Infantine effusions By Ernest Charles Jones, written by him, between the eighth and tenth years of his age |
 |
 |
|
 | Infantine effusions |  |
5
RODRIGUO.
A Canto.
Imitated from a Celebrated Author.
A youth there liv'd, a true venetian bred,
A comely boy, and he was passing brave,
At least, so rumour, and his parents said;
And he was very good in all, but save,
That he was somewhat strong in head,
And would have his will unto the grave;
And swore, that whether good, or bad, or young, or old
That while he lived—he ever would be bold.
A comely boy, and he was passing brave,
At least, so rumour, and his parents said;
And he was very good in all, but save,
That he was somewhat strong in head,
And would have his will unto the grave;
And swore, that whether good, or bad, or young, or old
That while he lived—he ever would be bold.
But whate'er his thoughts, or precepts, might have been
It is not fit for us, yet, to disclose,
But if they tended more to good, I ween
It must not yet, be said, in verse or prose.
He was a piece of mechanism rarely seen,
One of those unusual human shows—
But yet, withal,—he was a comely boy,
And form'd, old Don Alphonso's only joy.
It is not fit for us, yet, to disclose,
But if they tended more to good, I ween
It must not yet, be said, in verse or prose.
He was a piece of mechanism rarely seen,
One of those unusual human shows—
But yet, withal,—he was a comely boy,
And form'd, old Don Alphonso's only joy.
6
His Mother, was Olympia—a good old Dame,
In age, she reckon'd thirteen lustres,
Though not inserted, in the list of fame,
She often put herself in right good flusters;
But notwithstanding, she had gain'd a name;
Besides, I must insert—she had three sisters,
One named Josina—or else Josephine,
And three such old Dames—never sure were seen.
In age, she reckon'd thirteen lustres,
Though not inserted, in the list of fame,
She often put herself in right good flusters;
But notwithstanding, she had gain'd a name;
Besides, I must insert—she had three sisters,
One named Josina—or else Josephine,
And three such old Dames—never sure were seen.
But if these virgins names I stay upon,
And mention no other particular,
Surely it must be true, I'll ne'er get on
And so I'll e'en change my subject Sir.
Don Rodriguo, was his name, anon
And somewhat oddish in his manner
But now I add, for to gain our ends,
He was too fond of Ladies—and his friends.
And mention no other particular,
Surely it must be true, I'll ne'er get on
And so I'll e'en change my subject Sir.
Don Rodriguo, was his name, anon
And somewhat oddish in his manner
But now I add, for to gain our ends,
He was too fond of Ladies—and his friends.
They say besides, he was a little bold
With a certain beauty in the place,
Which our readers, will now soon be hold,
Besides, he had an interview, face to face:
They rate her worth, ten-thousand crowns in gold
And say—she was call'd Duchess—and your Grace—
This, now our Don Rodriguo much took in,
And, so he thought—to marry—was no sin.
With a certain beauty in the place,
Which our readers, will now soon be hold,
Besides, he had an interview, face to face:
They rate her worth, ten-thousand crowns in gold
And say—she was call'd Duchess—and your Grace—
This, now our Don Rodriguo much took in,
And, so he thought—to marry—was no sin.
7
And too he was much pleas'd with her visage,
And pay'd her some visits—now and then,
And said some things, that were not quite so sage
And did, perhaps—as at times—do all men.
Besides, he was but young—and all his age
Was twenty-two,—and he did reckon
That all the time—he was without a wife—
He spent but single—such a time of life.
And pay'd her some visits—now and then,
And said some things, that were not quite so sage
And did, perhaps—as at times—do all men.
Besides, he was but young—and all his age
Was twenty-two,—and he did reckon
That all the time—he was without a wife—
He spent but single—such a time of life.
But perhaps, my reader, also may enquire
Why thus, he wanted to be made double?
And then too, he wish'd to have an—esquire—
Because, a wife—would give him so much trouble;
And found he'd gone so far—the things were nigh—a
(If he did not mind,)—a squeak and bubble.
Still Don Rodriguo—persisted in a wife,
And swore—he would not singly, pass his life.
Why thus, he wanted to be made double?
And then too, he wish'd to have an—esquire—
Because, a wife—would give him so much trouble;
And found he'd gone so far—the things were nigh—a
(If he did not mind,)—a squeak and bubble.
Still Don Rodriguo—persisted in a wife,
And swore—he would not singly, pass his life.
I ara's castle was an ancient pile
With gothic windows—arch'd sublimely high;
Its aged towers—stood on rocky soil,
And oft had brav'd the tempests breath and sigh;
As strong as far-fam'd Pyramids o'th' nile,
And each large room was painted like the sky.
Yet still let fair I ara—fancy what she may
She, and Rodriguo—where but made of Clay.
With gothic windows—arch'd sublimely high;
Its aged towers—stood on rocky soil,
And oft had brav'd the tempests breath and sigh;
As strong as far-fam'd Pyramids o'th' nile,
And each large room was painted like the sky.
Yet still let fair I ara—fancy what she may
She, and Rodriguo—where but made of Clay.
8
One half was ruin'd, and ev'ry whirl-winds rage
Threaten'd to shake the building to the ground;
A lasting monument, from age to age—
Repeating the big thunders rolling sound;
When Heaven its elemental war did wage,
And heard was echo's voice from all around;
'Twas the remembrance—of full many an age—
Had brav'd the tempests wrath—and battles rage.
Threaten'd to shake the building to the ground;
A lasting monument, from age to age—
Repeating the big thunders rolling sound;
When Heaven its elemental war did wage,
And heard was echo's voice from all around;
'Twas the remembrance—of full many an age—
Had brav'd the tempests wrath—and battles rage.
Don Rodriguo—was a handsome youth,
Besides that, he was not too small,
Nor was he in his speech uncouth—
Nor was he, either, wax'd too tall
But altogether of a comely growth—
As for the Ladies—he—enamour'd all!
And he had nothing that we can burlesque—
Nor aught—that rendereth, most men grotesque;
Besides that, he was not too small,
Nor was he in his speech uncouth—
Nor was he, either, wax'd too tall
But altogether of a comely growth—
As for the Ladies—he—enamour'd all!
And he had nothing that we can burlesque—
Nor aught—that rendereth, most men grotesque;
For the're grotesque enough—God help the race,
And yet I own, that I am of the kind,
And think of setting nature in her place—
Though all we mortals,—are so weak of mind:
Nor in reason's ray can find much grace—
But are as changing—as the waving wind.
The race is most uncouth—and not of those—
As—rara—avis like—and wondrous shows.
And yet I own, that I am of the kind,
And think of setting nature in her place—
Though all we mortals,—are so weak of mind:
Nor in reason's ray can find much grace—
But are as changing—as the waving wind.
The race is most uncouth—and not of those—
As—rara—avis like—and wondrous shows.
9
By this, I mean not women, to enhance.
For they're as bad as these, or worse—I ween;
Though you may find a good one,—perhaps, perchance,
But still if their inmost heart be seen,
You'll find them bad—and from a casual glance
Not much, will the deceiv'd spectator glean;—
For I must say it—and to their disgrace—
That they are—a most deceitful race.
For they're as bad as these, or worse—I ween;
Though you may find a good one,—perhaps, perchance,
But still if their inmost heart be seen,
You'll find them bad—and from a casual glance
Not much, will the deceiv'd spectator glean;—
For I must say it—and to their disgrace—
That they are—a most deceitful race.
My readers may'nt believe—but I can shew'em
And witnesses I've got, as many as they choose—
That a rare Phoenix, is a virtuous woman—
And that they're most coquettes—or sometimes blues
Besides, I could say much more—and I can tell'em
That this discovery is no piece of news.
But to this subject I'll now bid fare-well
And leave in rest—each coquette—and each belle.
And witnesses I've got, as many as they choose—
That a rare Phoenix, is a virtuous woman—
And that they're most coquettes—or sometimes blues
Besides, I could say much more—and I can tell'em
That this discovery is no piece of news.
But to this subject I'll now bid fare-well
And leave in rest—each coquette—and each belle.
But yet, as I am in a merry vein,
This merry subject longer will I harp on,
And perhaps, it may serve me to prolong my strain
Then ergo—it will follow—I must write on;
But still to disclose men's foibles gives me pain
And now I wish the thing I had not done,
But rhymes string on—and if there's reason
You will not say—that I'm committing treason.
This merry subject longer will I harp on,
And perhaps, it may serve me to prolong my strain
Then ergo—it will follow—I must write on;
But still to disclose men's foibles gives me pain
And now I wish the thing I had not done,
But rhymes string on—and if there's reason
You will not say—that I'm committing treason.
10
But, nolens-volens—'twill not quit my brain,
And ad-infinitum—there I sit to write
Pin'd like a fool, unto my chair again
And certes, it must be a goodly sight—
To see me draw out each verse with pain,
And light a candle—for to write at midnight.
But you must excuse an author's haste—
In writing any thing—that just suits his taste.
And ad-infinitum—there I sit to write
Pin'd like a fool, unto my chair again
And certes, it must be a goodly sight—
To see me draw out each verse with pain,
And light a candle—for to write at midnight.
But you must excuse an author's haste—
In writing any thing—that just suits his taste.
But Don Rodriguo—was not quite Compos-mentis,
For it was rumour'd, he was to depart,
And all his thoughts and home affairs now went as
The different feelings that he had at heart;
And Don Rodriguo when he heard it, felt as
Though he'd been transpierc'd—by some sharp dart.
But now, no alternative did remain—
And he was forced to plough the dark blue main.
For it was rumour'd, he was to depart,
And all his thoughts and home affairs now went as
The different feelings that he had at heart;
And Don Rodriguo when he heard it, felt as
Though he'd been transpierc'd—by some sharp dart.
But now, no alternative did remain—
And he was forced to plough the dark blue main.
He therefore instant bade a quick adieu,
To Father, friends—his household and his Mother;
To all who lov'd him—and to all he knew,
For I've before said, that he had no brother.
And yet a heavy sadness o'er him grew,
As he bade farewell unto his aunts, and other
Animals, and acquaintance all around,—
And then prepar'd—to leave his native ground.
To Father, friends—his household and his Mother;
To all who lov'd him—and to all he knew,
For I've before said, that he had no brother.
And yet a heavy sadness o'er him grew,
As he bade farewell unto his aunts, and other
Animals, and acquaintance all around,—
And then prepar'd—to leave his native ground.
11
On sobs and sighs, and many a sad farewell,
And other nonsense, and promises—and stuff
To gain my ends—I will no longer dwell,
But quickly say—that he did give enough,
And did some round and far-fetch'd stories tell—
And made for show-sake—a most glorious puff—
That he'd to vesuvius—and Mount-Etna—
And visit great Mahomet's shrine at Mecca!
And other nonsense, and promises—and stuff
To gain my ends—I will no longer dwell,
But quickly say—that he did give enough,
And did some round and far-fetch'd stories tell—
And made for show-sake—a most glorious puff—
That he'd to vesuvius—and Mount-Etna—
And visit great Mahomet's shrine at Mecca!
He had embark'd with a propitious wind,
And thought upon the stern decrees of fate—
Repenting, left his native shore behind,
And would return—but it was now too late.
