the fonder fervour light
Upon its Heart of Hearts at last.
And that once gain'd, how blissful then,
If there congenial warmth it find!
But worldly rules of worldly men
Too oft incrust the gem of mind;
And then the Heart indeed hath err'd;
And then it sinks beneath its lot,
5
That sought the Ark and found it not.
(Perchance thine eyes have told the rest)
That he who urg'd Affection's plea,
Had haply to thy breast been dear,
But for the busy warning fear,
That said, upon the wing of change,
So warm a heart would frequent range,
While thine was weeping silently.
Wilt thou believe 'twas not the spark
Of young and inexperienc'd feeling,
Thy form of grace, thine eye of mind,
So madly tempted his revealing;
When, borne on Honour's fragile bark,
He tries the cure of wave and wind?
Wilt thou believe the steady beam
Was not a meteor's transient gleam,
When thou shalt know the sound of arms
Hath call'd him to a distant shore;
Where Zelia's smiles and Zelia's charms
Shall never, never tempt him more?
Wilt thou believe his breast was truth,
6
Some stroke of chance shall lay him low,
And he, ev'n then, in feeling's glow,
Shall sigh in vain for Zelia's hand,
To close the dying eyes of youth?
Those dying eyes, that latest sigh,
Shall look for Thee, shall breathe for Thee;
Shall breathe and look to Him on high,
That every blessing thine may be.
And thou wilt weep to hear the story
(For pity then thy heart will move)
Of one who died the death of glory,
That could not live the life of Love.
But when I see Thee weep for me,
As Memory may work to grieve Thee,
Why even then I will not leave Thee,
My Spirit still shall hover near Thee,
And with an angel's bliss to cheer Thee,
I'll steal from Heaven's most pure recess
The sweetest flower of blessedness,
Upon thy sweeter breast to lay;
And with Thee I will ever stay,
And cheer thee, lovely, lonely one,
Till earth, and heaven, and time be done!
7
PASSION CONCEALED.
Without the courage to complain,
Beneath the secret sting of care;
To feel at heart the pulse of pain,
Yet dare not own its throb is there:
Beneath the secret sting of care;
To feel at heart the pulse of pain,
Yet dare not own its throb is there:
With aching eyes that may not weep;
With bursting breast that may not sigh;
The air of semblant peace to keep,
And smile, as mocking agony:
With bursting breast that may not sigh;
The air of semblant peace to keep,
And smile, as mocking agony:
O Woman! 'tis a law severe,
That bids you hide the love you feel;
Nor e'en permits a gentle tear,
To sooth the wound it cannot heal.
That bids you hide the love you feel;
Nor e'en permits a gentle tear,
To sooth the wound it cannot heal.
Beneath some sudden ill of fate
The noble mind commands relief;
But who can bear the growing weight
Of long and unrepining grief?
The noble mind commands relief;
But who can bear the growing weight
Of long and unrepining grief?
To stifle every murmuring breath,
Save sighs exhal'd when none are nigh;
It is to feel the hand of Death,
Yet dread to say, alas! I die!
Save sighs exhal'd when none are nigh;
It is to feel the hand of Death,
Yet dread to say, alas! I die!
8
THE DREAM.
I had laid down my head on the pallet of slumber,
But Affliction's oblivion had courted in vain;
For Sleep only came new afflictions to number,
Came loaded with misery, burthen'd with pain.
Ah! why did I hope a suspension to borrow,
With the wand of the night, from the woe of the morrow?
For she rose in my Dream, like the Angel of Sorrow;
She eyed me with pity, but not with disdain.
But Affliction's oblivion had courted in vain;
For Sleep only came new afflictions to number,
Came loaded with misery, burthen'd with pain.
Ah! why did I hope a suspension to borrow,
With the wand of the night, from the woe of the morrow?
For she rose in my Dream, like the Angel of Sorrow;
She eyed me with pity, but not with disdain.
