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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2396180 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65357 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65357) diff --git a/old/65357-0.txt b/old/65357-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 7d7e73d..0000000 --- a/old/65357-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5196 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems, -by Edward George Lytton Bulwer - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems - -Author: Edward George Lytton Bulwer - -Release Date: May 16, 2021 [eBook #65357] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive/American Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISMAEL; AN ORIENTAL TALE. WITH -OTHER POEMS *** - - - - - - ISMAEL; - - AN ORIENTAL TALE. - - WITH - - Other Poems. - - - - - ISMAEL; - - AN ORIENTAL TALE. - - WITH - - Other Poems. - - - BY - - EDWARD GEORGE LYTTON BULWER. - - - _Written between - The Age of Thirteen and Fifteen._ - - - “Scribimus indocti doctique poëmata passim.” - _Hor. 2 Ep. 1._ - - _LONDON:_ - - PRINTED FOR J. HATCHARD AND SON - No. 187, PICCADILLY. - - 1820. - - - _Printed by J. Brettell, - Rupert Street, Haymarket, London._ - - - - -PREFACE. - - -To court applause by oblique dexterity, or without a due sense of -respect for public opinion, impertinently to advance pretensions, is -equally revolting to the feelings of an ingenuous mind. But as genius -and a desire of fame are naturally allied, and, perhaps, the former -never existed without the latter; will not the youthful adventurer be -justified in endeavouring to stand well in the opinion of the judicious -and discerning, by disseminating his works among them--under a -confidence, that the more candid will be pleased with the first blossoms -of poetical talent, not only as the fruits of industry, but as presages -in maturer years of more elevated titles to distinction? With these -impressions, the Author of the following Poems has been induced, by the -advice of his friends, to offer the present Collection to the public. -The praise of friends, I am aware, is not always a sufficient reason for -publication;--and pieces of poetry, dictated by some local occurrence, -or intended as a tribute of politeness or affection to some individual, -though at first much admired, may, nevertheless scarcely deserve to be -transmitted to posterity. I am well aware that the strict eye of -criticism may discover imperfections, and that a nice ear may, perhaps, -occasionally be hurt by a harsh line;--and, that some, from a dread of -inspiring into a young mind, a taste for extra-academical fame, may be -disposed to extinguish altogether such attempts--yet it would be -straining delicacy beyond convenient bounds, if we did not cherish the -idea, that there may be others, who may be pleased to look propitiously -on the first specimens of genius at so early an age--many of them having -been written when the Author had attained only his Thirteenth year, and -the whole before he had completed Fifteen years of age. Their claims are -not, _perhaps_, of that superior kind, which will find a place among the -first orders of poetry; but the pieces breathe throughout the true -spirit of virtuous sensibility, vigour of fancy, and that characteristic -manner, which always accompanies strong power of invention;--they -display richness of imagery, and elegance of style, while the language -has an easy flow, and unaffected simplicity, free from that artificial -splendor, and obscure magnificence, which modern taste seems to -establish as the excellence of poetical diction. Most of the larger -Poems in the Collection express in easy language, and at the same time -with all the graces of genuine poetry, every sentiment fitted to the -occasion on which they were written. Of this, among the lighter ones, -the reader will have an agreeable specimen in the verses dedicated to -Lady C---- L----, which though on a trivial subject, may, perhaps, give -as just and pleasing an idea of this Writer’s poetical talents, as any -other single piece among the more trifling ones which we can collect. -The Translations of the first Chorus of Œdipus Tyrrannus, and two Odes -of Horace, exhibit no small degree of classical attainment: and, however -just or otherwise the remark may be, “that the failure of preceding -translators has arisen, in a great measure, from a desire to copy the -variations of Horace’s measures;” the present ones convey a correct and -spirited explanation of the sense in general, and by observing -circumstances and the little figures and turns on the words, (that -_curiosa felicitas verborum_,) they have preserved the beauties, and -kept alive that spirit and fire, which make the chief character of the -original. - -It will not, therefore, be presuming too much, to hope that these Poems -may contain enough to draw from such as value the display of early -talents, a favourable reception; and that the Author, under such -encouragement, when his taste is more matured, will perfect the produce -of his youthful industry, and by diligence add to the stores of a mind -formed by nature to accumulate and decorate them--there is only left for -me to say, - - His saltem accumulem donis. - - ΦΙΛΌΜΟΥΣΟΣ. - - - - -ADVERTISEMENT - -BY THE AUTHOR. - - -Notwithstanding my friend has said so much and so flattering to myself, -in his Preface, yet the diffidence and the anxiety which ever accompany -a first attempt, particularly at so early an age, urge me to add a few -words, however superfluous they may appear. An apology is indeed, -perhaps, always requisite for an intrusion on the public, and I cannot, -therefore, refrain from offering one for some of the Poems which are -inferior to the rest. They were written when but a child--they were the -first faint dawnings of poetic enthusiasm,--and that sense of integrity, -which should accompany every action, prevented my now altering them, in -any _material_ respect. I expressly state the age at which they were -written, and I think it but a duty to the public, that they should -actually be written at that age. For the same reason, therefore, and not -from any arrogant vanity, I have been particularly careful that no other -hand should have polished, or improved them. - -For the Battle of Waterloo, much ought to be said in apology, when so -many far, far more adequate to the task, than myself, have written upon -it; and when so many have failed in the attempt, it seems to argue -vanity in the design; but such, I may assert, was far from my mind, at -the time of its composition. It was begun in a moment of enthusiasm--it -was continued from a deep interest in the undertaking--and it was -completed from a dislike, I have always entertained, to leave any thing -unfinished. But I was myself very unwilling to commit it to the press, -and only did so at the express and flattering desire of some intimate -friends, who were, perhaps, too partial to perceive its defects. - -To the generosity of the more lenient of the public, do I now confide -this first attempt for their favour; and, as they scan over the faults -with the eye of Criticism, may the hand of Mercy restrain them from -dragging those faults to light. - -The solicitude that I feel, would induce me to indulge in a tedious -prolixity; but I must remember, that none but _myself_ can be interested -in my _own_ feelings, and I will, therefore, no longer detain my readers -from the proof. - - - - - TO WHOM SHOULD A YOUNG, AND TIMID - COMPETITOR FOR PUBLIC REPUTATION, - DEDICATE HIS ATTEMPTS, - BUT TO - A BRITISH PUBLIC? - TO THAT PUBLIC, WHO HAVE ALWAYS - BEEN THE FOSTERERS OF INDUSTRY, OR GENIUS, - WHO HAVE ALWAYS LOOKED FORWARD FROM - THE IMPERFECTIONS OF YOUTH, - TO THE - FRUITS OF MATURITY. - IT IS TO THAT GENEROUS PUBLIC, - THAT HE NOW COMMITS HIS HOPES AND HIS FEARS. - IT IS TO THAT GENEROUS PUBLIC, - THAT HE NOW OFFERS HIS - JUVENILE EFFORTS, - FOR THEIR APPLAUSE! - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - -_Address to Walter Scott, Esq._ 1 - -_Ismael; an Oriental Tale_ 3 - -_Notes_ 55 - -_To Lady C---- L----_ 61 - -_To Lady W----_ 63 - -_Ode to the Muse of Verse_ 64 - -_Ode to a Poker_ 67 - -_To K----, the Seat of Mrs. ----_ 70 - -_On Friendship_ 75 - -_Irregular Lines_ 80 - -_Stanzas to Lyra_ 84 - -_Geraldine; a Romantic Tale_ 87 - -_On seeing a Tear on the Cheek of a Young Lady_ 109 - -_Translations from Horace_ 111 - -_Translation of the First Chorus in the Œdipus -Tyrrannus of Sophocles_ 119 - -_Parnassus; a Vision_ 123 - -_Upon a late Man of Quality_ 133 - -_To Lyra_ 136 - -_Farewell to Lyra_ 138 - -_The Casket_ 142 - -_The Battle of Waterloo_ 145 - -_Notes_ 195 - - - - -ERRATA. - - - _Page_ 22, _line_ 389, _for_ is, _read_ bath - - ---- 28, ---- 391, _for_ dying, _read_ mortal - - ---- 31, ---- 90, _for_ t’, _read_ to - - ---- 36, ---- 206, - _for_ “Some mouths ago this arm had sav’d his life -_read_ “Some moons have past since Ismael sav’d his life” - _Page_ 64, _line_ 5, _for_ whither, _read_ whether - - - - -ADDRESS - -TO WALTER SCOTT, ESQ. - -_Written at Thirteen Years Old._ - - - To thee, O SCOTT, I tune my humble lyre, - Who first inflam’d me with a Poet’s fire. - Well may fair Scotland glory in the fame, - That waits thy verse, and crowns thy radiant name: - The child of Nature, all thy strains impart - A charm more lasting than the works of Art. - How oft in sweet delirium past the day, - When pond’ring o’er thy richly-varied lay, - To view the page with retrospective eye, - Of deeds long done, of years long glided by. 10 - - E’en now, methinks, I view, by Fancy’s pow’r, - Th’ unearthly scene of Melross’ mould’ring tow’r[1]! - Now, feel each vein, in icy horror bound; - Hark! the dire curse re-echoes o’er the ground[2]-- - The regal banquet[3], or the mazy dance, - Alternate court the raptures of my glance! - In lasting colours all, thy pencil drew, - And held their beauties to our wond’ring view. - The first of Phœbus’ vot’ries, thou, to show - How sweetly-wild the streams of Verse can flow; 20 - Thy dazzling genius, to the future age, - Shall shine resplendent in the Muse’s page: - For who, like thee, each pow’r of soul can bind, - And wake the dull strings of the folded mind? - Awful, or pensive, soften’d, wild, or gay, - Oh! who, like thee, can waft the sense away - In dreams divine?--and who so blind can be - E’er to prefer that wayward Bard[C] to thee, - Sublime in what?--in what!