While shades of sorrow flash'd a cross his mind,
He weeping left his good Venetian State;
Now Venice, from the waters seem'd to rise—
And her proud Steeples—mingle with the skies!
And thought upon the stern decrees of fate—
Repenting, left his native shore behind,
And would return—but it was now too late.
While shades of sorrow flash'd a cross his mind,
He weeping left his good Venetian State;
Now Venice, from the waters seem'd to rise—
And her proud Steeples—mingle with the skies!
The time was evening—and the mellow die—
Superior shining—glorious to behold—
Of tinted clouds along the western sky,
Streak'd, and embellish'd rich—with gold
Attracted now-the sad Rodriguo's eye,
As soft on zephyr's wings the night clouds roll'd,
Or faded gently, o'er the distant blue
Of waters, ripling—as the vessel flew.
Superior shining—glorious to behold—
Of tinted clouds along the western sky,
Streak'd, and embellish'd rich—with gold
Attracted now-the sad Rodriguo's eye,
As soft on zephyr's wings the night clouds roll'd,
Or faded gently, o'er the distant blue
Of waters, ripling—as the vessel flew.
12
Now gently red'ning on the Ocean's breast,
That heav'd as sigh'd the damp winds of the night,
Whose murmurs lull'd declining Sol to rest
And shut from Venice view—his glorious light,
That hung so smilingly, and blest
With changing tints, sublimely bright
The clear ethereal sky in which it reigns,
And radiant shone o'er rich Italian plains.
That heav'd as sigh'd the damp winds of the night,
Whose murmurs lull'd declining Sol to rest
And shut from Venice view—his glorious light,
That hung so smilingly, and blest
With changing tints, sublimely bright
The clear ethereal sky in which it reigns,
And radiant shone o'er rich Italian plains.
Calm was the shining surface of the deep,
And Oceanus in his coral cave,
Smoth'd the wide Ocean's dimpling cheek,
And with his mighty power—controul'd the wave;
That with its silvery foam did gently break,
Against Italia's land, and murmuring lave
The fertile shores it met—where waving corn
And fields of varied green—the scene adorn.
And Oceanus in his coral cave,
Smoth'd the wide Ocean's dimpling cheek,
And with his mighty power—controul'd the wave;
That with its silvery foam did gently break,
Against Italia's land, and murmuring lave
The fertile shores it met—where waving corn
And fields of varied green—the scene adorn.
But still, a sadness hover'd round his heart,—
(Not as birds hover in a cloudless sky,)
It griev'd him much from all things to depart,
He lov'd, he own'd—and that did claim—a sigh.
And Don Rodriguo, often felt the smart
Of parting friends—as swiftly he did fly,
O'er the rous'd wave—that gladly rippled round
And dash'd against the ship—with murmuring sound.
(Not as birds hover in a cloudless sky,)
It griev'd him much from all things to depart,
He lov'd, he own'd—and that did claim—a sigh.
And Don Rodriguo, often felt the smart
Of parting friends—as swiftly he did fly,
O'er the rous'd wave—that gladly rippled round
And dash'd against the ship—with murmuring sound.
13
As menacing the night-her shadows spread,
And silence reign'd throughout the vaulted sky,
And dark the night-clouds flew o'er Rodrig's head,
And whispering zephyrs softly wav'd on high;
And Ocean heav'd above her salty bed—
Whose ripling mingled with the night-winds sigh.
Rodriguo, sadly view'd the parting day—
And in my next—I'll give his farewell lay.
And silence reign'd throughout the vaulted sky,
And dark the night-clouds flew o'er Rodrig's head,
And whispering zephyrs softly wav'd on high;
And Ocean heav'd above her salty bed—
Whose ripling mingled with the night-winds sigh.
Rodriguo, sadly view'd the parting day—
And in my next—I'll give his farewell lay.
But now, I must beg the Ladies to forgive me
For having given them that little lash;
Besides I own, I have spoke a little free,
And that I have not made them cut a dash;
For few are fam'd in the page of history,
Which must the frail sex too—somewhat abash:
And 'tis very odd—that a Boy of ten—
Should think to lash—Philosophers—and Men.
For having given them that little lash;
Besides I own, I have spoke a little free,
And that I have not made them cut a dash;
For few are fam'd in the page of history,
Which must the frail sex too—somewhat abash:
And 'tis very odd—that a Boy of ten—
Should think to lash—Philosophers—and Men.
But now, of my little Pegasus I'll stop the wing,
Nor more of Maidens—Men—or Women-sing;
But if my Pegasus should please my readers ear—
I'll amble on—and finish his career;—
I'll make Rodriguo fly through every land
Invoke my muse—and take my pen in hand.
Nor more of Maidens—Men—or Women-sing;
But if my Pegasus should please my readers ear—
I'll amble on—and finish his career;—
I'll make Rodriguo fly through every land
Invoke my muse—and take my pen in hand.
14
LINES ON SEEING A VESSEL IN A STORM.
Foaming, on the distant shore,Hark! I hear the Ocean roar,
In yon gloomy mist I see,
A Vessel struggling in the Sea,
Now—she's lifted to the skies—
Now—in a deep abyss—she lies!—
Methinks, I hear the trembling Crew—
To Heaven's gate—for mercy sue.
LINES. Written 23th July 1828.
Ye Muses! frame my merry lay,
And let it ring around!
As the harp's enchanting play,
Or like the lute's sweet sound!
And let it ring around!
As the harp's enchanting play,
Or like the lute's sweet sound!
When swains, beneath the cooling shade,
Of olive trees so soft,
In some sweet, delightful glade,
Tune their Carols oft.
Of olive trees so soft,
In some sweet, delightful glade,
Tune their Carols oft.
15
When merry bees, did swarm around,
And suck the honey sweet,
From each flower, on the ground,
At the shepherds feet;
And suck the honey sweet,
From each flower, on the ground,
At the shepherds feet;
Or flew, where some high-growing palm
Tower'd to the sky
Diffusing its enchanting balm,
To many shepherds nigh.
Tower'd to the sky
Diffusing its enchanting balm,
To many shepherds nigh.
Or where, some pretty little bird,
Did tune his dulcet lay,
And far, and near, his song was heard,
As he winged his airy way.
Did tune his dulcet lay,
And far, and near, his song was heard,
As he winged his airy way.
Where waterfalls—that murmuring nigh
(Invite each tender lamb,)
To Heaven—send their sylvan sigh—
And break against the dam.
(Invite each tender lamb,)
To Heaven—send their sylvan sigh—
And break against the dam.
Where fishes sport in play along,
Within the silver lake
And stem the current—runing strong—
And sparkling waves that break.
Within the silver lake
And stem the current—runing strong—
And sparkling waves that break.
16
And where the ever timid fawn,
Gazing in the fount,
Retires, when the roseate morn—
Gilds yon distant Mount;
Gazing in the fount,
Retires, when the roseate morn—
Gilds yon distant Mount;
And seems to say—ah happy me—
Man, ne'er with me can vie,
I rest beneath the olive tree,
And through the vale—I fly;
Man, ne'er with me can vie,
I rest beneath the olive tree,
And through the vale—I fly;
Where roses, with the myrtle twine—
And thyme, bestuds the ground,
And clust'ring grows the sweet woodbine—
Caressing—clambering round.
And thyme, bestuds the ground,
And clust'ring grows the sweet woodbine—
Caressing—clambering round.
Where with myrtle, shepherds make—
Many a chaplet green—
And their lyre strings awake,
In many a cloudless scene.
Many a chaplet green—
And their lyre strings awake,
In many a cloudless scene.
Now I will close my merry lay,
And shut my “little book”,
I see the rays of parting day—
The shepherd—fold his flock.
And shut my “little book”,
I see the rays of parting day—
The shepherd—fold his flock.
17
EMBLEMS OF MORNING.
Written in 1827.
To see the shepherd lead his flock,
Guarded by his faithful Shock,
See, how he bounds around—and hark!
How cheerful sounds his rural bark.
To hear the rousers of the dawn—
The cock's shrill voice announcing morn,
To hear the birds begin their song—
Melodious—and with accents strong,
When through the air they wing their way—
Those sweet proclaimers of the day;
To hear the hunter's winding horn
Pursuing the all—fearful fawn,—
These are the sounds,—to me most dear—
That faithful mark—the rolling year.
18
[RODOLSKI]
EXTRACTS FROM A SMALL POEM, written by the Author called Rodolski.
Describe will I, a ruined tower,
Where sing the birds of night
Or some damp-dew'd lonely bower—
Beneath the meteors flight.
Where sing the birds of night
Or some damp-dew'd lonely bower—
Beneath the meteors flight.
Where whistling winds—that pierce the heart,
And cavern'd echo's round—
A foreboding dread impart—
Repeating every sound;
And cavern'd echo's round—
A foreboding dread impart—
Repeating every sound;
When the heavy rain drops fall
From the high beech tree,
And frown the night-clouds like a pall,
And fiery light'nings flee;
From the high beech tree,
And frown the night-clouds like a pall,
And fiery light'nings flee;
And here, and there, from out the pile—
Half ruin'd—where it stand,
And mouldering—to its native soil
—Half even—with the land;
Half ruin'd—where it stand,
And mouldering—to its native soil
—Half even—with the land;
19
There,—on the moss-o'er—grown wall,
And in a ruin'd bower—
A fountain play'd—with silver fall—
And echoed—thro' the tower.
And in a ruin'd bower—
A fountain play'd—with silver fall—
And echoed—thro' the tower.
Interlaced—the moon appears—
With clouds that float in air—
And as she—her crescent—rears—
The clouds—the west winds bear.
With clouds that float in air—
And as she—her crescent—rears—
The clouds—the west winds bear.
She trembles o'er the dark—green vale—
And lights the Hermit of the dale—
Majestic shines—the nights fair lamp,
Through misty fogs—and vap'ry damp—
Unconquer'd thou—by earthly light—
Hail!—fair regent of the night!
And lights the Hermit of the dale—
Majestic shines—the nights fair lamp,
Through misty fogs—and vap'ry damp—
Unconquer'd thou—by earthly light—
Hail!—fair regent of the night!
Where rivers through the green fields wind
And gently murmur round—
Ruffled by the western-wind—
O'er pebble studded ground;
And gently murmur round—
Ruffled by the western-wind—
O'er pebble studded ground;
Or waft the roses balmy sigh
To some sequester'd glade
Ascend the azure concave high—
Perfume the olive shade.
To some sequester'd glade
Ascend the azure concave high—
Perfume the olive shade.
20
The night crept on with spreading wing—
That seem'd to shade the air—
While the mournful night-birds sing
And tune their sad song there.
That seem'd to shade the air—
While the mournful night-birds sing
And tune their sad song there.
Still was the air—still as the grave—
Still—as the ashes of the brave—
Where in the tomb forgotten lay—
Men mould'ring to their native clay.
What light is that—along the plain?
Aurora—now begins her reign!—
With wonted grace—and roseate hand—
She gilds yon distant mount!—
And draws the night dews from the land,
Reflected in the fount.
She radiant comes—her glory shines
On cities—temples—gardens—shrines.
Still—as the ashes of the brave—
Where in the tomb forgotten lay—
Men mould'ring to their native clay.
What light is that—along the plain?
Aurora—now begins her reign!—
With wonted grace—and roseate hand—
She gilds yon distant mount!—
And draws the night dews from the land,
Reflected in the fount.