It was Zelia! my life for a moment adorning,
My curse and my blessing, my pain and my pride;
Who, the cloud of my noon, though the star of my morning,
In the morn was my Hope, and at noon was a Bride:
She look'd with the aspect of gentle concession,
Her eye wore a sweet but a touching expression;
It was sorrowful Beauty's reluctant confession,
That the colours were false which her fancy had dy'd.
My curse and my blessing, my pain and my pride;
Who, the cloud of my noon, though the star of my morning,
In the morn was my Hope, and at noon was a Bride:
She look'd with the aspect of gentle concession,
Her eye wore a sweet but a touching expression;
It was sorrowful Beauty's reluctant confession,
That the colours were false which her fancy had dy'd.
And a tear slowly stole down the pale cheek of Zelia,
The pale cheek o'er-wreath'd with the dark-flowing hair;
It flow'd down that cheek, and then drop'd on her bosom,
And mix'd with the sighs that were murmuring there.
I strove not to check the effusion of feeling;
The wounds of the heart but grow worse with concealing;
And Tears, though they have not the power of healing,
Are a soul-soothing balm, in the moments of care.
The pale cheek o'er-wreath'd with the dark-flowing hair;
It flow'd down that cheek, and then drop'd on her bosom,
And mix'd with the sighs that were murmuring there.
10
The wounds of the heart but grow worse with concealing;
And Tears, though they have not the power of healing,
Are a soul-soothing balm, in the moments of care.
And I thought I could hear the low echoes repeating:
“How falsely the promise of Hymen beguiles!
Like the arch of the Rainbow, as bright and as fleeting;
An age of regret for a moment of smiles!
Thou lovely Deplorer! unbless'd was the day,
That gave thee so young and so artless away;
Love's Lottery tempted Thee giddy and gay,
And despair was thy prize as the fruit of his wiles!”
“How falsely the promise of Hymen beguiles!
Like the arch of the Rainbow, as bright and as fleeting;
An age of regret for a moment of smiles!
Thou lovely Deplorer! unbless'd was the day,
That gave thee so young and so artless away;
Love's Lottery tempted Thee giddy and gay,
And despair was thy prize as the fruit of his wiles!”
“Is it thus!” I exclaim'd, in the choak'd voice of anguish;
“Ah! would the blest right to protect Thee were mine;
Then, the flower of my fondness, thou never should'st languish,
The pride of my honour, thou never should'st pine:
At the breath of thy whisper I'd fly but to hear Thee,
And the long lapse of time should but serve to endear Thee,
And in weal or in woe, by my soul I would cheer Thee;
Ah! would the blest right to protect Thee were mine!”
“Ah! would the blest right to protect Thee were mine;
Then, the flower of my fondness, thou never should'st languish,
The pride of my honour, thou never should'st pine:
At the breath of thy whisper I'd fly but to hear Thee,
And the long lapse of time should but serve to endear Thee,
And in weal or in woe, by my soul I would cheer Thee;
Ah! would the blest right to protect Thee were mine!”
Such, such was the Dream that my fancy deluded;
I awoke, and bless'd Heaven it was only a Dream:
For rather than Sorrow one moment intruded,
To dim the dark eyes that so tenderly beam:
All the hopes of my soul would I willingly barter,
To establish Her peace on inviolate charter:
In the pride of its love let my Heart die a martyr,
If I'd cause Her the pain of one sorrowful Dream.
I awoke, and bless'd Heaven it was only a Dream:
11
To dim the dark eyes that so tenderly beam:
All the hopes of my soul would I willingly barter,
To establish Her peace on inviolate charter:
In the pride of its love let my Heart die a martyr,
If I'd cause Her the pain of one sorrowful Dream.
12
LINES WRITTEN ON THE BAPTISMAL DAY OF JANE GREY BRYDGES, October 26, 1814.
To snatch the Harp from Fancy's cell,
And bid its fairy wild-notes swell
Through Fiction's flowery way;
Be such the colder Bard's employ,
Who less sincerely welcomes Joy
To this Baptismal Day.