--Impiety! - Yes! when Oblivion o’er _his_ name at last, 30 - Her endless and impervious shroud shall cast, - Britons shall mark with proud, enraptur’d eye, - _Thine_ are the lays that shall not, cannot die. - - - - -ISMAEL; - -AN ORIENTAL POEM. - -In Two Cantos. - -_Written at Fifteen Years Old._ - - - “Let those who rule on Persia’s jewell’d throne, - “Be fam’d for love, and gentlest love alone, - “Or twine, like Abbas, full of fair renown, - “The lover’s myrtle with the warrior’s crown.” - Collins’s Oriental Eclogues. - - - - -ISMAEL. - -CANTO I. - - -I. - - ’Tis eve, and bright through Caymyr’s fragrant trees - Spread Ismael’s banners to the wanton breeze; - O’er martial camps, and trophied armour blue, - The rising moon-beams cast a silvery hue; - Lull’d is each ruder wind, so hush’d, and calm, - That not a leaf is mov’d on yonder palm, - Save by the soft, sweet breeze that now floats by, - Like the faint meltings of a lover’s sigh; - And the lone bulbul[4], on that beauteous tree, - Pours out her strains of purest melody; 10 - And many a flow’r, that shuns day’s fervid glow, - Puts forth its modest, fragrant beauties now; - And the high heav’ns smile so sublimely fair, - The eye might think to waft the spirit there; - While yonder clouds, that o’er the mountain roll’d, - Have caught the sun’s last parting glance of gold, - And seem to glory in their splendid hue, - Give to the heav’ns around a brighter blue. - But the rich beauties of that sacred still, - With war’s rude mingled sounds are suited ill 20 - With clang of arms, loud shouting, and rough swell - Of rousing trumpet, and of clashing zel[5]; - It breaks the balm divine, that breathes around, - That else might pour its healing in the wound - Of rack’d Despair, and Murder’s self awhile, - Of its soul-withering agony beguile. - - Yes! ’tis an eve, whose pensive, sweet control, - Thrills in soft transport through the care-worn soul, - And man would cry, “Is this a place, an hour - “For war’s dread tyrant to exert his power? 30 - “Perchance this scene, that now, so softly mild, - “Of love and sweetness seems the heav’nly child, - “May soon, alas! where now these flowrets glow, - “Red carnage pour, and echo sounds of wo! - “This far-extended camp, this glorious train - “That spread their numbers o’er green Caymyr’s plain, - “Vast as the sand, that loads the Persian shore, - “A day shall come,--and they shall be no more.” - - -II. - - Sees’t thou yon crescent gleaming from afar, - Like half-hid influence of some meteor star? 40 - It glows on Ismael’s tent; the sentry there, - With cautious step, keeps more than common care. - But say, why (lord of all this num’rous band, - The sword of conquest flaming in his hand) - He, he alone, of all his armies yield, - Is absent now from Caymyr’s tented field; - When mark’d by royal jealousy’s keen eye, - The Sage of Ardevil[6] was doom’d to die; - He, whose high soul e’er soar’d on sacred wings, - Above the toils of kingdoms and of kings. 50 - Three sons he left; and two their danger knew, - Of age to see them, and to fly them too. - The third, young Ismael, then of infant age, - His father’s friends convey’d from Rustam’s rage. - And flying hence, to Pyrchilim the Brave, - His sire’s illustrious friend, the child they gave: - And there he grew, and every virtuous grace - Enrich’d the noblest of Shich-Eidar’s race; - Talent and honour all his soul possest, - In form of scarcely human beauty drest. 60 - - In earliest youth, ere yet the toils of man, - Ambitious fire, and war’s alarms, began, - He lov’d a maid, the flow’r of Ava’s race; - No rose, no lily match’d that maiden’s face. - He sigh’d his love, and Selyma return’d - The chasten’d flame with which his bosom burn’d. - Oh! mid the beauties of those heav’nly shores, - Where all her charms, luxuriant Nature pours; - Not such cold charms, as, in the frozen North, - Few, and half ripe, her niggard hand puts forth; 70 - But such, as on Love’s warmest, brightest shrine - She strews around, all glowing, all divine. - Oh, it were sweet to mark those lovers’ bliss-- - Bliss far too great for such a world as this. - And they would sit beneath some spreading palm, - When mellowing eve put forth her fragrant balm, - And watch the setting sun’s last dazzling sheen, - Sink slow, as loth to quit so soft, so fair a scene. - And _he_ would cull fresh flowrets’ varied glow, - To form a wreath to deck her lovely brow, 80 - And twine his fingers in her locks of night, - As down her breast they stray’d, as envious of its white;-- - And, as they lay, their breathing lips would meet, - And hearts, that love first taught th’ ecstatic beat. - And oh, to part at night, the ling’ring pain, - And oh, the happiness to meet again. - Yes, love like their’s so rapturous, yet so pure, - Alas! could never, never long endure! - - -III. - - When Ismael learn’d, from whom he drew his breath, - Shich-Eidar’s virtues, and Shich-Eidar’s death, 90 - The rightful heir to Persia’s realms; his soul - With glory heav’d, disdaining Love’s control. - He left the maid, for Honour’s trumpet blew, - And straight to arms, and to revenge he flew. - Wrong’d by oppression, or impell’d by fame, - Around his standard, thousands daily came: - His sire’s old followers, joying to behold, - From their dead sage, arise a son so bold; - And many a chief, who lov’d in him to trace - A branch of Iran’s ancient royal race, 100 - And that an alien from his blood should fill - The throne of Usum Cassan, brook’d it ill. - Many, who view’d his talents and admir’d; - And more, by love of battle-spoils inspir’d; - Widen’d each day the miscellaneous band, - That swore to fight at Ismael’s command.-- - He fought, and conquer’d! to applauding fame - Victorious war had giv’n his youthful name. - Alvante reign’d upon the Persian throne, - In Tauris sway’d, what Ismael deem’d his own; 110 - Thither he march’d, resolv’d, at one great blow, - His hopes, his fortunes, and his life to throw. - - Tir’d with their rapid march, eve found his train - Encamp’d near Tauris, on soft Caymyr’s plain. - - In yon tall tow’r, just peeping from the grove, - Knew Ismael there, now dwelt his ancient love: - For Ava fell in battle, and the fair - Gave to her mother Amagilda’s care. - And she, for safety from the civil war, - Fled from her native halls and vallies far; 120 - And with this only child, the widow’d dame, - To that tall tow’r near stately Tauris, came. - Unknown to all, high Ismael mounts his horse, - And tow’rds his Selyma directs his course. - - -IV. - - What light is streaming through the darken’d gloom? - That radiance comes from Selyma’s lone room! - She, pensive, leaning on her iv’ry arm, - Hangs o’er her lattice, to imbibe the balm - That eve imparts, while Fancy’s pow’r pourtrays - The ling’ring charm, that hangs on other days. 130 - From her bright eyes, where Love had fix’d his throne, - The tears of mem’ry cours’d each other down, - And her white bosom heav’d so deep a sigh-- - ’Twas like a long, long strain of dying melody! - “And where art thou, companion of my youth? - “Where are thy vows of never-ceasing truth? - “’Tis in idea alone, alas! I trace - “The well-known features of that beaming face; - “Curs’d be the fatal, the dire-omen’d day, - “That glory tore thee, from mine arms, away! 140 - “Curs’d be that glory, which will lead thee on, - “Where ruthless Azrail’s thickest dangers throng; - “Yes, thou wilt die; or, living, die to me!” - ‘No, Selyma, I’m here, and live for thee.’ - Scarce had the virgin turn’d her wond’ring eyes, - Scarce giv’n the sound of fearful, glad surprise, - Then at her feet, reality has brought - The worshipp’d object of her ev’ry thought: - Swift o’er the senses of her ravish’d soul, - A temporary, kind oblivion stole; 150 - But soon reviv’d, her eager eyes survey - Him, whom she thought was ever snatch’d away. - “And dost thou live, and does mine eye once more, - “View, what it deem’d was ever, ever o’er?” - ‘Yes, Selyma, my first, my only love, - ‘I still am faithful as thy kindred dove. - ‘The _Chieftain Ismael_, heir to Persia’s throne, - ‘Comes, _humble Ismael’s_ vows of love to own; - ‘To lead thee forth, the fairest of the fair, - ‘My love, my glory, and my realms to share. 160 - ‘To morrow’s sun shall see my banners wave - ‘O’er Persia’s city, and Alvante’s grave. - ‘And thronging crowds shall hail my lovely bride, - ‘Rich Iran’s princess, and high Ismael’s pride!’ - - “Ah, Ismael, happier far my lot would be, - “To range our earlier scenes of love with thee! - “How would thine humble Selyma repine, - “That loathed state should keep her soul from thine. - “But why should selfish love attempt to mar - “The bright refulgence of thine happier star! 170 - “Whatever pleases Ismael, must be, - “O soul of Selyma, most dear to thee!” - Thus, in sweet converse, the fast-flying hours - Were, like some bridegroom’s path, o’erstrew’d with flow’rs. - At length remember’d Ismael, lest the morn - Should show his absence, he must now return. - And Selyma, awak’ning from her trance, - Sent all her soul to his in one fond glance. - “Ah, dost thou leave me, still, alas! unkind, - “Must Ismael go, and I remain behind? 180 - “Perhaps some arm, amid the bloody strife, - “May rear the blade against thy valued life;-- - “Oh, let me go with thee!--thine arm, my shield, - “Oh, let me share the perils of the field! - “What though I fall, what death can be so dear, - “To cast my dying eyes around, and see thee near.” - - High Ismael clasp’d the mourner to his breast, - And dried the falling torrents in his vest; - E’en though inur’d to war, to toil, to pain, - Though wont to gaze, unmoved, at heaps of slain, 190 - Yet, as he view’d the anguish of the maid, - Adown his cheek the pitying tear-drop stray’d. - ‘Farewell, another sun perchance may see, - ‘Thine Ismael return to love, and thee. - ‘How could that form of beauty learn to bear - ‘The din of camps, the toils of blood and war! - ‘Unman me not with this thy pleading wo-- - ‘Think, O my love, that Honour bids me go; - ‘And the same law that summons me away, - ‘Commands thee here, my Selyma, to stay;-- 200 - ‘Farewell.’-- - O! who that ne’er experienc’d it can tell - What meaning hangs on that sole word--farewell-- - The piercing, thrilling glance, the tender air, - That utter more than words can tell,--are there; - And the big tear that dims the sparkling eye; - And the mute language of th’ imploring sigh; - And that soft, ling’ring tone, that seems the sound - Of love himself, upon that word is found. - O ne’er, O ne’er can he, whose inmost soul - Has never felt it, tell its sweet control! 210 - - Selyma views him seize the snowy rein, - O’er his dark courser’s widely-streaming mane - (Like streaks of light in sable clouds) that hung, - Then on the back of mighty pride he sprung;-- - One parting look he casts!