She radiant comes—her glory shines
On cities—temples—gardens—shrines.
Goddess of the orient dawn!—
Deity—of purple morn!
Hear my song—my soul inspire!—
And waft unto me—Phoebus' fire.
The sun rose bright—in golden orb—
The vap'ry night damps to absorb;
He rose—in golden panobly—
That mark'd his glorious course on high;—
He rose—on steeple—tower—and dome—
He rose—upon the bulbul's home—
Where he tunes his mournful lay
Nor ceases—but at dawn of day.
Deity—of purple morn!
Hear my song—my soul inspire!—
And waft unto me—Phoebus' fire.
The sun rose bright—in golden orb—
The vap'ry night damps to absorb;
He rose—in golden panobly—
That mark'd his glorious course on high;—
21
He rose—upon the bulbul's home—
Where he tunes his mournful lay
Nor ceases—but at dawn of day.
With gold—he tinted every mount—
Shone reflected, in the sea—
Smiled upon each murmuring fount—
But—Rodolski—not on thee!
Shone reflected, in the sea—
Smiled upon each murmuring fount—
But—Rodolski—not on thee!
From Lesta's chamber—you might see—
Stamboul—not far away—
And darkening groves of olive tree—
That seem'd to shade the day.
A veil o'er Lesta—lightly wreath'd
And moved as gentle zephyr breath'd;—
A purple robe that waved around—
By myrtle wreath was loosely bound—
Her brow—with fairest roses—crown'd.
Stamboul—not far away—
And darkening groves of olive tree—
That seem'd to shade the day.
A veil o'er Lesta—lightly wreath'd
And moved as gentle zephyr breath'd;—
A purple robe that waved around—
By myrtle wreath was loosely bound—
Her brow—with fairest roses—crown'd.
22
EXTRACTS FROM THE SAME.
Her silver veil, the night expandsO'er blest Cytherea's lands—
Like locks around the mountains brow—
The darker-spreading shadows grow.
Now dun—now bright—
With magical light
They grow—and show—
The cloud upborne Queen;
Whose silver reign—
Soft lights the plain
And dimly—she is seen.
Sweet zephyrs bear—
The clouds in air—
And as they fly—
Across the sky—
Die—upon the sinking wind.
The silver sound—
Of bulbul round—
Sad swelling oft
In notes more soft—
23
Each twinkling star—
Lights from afar,
With silver shine—
Upon some shrine—
Upon the death—stone of the brave.
The night—is past
And dawning fast
The dark clouds fly—
And leave the sky—
Sublimely bright
With Phoebus light.
'Tis dawn—'tis dawn!—
The bell of morn—
Proclaims the day—
Enjoy sweet may—
And weave a garland of green;
Where rivers flow—
Reflecting glow—
And revel—in the scene.
24
EXTRACTS FROM THE SAME.
To slavery's land,—a long farewell!
Though mellow is the Bulbul's sound
Yet there—the bearded Sultan's dwell
And are the curse—of Eastern ground.
Though mellow is the Bulbul's sound
Yet there—the bearded Sultan's dwell
And are the curse—of Eastern ground.
And let th'enchanting Lyre swell
—Where the mourning cypress shades—
In mellow strains—sublimely tell—
The tales of—Stamboul's glades.
—Where the mourning cypress shades—
In mellow strains—sublimely tell—
The tales of—Stamboul's glades.
The tales of faithful Greece relate—
Her honor—fortune—and her fate.
Soon may Athenian banners wave!—
O'er the cruel Moslem's grave.
Farewell—yp urp le tints of air!
That winged zephyrs gently bear—
Where Aurora, with her rosy hand—
Brushes the dew-drops from the land—
And oft with double lustre shines—
O'er the false Mahomet's shrines.
Where zephyr is the Olive's fan—
Where sing the birds of—Franguestan.
A last farewell!—unto the land!—
Where waves in air—the Moslem's brand;—
A last farewell!—to yonder dome—
For it is—Mahomet's home—
Farewell!—while yet a glance I glean—
Of Stamboul—and her vallies green!
Her honor—fortune—and her fate.
Soon may Athenian banners wave!—
O'er the cruel Moslem's grave.
Farewell—yp urp le tints of air!
That winged zephyrs gently bear—
Where Aurora, with her rosy hand—
Brushes the dew-drops from the land—
And oft with double lustre shines—
O'er the false Mahomet's shrines.
Where zephyr is the Olive's fan—
Where sing the birds of—Franguestan.
25
Where waves in air—the Moslem's brand;—
A last farewell!—to yonder dome—
For it is—Mahomet's home—
Farewell!—while yet a glance I glean—
Of Stamboul—and her vallies green!
LINES ON ENGLAND.
An imitation.
Know ye the land—where the towering Oak—The monarch of forests—triumphantly dwells—
Where the spirit of Man, soars proudly unbroke—
And Ocean his vict'ries—unnumber'd still tells.
Her skies—it is true—are not always serene—
The rays of the Sun are full often obscur'd
Still the tints of her fields—are an emerald green—
And Liberty's reign—has for ages endured.
Her daughters are fair—her sons are all brave—
Their clime is the emblem of each noble deed;—
Now riding undaunted—their own native wave—
Now weaving the laurel—the Heroes lov'd meed!
26
THE MINSTREL.
A Ballad.
The blast was chill—the blast was cold—
The dogs bay'd o'er the land;
And dun—the threat'ning war-clouds roll'd—
And gleam'd—the distant brand.
The dogs bay'd o'er the land;
And dun—the threat'ning war-clouds roll'd—
And gleam'd—the distant brand.
Two chieftains were in fight engaged
And nobly now they fought
And as the ruthless war they waged
Each others death they sought.
And nobly now they fought
And as the ruthless war they waged
Each others death they sought.
A Pilgrim wander'd by the scene
And view'd the distant fight
Reclin'd upon the dewy green—
Beneath day's fading light.
And view'd the distant fight
Reclin'd upon the dewy green—
Beneath day's fading light.
And saw the distant cypress wave—
And shake—at ev'ry blast
O'er many a mould'ring warriors grave—
Who long had breath'd their last.
And shake—at ev'ry blast
O'er many a mould'ring warriors grave—
Who long had breath'd their last.
27
And view'd the distant Castles rise—
Of feudal Chieftains bold,
And tower to the azure skies—
Full many ages old.
Of feudal Chieftains bold,
And tower to the azure skies—
Full many ages old.
Then thus—as it was close of day—
—And louder grew the clashing sound—
And nearer still—he heard the fray—
And Coursers hoofs—that spurn the ground,—
—And louder grew the clashing sound—
And nearer still—he heard the fray—
And Coursers hoofs—that spurn the ground,—
“Had I been—yon Chieftain bold—
And train'd to arms like he—
Thus would I not—my life have sold—
Yet—would I—have been free.”
And train'd to arms like he—
Thus would I not—my life have sold—
Yet—would I—have been free.”
“But—speed then Chieftain—to thy end—
By fate thou vanquish'd art!—
To death thou'rt doom'd!—this is thy end—
The weapon's—in thy heart!”
By fate thou vanquish'd art!—
To death thou'rt doom'd!—this is thy end—
The weapon's—in thy heart!”
Thus spoke he—with prophetic fire—
—He was a minstrel bred—
And Phoebus did his soul inspire—
Alas!—too true—he said.—
—He was a minstrel bred—
And Phoebus did his soul inspire—
Alas!—too true—he said.—
28
Eeach murmuring wind convey'd the strain—
Which with a mournful sound—
They wafted o'er the distant plain—
And echoed all around.
Which with a mournful sound—
They wafted o'er the distant plain—
And echoed all around.
It struck prophetic in the air—
It struck—foreboding slow—
And far its sound did zephyr bear
Where drooping willows grow.
It struck—foreboding slow—
And far its sound did zephyr bear
Where drooping willows grow.
The Minstrel now look'd round again—
A different scene beheld—
He saw—the Chieftain on the plain
To earth by Targa fell'd!
A different scene beheld—
He saw—the Chieftain on the plain
To earth by Targa fell'd!
Wave! proud Targean banners wave!—
Your streaming honours far—
And mantle o'er Barente's grave—
—Proud Symbols of the war!
Your streaming honours far—
And mantle o'er Barente's grave—
—Proud Symbols of the war!
Thus—sung the Minstrel loud and shrill—
And far its sound convey'd
—It murmur'd o'er the gentle rill—
And echo'd through the glade.
And far its sound convey'd
—It murmur'd o'er the gentle rill—
And echo'd through the glade.
29
As Targa's troops—retired had—
From off the blood-stain'd field—
And left Owellin—pensive—sad—
His Lyre, was his shield.
From off the blood-stain'd field—
And left Owellin—pensive—sad—
His Lyre, was his shield.
He ran unto Barente's aid—
And rais'd his drooping head
—No smile—no look—his cares repaid
It was—Barente's—dead!
And rais'd his drooping head
—No smile—no look—his cares repaid
It was—Barente's—dead!
He fell—upon the mossy plain—
“My prophecy—was true!”
He look'd unto the dark blue main—
Where screaming sea-gulls flew.
“My prophecy—was true!”
He look'd unto the dark blue main—
Where screaming sea-gulls flew.
“A burial—I must bestow—
Upon this Chieftain slain—
And a tombstone—shall o'er him grow—
And look across the plain.”
Upon this Chieftain slain—
And a tombstone—shall o'er him grow—
And look across the plain.”
This said—he dug where myrtles sigh'd—
A sepulchre of clay
Where roses with each other vie'd—
Nor faded with the day.
A sepulchre of clay
Where roses with each other vie'd—
Nor faded with the day.
30
Hurried his Lyre—strings—he swept
And look'd upon the mound
Then gazing back—he sadly wept—
And sunk—upon the ground.
And look'd upon the mound
Then gazing back—he sadly wept—
And sunk—upon the ground.
And thus to Heaven—a prayer address'd
And breath'd a fervent sigh—
“O!—may his soul—in peace be blest!”
“—His spirit—soar on high!”
And breath'd a fervent sigh—
“O!—may his soul—in peace be blest!”
“—His spirit—soar on high!”
His way the aged Minstrel winds—
'Mongst rocks and ruins high
And leaves the battle plain behind
And heav'd a parting sigh.
'Mongst rocks and ruins high
And leaves the battle plain behind
And heav'd a parting sigh.
His nightly lodge—a ruin makes—
Content with that he finds—
Again his Lyre-strings he wakes—
Which tremble on the winds.
Content with that he finds—
Again his Lyre-strings he wakes—
Which tremble on the winds.
31
LINES WRITTEN WHEN EIGHT YEARS OF AGE.
In a valley-rural place,I this day, did guide my pace,
Where the river purls along
Rolling with a current strong.
Flowers, wav'd by zephyr's breath—
Its borders were bestudded with;
Mountains—at some distance were—
With mist-crown'd tops which kiss'd th'air;
Majestic frowning on their brow—
Ancient Elms—and Beeches grow.
Hark!—the Hunter's winding horns
The sylvan race of danger warns;—
Methinks I see the frighten'd deer—
Motionless—transfix'd—with fear—
Here let me rest in this retreat—
Listening—to the Linnet sweet—
Where the river purls along—
—Far from the loud—unthinking throng.