And bid its fairy wild-notes swell
Through Fiction's flowery way;
Be such the colder Bard's employ,
Who less sincerely welcomes Joy
To this Baptismal Day.
Be mine, fair Child, to breathe the prayer
That calls on Heaven's peculiar care
To guide thy walk through life;
And strew with flowers the steps of Time,
And teach Thee all secure to climb
This rude ascent of strife.
That calls on Heaven's peculiar care
To guide thy walk through life;
And strew with flowers the steps of Time,
And teach Thee all secure to climb
This rude ascent of strife.
May Angels lead thy feeble feet,
Till smoothly up to Reason's seat
Thine infancy attain;
To light, array, and form thy youth,
May Genius, Loveliness, and Truth,
In triple lustre reign.
Till smoothly up to Reason's seat
Thine infancy attain;
To light, array, and form thy youth,
May Genius, Loveliness, and Truth,
In triple lustre reign.
13
And These of right may o'er Thee shine,
Along thy Sires' illustrious line,
The link of glory keeping;
For Beauty, Genius, loyal Trust,
Arise to greet Thee, from the dust,
Where noble names lie sleeping.
Along thy Sires' illustrious line,
The link of glory keeping;
For Beauty, Genius, loyal Trust,
Arise to greet Thee, from the dust,
Where noble names lie sleeping.
Scion of Wodvile's ancient stem!
A Wodvile was the brightest gem
On royal Edward's tiar;
Of Wodvile's race was Brandon's Star,
Whose beam of beauty shone afar,
And kindled Europe's fire.
A Wodvile was the brightest gem
On royal Edward's tiar;
Of Wodvile's race was Brandon's Star,
Whose beam of beauty shone afar,
And kindled Europe's fire.
From those fair models may we find
That Nature drew thy form; thy mind
May Grey's high soul imbue;
Like Suffolk's Daughter as in name,
Be Thou in Wit and Worth the same;
But not in Sorrow too.
That Nature drew thy form; thy mind
May Grey's high soul imbue;
Like Suffolk's Daughter as in name,
Be Thou in Wit and Worth the same;
But not in Sorrow too.
14
May thy blue eye's unclouded beam
Be never quench'd in Sorrow's stream,
But still be bliss revealing;
Or, if Thou ever shed a tear,
Be it that drop to Virtue dear,
The tear of tender feeling.
Be never quench'd in Sorrow's stream,
But still be bliss revealing;
Or, if Thou ever shed a tear,
Be it that drop to Virtue dear,
The tear of tender feeling.
Daughter of Wodvile's noble race!
Beneath a Wodvile's form we trace
Bold Genius, clad in arms;
Now Hero of the tilted fray,
Now wooing Learning to display
Her long neglected charms.
Beneath a Wodvile's form we trace
Bold Genius, clad in arms;
Now Hero of the tilted fray,
Now wooing Learning to display
Her long neglected charms.
And though the fam'd poetic flood,
That ran through Derby's gen'rous blood
In mute oblivion slumbers;
Deck'd in a wreath for ever green,
The strong Enchanter still is seen
In tuneful Surry's numbers.
That ran through Derby's gen'rous blood
In mute oblivion slumbers;
Deck'd in a wreath for ever green,
The strong Enchanter still is seen
In tuneful Surry's numbers.
15
More sure the Spouse of Derby's fame;
Doom'd with a Spenser's, Milton's name,
Immortally to shine:
No other Goddess needed They
To tune the Lyre, and wake the Lay
To harmony divine.
Doom'd with a Spenser's, Milton's name,
Immortally to shine:
No other Goddess needed They
To tune the Lyre, and wake the Lay
To harmony divine.
Branch of a high and stately Tree!
Whose vig'rous arms extended free
In Truth's salubrious air;
Firm as Newcastle to the right,
Be Truth thy love, and life, and light,
Thy first and latest care.
Whose vig'rous arms extended free
In Truth's salubrious air;
Firm as Newcastle to the right,
Be Truth thy love, and life, and light,
Thy first and latest care.