--with eagle speed, - Away, away, swift scours that gen’rous steed. - - -V. - - Now pensive midnight’s sable mantle falls - O’er stately Tauris’ proud imbattled walls; - And there dark Desolation’s fix’d his throne; - No sound is there, save sigh or plaintive groan:-- 220 - There drops the widow’s tear--there heaves the sigh - Of mourning sire--there sounds the orphan’s cry-- - And there dark Azrail[7] sits, and grimly waves - His sable pinions o’er a thousand graves; - Yet e’en his rugged soul is tir’d--his hand - Would fain let drop his all-destructive brand-- - Would gladly spread his deadly plumes, to fly - From such a scene of desolate misery. - - For when Alvante’s brother claim’d a throne, - Which none but Ismael had the right to own; 230 - The tyrant, wak’ning from inglorious ease, - Rush’d to the battle, like the northern breeze:-- - They fought! and young Moratcham’s lesser band - Fled in dismay before his brother’s hand. - But wo to Tauris’ chiefs!--for, there return’d, - With vengeful rage the haughty victor burn’d: - For they had help’d to place the daring brand, - Of red Rebellion, in Moratcham’s hand. - And, like some roaring whirlwind’s sweeping path, - That tears whole forests with its rabid wrath; 240 - Or, like some demon’s all-destroying form, - That wings the blast, and rides the gath’ring storm: - So fierce Alvante saw each coming day, - The luckless chiefs of Tauris sweep away. - - Whence is that piercing scream?--Oh, turn thine eye - To view that scene of more than misery! - Yon maiden lov’d yon lifeless youth; he fell - Beneath Alvante’s rage,--the rest too well - That scream has told;--wide floats her streaming hair, - As if to ask compassion of the air, 250 - And her dark eye-balls’ wilder’d, frenzied roll, - Tell all the pangs that rend her madd’ning soul. - She press’d her lips to his, in vain to breathe - Life into lips, where all is death beneath;-- - She feels his heart, for ever cold its glow, - And its high bound of rapture, silenc’d now! - And up she springs, and laughs--she laughs--but there - Burst forth the horrid laughter of Despair. - Vain, vain is reason, life against the stroke, - Dead on her love she falls--her faithful heart is broke. 260 - - -VI. - - See the pale tyrant in his lofty tow’rs, - In reckless revelry employ his hours; - No blood, though torrents round his dwelling roll, - Dims the forbidden[8] sparkle of the bowl. - His form gigantic, and commanding mien, - The eye of memory ne’er could quit, once seen. - Yet there, no foulness stain’d, no beauty shone, - If each stern feature were remark’d alone;-- - But all united, the tremendous whole 269 - Went, in an instant, through the awe-struck soul-- - All, all appear’d t’ announce--this, this must be - Almost a demon, or a deity. - - But lo! a messenger, whose reeking steed - Bears tacit witness to its rider’s speed, - Stops at the palace gate:--“Haste, haste, I bear - “Important tidings to the Sultan’s ear.” - Admittance granted, from his breast he drew - A scroll, and gave it to Alvante’s view:-- - The Sultan open’d it--his steady cheek - Was little wont his inward thoughts to speak; 280 - But, as he read, his varying hue exprest - That Fury’s tortures rack’d his raging breast;-- - Knit were his sable brows--his flashing eye - Shone like some orbit in a clouded sky;-- - Fierce tow’rd his giant form, his hand of war - Stretch’d down to grasp his pond’rous scymitar;-- - His sounding voice was like the thunder’s roll, - And all the hero swell’d his mighty soul:-- - “’Tis well; the rebel boy shall rue the hour - “When first he dar’d to tempt Alvante’s pow’r:-- - “Brav’d by a stripling! where is then this arm, - “At which whole squadrons fled with dire alarm? - “Am _I_ not king? and shall this Ismael dare - “To seize a crown which I alone should wear?-- - “No, never no! but hence--command Reylain - “To draw our troops before high Tauris’ plain.” - He ceas’d--but still his mutt’ring tongue, the fire - Which flash’d his eye, declar’d his inward ire. - While deepest passions o’er his senses came, - The monarch’s musing, and the hero’s flame, 300 - Mingled with many a pang that conscience brought, - To dampen courage, and t’ embitter thought. - - -VII. - - His fav’rite slave approach’d, the salem made, - And some low words in whisp’ring accent said-- - “’Tis right, them instant to our presence bring,” - With hasty tone replied the haughty king. - The doors of polish’d cedar open flew, - And gave a warrior legion to the view; - While, in the midst, fast bound in iron bands, - A warlike youth, with scorn indignant, stands: 310 - The simply-splendid garments that he wore, - Some blast of battle-storm had lately tore, - And the rich gold blush’d deep in harden’d gore; - Yet his bright face and form divine, where love - And war’s fierce monarch for the mastery strove, - Seem’d ’mid soil’d garb and fett’ring chains t’ exclaim, - “Behold a son of Conquest and of Fame.” - - He that had seen his eye of azure fair, - (Tint in those darkly-glowing climes so rare,) - And the soft cygnet down, that now began 320 - His cheek to blossom, and to promise man, - And a sweet something o’er it spread--might trace - A woman’s softness in that god-like face. - But, had he seen the almost burning flame - That o’er his eye, when rous’d by wrath or fame, - Flash’d (like the lightning hurl’d from heav’nly arm, - When hush’d each wind, on ocean’s azure calm), - And, with a blaze that pierc’d the bosom’s core, - Made it still fiercer from the peace before: - And, had he mark’d the form, the tow’ring crest, 330 - The gait, that spurn’d the vile earth which it prest, - Oh! he would cry,--“Sure Glory’s charms alone - “Can call this youth of mightiness her own.” - As glares some lion on his num’rous foe; - So here and there bright flash’d his eye-ball’s glow: - Upon the guards who held him, first it beam’d; - Then to the Sultan’s lofty form it gleam’d: - Alvante met the fire with steady eye, - Which darted back the flame of majesty, 339 - Then, turning to the guards,--“Ye’ve speeded well, - “Where met ye this young warrior?--Sadi, tell.”-- - With lowly salem, the time-serving man, - Pimp to his master’s vices, thus began:-- - - -VIII. - - “Sultan of Persia, whose wide-spreading sway, - “With trembling awe an universe obey, - “List to thine humble slave!--As with this band - “I view’d afar green Caymyr’s fragrant land, - “And saw with horror, on its flow’ry plain, - “The rebel Ismael’s far-extending train, - “We met this youth; and on his breast the star, 350 - “Which marks the chiefs of Ismael’s impious war: - “We rush upon him!--in thy name command - “To yield his person to his Sultan’s band. - “No answer made he!--spurr’d his Arab horse, - “Bar’d his keen blade!--on us his driving course - “He dash’d impetuous;--we around him close, - “And pour on every side an iron show’r of blows. - “But he, his flashing sabre sweeping round, - “Roll’d four brave Moslems on the verdant ground: - “Then broke his weapon; or, perchance, his might - “Had brought him safely through th’ unequal fight. - - “Then, as on some fair tree descends the storm, - “So rush’d our valiant soldiers on his form. - “But, when life hung upon that slender thread, - “I rear’d my sabre o’er his fenceless head: - “For I admir’d his courage, and I thought, - “If thus for Ismael he so bravely fought, - “His martial prowess, and his weighty hand, - “Might prove some succour to our Sultan’s band.” - - He ceas’d:--Alvante, from his brows of pride, 370 - With wond’ring glance the youthful hero ey’d; - “What say’st thou, slave,” began the low’ring king; - ‘Slave, in thy teeth the dastard word I fling,’ - Exclaim’d the youth; ‘no crouching craven I; - ‘Brave as thou art, of name perhaps as high! - ‘Wert thou and I, upon some desert place, - ‘Where, save our own, was never human trace, - ‘This arm perchance might teach thee, to thy wo, - ‘That it could deal no slave’s ignoble blow.’ - - In patient silence stern Alvante heard 380 - The youthful stranger’s fierce defying word; - Again with darkling eye he scann’d him o’er, - And certain grew the doubts he had before; - Then beam’d his joy in that dark-glowing hue, - That instant o’er his haughty features grew; - His hand half-drew the sabre from his side; - “Now, by my faith, ’tis Ismael’s self,” he cried: - “Prophet, I thank thee, that this glorious hour, - “My only dread is plac’d within my pow’r. 389 - “Guards, instant bring the bow-string--he shall die; - “His dying agonies shall glut mine eye: - “No, hold--the traitor shall not yield his breath - “By pang so short, and by so mild a death: - “Convey him to the darkest dungeon!--there - “Leave him, to nurse the horrors of despair, - “Whilst we devise some torture dire and new, - “Dreadful as man e’er felt, or demon knew; - “That, ere the chariot of the sun shall roll, - “Shall rack his form, and madden all his soul.” - - With glance disdainful, and majestic pride, 400 - The tyrant’s frowns high Ismael scornful ey’d. - Then calmly turn’d away, and greater far - Than when in all the pomps of prosp’rous war, - Leaving, with footsteps firm, the regal room, - The guards he follow’d to his dungeon’s gloom. - - -END OF CANTO I. - - - - -ISMAEL. - -CANTO II. - - - “Let those who rule on Persia’s jewell’d throne, - “Be fam’d for love, and gentlest love alone, - “Or twine, like Abbas, full of fair renown, - “The lover’s myrtle with the warrior’s crown.” - Collins’s Oriental Eclogues. - - - - -ISMAEL. - -CANTO II. - - -I. - - ‘Another hour is fled;--a few, few more, - ‘And life, and all its sweets, are ever o’er; - “’Tis hard in youth’s fair blossom to decay, - ‘And, like the dreams of midnight, pass away: - ‘To go--we scarce know where,--and, as the wind, - ‘To leave, alas! no ling’ring trace behind! - - ‘This present sun upon my glory glow’d!-- - ‘The next shall light me to my last abode! - ‘Farewell, ye scenes of youth, whose brightning hue - ‘Gave hopes and joys, so empty to my view! 10 - ‘Farewell, those hopes and joys!--thou bubble, Fame, - ‘Farewell! what art thou?--nothing but a name. - ‘Yet none, O none of these, once tinted high - ‘From this cold breast, can wring a single sigh, - ‘And never soul, save _one_, this heart of care - ‘Would loath for ever from its bonds to tear; - ‘But ah! that _one_, when thoughts of her arise, - ‘They pour my melting spirit from mine eyes. - ‘But this unmans me!--cease, thou ruthless thought, - ‘With woman’s softness, woman’s feeling fraught!’ 20 - - Thus Ismael sigh’d, as, on his stony bed, - In dungeon mirk, he lean’d his aching head, - And mem’ry pond’ring o’er the former day, - Recall’d dear cherished scenes, far, far away! - - -II. - - Hark, on the ear the roughly-sullen jar - Creaks harshly hoarse, of op’ning bolt and bar; - And Ismael started up, and turn’d his eye - To gaze on black expanse of vacancy; - And thought,--“’Tis morn, the tyrant’s abject train - ‘Are come to drag me to a death of pain. 30 - ’Tis well!