32
THE HENRIADE.
Canto first.
ARGUMENT.
Henry 3d united with Henry of Bourbon—King of Navarre, against the League, having already began the blockade of Paris—sends secretly Henry of Bourbon to request succour of Elizabeth—Queen of England.
The Hero is overtaken by a Tempest—He seeks refuge in an Island—meets with a venerable Old Man— (a Catholic—) who predicts his change of religion—and accession to the Throne.
Description of England—and its Government.
CANTO FIRST.
The Hero brave—who reign'd o'er France—I sing;
By right of conquest,—and by birth—a King,
Who, in misfortune's school, was taught to reign—
To calm all factions—vengeance to restrain;
Defeated Mayénne—the League—and proud Iberia—
Conquers his subjects—yet-becomes their Father.
Celestial truth! descend from Heaven's height!—
Shed, o'er my song—thy ne'er extinguished light!
Ah! would each Monarch's ear but list to thee—
'Tis thine their faithful Monitor to be;—
That thou—to ev'ry nation may'st display—
The ills of schism—and of anarchy;—
How discord, troubled provinces—relate—
The faults of Princes—and mishaps of state.
Approach!—and speak!—O! if the tale be true,
That fables shadows—e'er embellish'd you—
That her dark shades—have but more shewn thy light,
Whose brilliant lustre—ne'er hath sunk in night;
Thy steps-with me-permit her to attend—
Her varied wreath—around thy mirror blend.
By right of conquest,—and by birth—a King,
Who, in misfortune's school, was taught to reign—
To calm all factions—vengeance to restrain;
Defeated Mayénne—the League—and proud Iberia—
Conquers his subjects—yet-becomes their Father.
33
Shed, o'er my song—thy ne'er extinguished light!
Ah! would each Monarch's ear but list to thee—
'Tis thine their faithful Monitor to be;—
That thou—to ev'ry nation may'st display—
The ills of schism—and of anarchy;—
How discord, troubled provinces—relate—
The faults of Princes—and mishaps of state.
Approach!—and speak!—O! if the tale be true,
That fables shadows—e'er embellish'd you—
That her dark shades—have but more shewn thy light,
Whose brilliant lustre—ne'er hath sunk in night;
Thy steps-with me-permit her to attend—
Her varied wreath—around thy mirror blend.
Valois, still reign'd, but his unsteady hand,
Unclasp'd the regal reins, of France's land
Rights are confounded—laws exist no more;
'T was but the name of Monarch—that he bore;
For other tyrants, held th'imperial sway—
Beneath whose laws-the Country struggling lay;
No more that Prince was he—by conquest taught
(Those laurels blighted—he so dearly bought;)
Whose progress, trembling, Europe had observ'd,—
Who for his Country's glory—seem'd reserv'd;
And northern Nations by bis virtues won,
Laid at his feet their homage—and their Crown.
Those—who oft shine—in an inferior state,
Are lost,—when rais'd—by fortune, or by fate.
Lull'd in the lap of luxury, on the throne
His weakness bent, beneath his weighty crown;
From a bold warrior,—a weak King became—
And on the throne, he lost all former fame.
Quélus—St. Maigrin—d'Épernon—and Joyeuse—
Reign'd in his name—his weakness to abuse;
Base corrupters, of an effeminate Master, all,—
Alluring him to vice—beguiling to his fall.
Unclasp'd the regal reins, of France's land
Rights are confounded—laws exist no more;
'T was but the name of Monarch—that he bore;
For other tyrants, held th'imperial sway—
Beneath whose laws-the Country struggling lay;
34
(Those laurels blighted—he so dearly bought;)
Whose progress, trembling, Europe had observ'd,—
Who for his Country's glory—seem'd reserv'd;
And northern Nations by bis virtues won,
Laid at his feet their homage—and their Crown.
Those—who oft shine—in an inferior state,
Are lost,—when rais'd—by fortune, or by fate.
Lull'd in the lap of luxury, on the throne
His weakness bent, beneath his weighty crown;
From a bold warrior,—a weak King became—
And on the throne, he lost all former fame.
Quélus—St. Maigrin—d'Épernon—and Joyeuse—
Reign'd in his name—his weakness to abuse;
Base corrupters, of an effeminate Master, all,—
Alluring him to vice—beguiling to his fall.
Guise's faction (meantime) with rapid progress,
Upon Valois' weakness—increased their success;
At Paris, that dire, and fatal league they made—
Which France undid;—and Valois rights betrayed.
The people broke loose—vile slaves of the great,—
Persecuted their Prince—and ruin'd the state.
His friends corrupted—deserted soon their lord—
Chased from the Louvre—by that ungovern'd hord.
Paris is blockaded—no more she strives—
She sinks subdued—the great Bourbon arrives!
All-virtuous Bourbon!—invincible in fight,—
Came as his saviour—heavenly ray of light!
Redeems his Prince—fast sinking into night.
To his lost valour now, new birth he gives,
Awakes him from his trance—anew he lives;
For glory now, once more, his bosom sighs
He quits th'enfeebling joys in which he lies
From sports and slothfulness—to conquest—flies.
Upon Valois' weakness—increased their success;
At Paris, that dire, and fatal league they made—
Which France undid;—and Valois rights betrayed.
35
Persecuted their Prince—and ruin'd the state.
His friends corrupted—deserted soon their lord—
Chased from the Louvre—by that ungovern'd hord.
Paris is blockaded—no more she strives—
She sinks subdued—the great Bourbon arrives!
All-virtuous Bourbon!—invincible in fight,—
Came as his saviour—heavenly ray of light!
Redeems his Prince—fast sinking into night.
To his lost valour now, new birth he gives,
Awakes him from his trance—anew he lives;
For glory now, once more, his bosom sighs
He quits th'enfeebling joys in which he lies
From sports and slothfulness—to conquest—flies.
On Paris walls the hostile chiefs appeared,
Italia was alarmed—Iberia feared.
Surprised, all Europe beheld the strange reverse—
Anxious of these events, to watch the course.
Italia was alarmed—Iberia feared.
Surprised, all Europe beheld the strange reverse—
Anxious of these events, to watch the course.
Now discord, in Paris, held her fatal reign,
Exciting to combat—the league—and Mayénne
The Priests, and People—from each lofty tower,
And Spanish Army, pray'd some foreign power.
To the miseries of Mankind her designs are restrain'd;
With the blood of her subjects—her hand's often stain'd,
As despot—tyrannizes, o'er the hearts which she fires—
And punishes herself—the crimes she inspires.
Exciting to combat—the league—and Mayénne
36
And Spanish Army, pray'd some foreign power.
To the miseries of Mankind her designs are restrain'd;
With the blood of her subjects—her hand's often stain'd,
As despot—tyrannizes, o'er the hearts which she fires—
And punishes herself—the crimes she inspires.
Upon the zephyr fanning west, along the plain—
Where flying Paris—flows the stately seine—
Now—retreat enchanting—rich, in native charm,
Where arts, triumphant reign—with peace and calm—
Theatre, then of wars—most direful—dread,
Valois on its banks, his Soldiers led.
Heroes, proud supporters of France's state
Divided by sects—forgetting their hate—
Join'd now in one band—revenge to satiate
To wise Bourbon's care, their fate Valois—submits;—
By gaining all hearts—all parties, he unites;
One, would have thought—that but one chief they own—
'Twas but one law,—and one religion known.
Where flying Paris—flows the stately seine—
Now—retreat enchanting—rich, in native charm,
Where arts, triumphant reign—with peace and calm—
Theatre, then of wars—most direful—dread,
Valois on its banks, his Soldiers led.
Heroes, proud supporters of France's state
Divided by sects—forgetting their hate—
Join'd now in one band—revenge to satiate
To wise Bourbon's care, their fate Valois—submits;—
By gaining all hearts—all parties, he unites;
One, would have thought—that but one chief they own—
'Twas but one law,—and one religion known.
Louis—from the bosom of joy's eternal—
Regards the lov'd Hero—with looks paternal—
In him the splendour of his race, forebode—
Sigh'd at his faults—and at his triumphs-glowed.
One day, with the regal crown, he'd honor him—
And his bright star—make every other dim.
But Henry advanced unto his highest might,—
By unknown channels—hid from mortal sight.
Louis from heaven lent to him his aid—
But hid the arm—his crown's foundation laid;
Fearing that were this Hero too sure of his success—
Incurring less—danger—his glory had been less.
37
In him the splendour of his race, forebode—
Sigh'd at his faults—and at his triumphs-glowed.
One day, with the regal crown, he'd honor him—
And his bright star—make every other dim.
But Henry advanced unto his highest might,—
By unknown channels—hid from mortal sight.
Louis from heaven lent to him his aid—
But hid the arm—his crown's foundation laid;
Fearing that were this Hero too sure of his success—
Incurring less—danger—his glory had been less.
Already at the walls both warriors advance
Consult on the battle—and weigh well its chance.
O'er desolated feilds, th'dire fiend of Carnage—
To the sea's limits—extends her fury—her rage.
When Valois to Bourbon held this sad discourse;
While sighs—and tears—oft interrupt its course.
Behold, to what state by fortune I'm reduced;
My wrongs are yours;—the league basely seduced—
Their power increasing—my bitterest foe—
Conspire against their King—more furious grow,
And in their mad rage—confounding you, with me,
Pursue both alike,—with mad audacity.—
Paris disowns us—the crown in my possession—
Refuse to respect—and your right of succession.
They know the statutes—your merit—and your worth
At my death, give you claims—equal with your birth
To the throne—on which I tremble;—and all unite,
Fearing your Power—to rob you of your right;
And of religion—terrible in its rage,—
Its dreadful anathema, against you wage.
Rome, without arms—sends war into all climes,
To th'hands of the Spaniards—her thunder resigns.
Subjects, friends, and relations—faith now renounce—
Conspiring against me—their Monarch denounce;
In crouds the greedy Spaniard—exulting in my pain—
Rush in quest of lucre—o'er the desolated plain.
After the affronts, that now, my glory stain,—
O! let us Albion's fair Legislatress gain!—
I know too well, that an immortal hate—
Is fix'd 'tween Albion—and France—by fate.
I have no subjects—no country—no friend—
I hate these people—all connexion—rend;—
Those who'll assist to punish—t'assert my right—
They're my friends—Country—Frenchmen in my sight.
I care not then, what nation it may be;—
Ah! will't thou go—upon this agency?
'Tis thee that I implore—'tis only thee!
Go unto Albion—and that your boundless fame—
May raise a host!—and speak in Valois' name;—
With you, against my foes, I will contend—
'Tis from your virtues—I expect a friend.
He said—and the Hero—ever jealous of glory—
Regretting to divide the laurels of victory,—
Felt, in hearing him—a just, but dire smart,
Sighed o'er those times—so dear unto his heart.
When strong in virtue—without aid or intrigue—
Alone with great Condé—they conquer'd th'league.—
But, he must fulfill his Lord's command—
He suspends the blow—descending from his hand.—
And leaving those laurels, he'd gather'd on that shore—
Reluctance conquer'd;—his way to Albion bore.
The astonish'd Soldier's—ignorant of his intent,
Await his return—anxious for th'event.
He goes—yet nothwithstanding the guilty Town
Expect each moment,—his dread thunder's frown—
And e'en his name's the crown's most potent aid;
Who fought for him—his throne's foundation laid.