And if thy youthful taste refin'd
Shall lead thee to the walks of mind,
Be Montagu thy guide!
For if Her Spirit near Thee tend,
Thou'lt need no other airy Friend
To flutter at thy side.
Shall lead thee to the walks of mind,
Be Montagu thy guide!
For if Her Spirit near Thee tend,
Thou'lt need no other airy Friend
To flutter at thy side.
16
Perhaps in unknown worlds of light,
Whose radiance would abash the might
Of less aspiring eyes,
She now with Shakespear loves to roam,
And seek, above their starry home,
For more refulgent skies.
Whose radiance would abash the might
Of less aspiring eyes,
She now with Shakespear loves to roam,
And seek, above their starry home,
For more refulgent skies.
And who, amid the realms of air,
More fit his flight sublime to share,
Than She, who here below,
The Guardian of his mighty name,
Put the invidious Gaul to shame,
A mean yet mighty foe.
More fit his flight sublime to share,
Than She, who here below,
The Guardian of his mighty name,
Put the invidious Gaul to shame,
A mean yet mighty foe.
But, soaring with Her Bard on high,
From kindred claims She doth not fly,
Or care of Thee evade;
For, at thy least imploring prayer,
Her upward course She will forbear,
And hasten to thine aid.
From kindred claims She doth not fly,
Or care of Thee evade;
For, at thy least imploring prayer,
Her upward course She will forbear,
And hasten to thine aid.
17
The Eagle from her mountain throne,
Will soar in viewless pomp, alone,
The sovereign Sun to flare;
Yet on her nest her eye will keep,
And downward rush with lightning sweep,
Should that require her care.
Will soar in viewless pomp, alone,
The sovereign Sun to flare;
Yet on her nest her eye will keep,
And downward rush with lightning sweep,
Should that require her care.
Offspring of Genius and of Worth!
By these more honour'd in thy birth
Than splendour of the past;
Of all thy House shall I omit
The mind by glowing Fancy lit
The brightest and the last?
By these more honour'd in thy birth
Than splendour of the past;
Of all thy House shall I omit
The mind by glowing Fancy lit
The brightest and the last?
To me it seems less lustrous yet,
That Tudor and Plantagenet
Thy high descent adorn;
Than, even in its latest close,
To know, that with Thy Father rose
Its Talent's brightest morn.
That Tudor and Plantagenet
Thy high descent adorn;
Than, even in its latest close,
To know, that with Thy Father rose
Its Talent's brightest morn.
18
Ah! pity that Affliction's cloud
Should e'er have hung its damping shroud
Upon a morn so bright;
How oft do worldly vapours dense
Chill the great heart's too subtle sense,
And half its harvest blight!
Should e'er have hung its damping shroud
Upon a morn so bright;
How oft do worldly vapours dense
Chill the great heart's too subtle sense,
And half its harvest blight!
That Heart in very essence good,
That Mind so little understood,
How nobly had they shone;
Had not deep Sorrow's tyrant weight
In envy of their high estate,
Their energy undone!
That Mind so little understood,
How nobly had they shone;
Had not deep Sorrow's tyrant weight
In envy of their high estate,
Their energy undone!
Check'd by a mob's malicious sneer,
Too long from Action's public sphere
Did Diffidence estrange
A Genius, that its head might rear
Aloft, and scarce have found its peer
Within the Senate's range.
Too long from Action's public sphere
Did Diffidence estrange
A Genius, that its head might rear
Aloft, and scarce have found its peer
Within the Senate's range.
19
This all must mourn, who mark the course
Of that proud Genius; know the force
With which the Lion dashes;
When fitful rousing from his lair,
Indignant through the toils of Care
His kindling courage flashes.
Of that proud Genius; know the force
With which the Lion dashes;
When fitful rousing from his lair,
Indignant through the toils of Care
His kindling courage flashes.