--I am prepar’d--the fiend shall find - ‘That Ismael’s bosom holds no vulgar mind.’ - Back on its pond’rous hinge the huge door flew, - And the grim gaoler met the pris’ner’s view. - - High Ismael gaz’d in sullen, scornful mood, - On him (so whisper’d thought) the man of blood? - But when he saw the gaoler soft replace - The dungeon door, and then with noiseless pace - Steal where he lay; and, by the lamp he brought, - A glimm’ring glance of steely dagger caught; 40 - And mark’d him draw his cloke around, and creep - Like some assassin murd’ring infant sleep, - A pang of bootless rage, of shiv’ring chill, - Cross’d his proud soul with agonising thrill:-- - ‘What, here shall Ismael yield a life so brave, - ‘To death so craven, by so base a slave; - ‘And not a limb to move?’ The bursting fire - Glar’d in his starting eye; in frantic ire, - With madd’ning rage, he shook, he gnaw’d the chain, - Dash’d, roll’d his form!--but each attempt was vain! - The last soul-piercing pang of rending life, 51 - Could never match that moment’s harrowing strife! - - With finger rais’d to lip, with voice so drown’d, - That list’ning ear could scarcely catch the sound, - “Hush, hush,” the gaoler cried; “be still, and see, - Thy servant comes to set his Sultan free.” - Scarce had he said, when Ismael’s wond’ring eye - Saw at his feet the prostrate gaoler lie. - And heard, with wilder’d joy, the grateful sound - Of clinking fetters clashing on the ground; 60 - And raptur’d felt each limb of might again, - Free as the air that wantons o’er the main: - ‘O say what means all this’--“Hush, hush, my lord, - “The life of both hangs on a single word. - “This is no time for talk!--these garments take, - “Wrap them around you close!--the salem make - “If aught accost you; but, mind, no reply, - “Your part a mute, be silent, or you die! - “But, more for safety, take this sword; ’twill be - “Of use in peril--now then, follow me.” 70 - All this strange scene had pass’d so swift, to seem - To Ismael like th’ adventures of a dream; - But, when his hand the pond’rous sabre prest, - He felt his soul high heaving in his breast; - And courage whisper’d, ‘If I fall, my fate - Shall, like my life, be gloriously great.’ - - Meanwhile the gaoler, cautious as before, - Roll’d on its massy hinge, and barr’d the dungeon door; - Then down a mirky passage pacing slow, - They left that scene of horror and of wo. 80 - - -III. - - The hotly-beaming orb of noon-day’s sky, - Illum’d green Caymyr with his golden eye, - And cast a mellowing splendour, warm and bright, - O’er many a scene of beauty and delight. - Here the soft waters gliding, like the hours, - Through balmy banks of variegated flow’rs; - And here the camp, and here the martial train, - That, like himself, cast lustre on the plain: - And there, o’er yon wide hill, that grove of trees, - That fling their fragrance t’ th’ enamour’d breeze; 90 - While where they leave an op’ning, give to view - Some tow’r, or temple, proudly frowning through:-- - All seem’d as if in Union’s silken bands, - Young Love, and glorious War, had met to join their hands. - - But through that num’rous army, rude commotion - Was like the storm that ruffles o’er the ocean; - Though louder, wilder was the mingled sound - Of thousand tongues that echoed o’er the ground; - The whisper’d murder, or the bolder cry - Of stern upbraiding, or of mutiny. 100 - - And whence is this?--Their youthful chief alone - Is gone! but when--or where--to all unknown. - His tent is search’d, that night was pass’d not there, - His couch untouch’d, his absent steed, declare: - Throughout the camp, throughout the martial train, - They seek high Ismael,--but they seek in vain. - - In anger stern, the chiefs together came, - Suspicion black’ning o’er their leader’s name. - In speaking silence, each glanc’d round on each, - All loath alike to be the first in speech 110 - To vent his wrath.--At length, each rolling eye - Is turn’d on one, who stands indignant by: - Bold was that chief, through all that conq’ring band - Not one surpassed the prowess of his hand. - But fierce in temper, “turbulent in tongue,” - He lov’d to lead the factions of the throng: - Abbas, his name. Rage sparkling in his eyes, - He mark’d the chiefs, and thus the warrior cries;-- - “Say, is it meet, that here, while squadrons stand - “To fight and conquer at a boy’s command; 120 - “He, he the cause, the leader of the fray, - “Is gone in secret, fled, perchance, away? - “Say, is it meet, that we, whose rank and fame, - “Would some respect from mightier chieftains claim; - “Should thus be treated with contemptuous scorn; - “By Mahomet, ’tis no longer to be borne! - “Nor shall ye bear it! rouse, and let us own - “This wretch unworthy of so great a throne.” - Thus far he said, when to the listening heav’n - A long, loud shout of “Ismael! Ismael” ’s given. 130 - All that wide camp re-echoed with the name, - So high in glory, and so dear to fame. - And now towards the chieftain’s ample tent, - The clanging sounds of scouring steed are bent. - And each on each the assembled leaders gaze, - Fix’d to their stations in profound amaze. - - -IV. - - And Ismael enter’d on that busy scene, - With bearing princely, and with brow serene; - Saluting all around with regal grace, - He took his station in the vacant place. 140 - Straight to the earth, was bent each look of shame; - Straight o’er each cheek, the tingling colour came; - So motionless was ev’ry chieftain there, - That scarce a breathing died upon the car. - - High Ismael rose!--in language short and cold, - Began th’ adventures of the night t’ unfold. - _The cause of all_, alone forbears to tell, - _His seeking her_ his bosom lov’d so well. - - Nor had he finished his narration brief, - Ere the fierce rage of Abbas, haughty chief! 150 - That rage, which scarce had been restrain’d till now, - Burst like the flamings of red Ætna’s brow:-- - “Go hence, thou liar! hence, thou smooth-tongued youth! - “To other ears go take thy tale of truth, - “For here ’tis not believ’d! Yet grant it true, - “What mighty aim could Ismael have in view, - “To leave his army on the very night - “Before he meant to lead it to the fight? - “Why should that gaoler too, in spite of danger - “Of his own life, free thee, to him a stranger? 160 - “And though I grant thy courser’s speed from here, - “In a few hours to Tauris’ walls, might bear, - “Yet, as that steed was captur’d, or was slain - “In combat with Alvante’s troops, again, - “How in so short a time did’st thou return, - “For when thou quitted thence, ’twas near the morn? - - “Think’st thou, that Persia’s mightier sons will be - “The dupes of falsehood, and the slaves of thee? - “Perish the thought; this arm shall ne’er permit - “So base a wretch on Iran’s throne to sit. 170 - “’Tis my resolve!”--“And mine! and mine!” was sent - From ev’ry quarter of the crowded tent: - As up the chieftains rose, the sudden glare - Of hundred sabres glimmer’d in the air. - ‘And, traitor, this is mine,’ high Ismael cries, - Death on his brow, and fury in his eyes; - As flash’d his weapon forth, and through the head - Of Abbas, down e’en to the mouth it sped. - He fell:--o’er Ismael’s eye th’ expression came - Of pitying softness, conq’ring wrathful flame: 180 - He dropt the blade,--he sigh’d,--for he could glow - In soft compassion o’er a fallen foe. - - He turn’d away--his eye-ball’s fire renew’d, - As red it roll’d where, half-repentant, stood - The low’ring chiefs amaz’d--the same wild band, - As when they first uprose, in look and stand. - The garb flung back, the haughty lips apart, - The voice just issuing from the swelling heart, - The foot advanc’d in menace, and the sword - High rear’d, to wreak the fury of its lord. 190 - They seem’d so still, and yet that still spoke more - Than thousand voices mix’d in loud uproar. - - -V. - - - And Ismael cast on all his dark’ning eye, - That beam’d with stern and conscious dignity, - And thus he said,--‘It boots not Ismael, here - ‘In length of words his slighted fame to clear. - ‘But if, to prove mine honour, you are bent, - ‘My brave deliverer waits without the tent; - ‘Examine him or not, as suits you best, - ‘For truth, like gold, is purer from the test. 200 - ‘To use this traitor’s words, who, on the floor - ‘Sends out his treason on his ebbing gore, - ‘“Why should that gaoler too, in spite of danger - ‘“To his own life, free me, to him a stranger?” - “’Tis easy answer’d:--In the hostile strife, - ‘Some months ago, this arm had sav’d his life, - ‘Albeit a valiant foe, and set him free, - ‘Once more to taste the sweets of liberty: - ‘Since then Alvante rais’d him to the pow’r, - ‘Chief gaoler to the royal dungeon tow’r: 210 - ‘He knew me, and on Gratitude’s fair shrine - ‘Repaid the life I gave--by saving mine. - - ‘Rude Abbas ask’d again, how, with such speed - ‘I here return’d, unaided by my steed. - ‘I had began t’ explain it--when the force - ‘Of his rash fury broke on my discourse. - ‘We had not long left Tauris, when the birth - ‘Of yonder sun began to wake the earth, - ‘And nature open’d all her stores of bliss, - ‘On hill and vale, to meet his golden kiss. 220 - ‘When, as we swift strode on, we turn’d our eye - ‘On two young horsemen slowly riding by; - ‘What should be done?--we wanted steeds--and now - ‘Fate in our way these travellers seem’d to throw: - ‘We hasten’d to them--mildly proffer’d gold - ‘To yield their steeds--they were not to be sold: - ‘We seiz’d the reins--we bar’d our blades--and swore - ‘That we would buy them with their master’s gore: - ‘They heard our threaft’nings, and they mark’d our pow’rs, - ‘The caitiffs trembled--and the steeds were ours. 230 - ‘Scarce had we mounted, ere the distant sound - ‘Of clanking horse-treads rush’d along the ground. - ‘Away we speed--a neighbouring hill we gain-- - ‘We look behind--we view Alvante’s train - ‘In hot pursuance:--like the winged wind, - ‘Off, off we scour, and leave them far behind, - ‘And noon has view’d us here arrive, t’ assuage - ‘The clam’rous treason of suspicious rage. - - ‘But now, away; ere evening’s shadows fall, - ‘Our bands shall revel in Alvante’s hall. 240 - ‘This is the moment of propitious fate; - ‘Alvante’s name is held in general hate: - ‘At our approach the gates shall open fly, - ‘And thou art all our own, O Victory!’ - He ceas’d: on every chieftain’s war-worn face, - Of former fury vanish’d every trace; - On each stern brow, swart cheek, and lofty mien, - Nought but the hope of coming fame is seen. - As their dark eyes, with admiration warm, - Glanc’d on their leader’s soul-inspiring form, 250 - As high it tower’d, a something like divine, - A heav’n-born ray around it seem’d to shine; - His kindling soul flash’d glory from his eyes, - And to his voice, that gleam of enterprise - Had giv’n a tone prophetic; as it roll’d, - He seem’d a being of immortal mould. - And loud they cry, as high is rear’d each sword, - “Long live great Ismael, Persia’s mighty lord.” - Forth from the tent then rush’d the warrior-train, - And here, and there, disperse along the plain; 260 - Swift sink the tents, the bands in many a throng, - Arm,--form their deep’ning squares,--and sweep along. - - -VI. - - Commotion hovers with her dark wide wings, - O’er Persia’s stately city; there she brings - Her sister, wild Amaze; each dweller’s soul - There, owns those kindred demons’ joint control. - On every form, on every busy mien, - Nought but one mixt expression there was seen; - But that expression told of all the train - Of throbbing passions that usurp the brain. 270 - There, you might trace young joy, but also there - Spoke something like the reign of fear, of care, - Of wonder, of confusion: sight and speech, - Like freezing streams, seem’d half bound up in each. - - As they pour’d from their houses, like the bees - That leave their hives, and throng the fragrant trees, - The only sound that fell upon the ear, - Was (faintly mutter’d) “Ismael is near!” - ’Till, as the news gain’d ground, the clamours rise, - And “Ismael! Ismael!” rend the list’ning skies. 280 - Some fling the high gates open--some loud cry, - “Perish the proud Alvante;” while they fly - To seek the palace, and the court to force, - And send th’ usurper on his long, last course. - - The gen’ral shouts, the long and deaf’ning din, - Alvante heard, his stately halls within: - He started up in wonder and alarm; - The flashing sabre found his giant arm. - “Hark! hark! methought I heard that hated name, - “What, is it Ismael?--hark! again--the same.” 290 - Then his friend Muly rush’d within that room, - Trembling his form, and pale as cygnet’s plume - His vet’ran cheek:--‘Fly, fly, ere yet too late, - ‘The clam’rous throng are at the palace gate; - ‘Thine head they swear’--(hark, hark, again that roar!)-- - ‘Shall pay for all the streams of kindred gore - ‘Thou’st caus’d to flow; in vain we’ve tried t’assuag - ‘Their treasonous tumults, and their guilty rage. - ‘They cry that Ismael’s bands are sweeping now, - ‘In swift procession, o’er yon mountain’s brow. 300 - ‘O fly, O fly to shield thy regal form, - ’Till lull’d the beating dangers of the storm,-- - ‘Haste to Armenia, that e’er loyal land - ‘Will yield my sultan many a mighty band; - ‘Haste, haste, O haste!’--“And whither should I fly? - “Here in his courts must king Alvante die; - “King am I now, and Death will lose his sting, - “E’en ’mid his grasp, to think I die a king.” - ‘And think’st thou, if thou tarriest here, thy fate - ‘Will be in all the royalty of state? 310 - ‘That thou’lt fall nobly? No, a slave thou’lt die, - ‘Brought out to grace thy victor’s victory; - ‘To feast his minions with thy dying wo; - ‘(Hark, hark, the rebels burst the gates below!) - ‘This door will lead us hence,--away, away, - ‘Lost is your life, your kingdom, if you stay! - ‘But hold!--I have it!--cast these garments on, - ‘Muffle your face, and mingle with the throng; - ‘Then unperceiv’d escape, and haste to gain - ‘The troops of conquest in Armenia’s plain; 320 - ‘But now away.’ Though more than mortal brave, - A natural wish his life, his realms to save, - Alvante felt. If tarrying here, he knew - That he must die, and die ignobly too. - If for awhile he went, Armenia might, - By fortune aided, place him in his right. - - He instinctively clasp’d the muffling vest - In many a fold around his face and breast, - And both are now disguis’d! one moment more, - And they have past yon gold-enamell’d door, 330 - And mingled with the throng--and to the sky, - Now, they have join’d the gen’ral clam’rous cry. - A leader mark’d their garb--their mien--their tone-- - Again he turn’d to view them--they are gone. - - -VII. - - By Tauris’ walls, along the delving plain, - Swift drive young Ismael’s far-extending train; - On yonder hill, has paus’d the setting sun, - To mark their glories ere his race be run, - And loves his splendour o’er their arms to cast, - Type of their fame, ere yet that splendour’s past; 340 - Forth from the walls, like billows on the deep, - In one vast mass the joyous numbers sweep. - - “Welcome, great Chief! welcome, the golden hour, - “That frees us from the tyger-tyrant’s pow’r; - “Welcome, O welcome; see our gates are riv’n, - “T’ admit, to welcome thee, O son of heav’n. - “O let us shout, O let us gladly sing, - “Long life to Ismael, glory to our King!” - - Upon a milk-white steed, high Ismael rode, - That pranc’d exulting in his mighty load; 350 - And that great warrior, cast in Beauty’s mould, - Blaz’d like a god-head in his arms of gold. - From hill, from vale, around, and from afar, - Roll’d the loud music of tremendous war; - The awful gong, the trumpet’s brazen tone, - And the rough thunder of the tymbalon, - The rude, yet rousing clashings of the zel, - The hollow blast of Süankos’ shell. - While, like some meteor rising here and there, - The wide, bright banners wanton’d in the air. 360 - Thus, while their welcome path, on every side, - All Tauris hails, full royally they ride; - And, ’mid the clamours of th’ admiring crowd, - That hail th’ auspicious march; yon palace proud - (With not a drop of blood upon his sword,) - Receives another, and a mightier lord. - - -VIII. - - Mark’st thou yon banners waving in the gale? - Mark’st thou yon troops, that over hill and vale - Their martial numbers pour; and, spreading far, - Now thirst impatient for the coming war? 370 - And mark’st thou, fiercely, there, against them bent, - Yon wide, and long, and glorious armament? - And mark’st thou too that chief, whose brows appear - Like sable clouds, that in night’s dark’ning sphere - Hang o’er two blazing stars; whose awful form, - Is as some tow’r amid the whelming storm; - Whose all-defying mien, whose stern, wild air, - Luxuriant Fancy might perhaps compare - To angel Eblis, when rebellious driv’n, - Destruction breathing, from the courts of heav’n? 380 - Who is that warrior?--who!--and can that mien - Be e’er forgotten, when once known, once seen? - It is Alvante!--Bulwark of the fight, - Whose sword is vengeance, and whose arm is might. - Who’d safe arrived, with his faithful friend, - His care-beguiler, to Armenia’s land; - And with Moratcham, whom he had subdued, - His rebel brother, he his league renew’d. - ’Twere strange to mark their meeting, how they came, - Souls fierce as sparkles in the rising flame. 390 - How loth to speak the first: each eye-ball’s swell - Beam’d on the earth, where scarce it e’er had fell - Before; how sullen, like a wayward child, - They sooth’d, they soften’d, and they reconcil’d. - But well I ween, that spirits proud and strong - Like theirs, can never intermingle long. - And even now they half-reluctant go, - Hand link’d in hand, against a mutual foe, - To wage a mutual war.--They part awhile, - Moratcham hast’ning to Assyria’s soil, 400 - Fresh troops to raise; while to Armenia’s skies, - In warlike pride, Alvante’s banners rise, - And numbers daily to those banners came, - Or led by plunder, or arous’d by fame. - - Meantime young Ismael hears the dread alarms, - Of his great enemy’s increasing arms. - Again his standard on the breezes burst; - Again his bands, in ancient victories nurst, - He wakes; and, as the Simoom’s fiery breath, - That wafts the kiss of pestilential death; 410 - Fate-bearing Ismael, glorying in his might, - Destruction’s sabre bar’d, and rush to meet the fight. - - From wide Assyria, young Moratcham led - A martial squadron to his brother’s aid; - But Ismael, with his courage, mingling still - The sage’s prudence and the leader’s skill, - Prevents their joining; and now hastes to dare - Th’ enraged Alvante to the scenes of war: - And that bold chief determines, with this band, - Cull’d from the bravest of Armenia’s land, 420 - Upon the fight to set his fortunes all, - A king to conquer, or a king to fall. - - But lo, the thick’ning masses move, and slow - Advance in order, ’gainst th’ advancing foe. - And hark, that crash!--The mingling hosts engage, - Blood streams, and armour clangs, and all is war and rage; - Man combats man, on hero hero dies, - Glares sword on sword, and ring the battle cries. - High in the air the hov’ring vultures soar, - And scream impatient for their feast of gore. 430 - On the shock’d earth the slaughter’d numbers roll, - And glory burns in every warrior’s soul; - The battle-fields, like cauldrons, fiercely boil, - And Azrail claps his iron wings and claims the soil. - Tremendous is that scene of carnage fell, - No mortal tongue its horrors e’er can tell! - - As, when on some thick forest’s lofty head, - From high, some fierce autumnal blast is sped, - Drives through the leafy throng its rabid way, - And shakes their thousand branches with dismay; 440 - The leaves, the boughs, the trees themselves around - Are swept away, and scatter’d on the ground: - So stern Alvante, with resistless might, - Cleaves his red pathway through the groves of fight. - War-loving Azrail, Death’s tremendous lord, - Frowns on his crest, and hovers on his sword. - Bath’d in red streams of hostile gore, where’er - Tow’rs his proud form, confusion wild is there. - - His bands scarce think him mortal, and, inspir’d - By his example, think that God has fir’d 450 - Their swelling breasts; and, like the billowy deep, - Fierce (led by him) against the foe they sweep. - They thin the hostile ranks, who, in dismay, - In more than fear, half-routed, yield them way. - Then, in that moment, when Alvante’s eye - Saw the bright beams of coming victory; - When, in idea, his hand has grasp’d again - With raptur’d joy, the throne of Iran: then, - Then, in that moment of eventful strife, - Worth a whole age of common, passive life; 460 - Before Alvante’s way, at headlong speed, - A youthful chief has spurr’d his snowy steed. - Each combatant has rous’d him from the fight, - Awhile to gaze on that high form of might. - But Iran’s genius, as aloft she flew, - Hung back, and trembled at the dangerous view: - For, in that god-like youth, she marks too well - Her last, lone hope, her favour’d Ismael. - ‘Come on,’ he cries, ‘proud tyrant; come, and know - ‘That thou wilt combat with no vulgar foe; 470 - ‘Use thy whole art and strength; for I am he, - ‘Worthy alone, to fight--to conquer thee. - ‘I come arm’d in my bleeding country’s might! - “’Tis Ismael, chief, who wooes thee to the fight!’ - Alvante answered not, but in the flame - That flash’d his brow, and glar’d his eye-balls, came - A dreadful something, eager to destroy, - An horrid energy, a demon joy. - So high he rear’d his blade, it seem’d that fate - Upon one blow from that dread arm would wait. 480 - But Ismael’s courser, practis’d in the war, - Swerv’d, and the sabre cut the yielding air. - Not so did Ismael’s blade, though broke its force, - Through the steel corselet it has ta’en its course, - And gash’d full sore:--and now the strokes so fast - From either arm, to either form are past, - That scarce the eye-ball’s searching glance can know, - Where giv’n, where parried, or receiv’d the blow; - Save by the sparks that from their armour flash’d, - Save by the gore, that from the corselets gash’d, 490 - Pour’d in long streams; the drops upon the plain - Fell from their brows, like pattering of rain: - And every stroke was aim’d full strong and true, - For each great chieftain ’mid the combat knew, - That all the war was on a single hand, - That Iran’s empire hung upon his brand. - - A foe so dread, Alvante never yet - In conflict’s thickest walks of heroes met; - And ne’er had Ismael, mid th’ embattled throng, - Known eye so keen, and arm so swift and strong. 500 - Each stroke, that like the flash of lightning past, - Seem’d fiercer, heavier, mightier than the last; - Till Ismael felt his youthful arm at length, - Weaken its blows, and slacken in its strength; - While stern Alvante, like some massy tow’r, - Still seem’d to combat with the prime of pow’r: - But Ismael hop’d one blow, that should contain - All his remaining strength, should smite him on the plain. - - He nerv’d his arm, he rear’d it high in air, - Then downwards drove the pondrous scymitar; 510 - Alvante’s sword receiv’d that dreadful stroke,-- - And Ismael’s treach’rous blade snapp’d short, and broke. - - Over Alvante’s face appear’d to play - A wild ecstatic joy, a dreadful ray; - And o’er his eye’s dark field of fierceness flew - A something, O! too horrible to view! - “Now, now thine hour is come,” he inly said, - And high in air, he rear’d his shining blade. - - Then Persia’s Genius, as she soar’d on high, - Trembled with fear, at Ismael’s death so nigh. 520 - Among the darts, that cleave the airy tides, - She singles one, and to Alvante guides: - Then in that moment, through his bending head, - When thund’ring down his massy blade, it sped. - Th’ exulting speech has fainted from his tongue, - From his numb’d hand down dropt the sword and rung - Useless on earth; the swarthy colour flies, - The field recedes upon his glazing eyes, - And Azrail’s cold tremendous shades around him rise. - He fell! still Ismael held his stifled breath, 530 - Still waiting for the dire approach of death; - And, though he saw him fall, yet still he deem’d - ’Twas not reality, but that he dream’d. - At length he thought the coming stroke of fate, - From fierce Alvante, linger’d long and late: - He lifts his eyes--he sees him not--again, - Surpris’d, he drops them on the purple plain, - And there he views him!--Oh! how chang’d his state! - That arm, so dread--how cold, inanimate! - Then, then he felt it all! then, then it came 540 - Swiftly upon him, like the glance of flame: - He bent his body o’er his steed, his hand - Seiz’d from the earth, his enemy’s red brand; - Then lifts his voice, and dashes mid the crowd, - ‘Alla! il Alla!’ shouting, long and loud. - New strength has nerv’d his weaken’d arm; where’er - It rises, death and destiny are there. - His troops have caught his fire, and to the heav’n, - ‘Alla! il Alla! and his Ismael!’ ‘s given. - On, on they drive:--in thunder-struck dismay, 550 - On every side Alvante’s troops give way; - They fly tumultuous, or, around the plain, - By pow’rs resistless, fall in heaps of slain. - - -X. - - The setting sun his parting beams has shed - On many a pile of dying, and of dead; - Emblem of life! like his last dying ray, - Thousands have seen the closing of their day; - Have, when he sunk beneath yon hill, and fir’d - The plains beneath, with mellowing blaze--expired. - There, by yon palm, that waves its arms on high, 560 - A youthful chief has laid him down to die; - His mother’s last, lone hope, her joy, her pride: - Three other sons, by war’s o’erwhelming tide, - Had long been swept away: and he, now gasping here, - Was left alone, her aged breast to cheer. - And must he also die? in life’s gay morn, - And leave her wretched (like a wreck forlorn): - And she now sits at home; and thinks the while, - That fate, propitious, on his arms will smile; - That glory’s hand will gild his youthful name, 570 - With laurels gather’d in the field of fame. - How fruitless all her cares--her hopes how vain-- - He ne’er will bless her widow’d sight again! - From his cold heart fast ebb the torrents red, - Down sinks his arm, he’s dying!--ah! he’s dead! - - And there, by yonder shelt’ring hill, is laid - Expiring Seyd, the once-fam’d Renegade. - From his own country banished; all he lov’d - Were left behind, and hither he had rov’d. - Then he was young, and fate might have in store, 580 - To cheer the future, many a blessing more: - But, in one fatal hour, of sense bereft, - All, all was withered--for his God he left! - Black were his ringlets then, they now are grey; - Yet ne’er could mem’ry quit that dreadful day; - He rush’d to battle, glory met him there, - For in Seyd’s bosom, courage was despair. - Years roll’d away, and found him still the same, - Deep sunk in guilt, yet conscious of his shame; - And now, alas! that guilt has brought him here, 590 - Without a friend his dying hour to cheer; - Upon the past he turns his desperate eye, - A long, long scene of guilt and infamy; - Upon the future,--no!--he does not dare - To cast a look on what awaits him there; - And fain he’d lift his thoughts to heav’n, and fain - Would pray once more; to him th’ attempt is vain: - He rears him up, towards his native shore - He rolls his eye;--peace,--he can gaze no more. - - -XI. - - And Ismael dropp’d the blade, and wav’d his hand, 600 - From the pursuit to stay his conq’ring band. - ‘Hold, hold, my friends; no longer drive the blow - ‘Against a vanquish’d, and unworthy foe: - ‘Hold, and remember mercy’s soft control - ‘Should e’er be dearest to a hero’s soul. - ‘Cease the pursuit: and haste to search the field, - ‘Haste to the wounded, every help to yield; - ‘Nor to _our_ bands _alone_, but also those - ‘Whom fate or chance have number’d with our foes: - ‘And then, to mighty Alla let us give 610 - ‘The debt of gratitude, that still we live-- - ‘That conquest’s ours: while coming night shall steep - ‘The toils of slaughter in the sweets of sleep. - ‘Although to-morrow’s dawning sun must see - ‘Us march again to war and victory; - ‘Must mark us go to wield the conq’ring brand - ‘Against Moratcham’s far-inferior band, - ‘To place me on my glorious grandsire’s throne, - ‘And then--O Selyma, I’m all thine own!’ - - - - -NOTES - -ON CANTO I. - - -Stanza I. - - “_Spread Ismael’s banners to the wanton breeze._” - -For the better understanding of several passages in this Poem, I will -here subjoin a short account of the claims of my hero, Ismael, to the -throne of Persia, and a brief history of his life. - -Usum Cassan, king of Persia, gave his daughter, Martha, in marriage to -Shich-Eidar, a certain sage, famous for a new sect of religion, and for -extraordinary piety and virtue. - -At Usum Cassan’s death, he was succeeded by his son Jacup, but he being -murdered by his wife, Julaver, a man of high rank, and a distant -relation to him, seized the throne, and dying, after three years, was -succeeded by Baysinger, and at his death, the crown came to a young -nobleman named Rustam. - -Though no one had a better (nor indeed so good a) right to the kingdom -of Persia as Shich-Eidar, on account of his marriage with Usum Cassan’s -daughter, yet his birth being inferior to those who had hitherto -reigned, and being so entirely absorbed in the care of religion, and the -sweets of retirement; during the sway of the three preceding kings, -there was not even any mention of him, or his pretensions. But Rustam -was alarmed at the numbers who daily flocked to Shich-Eidar, to embrace -his religious principles, and he was afraid of the reverence which the -Persians paid to his high virtues and brilliant talents, and of their -secret attachment to the race of Usum Cassan; he therefore resolved to -rid himself of so formidable an object for his fears, and employed -assassins, who murdered the unfortunate sage at his residence in -Ardevil. But Rustam was afterwards slain in his turn by Achmet, who is -said _to have been favoured by the king’s own mother, and aided by her -in the death of her son_. - -The murderer seized the crown, but enjoyed it only six months, when -Carabes, one of Rustam’s ancient officers, collecting a considerable -body of soldiers, marched straight to Tauris, then the capital of -Persia, and surprising Achmet, who was in no condition to resist, put -him to death, by the most dreadful (though almost merited) tortures. - -The throne being thus vacant, Alvante, a nobleman of high rank, was -chosen to fill it. - -Shich-Eidar left three sons, who would have shared the same fate as -their father, had they fallen into Rustam’s hands. The two eldest fled, -one to Asia Minor, the other to Aleppo, and the third, Ismael, then only -a child, was secretly conveyed, by his father’s friends, to Hyrcania or -Ghilan; where he was protected by Pyrchalim, a nobleman then in -possession of several places on the Caspian Sea. Pyrchalim caused him to -be reared in the religious tenets of Shich-Eidar, and the youth -perceiving that was the best way to acquire popular favour, of which he -had great need to support the just pretensions he had to the throne, -shewed a great zeal to observe, and to propagate, his paternal sect. As -he was possessed of great personal beauty, and inherited all the -splendid abilities of his father, combined with great courage and -eloquence, he was soon joined, not only by the common people, but also -by many of high rank. - -His first success in arms, was the regaining certain lands in Armenia, -which had been given his mother as her dowry, and afterwards being -reinforced by many of Shich-Eidar’s old disciples, he attacked the -castle of Mamurlac, and after having taken and plundered it, he led his -victorious army to Sumach, the capital of Mesopotamia, which he also -took, and gave the spoils to his soldiers. At the noise of these first -exploits, and at the immense booty acquired by those who followed his -standard, numbers daily flocked to him from all parts, and he soon found -himself at the head of a considerable