Consult on the battle—and weigh well its chance.
O'er desolated feilds, th'dire fiend of Carnage—
To the sea's limits—extends her fury—her rage.
When Valois to Bourbon held this sad discourse;
While sighs—and tears—oft interrupt its course.
Behold, to what state by fortune I'm reduced;
My wrongs are yours;—the league basely seduced—
Their power increasing—my bitterest foe—
38
And in their mad rage—confounding you, with me,
Pursue both alike,—with mad audacity.—
Paris disowns us—the crown in my possession—
Refuse to respect—and your right of succession.
They know the statutes—your merit—and your worth
At my death, give you claims—equal with your birth
To the throne—on which I tremble;—and all unite,
Fearing your Power—to rob you of your right;
And of religion—terrible in its rage,—
Its dreadful anathema, against you wage.
Rome, without arms—sends war into all climes,
To th'hands of the Spaniards—her thunder resigns.
Subjects, friends, and relations—faith now renounce—
Conspiring against me—their Monarch denounce;
In crouds the greedy Spaniard—exulting in my pain—
Rush in quest of lucre—o'er the desolated plain.
After the affronts, that now, my glory stain,—
O! let us Albion's fair Legislatress gain!—
I know too well, that an immortal hate—
39
I have no subjects—no country—no friend—
I hate these people—all connexion—rend;—
Those who'll assist to punish—t'assert my right—
They're my friends—Country—Frenchmen in my sight.
I care not then, what nation it may be;—
Ah! will't thou go—upon this agency?
'Tis thee that I implore—'tis only thee!
Go unto Albion—and that your boundless fame—
May raise a host!—and speak in Valois' name;—
With you, against my foes, I will contend—
'Tis from your virtues—I expect a friend.
He said—and the Hero—ever jealous of glory—
Regretting to divide the laurels of victory,—
Felt, in hearing him—a just, but dire smart,
Sighed o'er those times—so dear unto his heart.
When strong in virtue—without aid or intrigue—
Alone with great Condé—they conquer'd th'league.—
But, he must fulfill his Lord's command—
He suspends the blow—descending from his hand.—
40
Reluctance conquer'd;—his way to Albion bore.
The astonish'd Soldier's—ignorant of his intent,
Await his return—anxious for th'event.
He goes—yet nothwithstanding the guilty Town
Expect each moment,—his dread thunder's frown—
And e'en his name's the crown's most potent aid;
Who fought for him—his throne's foundation laid.
He departs—of Neustria—soon loses sight,
The favor'd Mornay's partner of his flight
Mornay his Confident—never—flatterer—
Laments in one he loves—religious error;
Ever signalized for zeal and prudence—
Served equally his church—and divided France.—
Censor of the courtisans—but belov'd of all the Court—
Proud enemy of Rome—but by Rome adored.
The favor'd Mornay's partner of his flight
Mornay his Confident—never—flatterer—
Laments in one he loves—religious error;
Ever signalized for zeal and prudence—
Served equally his church—and divided France.—
Censor of the courtisans—but belov'd of all the Court—
Proud enemy of Rome—but by Rome adored.
Between two rocks, where the thundering wave—
Broke in white froth,—and maddening did rave—
Diêppe presents itself to our Heroe's eye,
The eager Sailors to the shores now hie.
The Ship 'neath their hands—proud sov'reigns of the main—
Cuts murmuring—the vast and liquid plain;
Impetuous Boreas—chain'd in th'azure sky,
Abandon'd Ocean's wide—to zephyrs sigh.
The anchor's raised—they part—from Diêppe fly;
Already Albion's chalky cliffs descry.
Day's brilliant Sun, is instantly obscured,—
Air murmur'd—Heaven thunder'd—Ocean roar'd,
Boreas is unchain'd, o'er Ocean shroud,
And the big thunder groans within the cloud.
Th'abyss of Ocean—and the Light'nings flash—
All hope of aid—all hope of rescue—dash.
The Hero menaced, by the angry main—
Still thinks of nothing—but his Country's gain;
Turns his eyes to her, and seems t'accuse the wind—
That keeps his hoped success, so long behind.
Such—but less generous—on the Coast of Epire—
When of the frail world—he disputed the Empire—
Confiding to the waves—and Boreas' breath—
The destiny of Rome—the destiny of earth;
At once defying Pompey—braving Neptune—
Caesar to the waves—opposed his fortune.
Broke in white froth,—and maddening did rave—
Diêppe presents itself to our Heroe's eye,
The eager Sailors to the shores now hie.
41
Cuts murmuring—the vast and liquid plain;
Impetuous Boreas—chain'd in th'azure sky,
Abandon'd Ocean's wide—to zephyrs sigh.
The anchor's raised—they part—from Diêppe fly;
Already Albion's chalky cliffs descry.
Day's brilliant Sun, is instantly obscured,—
Air murmur'd—Heaven thunder'd—Ocean roar'd,
Boreas is unchain'd, o'er Ocean shroud,
And the big thunder groans within the cloud.
Th'abyss of Ocean—and the Light'nings flash—
All hope of aid—all hope of rescue—dash.
The Hero menaced, by the angry main—
Still thinks of nothing—but his Country's gain;
Turns his eyes to her, and seems t'accuse the wind—
That keeps his hoped success, so long behind.
Such—but less generous—on the Coast of Epire—
When of the frail world—he disputed the Empire—
Confiding to the waves—and Boreas' breath—
The destiny of Rome—the destiny of earth;
42
Caesar to the waves—opposed his fortune.
In that moment—the God of all that be—
Who flies upon the wind—and governs the wide sea—
That God—whose wisdom—ineffable—profound—
Makes—raises—and scatters Empires around;
From his mighty throne—that shines on high—
Looks on France's Hero—with a favoring eye.—
Commanding tempests—he great Bourbon bore;
And wafted swift his bark—on Jersey's shore.
Where Jersey seems to rise—from Ocean's breast—
Heaven conducted him to transient rest.
Who flies upon the wind—and governs the wide sea—
That God—whose wisdom—ineffable—profound—
Makes—raises—and scatters Empires around;
From his mighty throne—that shines on high—
Looks on France's Hero—with a favoring eye.—
Commanding tempests—he great Bourbon bore;
And wafted swift his bark—on Jersey's shore.
Where Jersey seems to rise—from Ocean's breast—
Heaven conducted him to transient rest.
Not far from shore—a wood of deepest green—
Darkening arose—a calm—inviting scene;
A rock defends it, from the Ocean's rage—
And the fierce north-winds, raging blasts assuage.
A cave is near it hew'd—whose simple structure—
Owes all its beauties—to the hands of nature—
A venerable Sage, liv'd there—who far from Court—
Nature, simplicity—and peace had sought.
Unknown to Men—and free from every care—
Studied fair nature—and sought retirement there.
'Twas there—that he regretted each ill spent year—
Lost, in pleasures and love—with a repentant tear.
Darkening arose—a calm—inviting scene;
A rock defends it, from the Ocean's rage—
And the fierce north-winds, raging blasts assuage.
A cave is near it hew'd—whose simple structure—
Owes all its beauties—to the hands of nature—
A venerable Sage, liv'd there—who far from Court—
Nature, simplicity—and peace had sought.
43
Studied fair nature—and sought retirement there.
'Twas there—that he regretted each ill spent year—
Lost, in pleasures and love—with a repentant tear.
On the banks of these streams—by the fountain's flow
He spurn'd the mingled passions—mortals know:
Tranquil he awaited—in this calm abode—
Death to unite him—for ever—with his God;
That God he adored—who protected his age,
Had unveiled to his eyes—wisdom's vast page;
And lavishing on him, his bounteous love—
Taught him t'unravel—what's decreed above.
The Sage, a repast by the chrystal stream prepares
And thither Bourbon leads to rest from cares.
The troubles scatter'd o'er the Christian land—
Formed all their talk—and various schemes were plan'd.
He spurn'd the mingled passions—mortals know:
Tranquil he awaited—in this calm abode—
Death to unite him—for ever—with his God;
That God he adored—who protected his age,
Had unveiled to his eyes—wisdom's vast page;
And lavishing on him, his bounteous love—
Taught him t'unravel—what's decreed above.
The Sage, a repast by the chrystal stream prepares
And thither Bourbon leads to rest from cares.
The troubles scatter'd o'er the Christian land—
Formed all their talk—and various schemes were plan'd.
Mornay, in his belief was still unshaken—
And Calvinism's errors had not yet forsaken.
Henry still doubtful—demands of Heaven high
That a ray of knowledge may illume his eye!—
In every age (he said) truth's sacred light—
Has been obscur'd—by errors dark'ning night;
Must I, in ignorance, still remain—not know—
The path which leads to God?—to whom I owe
All hope of aid!—a God, so good—so great,
In whose allruling hands, rests mortals fate!
Ah! would he but deign to clear our darken'd sight,
Accept our worship!—he would lead us right.
Adore (the Hermit said) Almighty God's designs—
Let us not accuse him—of weak Mortal's crimes.
I have seen Calvinism—in the Gallic land—
A feeble spectre—crawling on the sand;
I've seen her, without support—exiled from our wall
By unseen paths, try to evade her fall;
At last, I saw her proud and potent grown—
Insult the world—and mount the Gallic throne!
Seen her—with scorn—our altars overthrow;
These were the evils, I've been doomed to know.
Far from the court—I've sought obscurity—
And here lament—religion's injury;—
But hope suppresses still, the bitter tear,—
That soon, her glories will begin to sear.
Her power rests in the caprice of Man—
Who soon will see her end—as she began;
The works of men are fragile—like their lives—
God, disposes at his will—of the faction man contrives;
He alone is stable—while war, blind mortals wage—
While sects unnumber'd fight—with boundless rage;—
Truth—reposes at the feet of the Eternal—
But rarely lights—a proud and sinful mortal:
Who seeks from his heart—may find the Deity—
You shall be englighten'd—for you wish to be.
That God has chosen you;—in fight, his hand—
Conducts you to the regal honors of command;
E'en now his awful voice—bids unto Victory—
To guide thee to the paths—that lead to glory:
But if celestial truth light not thy way
Ne'er hope to enter Paris—with imperial sway;—
Above all—avoid that weakness of great minds—
Shun passion's lures—she poisons—while she blinds!
Your soul against love's fatal arrows arm,
Fear to be seduced—by his alluring charm!
When you shall (at length) exert a force divine—
Triumph o'er yourself—the League—then will't be thine
To raise a seige so dread—in hist'ry 't will live!—
And a nation exist from the favors you give;—
Then—will end your Country's grief and woe—
You'll thank your God—and fear no dreaded foe;
Unto your Father's God—you'll raise your eyes—
You'll find that gracious aid;—he ne'er denies
To the being—on his mercy—who relies.
Each word he said, was like a fiery dart,
That pierc'd brave Henry to his inmost heart;
He thought himself, in those fair times of bliss,
When God, convers'd mith men—ah! not like this!
When virtue, in her purity, and truth
Commanded Kings—her oracles sent forth.
And Calvinism's errors had not yet forsaken.
Henry still doubtful—demands of Heaven high
That a ray of knowledge may illume his eye!—
44
Has been obscur'd—by errors dark'ning night;
Must I, in ignorance, still remain—not know—
The path which leads to God?—to whom I owe
All hope of aid!—a God, so good—so great,
In whose allruling hands, rests mortals fate!