But when retiring to his Muse,
He conjures round the rainbow hues
Of wild Imagination;
Then, prodigal of Fancy's favours,
Amid the' unfinish'd Eden wavers,
And quits his own creation:
He conjures round the rainbow hues
Of wild Imagination;
Then, prodigal of Fancy's favours,
Amid the' unfinish'd Eden wavers,
And quits his own creation:
Who sighs not that another World,
So little like the Land unfurl'd
To Fancy's glorying sight,
Should e'er call down his forc'd regard,
And pluck the heaven-exalted Bard
From his imperial height?
So little like the Land unfurl'd
To Fancy's glorying sight,
Should e'er call down his forc'd regard,
And pluck the heaven-exalted Bard
From his imperial height?
20
Sweet Poesy! thy magic throws
Round Time's dull Glass the wreathing Rose
In such enchanting zone,
That, as the myriad sand-drops pass,
The cheating Flowers so hide the Glass,
We know not how they're flown.
Round Time's dull Glass the wreathing Rose
In such enchanting zone,
That, as the myriad sand-drops pass,
The cheating Flowers so hide the Glass,
We know not how they're flown.
Young Cherub! as the rosy smile
That dimples round thy lip, the while
I sing Thee, infant Gem!
And thy blue laughing eyes inspire
This passing tribute to thy Sire,
Shall any tongue condemn?
That dimples round thy lip, the while
I sing Thee, infant Gem!
And thy blue laughing eyes inspire
This passing tribute to thy Sire,
Shall any tongue condemn?
Shall any cold unfeeling gaze
Reprove this feeble burst of praise,
That Truth to Friendship ow'd?
Thou wilt, at least, O Child, survey
With more indulgent eye, the lay
That o'er thy cradle flow'd!
Reprove this feeble burst of praise,
That Truth to Friendship ow'd?
Thou wilt, at least, O Child, survey
With more indulgent eye, the lay
That o'er thy cradle flow'd!
21
Unconscious yet, some future year,
Perchance a sigh, a smile, a tear,
This votive strain may cause;
One sigh of thine from Feeling's treasure,
One tear of thanks, and smile of pleasure
Were worth a World's applause!
Perchance a sigh, a smile, a tear,
This votive strain may cause;
One sigh of thine from Feeling's treasure,
One tear of thanks, and smile of pleasure
Were worth a World's applause!
23
TO MISS CHARLOTTE N***
[_]
NOTE.
It may not be easy to understand the allusions of the foregoing Poem,
Without the statement of a few genealogical facts, that might
otherwise appear impertinent.
These allusions begin with the name of Richard Wodvile, Earl
Rivers, of whose daughters, Elizabeth was married to King
Edward IV.; and Jane to Lord Strange. His son Anthony, Earl Rivers, was the
gallant and accomplished peer, whose character is drawn in such lively colours by
Lord Orford, in his “Royal and Noble Authors.” Elizabeth, daughter of Elizabeth
Wodvile, by King Edward IV. married King Henry VII. and was mother of Mary,
wife, first, of Louis XII. of France, and afterwards of Charles Brandon, Duke of
Suffolk, by whom she had two daughters; Frances, married to Grey, Marquis of
Dorset, who had issue by her, Lady Jane Grey, &c. Eleanor Brandon, the other
daughter, married Henry Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, and was mother of
Margaret, married to Henry Stanley, Earl of Derby, (which Earl's mother was sister to
the Earl of Surrey, the Poet.)
This Margaret, Countess of Derby, was mother of Ferdinando, Earl of Derby,
a Poet also, whose Countess, Alice Spenser, was the patroness of Edmund Spenser
and John Milton. By her Earl Ferdinando had three daughters his coheirs, of whom
Jane was married to Grey Brydges, Lord Chandos; and Frances to John Egerton, first
Earl of Bridgwater.
John Egerton, (son of this marriage) second Earl of Bridgwater, married Lady
Elizabeth Cavendish, the loyal Duke of Newcastle; and their son was great
greatgrandfather of the subject of this Poem, whose mother is paternal niece to the
celebrated Mrs. Montagu. The Author has been induced by the personal merits, rather
than by the high titles of this series of Worthies, to deem them fit subjects for the
Muse.