army, with which he resolved to -march immediately to Tauris, where Alvante, lately placed upon the -throne, held his court. That monarch had but just recovered from the -fatigues and confusion of a civil war with Moratcham, his brother (or, -as some assert, his son), who disputed the crown with him, and having -lost an important battle, had fled from the Persian territories. - -The severe persecutions which Alvante had exercised, after his victory, -upon several of the chiefs of Tauris, who had taken part with his -opponent, rendered his name odious, and presented Ismael with a very -fair opportunity, who no sooner came before the city, than the gates -were thrown open. Alvante, who suspected nothing of this irruption into -his capital, without troops, and aware of the hatred entertained against -him by the whole city, was obliged to fly (and as one author relates) in -disguise: and Ismael entered triumphantly into Tauris, without shedding -the least blood, except of a few of Alvante’s guards. - -In the mean time Moratcham had reconciled himself to his brother -Alvante, for the purpose of repelling their common enemy, the former -hastened to Assyria to raise forces, and the latter was already at the -head of a large army in Armenia: there Ismael followed him, and -(preventing Moratcham’s joining his brother, which was their intention,) -defeated him in a battle, in which Alvante fell, bravely fighting at the -head of his troops. Moratcham, hearing of his brother’s fate, carried -his army towards Tauris, but Ismael intercepting him, totally routed and -put him to flight. - -After this, Ismael reigned gloriously for twenty-five years, and died in -peaceable possession of one of the most powerful monarchies in the -world, having verified the predictions of Shich-Eidar, who was a very -skilful astrologer, and who had foretold,--“That this “son of his should -one day by his zeal and conquests “almost equal the glory of Mahomet -himself.” - - -Stanza III.--Line 119. - - “_And she for safety from the civil war._” - -It must be remembered that Ismael first attacked Armenia, &c. before his -successes made him so bold as to strike so adventurous a blow as -attacking Alvante in his own capital. It was the custom of those who -inhabited the provinces, and who were too peaceably inclined to mix in -the intestine commotions that so often occur in the East, to remove -their families and effects as near the capital as possible, though this -scheme must appear very injudicious to one who reflects that the chief -city is generally the most harrassed, ultimately. - - -NOTE - -ON CANTO II. - - -Stanza VII.--Line 358. - -“_The hollow blast of Süankos’ shell._” - -The Süankos cannot properly be called a war instrument, although in the -earlier ages of Persia, and even perhaps in Ismael’s time, it was made -use of for that purpose. It is at present often used as a trumpet, for -sounding an alarm, or a signal. Its tones are deep and hollow. - - - - -TO - -LADY C---- L----, - - Who, at the Private Races given by Lord D----, set a noble example - of humanity and feeling; when a poor man being much hurt, she had - him conveyed to her carriage, and interested herself most anxiously - in his recovery. - -_Written at Fifteen._ - - - Daughter of Feeling, Queen of Love, - ’Tis to thee these lines are due, - With all the beauty of the dove, - Hast thou then her nature too! - - Though formed in Woman’s purest mould; - Though form’d ’mid crowds and courts to shine; - Though in thy pow’r to stand enroll’d, - The boast of M----’s favour’d line: - - Yet has that hand which kings might prize, - Deign’d to relieve the poor man’s wo, 10 - Yet have those all-subduing eyes, - With Pity’s dew-drop deign’d to flow. - - Thy guardian angel hov’ring near, - Soar’d upwards with that deed of thine, - And as he dropt the applauding tear, - Wrote down the name of C----. - - - - -TO LADY W----, - -PLAYING ON THE HARP, ACCOMPANIED BY HER VOICE. - -_Written Extempore, at the Age of Fifteen._ - - - Cease, cease, in pity cease your lay; - Would you melt the soul away? - And, while such rapture you impart, - Thrill the ear, but steal the heart? - - Must every Godhead bring some grace, - To aid th’ enchantment of your face? - Must Venus give the beauty warm? - Must Pallas mould the radiant form? - Must Jove his lightnings yield, and sigh - To see them melting in your eye? 10 - But not, alas! with these content, - To make us all your vot’ries bent, - Oh, must Apollo too inspire, - To burn our bosoms, all his fire? - - - - -AN ODE - -TO THE MUSE OF VERSE. - -Irregular, - -_Written at Fourteen_. - - - O come, thou Goddess ever fair, - Who lov’st to braid thy golden hair - With many a wreath of laurel bright, - From old Parnassus’ sacred height! - Whither, beneath some time-devoted tow’r, - Thou lov’st to pass the solitary hour; - And slowly-solemn pour along the pensive verse, - Or the bright deeds of chivalry rehearse; - And view by fairy Fancy’s magic sway, - Old deeds long done, and years long past away. 10 - - Or, if beneath some spreading tree, - Thou lov’st the sounds of jollity; - And, with thy laughing song, to raise - The rural dance’s sportive maze; - While, oft attracted by thy song, - Nymphs and satyrs join the throng, - And interweaving at the sound, - Lightly skim the verdant ground; - While every bird, on every tree, - Is lull’d to catch the melody: 20 - And e’en the zephyr’s wanton gale, - Moves not a leaf amid the dale, - But folds his wings, and creeping near, - Imbibes the notes with ravish’d ear; - And when is broke the silver tone, - When Rapture’s fled, and thou art gone, - Still, still, he linger’s o’er the scene - Where Poesy divine has been, - And strives again, though vainly, to rehearse - The fire of Music, and the soul of Verse. 30 - - Or by rose-embalm’d bow’r, or murmuring stream, - If Love, king of passions, inspires thy theme; - That blessing the purest, to man, from above, - They gave us all, all, in that blessing of love. - Oh still let me hov’ring nigh, - Strive to catch the heav’nly fire, - When with wildly-beaming eye, - Glancing upward to the sky, - As if to seize the spirit there, - Thy tresses streaming to the air, 40 - Thou strik’st the hallow’d lyre. - Oh who can tell the heart’s ecstatic play, - So sweetly pensive, so sublimely pure, - When wand’ring far from world’s disgusting lure, - The Muse bewitching wafts the soul away. - - In sickness, pain, or care, or strife, - In all the woes that wait on life, - Thy pow’r can soothing balm impart, - And lull to sleep the breaking heart. - - Come then, Goddess, if from high, 50 - E’er thou’st heard thy vot’ry sigh, - Come, and o’er my ravish’d soul - Hold thy soft, thy sweet control! - O let me soar on Fancy’s wing, - Where Piërus pours his sacred spring, - And while such joys divine thy pow’r can give, - Beneath thy reign, O ever let me live! - - - - -ODE TO A POKER. - -_Written at Thirteen Years Old._ - - - Hail, blithsome wand, and bring with thee, - Dancing mirth, and airy glee! - When the laughing jest goes round, - And sparkling wit’s enliv’ning sound; - By the fire, thy cheerful mien - On winter’s dark’ning eve is seen. - - Oft thy gladsome stirs inspire - Strains from Bard’s poetic lyre; - Of winning love, or times of old; - Of courtly dames, and barons bold; 10 - Or some high deed of ancient knight, - Achiev’d in tournament, or fight. - Oft, when ’gainst the echoing shore, - The hail-drops beat, the tempests roar, - Shelter’d from the raging storm, - The trav’ller warms his cold-pinch’d form. - With thee in hand, derides the rain, - Beating down the glassy pane. - - Oft when, at some ghostly tale, - With fear, each ruddy cheek is pale; 20 - And half-asham’d, and half-dismay’d, - They startle at each other’s shade; - And fancying, that the ghost they saw, - Around the fire they nearer draw; - Then, perhaps, some hoary sire - Stirs, with thee, the waning fire; - And every eye, now grown more bold, - Explores the curtain’s mystic fold, - Where just before, by terror’s aid, - They saw the spectre’s gliding shade; 30 - And laughing at each other’s fears, - Again the wonted blush appears. - - And oft, when talk has ebb’d apace, - And melancholy shewed her face; - Thy spirit-rousing aid once more, - Renew’d the pleasure lost before. - Friendship, love, and all that life - Yields to cheer this scene of strife, - Courting oft thy fairy pow’r, - Gaily pass the jovial hour, 40 - While joy and mirth new blessings bring, - And care, awhile, forgets her sting. - - - - -TO K---- - -THE SEAT OF MRS. ---- - -_Written at Fifteen Years Old._ - - Hail, lofty domes, hail, venerable place, - The noble dwelling of a nobler race. - High on an hill, thy stately fabric rears - Its ancient summit, mark’d by rolling years; - By woods surrounded, and by fertile fields, - Thy cultur’d soil abundant plenty yields. - Here, giant groves in sweeping grandeur rise, - There, lengthen’d prospects meet th’ admiring eyes. - But thou, who gazest on yon graceful dome, - That seems to rival e’en the works of Rome, 10 - Where blooms life’s fading emblem, yonder rose, - ’Tis there, the ashes of the dead repose! - - Oh pause thou there, this awful lesson learn, - “That dust thou art, to dust shalt thou return.” - Now from the heav’ns, the queen of twilight grey, - Mellows each object with her silvery ray. - ’Tis silence all!--’tis that lone pensive hour, - When Fancy reigns in all her magic pow’r, - When o’er the poet’s lull’d, enraptur’d soul, - She holds her sweet, her undefin’d control! 