Ah! would he but deign to clear our darken'd sight,
Accept our worship!—he would lead us right.
Adore (the Hermit said) Almighty God's designs—
Let us not accuse him—of weak Mortal's crimes.
I have seen Calvinism—in the Gallic land—
A feeble spectre—crawling on the sand;
I've seen her, without support—exiled from our wall
By unseen paths, try to evade her fall;
At last, I saw her proud and potent grown—
Insult the world—and mount the Gallic throne!
Seen her—with scorn—our altars overthrow;
These were the evils, I've been doomed to know.
Far from the court—I've sought obscurity—
And here lament—religion's injury;—
45
That soon, her glories will begin to sear.
Her power rests in the caprice of Man—
Who soon will see her end—as she began;
The works of men are fragile—like their lives—
God, disposes at his will—of the faction man contrives;
He alone is stable—while war, blind mortals wage—
While sects unnumber'd fight—with boundless rage;—
Truth—reposes at the feet of the Eternal—
But rarely lights—a proud and sinful mortal:
Who seeks from his heart—may find the Deity—
You shall be englighten'd—for you wish to be.
That God has chosen you;—in fight, his hand—
Conducts you to the regal honors of command;
E'en now his awful voice—bids unto Victory—
To guide thee to the paths—that lead to glory:
But if celestial truth light not thy way
Ne'er hope to enter Paris—with imperial sway;—
Above all—avoid that weakness of great minds—
Shun passion's lures—she poisons—while she blinds!
46
Fear to be seduced—by his alluring charm!
When you shall (at length) exert a force divine—
Triumph o'er yourself—the League—then will't be thine
To raise a seige so dread—in hist'ry 't will live!—
And a nation exist from the favors you give;—
Then—will end your Country's grief and woe—
You'll thank your God—and fear no dreaded foe;
Unto your Father's God—you'll raise your eyes—
You'll find that gracious aid;—he ne'er denies
To the being—on his mercy—who relies.
Each word he said, was like a fiery dart,
That pierc'd brave Henry to his inmost heart;
He thought himself, in those fair times of bliss,
When God, convers'd mith men—ah! not like this!
When virtue, in her purity, and truth
Commanded Kings—her oracles sent forth.
With deep regret, her left the virtuous Seer,
And as he bade adieu—shed many a tear;—
And from that moment—discern'd that dawn of day
Which, from him yet, witheld its brilliant ray.
Mornay's surprised—his eyes remain fast closed—
God,—master of his gifts—his will, had thus disposed.
Vainly on earth—he had the name of sage—
Religion's errors—closed fair wisdoms page.
While unto the sage—God knowledge did impart,—
Spoke unto the Prince,—conversed unto his heart:
The impetuous winds th'Almighty did restrain—
The Sun appear'd, and even was the main;
Then unto the shore, the Seer, brave Bourbon guides—
To Albion steers—swift o'er the waters glides.
And as he bade adieu—shed many a tear;—
And from that moment—discern'd that dawn of day
47
Mornay's surprised—his eyes remain fast closed—
God,—master of his gifts—his will, had thus disposed.
Vainly on earth—he had the name of sage—
Religion's errors—closed fair wisdoms page.
While unto the sage—God knowledge did impart,—
Spoke unto the Prince,—conversed unto his heart:
The impetuous winds th'Almighty did restrain—
The Sun appear'd, and even was the main;
Then unto the shore, the Seer, brave Bourbon guides—
To Albion steers—swift o'er the waters glides.
On Beholding Albion—in secret, he admires
Th'happy change—of those unconquer'd Empires;
Where th'eternal abuse of so many wise laws—
Had, of woes to Princes—and People—been cause;—
Theatre bloody, of many Heroes gone—
Where hundred Kings descended from the throne!
A Woman at her feet—enchaining fate,—
Surprised the world—at th'splendor of her state.
It was Elisabeth!—her whose far-fam'd prudence—
Made at her will—the fates of Europe balance;—
Made those English submit to her authority,
Who scarce knew to serve—to live—in liberty!
The people forget their ills, beneath her reign;
And herds of Cattle teem along each plain,
Their barns, with corn, and every place behold—
Teeming with riches—accumulated gold.
Their imperious fleet enslaves the sea's great God,—
Commands to fortune—and makes Europe nod.
London, that was barb'rous—now, the fount of arts,—
A magazine of the World—Temple of Mars!—
At the walls of Westminster—now appear—
Three powers, astonish'd—at what calls them there;
Deputies of the people—the King—the great,—
United by the laws of Albion's state;
Of that invincible body—sacred members all—
Dangerous to themselves—their neighbours they appal.
When a nation does its duty—happy still—
Respects, as it ought—the sovereign will;
More happy, when a King—mild, just, and politic
Respects as his duty—the liberty of the public.
Ah! cried Bourbon, when shall the Gallic land—
Unite like you—peace—glory—in one band!—
What an example for you—frail Monarchs of earth.
A Woman—shut the gates of war—of dearth!
And sending to you, both horror and discord—
Blesses a people—by whom she's adored!
Now, to that mighty Capital he came—
Where liberty,—abundance—hold their reign;—
And now the walls of Albion's tower he viewd
Not far from thence—the regal palace stood—
He seeks the Queen—with Mornay by his side,—
Without pageantry—vain pomp—and pride—
Whose charms the idle great, so dearly prize
But Heroes—from their inmost soul despise.
Candour, o'er his speech her charm diffuses—
This is the only eloquence he uses;
In secret, for aid, implores—relates their woes—
With graceful lowliness, which more nobly shews—
The greatness of the soul—from whence it flows.
You serve Valois?—the startled Queen, exclaims,
Valois! sends you to the banks of the Thames?
You become your enemy's protector!
And sue—for your former persecutor?
From the shores o'th'west—to Aurora's gate
Of your ceaseless wars—th'universe speaks yet;
And you prepare that arm in Valois'aid—
By which, he fear'd—his glories oft would fade?
Th'happy change—of those unconquer'd Empires;
Where th'eternal abuse of so many wise laws—
Had, of woes to Princes—and People—been cause;—
Theatre bloody, of many Heroes gone—
Where hundred Kings descended from the throne!
A Woman at her feet—enchaining fate,—
Surprised the world—at th'splendor of her state.
It was Elisabeth!—her whose far-fam'd prudence—
48
Made those English submit to her authority,
Who scarce knew to serve—to live—in liberty!
The people forget their ills, beneath her reign;
And herds of Cattle teem along each plain,
Their barns, with corn, and every place behold—
Teeming with riches—accumulated gold.
Their imperious fleet enslaves the sea's great God,—
Commands to fortune—and makes Europe nod.
London, that was barb'rous—now, the fount of arts,—
A magazine of the World—Temple of Mars!—
At the walls of Westminster—now appear—
Three powers, astonish'd—at what calls them there;
Deputies of the people—the King—the great,—
United by the laws of Albion's state;
Of that invincible body—sacred members all—
Dangerous to themselves—their neighbours they appal.
When a nation does its duty—happy still—
Respects, as it ought—the sovereign will;
More happy, when a King—mild, just, and politic
49
Ah! cried Bourbon, when shall the Gallic land—
Unite like you—peace—glory—in one band!—
What an example for you—frail Monarchs of earth.
A Woman—shut the gates of war—of dearth!
And sending to you, both horror and discord—
Blesses a people—by whom she's adored!
Now, to that mighty Capital he came—
Where liberty,—abundance—hold their reign;—
And now the walls of Albion's tower he viewd
Not far from thence—the regal palace stood—
He seeks the Queen—with Mornay by his side,—
Without pageantry—vain pomp—and pride—
Whose charms the idle great, so dearly prize
But Heroes—from their inmost soul despise.
Candour, o'er his speech her charm diffuses—
This is the only eloquence he uses;
In secret, for aid, implores—relates their woes—
With graceful lowliness, which more nobly shews—
The greatness of the soul—from whence it flows.
50
Valois! sends you to the banks of the Thames?
You become your enemy's protector!
And sue—for your former persecutor?
From the shores o'th'west—to Aurora's gate
Of your ceaseless wars—th'universe speaks yet;
And you prepare that arm in Valois'aid—
By which, he fear'd—his glories oft would fade?
Valois—(he said)—was the tool of vile slaves—
His fetters broken—their power he braves.
In the woes, he has suffer'd—all wrongs I forget;
Most happy, if no other aid he'd sought—
Relying on courage—and my loyalty
No other arts employ'd—trusted to me!
But resorting to mean—base artifice
My foe he became—from weak cowardice.
In this just war you may—illustrious Queen
Signalize your own—raise great Albion's name,—
Crown your great virtues—defending our laws—
Avenge in my person—each Monarch's cause.
What occasion'd in France such direful woes?
Elisabeth, with impatience, entreats he'd disclose!—
What secret springs—what plots?—she wish'd to know
Produced in Paris—such an overthrow?
Already (said she) by all busy fame—
I've heard of these dire woes—and your great name
But in her levity—her indiscreet mouth—
Too often blends fiction—with the light of truth;—
To faithless reports, I never lent an ear.
But you the brave witness—of this wars career—
Alternately the friend—or foe—of Valois
Explain the tie unites you in this hour;
Explain the cause of this most strange reverse—
Only you—are worthy—your deeds to rehearse;
Relate your exploits—do not dissemble—
Remember—to Kings—your virtu's th'example.
Alas! (said Bourbon) must mem'ry retrace
The woeful records of our dire disgrace?
Would to Heav'n!—witness of our grief—our rage
Its records were eras'd from th'historic page!
Why do you require, my lips should relate—
Of Prince's of my blood—the shame—the fate!
My heart, yet shudders, to recal the scene—
But your command obeys,—illustrious Queen!
Another speaking—with more skill and grace—
Might veil their crimes—and half their faults erase:—
But,—my soul disdains, to have recourse to art—
Mine's the plain Soldier's—not the states man's part.
His fetters broken—their power he braves.
In the woes, he has suffer'd—all wrongs I forget;
Most happy, if no other aid he'd sought—
Relying on courage—and my loyalty
No other arts employ'd—trusted to me!
But resorting to mean—base artifice
My foe he became—from weak cowardice.
In this just war you may—illustrious Queen
Signalize your own—raise great Albion's name,—
Crown your great virtues—defending our laws—
Avenge in my person—each Monarch's cause.
51
Elisabeth, with impatience, entreats he'd disclose!—
What secret springs—what plots?—she wish'd to know
Produced in Paris—such an overthrow?
Already (said she) by all busy fame—
I've heard of these dire woes—and your great name
But in her levity—her indiscreet mouth—
Too often blends fiction—with the light of truth;—
To faithless reports, I never lent an ear.
But you the brave witness—of this wars career—
Alternately the friend—or foe—of Valois
Explain the tie unites you in this hour;
Explain the cause of this most strange reverse—
Only you—are worthy—your deeds to rehearse;
Relate your exploits—do not dissemble—
Remember—to Kings—your virtu's th'example.
Alas! (said Bourbon) must mem'ry retrace
The woeful records of our dire disgrace?
Would to Heav'n!—witness of our grief—our rage
Its records were eras'd from th'historic page!