[_]
NOTE.
It may not be easy to understand the allusions of the foregoing Poem, Without the statement of a few genealogical facts, that might otherwise appear impertinent.
These allusions begin with the name of Richard Wodvile, Earl Rivers, of whose daughters, Elizabeth was married to King Edward IV.; and Jane to Lord Strange. His son Anthony, Earl Rivers, was the gallant and accomplished peer, whose character is drawn in such lively colours by Lord Orford, in his “Royal and Noble Authors.” Elizabeth, daughter of Elizabeth Wodvile, by King Edward IV. married King Henry VII. and was mother of Mary, wife, first, of Louis XII. of France, and afterwards of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, by whom she had two daughters; Frances, married to Grey, Marquis of Dorset, who had issue by her, Lady Jane Grey, &c. Eleanor Brandon, the other daughter, married Henry Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, and was mother of Margaret, married to Henry Stanley, Earl of Derby, (which Earl's mother was sister to the Earl of Surrey, the Poet.)
This Margaret, Countess of Derby, was mother of Ferdinando, Earl of Derby, a Poet also, whose Countess, Alice Spenser, was the patroness of Edmund Spenser and John Milton. By her Earl Ferdinando had three daughters his coheirs, of whom Jane was married to Grey Brydges, Lord Chandos; and Frances to John Egerton, first Earl of Bridgwater.
John Egerton, (son of this marriage) second Earl of Bridgwater, married Lady Elizabeth Cavendish, the loyal Duke of Newcastle; and their son was great greatgrandfather of the subject of this Poem, whose mother is paternal niece to the celebrated Mrs. Montagu. The Author has been induced by the personal merits, rather than by the high titles of this series of Worthies, to deem them fit subjects for the Muse.
Thy beauty, Lady, hath not lost a grace,
Since first my gaze was fix'd in worship there;
The same Divinity inspires thy face,
Talks in thine eye, and governs in thine air;
Yes, Thou art still beyond all language fair!
The Feelings only that my peace distrest,
These, lovely Lady, are not what they were;
Warm'd by the heaving whiteness of thy breast,
They once awaken'd pain, but now they are at rest.
Since first my gaze was fix'd in worship there;
The same Divinity inspires thy face,
Talks in thine eye, and governs in thine air;
Yes, Thou art still beyond all language fair!
The Feelings only that my peace distrest,
These, lovely Lady, are not what they were;
Warm'd by the heaving whiteness of thy breast,
They once awaken'd pain, but now they are at rest.
My Heart long since, by first affection sway'd,
Return'd to feel its own congenial heat,
Beneath the gentle influence of a Maid,
Whom, like thyself, the Graces ever greet,
And in whose bosom all soft virtues meet;
Her fancied coldness chased away my mind
On wings of Pride, to seek some new retreat.
How could I fly, with phrensied passion blind,
A Soul so firmly true, a Heart so softly kind!
Return'd to feel its own congenial heat,
Beneath the gentle influence of a Maid,
Whom, like thyself, the Graces ever greet,
And in whose bosom all soft virtues meet;
Her fancied coldness chased away my mind
On wings of Pride, to seek some new retreat.
How could I fly, with phrensied passion blind,
A Soul so firmly true, a Heart so softly kind!
24
'Twas then, a Truant from the sweetest bower
Of Bliss, that artless Beauty ever wove,
I felt, bright Lady, thy seductive power,
And with thy Heart in bold encounter strove;
And sometimes dream'd that I had taught it Love;
For as I urg'd that Heart's surrender, Thou
Didst with such sweet benevolence reprove,
And wear so soft a shade upon thy brow,
I half believ'd Thee mine, and yet I scarce knew how.
Of Bliss, that artless Beauty ever wove,
I felt, bright Lady, thy seductive power,
And with thy Heart in bold encounter strove;
And sometimes dream'd that I had taught it Love;
For as I urg'd that Heart's surrender, Thou
Didst with such sweet benevolence reprove,
And wear so soft a shade upon thy brow,
I half believ'd Thee mine, and yet I scarce knew how.