52
Of Prince's of my blood—the shame—the fate!
My heart, yet shudders, to recal the scene—
But your command obeys,—illustrious Queen!
Another speaking—with more skill and grace—
Might veil their crimes—and half their faults erase:—
But,—my soul disdains, to have recourse to art—
Mine's the plain Soldier's—not the states man's part.
(End of Canto the first.)
PYRENEAN ADVENTURE.
[_]
The following lines were composed on reading an extract from a novel which appeared in the Gleaner, published at Hamburg 22d May 1829.
All hail! ye mist—surrounded mounts of Spain!
Where, stony passes lead to fertile plain,
Where dark'ning lies, the winding—deep ravine—
Where murm'ring streams bound o'er the mossy green;
Where dreadful precipice, and rocky steep
Frown fearful—o'er some yawning chasm deep—
Where screaming shrilly in the azure sky
The eagle sends his note—a deaf'ning cry!
Amongst the rest—a stony pass there laid
'Twas not by art—it was by nature made—
'Twas Irun call'd—and long renown'd had been,
It led to a woody—to a deep ravine—
Andaye's heights—a mighty belt was seen.
San Marcial and the Ocean hemm'd it round—
A beauteous rivulet rippled o'er the ground,
And help'd to swell fair Bidassoa's stream;
That blended sweetly with the woodland scene.
A ruin'd bridge that had for ages stood—
Sublimely arch'd above the chrystal flood—
A lasting monument—whose mould'ring arch—
Full long, had brav'd the boist'rous winds of march.
Where, stony passes lead to fertile plain,
Where dark'ning lies, the winding—deep ravine—
Where murm'ring streams bound o'er the mossy green;
53
Frown fearful—o'er some yawning chasm deep—
Where screaming shrilly in the azure sky
The eagle sends his note—a deaf'ning cry!
Amongst the rest—a stony pass there laid
'Twas not by art—it was by nature made—
'Twas Irun call'd—and long renown'd had been,
It led to a woody—to a deep ravine—
Andaye's heights—a mighty belt was seen.
San Marcial and the Ocean hemm'd it round—
A beauteous rivulet rippled o'er the ground,
And help'd to swell fair Bidassoa's stream;
That blended sweetly with the woodland scene.
A ruin'd bridge that had for ages stood—
Sublimely arch'd above the chrystal flood—
A lasting monument—whose mould'ring arch—
Full long, had brav'd the boist'rous winds of march.
The British tents were ranged where waters glide
And torrents rush from every mountain's side.
Young Edwin was among the British host—
One of the bravest—that its armies boast.
The tongue of rumour oft to him had told—
The beauty of the scene he would behold;
He wish'd to stray along the mountain's side
To view fair nature—in her wildest pride.
It was September—there—a balmy time—
Where linnets warble forth their song divine—
Where undisturbed by chilling baleful blasts—
The sweet—the odorous rose for ever lasts;
Where night a beauteous—silvery veil expands—
Nor yellow vapours hang above the land—
But clear the star shines in ethereal sky
Nor nightly vapours cloud the blue on high.
—Young Edwin sought the scenes to him so dear—
Where mighty rocks are ranged—tier over tier—
There where the sun shines with unsullied ray
And adds new lustre—to a gorgeous day.
And torrents rush from every mountain's side.
Young Edwin was among the British host—
54
The tongue of rumour oft to him had told—
The beauty of the scene he would behold;
He wish'd to stray along the mountain's side
To view fair nature—in her wildest pride.
It was September—there—a balmy time—
Where linnets warble forth their song divine—
Where undisturbed by chilling baleful blasts—
The sweet—the odorous rose for ever lasts;
Where night a beauteous—silvery veil expands—
Nor yellow vapours hang above the land—
But clear the star shines in ethereal sky
Nor nightly vapours cloud the blue on high.
—Young Edwin sought the scenes to him so dear—
Where mighty rocks are ranged—tier over tier—
There where the sun shines with unsullied ray
And adds new lustre—to a gorgeous day.
All hail! ye scenes!—so dear unto my heart—
All hail!—cried he—your wonted joy impart!
Ah! let me revel in the mountain scene—
And gaze upon the low and deep ravine—
And hear the murmur of the distant fount—
And wind the path of some high-towering mount!
All hail!—cried he—your wonted joy impart!
Ah! let me revel in the mountain scene—
55
And hear the murmur of the distant fount—
And wind the path of some high-towering mount!
He left the camp with ardent wish to view
The hollow glens—where twining woodbines grew;
With doubtful path the mighty cliff ascends
Where sylvan scenery—with mountain—blends.
'Twas a huge rock by misty vapours crown'd
Where eagles shrick'd from out their cavern'd ground
And distant echoes—repeated the shrill sound.
The huge—the craggy precipice he mounts,
And tries to trace the source of Guadia's founts;
O'erwhelmed with labour—still pursues his way
Nor fears to see the ray of parting day;
And as he look'd beneath him, he might view—
Extensive fields where waving herbage grew;
Towns—Villages—all beneath him lay
On which divinely smiled the solar ray;
Redoubts—and batteries—and the distant tent;
The mighty precipice—of vast extent:
And hanging woods of beauteous emerald die—
In splendour with the snow-capt mountains vie.
An universal stillness reign'd throughout the sky,—
Unbroke by aught—except the eagles cry.
No waving wind—to stir the leaves that rest
Scarce moving—on the mountain's rugged breast;
An awful stillness reign'd through all around
Unbroke by aught—except the fountain's sound—
That murm'ring quickly o'er its stony bed
From the huge rock—in triple thunders fled;—
So far was he—scarce could he hear its rush—
And day declining bade the eagle hush.
Clear was the vaulted blue in Heaven's height—
The sun was fading fast upon the sight;
He still advanc'd, and as he mounts more high—
More wondrous beauties meet th'enraptur'd eye.
The mountain's gain'd and ev'ry danger past—
In extacy around his eyes he cast—
But sudden starting in dismay he saw—
Some wretched victims of destructive war;
He saw beneath a dim uncertain ray
In a vast pit some mangled soldiers lay!—
Their bones were blanch'd beneath the winters rain
'Twas but the wreck of men he saw remain;
The hungry eagle pounce'd upon its prey
Shriek'd vainly round—the flesh was long away!—
Their military dress in shreds they tore—
In rage—to miss the food they'd found before.
And look'd on him—as if they would have said—
When will the fate of battle doom thee dead?—
They flew away—and sought their airy den—
With regret leaving—those sad wrecks of men;
Mov'd at the sight—surpris'd he gaz'd—he thought—
How warring armies 'mong those cliffs had fought!
No obvious path—to this dread chasm led—
A mountain urn—for some brave warriors dead!
But length'ning shadows bade him now prepare
To leave the scene that rivetted him there.
He went and breath'd a sigh for those behind
Whose bones lay bleach'd beneath th'northern wind.
But now the night was come;—with borrow'd light
Shone sweet in air—the brilliant lamp of night—
Her chasten'd beam she darts where Edwin strays
Lost now—benighted—in the woody maze—
And lights his dubious way with silver rays.
He guides his way by th'murmur of the fount.
While nightly mists in rolling circles mount—
While Quatra-coné—with his snowy shrouds
Rears his tall head—and kiss'd the vap'ry clouds.
The hollow glens—where twining woodbines grew;
With doubtful path the mighty cliff ascends
Where sylvan scenery—with mountain—blends.
'Twas a huge rock by misty vapours crown'd
Where eagles shrick'd from out their cavern'd ground
And distant echoes—repeated the shrill sound.
The huge—the craggy precipice he mounts,
And tries to trace the source of Guadia's founts;
O'erwhelmed with labour—still pursues his way
Nor fears to see the ray of parting day;
And as he look'd beneath him, he might view—
Extensive fields where waving herbage grew;
Towns—Villages—all beneath him lay
On which divinely smiled the solar ray;
Redoubts—and batteries—and the distant tent;
The mighty precipice—of vast extent:
56
In splendour with the snow-capt mountains vie.
An universal stillness reign'd throughout the sky,—
Unbroke by aught—except the eagles cry.
No waving wind—to stir the leaves that rest
Scarce moving—on the mountain's rugged breast;
An awful stillness reign'd through all around
Unbroke by aught—except the fountain's sound—
That murm'ring quickly o'er its stony bed
From the huge rock—in triple thunders fled;—
So far was he—scarce could he hear its rush—
And day declining bade the eagle hush.
Clear was the vaulted blue in Heaven's height—
The sun was fading fast upon the sight;
He still advanc'd, and as he mounts more high—
More wondrous beauties meet th'enraptur'd eye.
The mountain's gain'd and ev'ry danger past—
In extacy around his eyes he cast—
But sudden starting in dismay he saw—
Some wretched victims of destructive war;
57
In a vast pit some mangled soldiers lay!—
Their bones were blanch'd beneath the winters rain
'Twas but the wreck of men he saw remain;
The hungry eagle pounce'd upon its prey
Shriek'd vainly round—the flesh was long away!—
Their military dress in shreds they tore—
In rage—to miss the food they'd found before.
And look'd on him—as if they would have said—
When will the fate of battle doom thee dead?—
They flew away—and sought their airy den—
With regret leaving—those sad wrecks of men;
Mov'd at the sight—surpris'd he gaz'd—he thought—
How warring armies 'mong those cliffs had fought!
No obvious path—to this dread chasm led—
A mountain urn—for some brave warriors dead!
But length'ning shadows bade him now prepare
To leave the scene that rivetted him there.
He went and breath'd a sigh for those behind
Whose bones lay bleach'd beneath th'northern wind.
58
Shone sweet in air—the brilliant lamp of night—
Her chasten'd beam she darts where Edwin strays
Lost now—benighted—in the woody maze—
And lights his dubious way with silver rays.
He guides his way by th'murmur of the fount.
While nightly mists in rolling circles mount—
While Quatra-coné—with his snowy shrouds
Rears his tall head—and kiss'd the vap'ry clouds.
The moon's half veil'd and scarce her struggling ray
Lends its soft light to guide brave Edwin's way.
Wilder'd he strays among the labyrinths green
And still hangs wondering on the beauteous scene:
When an Iberian youth—in distance spied—
And quickly to the welcome traveller hied;
From the mountain pass requested to be led—
And ask'd the tale of those—he had seen dead.
Lends its soft light to guide brave Edwin's way.
Wilder'd he strays among the labyrinths green
And still hangs wondering on the beauteous scene:
When an Iberian youth—in distance spied—
And quickly to the welcome traveller hied;
From the mountain pass requested to be led—
And ask'd the tale of those—he had seen dead.
Alas! why bring those happier times to mind—
T'awaken griefs!—of long past joys remind!
—Here once—a Hamlet stood—a blest retreat!
Where peaceful innocence then held its seat—
Each humble roof beneath the deep-green trees
Screen'd from the sun—while zephyr fan'd the breeze
Each happy cot a pleasing scene presents
And clambering woodbine sends its heav'nly scents
A sweet and chrystal fount runs through the glade
Meand'ring soft beneath the tall trees shade.
While rural festivals we here prepare
Beneath th'unclouded sky and balmy air—
Sudden there burst upon our startled sight
A marauding band-adown the neighb'ring height!
Like furious torrents on our peasants rush
Despoil our homes—our wives and babes they crush!
Mad to revenge—we rush upon the sword—
Vain are our efforts 'gainst this Gallic hord;
The festive decorations seize in our defense—
And furious drive th'insatiate murd'rers hence.
Vengeance! the cry—we spurn the mossy ground—
—Our shouts re-echo 'mong the rocks around!
T'awaken griefs!—of long past joys remind!
—Here once—a Hamlet stood—a blest retreat!
59
Each humble roof beneath the deep-green trees
Screen'd from the sun—while zephyr fan'd the breeze
Each happy cot a pleasing scene presents
And clambering woodbine sends its heav'nly scents
A sweet and chrystal fount runs through the glade
Meand'ring soft beneath the tall trees shade.
While rural festivals we here prepare
Beneath th'unclouded sky and balmy air—
Sudden there burst upon our startled sight
A marauding band-adown the neighb'ring height!
Like furious torrents on our peasants rush
Despoil our homes—our wives and babes they crush!
Mad to revenge—we rush upon the sword—
Vain are our efforts 'gainst this Gallic hord;
The festive decorations seize in our defense—
And furious drive th'insatiate murd'rers hence.
Vengeance! the cry—we spurn the mossy ground—
—Our shouts re-echo 'mong the rocks around!
At once we plan a mighty scheme—and all—
Spoilers—tyrants—in one heap shall fall!
Thou'st seen that hollow on the mountain's crown?—
Where mighty crags with jutting forehead frown?
—A rock hung o'er it—a mighty crag and vast—
That ne'er had shook beneath a northern blast—
We loose the crag—that with the slightest push—
'Twould in the abyss with triple thunders rush;
—'Twas dawn! the dawn of that avenging day—
We had designed our vengeance to allay!
—The sun rose fiery—immortal Phoebus rose—
On Quatra-coné's mount—refulgent glows.
The snows like diamonds shine beneath his rays
And various dies—in mountain pomp displays—
Now diamonds—rubies—all alike it shews,—
In all the tints of tyrian hues it glows!—
Its snowy shrouds to sheets of silver changed;
And fairy palaces—in order ranged—
A golden crown adorns the mountain's head
It shone—a farewell ray unto the dead!
Then my heart swell'd above my native land—
I call'd my comrades—and I seized my brand—
The shout was given—the dire fiends arose—
And neighbouring rocks re-echo to our blows
Francisco's our leader—on him the rank's bestow'd—
With direful rage—his manly cheek's o'erglow'd
When feigning to be wounded—through th'vale he flew—
The raging blood-hounds—with eager haste pursue.
That hollow you have seen—our fortress made—
A bridge of solid oak above it laid—
Francisco gains it!—the dire moment's come—
On which is fix'd th'unwary foeman's doom!
Francisco clears the chasm with a bound!—
Our shout arose—with triple echoes round—
—The rock still hung above the bridge—it fell!
—And fearfully arose our foeman's yell!—
The bridge is split!—the hanging death they view—
A pallid languor o'er their foreheads flew—
They cry for mercy—mercy!—was their cry—
Such Mercy—as ye granted!—we reply—
Vengeance is ours—your cry is now too late—
Behold yon ruins!—and receive your fate!
Here ceased his tale—his feelings keener grew
Silent, he pointed to the camp in view—
In speechless agony—with the light'nings flash
He rush'd away—the boughs beneath him crash.
60
Thou'st seen that hollow on the mountain's crown?—
Where mighty crags with jutting forehead frown?
—A rock hung o'er it—a mighty crag and vast—
That ne'er had shook beneath a northern blast—
We loose the crag—that with the slightest push—
'Twould in the abyss with triple thunders rush;
—'Twas dawn! the dawn of that avenging day—
We had designed our vengeance to allay!
—The sun rose fiery—immortal Phoebus rose—
On Quatra-coné's mount—refulgent glows.
The snows like diamonds shine beneath his rays
And various dies—in mountain pomp displays—
Now diamonds—rubies—all alike it shews,—
In all the tints of tyrian hues it glows!—
Its snowy shrouds to sheets of silver changed;
And fairy palaces—in order ranged—
A golden crown adorns the mountain's head
It shone—a farewell ray unto the dead!
Then my heart swell'd above my native land—
61
The shout was given—the dire fiends arose—
And neighbouring rocks re-echo to our blows
Francisco's our leader—on him the rank's bestow'd—
With direful rage—his manly cheek's o'erglow'd
When feigning to be wounded—through th'vale he flew—
The raging blood-hounds—with eager haste pursue.
That hollow you have seen—our fortress made—
A bridge of solid oak above it laid—
Francisco gains it!—the dire moment's come—
On which is fix'd th'unwary foeman's doom!
Francisco clears the chasm with a bound!—
Our shout arose—with triple echoes round—
—The rock still hung above the bridge—it fell!
—And fearfully arose our foeman's yell!—
The bridge is split!—the hanging death they view—
A pallid languor o'er their foreheads flew—
They cry for mercy—mercy!—was their cry—
Such Mercy—as ye granted!—we reply—
Vengeance is ours—your cry is now too late—
62
Here ceased his tale—his feelings keener grew
Silent, he pointed to the camp in view—
In speechless agony—with the light'nings flash
He rush'd away—the boughs beneath him crash.
LINES. Written on the death of my Godfather, the late Lord Charles Murray (son of the Duke of Athol)
who sacrificed his fortune and his life in the cause of the Greeks.
On Helle's wave the surf roll'd high
And dash'd the foaming spray
Uncertain meteors light the sky
The sun has shed his ray
And dash'd the foaming spray
Uncertain meteors light the sky
The sun has shed his ray
63
He sunk, upon the ocean's breast
And when he'd gone 'twas night
And Helle's wave, is now unblest
When he withdraws his light.
And when he'd gone 'twas night
And Helle's wave, is now unblest
When he withdraws his light.
He sunk, behind a watery cloud
The murky storm roll'd on
That mingled with the water's shroud—
The sun's bright ray is gone.
The murky storm roll'd on
That mingled with the water's shroud—
The sun's bright ray is gone.
Thus, generous Murray! pass'd away
In vain, was rank and name;
Like Sol, he shed his parting ray
Recorded lives in fame.
In vain, was rank and name;
Like Sol, he shed his parting ray
Recorded lives in fame.
The murky storm he'd kept behind
(Unbent, without controul)
Roll'd swiftly on the wings of wind
Yet peaceful—rests his soul.
(Unbent, without controul)
Roll'd swiftly on the wings of wind
Yet peaceful—rests his soul.
Though storms roll o'er—unhurt the brave—
Though the blast of war is dread
He peaceful rests, in the womb of the grave
In the cause of Greece—he bled.
Though the blast of war is dread
He peaceful rests, in the womb of the grave
In the cause of Greece—he bled.
64
Unto the earth, he bade farewell
Ye Grecian armies mourn,
The Ocean rolls his funeral knell
Thy champion—now is gone!
Ye Grecian armies mourn,
The Ocean rolls his funeral knell
Thy champion—now is gone!
And let the mourning cypress wave
The vine caress thy tomb
And balmy odours bless thy grave,
And scenting woodbines bloom.
The vine caress thy tomb
And balmy odours bless thy grave,
And scenting woodbines bloom.
THE SIGH.
When the crested tear—that pity will bear
Is glancing soft, in the eye
Like a fountain will flow—and its bounties bestow
Uprend'ring to heaven—a sigh
Is glancing soft, in the eye
Like a fountain will flow—and its bounties bestow
Uprend'ring to heaven—a sigh
65
And charity's light—when it bursts on the sight
And its glance, illumines the eye,
And the tear-drop ye bear—is glittering there
Breaks on the air, with a sigh
And its glance, illumines the eye,
And the tear-drop ye bear—is glittering there
Breaks on the air, with a sigh
And the grateful smile—that will light for a while
And sounds by the gale borne high
Break from the breast—where pillowed in rest
Unconsciously rises the sigh
And sounds by the gale borne high
Break from the breast—where pillowed in rest
Unconsciously rises the sigh
And he who is dying—his spirit is flying
And to leave this frail world is nigh
Departing, to rest—in regions more blest
His soul is upheaved in a sigh
And to leave this frail world is nigh
Departing, to rest—in regions more blest
His soul is upheaved in a sigh
When longing again—for the land, on the main
And the billows are towering high,
Struggling on deck—with the waves o'er the wreck
His prayer's address'd in a sigh;
And the billows are towering high,
Struggling on deck—with the waves o'er the wreck
His prayer's address'd in a sigh;
To heaven will sue—with the trembling crew
The sailor when drowning is nigh
And the seagulls will scream—o'er the tall billows green
And the loud northern wind will sigh
The sailor when drowning is nigh
And the seagulls will scream—o'er the tall billows green
And the loud northern wind will sigh
66
And thus on the wave—that may soon be his grave
He still be prepared to die
Or when he be safe—from the billows that chafe
In gratitude—renders a sigh.
He still be prepared to die
Or when he be safe—from the billows that chafe
In gratitude—renders a sigh.
LINES ON THE LAND OF MY BIRTH.
If nought but the wild-flower bloom'd on the plain
And the Hermit dwell'd in the cave
I'd long to see that Land again
Which holds great Frederic's grave
And the Hermit dwell'd in the cave
I'd long to see that Land again
Which holds great Frederic's grave
Who on the field those laurels found
That honor Prussia's name
And lightning sunbeams playing round
Irradiate his fame.
That honor Prussia's name
And lightning sunbeams playing round
Irradiate his fame.
67
My native Land—'tis thee I greet!
And hail the lovely Sprey
I hail Berlin's imperial seat
Illum'd by Frederic's ray
And hail the lovely Sprey
I hail Berlin's imperial seat
Illum'd by Frederic's ray
My native Land!—where unobscured
Great deeds resplendent shine
Where Glory's reign, has still endured
With pride I hail thee mine.
Great deeds resplendent shine
Where Glory's reign, has still endured
With pride I hail thee mine.
And thou!—fair star in Prussia's crown,
Thou pure and polish'd gem,
Who gleam'd more bright in fortune's frown,
Its torrent sought to stem.
Thou pure and polish'd gem,
Who gleam'd more bright in fortune's frown,
Its torrent sought to stem.
Thy peoples love have thee enshrin'd,
That love,—that's never bought,
Thou sleeps't by sweetest flow'rs intwin'd
True emblems of their thought.
That love,—that's never bought,
Thou sleeps't by sweetest flow'rs intwin'd
True emblems of their thought.
Thy virtues in their hearts deep fixt,
Will live to times last doom
As breathes the sweet vergiß-mein-nicht,
That blooms around thy tomb.
Will live to times last doom
As breathes the sweet vergiß-mein-nicht,
That blooms around thy tomb.
68
Hail Berlin's imperial dome
The silver winding Sprey—
Where victory holds her sacred home,
Still beams beneath her ray.
The silver winding Sprey—
Where victory holds her sacred home,
Still beams beneath her ray.
Where her deathless wreath she twined,
'Round the tomb, that holds enshrined,
The ashes of the great,—the brave,
Reposing in the silent grave,
May peace her emblems o'er them wave!
'Round the tomb, that holds enshrined,
The ashes of the great,—the brave,
Reposing in the silent grave,
May peace her emblems o'er them wave!
| Infantine effusions | |