Where could I build my gallant Hope so high?
Not on the base of coxcomb arrogance;
For Thou wilt own I might mistake thine eye,
And deem Approval's what was Pity's glance.
Sweet were with Thee the walk, the ride, the dance;
The long departing look, and smile of meeting,
And sweet the wreath I fram'd for Thee, perchance,
Of minstrel-flowers, thy morning Beauty greeting,
Though far the frailest they, of all that's frail and fleeting.
Not on the base of coxcomb arrogance;
For Thou wilt own I might mistake thine eye,
And deem Approval's what was Pity's glance.
Sweet were with Thee the walk, the ride, the dance;
The long departing look, and smile of meeting,
And sweet the wreath I fram'd for Thee, perchance,
Of minstrel-flowers, thy morning Beauty greeting,
Though far the frailest they, of all that's frail and fleeting.
Well, that is past; false joy and false regret!
Days of delight, how falcon-wing'd they flew!
Dost Thou remember the last morn we met?
The tears we mingled at that sad adieu?
We parted; Thou, fair Planet, to pursue
Thy course of heavenly loveliness; and I
At Zelia's shrine my homage to renew,
Wind closer round my heart its earliest tie,
Recal each wandering vow, abjure each vagrant sigh.
Days of delight, how falcon-wing'd they flew!
Dost Thou remember the last morn we met?
The tears we mingled at that sad adieu?
We parted; Thou, fair Planet, to pursue
25
At Zelia's shrine my homage to renew,
Wind closer round my heart its earliest tie,
Recal each wandering vow, abjure each vagrant sigh.
Those raven tresses beautifully floating,
Those long-lash'd eyes turn'd timidly away,
That gentle air a gentle heart denoting,
Those balmy lips where smiles of meekness play,
That form, in chaste Simplicity's array,
Upon whose pensive elegance had smil'd
The taste of Athens in her classic day,
That pale cheek's hue of innocence, so mild
'Twould seem as it belong'd to some aërial child;
Those long-lash'd eyes turn'd timidly away,
That gentle air a gentle heart denoting,
Those balmy lips where smiles of meekness play,
That form, in chaste Simplicity's array,
Upon whose pensive elegance had smil'd
The taste of Athens in her classic day,
That pale cheek's hue of innocence, so mild
'Twould seem as it belong'd to some aërial child;
I've wonder'd oft how I could these resign,
E'en to the witching force of thy controul;
For though Her beauty scarce may rival Thine,
She was the first subduer of my soul.
Else had the mischief of thy look, that stole
Awhile into my heart, for ever there,
Like subtle poison drank from Pleasure's bowl,
Infus'd the slow consuming canker, Care,
Till faint with baffled Hope, it yielded to Despair.
E'en to the witching force of thy controul;
For though Her beauty scarce may rival Thine,
She was the first subduer of my soul.
Else had the mischief of thy look, that stole
Awhile into my heart, for ever there,
Like subtle poison drank from Pleasure's bowl,
Infus'd the slow consuming canker, Care,
Till faint with baffled Hope, it yielded to Despair.
26
Or, for in Nature tender as the Dove,
Thou could'st not bear to be the cause of pain,
Perhaps thy friendship had repaid my love,
And strove to soothe my misery in vain.
But now with joy I'll clasp that blessed chain
Of Friendship with Thee, that shall never part,
And dare to meet that powerful glance again,
And give a Brother's, not a Lover's, heart,
All soft, and fair, and bright, and gentle as Thou art!
Thou could'st not bear to be the cause of pain,
Perhaps thy friendship had repaid my love,
And strove to soothe my misery in vain.
But now with joy I'll clasp that blessed chain
Of Friendship with Thee, that shall never part,
And dare to meet that powerful glance again,
And give a Brother's, not a Lover's, heart,
All soft, and fair, and bright, and gentle as Thou art!
FINIS
| Stanzas, by the Author of "Dunluce Castle" | |