20 - - K----, how chang’d from those old feudal hours, - When minstrel’s music echoed through thy tow’rs; - When steel-clad knights rode forth in glorious pride, - And led their troops to combat by their side. - Or at their castles tournaments proclaim, - And enter lists, to gain the wreath of fame. - From beauty’s hand receive the valued meed, - While plauding shouts approve the martial deed. - And when the gath’ring shades of eve would call - Our great forefathers to the festive hall, 30 - There, in vast bowls, the grape’s rich liquor pour’d, - And wholesome viands smok’d along the board; - Such as were wont an hero’s hall to grace, - Ere yet, refinement reach’d our hardy race;-- - Ere yet, we learn’d, from nations we subdued, - To spurn at Freedom’s hospitable food. - To every lip the joyous toast went round, - And frolic laughter gambol’d o’er the ground; - While from the lofty gallery swell’d the lays, - Of some past deed of old heroic days; 40 - Perhaps of Britain’s sable chief, who bore - His conq’ring standard to the Gallic shore. - Perhaps of R----[9], gallant knight! who led - His country’s warriors to his country’s aid! - Perhaps they sung the softest, brightest fire, - That ever yet has burst from minstrel’s lyre. - Almighty love, whose sigh-inflated sail - Wafts, more than bliss, on ev’ry halcyon gale. - How warlike Henry[10] joy’d to lay aside - The glare of rank, the pageantry of pride: 50 - At beauty’s feet, he cast his regal pow’r, - And sought for smiles at Rosamond’s lov’d bow’r: - Ah! hapless Rosamond, condemn’d to prove - The penalty, that waits on lawless love! - But now, “the bashful virgin’s sidelong” glance - Delights her partner in the mazy dance. - And he, who foremost in the lists that day, - Bore the rich prize of martial fame away;-- - Whose crest shone proudest of the youthful band, - With joy, receives the fairest lady’s hand. 60 - The old look on, and seem again to share - In each light movement of the graceful pair; - Or talk of deeds long done, of years gone by; - Of many an ancient feat of chivalry. - While each proud banner, won in glory’s cause, - The spoils of conquest, seem’d to wave applause. - See, in yon nook, retir’d, the love-sick youth - Pays his fond vows of ever-lasting truth; - While the soft maiden’s blushing looks reveal - A tale so dear, that love alone can feel! 70 - - K----, ere yet the hand of taste around, - Display’d the charms with which thy scenes are crown’d, - The drooping dryads of thy proud domain, - Of cold neglect, proclaim’d the ruin’d reign. - Thy falling fabric seem’d in vain to moan, - Its glories tarnish’d, and its beauties gone: - The weed’s rank verdure overspread the hearth, - So late the scene of hospitable mirth;-- - The moss’s velvet, and the violet’s blue, - In wild luxuriance o’er the pavements grew;-- 80 - Here bloom’d each flowret which the fields impart, - The charms of Nature o’er the wrecks of art. - Then, then, arose the last of all her race, - To join each pow’r, her native house to grace;-- - Again to raise the beauties of thy pile, - With added lustre, make her K---- smile;-- - Again thy halls, the graceful dance shall bear, - And heav’nly music charm the thrilling ear;-- - Again thy doors shall open to receive - The lordly noble, and the poor relieve;-- 90 - Again shall taste and elegance impart - Each varied scene, to charm the captive heart. - - Mayst thou, the lov’d possessor, find repaid, - By Friendship’s smile, the works thy hand has made; - And mayst thou long live happy, to retrace - The faded honours of thy ancient race; - May virtue still her fairest flow’rs entwine, - To form a wreath to grace the ---- line. - - - - -ON FRIENDSHIP. - -_Written at Fourteen Years Old._ - - - Hail, star of love, hail, offspring of the skies! - That gilds our day, when darken’d storms arise;-- - ’Tis thou that blunts affliction’s bitter dart, - And turns the wound, averted from the heart. - In all the changes that await mankind, - In all the woes we here are doom’d to find,-- - Thy hand, amid a world of care and strife, - Scatters fresh roses o’er the paths of life. - ’Tis not the fawning flatt’rer’s ready praise, - Whose word is honey, but whose word betrays. 10 - For, ah! while happiness yet gilds each hour, - Ere yet adversity’s dark tempests low’r, - Like flies in summer, basking in the ray - Of prosp’rous sunshine, in thy golden day: - Many thy followers, who pollute the name, - With sordid lips, of hallow’d Friendship’s flame: - But if thy sun, by gath’ring clouds o’erspread, - Retract its beams--those followers all are fled,-- - Not one remains of that late num’rous horde, 19 - Who swore thee friendship, round thy genial board. - From scenes like this, with stern indignant eye, - True Friendship wings her rapid flight:--on high - She views the venal slaves of guilt and gold, - Purchas’d by int’rest, and by int’rest sold; - Whom dark Dishonour, by the Stygian shore, - An hideous progeny, to Mammon bore; - Hypocrisy receiv’d them at their birth, - And, nurs’d by her, they issued into earth. - - Friendship’s soft pow’r, mild as the vernal gale - That floats at eve o’er Tempè’s peaceful vale; 30 - Holds her vast rule, unbounded by control, - O’er the wide realms of the capacious soul; - And spurns the limits of the little mind, - To narrow thoughts, and mean ideas confin’d. - For he, alone, can taste her purest streams-- - He, he, alone, can feel her warmest beams, - Whose breast ennobled, and whose soul refin’d, - Display the treasures of an heav’n-taught mind; - Enrich’d with every virtue, that can lend - Her pow’rful aid, to form a perfect friend; 40 - Proud in the pride which dignifies the heart, - That scorns deceit, and spurns each baser art; - In whose high front, and spirit-rousing eye, - Bright honour beams in all her majesty;-- - Sublimely humble, virtuously bold, - Unmov’d by flatt’ry, and unbrib’d by gold. - Vot’ries like this, can feel her pow’r sublime, - Begun by virtue, and matur’d by time;-- - Vot’ries like this, once reverenced her laws, - And prov’d them worthy of so great a cause. 50 - - Oh! ye twin stars[11], who grace the spangled sphere, - When night’s dark shadows o’er the heav’ns appear; - And ye, bright patterns of her sacred reign[12], - Who bound the tyrant in her silver chain! - And thou, O Salem’s king[13], whose heav’n-taught lyre, - In sacred strains, Jehovah deign’d t’ inspire; - And all ye ancient vot’ries of her name, - Be ye the mighty witness of the same! - - Ah! now how changed!--for scarce one ling’ring trace - Proves us descendants of our former race; 60 - All things degen’rate! e’en the present times - Shall seem ennobled, by our future crimes. - True Friendship, now, appears but as a dream,-- - Th’ historian’s subject, or the muse’s theme. - Long might we search, and long might search in vain, - Him, who, to save his friend a _moment’s pain_, - Would set the world and all its charms, at nought; - And think, e’en life was far too dearly bought. - What venal lips now utter Friendship’s name, - And strive to counterfeit her heav’nly flame; 70 - How few the souls, o’er whom she deigns to reign; - And, ah! how few would bear her silver chain! - For her swift wing, like Love’s, disdains all ties, - O’er boundless seas and trackless deserts flies; - And scorns those barriers, which th’ ignoble prize. - - Oh! thou soft soother of our earthly wo, - Grant, from my heart thy precious streams to flow! - For what is grief, or pain, or cank’ring care, - When ev’ry pang, another seeks to share. - And when our night of sorrow glides away, 80 - And joy, returning, gilds the opening day; - Ah! what avails it, if no friendly heart - Bears, in that joy, a sympathizing part:-- - For, as the laurel, (through the winter’s gloom, - When all her leafy rivals cease to bloom, - And when each drooping tree, by nature bound, - No longer waves its foliage o’er the ground,) - Maintains her verdure unimpair’d, and green, - And shines conspicuous mid the icy scene: - So does true Friendship, in misfortune’s hour, 90 - When wint’ry storms o’er life’s gay sunshine low’r;-- - When false pretenders, base, and servile band, - Chill at the touch of fortune’s alter’d wand; - So does she cheer the solitary scene, - Glows ever-warm, and blossoms ever-green. - - - - -IRREGULAR LINES. - -_Written at Fifteen Years Old._ - - - There’s not a heart, whose inward shrine - Reflects one throb that rouses mine! - That when young Pleasure rises high, - Can give the smile to Friendship dear; - When Sorrow prompts the speaking sigh, - Can waft its answer,--on the tear. - And yet the world can freely share, - In boist’rous mirth, in vulgar care:-- - Albeit it marvels, when the soul - Escapes its tinsell’d, vain control, 10 - To joy, or weep alone. - For, ah! how few, alas! can find - _One_ dear, _one_ sympathizing mind, - In un’son with their own. - - I’ve stood in crowds, where all was gay, - Where Pleasure held her roseate sway; - And there, mid hundreds met to show’r - Fresh flowrets o’er the laughing hour; - I’ve stood, and felt that lonely feel, - As keen, as cold, as piercing steel, 20 - Which whispers,--What to thee, this crowd? - The vulgar great, the reckless proud?-- - On whose unvaried, smiling face, - Not one congenial thought you trace. - There, nought but pleasure seems to shine, - Like o’er the snow, the sun of spring, - There ev’ry heart seems glad;--but thine - Is cold, and sear’d, and withering. - Oh, yes! unknowing, and unknown, - Mid circling throngs--thou art alone! 30 - But why, oh, why! should I complain? - Before me life extends her plain, - Which Hope, and Fancy lend their pow’rs, - To gild with gold, or deck with flow’rs. - What! though mid all the crowds of state, - My wayward heart is desolate; - Yet oft, I’ve felt the spirit’s play, - That wafts from earth the soul away; - When the calm eye, or musing ear, - Gives nought of life, or motion near; 40 - To gaze upon the heav’ns, so still, so fair, - (Oh, who can feel a grief, while gazing there?) - To mark, when night extends her sable reign, - Th’ unnumber’d worlds of that ethereal plain, - Till snatch’d from earth, the soul appears to spring - To those high realms, on Rapture’s hallow’d wing. - - To change the view!--To note the spreading scene, - The mountain’s grandeur, or the valley’s green; - Or mark the murm’ring riv’let’s wavy blue - Catch, from the skies, their own harmonious hue; 50 - And (as the moonlight o’er the water throws, - The light that, like the virgin, trembling glows,) - To hear, in thought, th’ aërial Sylphids sweep - Their wings of sapphire o’er the beaming deep: - While the old oak-tree, blasted by the storm, - Spreads o’er the waves its venerable form; - And the hoarse breeze, that, whisp’ring, rushes near, - Gives wild, unearthly music to the ear, - Till Fancy shews the Druids’ ancient train, - Strike their bold harps, and slowly sweep the plain. - Or, if the roaring tempest courts the sight;-- 61 - For scene or dread, or gentle, can delight - The lofty soul;--how sweet, on some sear’d rock, - To mark the warring element’s rough shock; - To smile unmov’d, while bursting thunders roll, - And the red flames of lightning flash the pole; - And calm, uninjur’d, mid the blazing storm, - Like some proud tow’r, to rear the godlike form. - Then, while the conflict fierce he joys to scan, - Man well can feel the majesty of man. 70 - Yet this, when all the spirits beam, - In loveliest, loftiest, holiest mood, - The world’s vain, heartless vot’ries deem, - The cheerless gloom of solitude. - What! is it Solitude to hold - Rich commune with the soul’s high pow’r? - To mark its various buds unfold, - The bloom, the beauty of the flow’r? - What! is it Solitude to trace, - The hand of heav’n in Nature’s face? 80 - ’Tis then the rising breast can throw - Its deathless essence, far from aught - That savours of the world below; - And, with the beings rear’d by thought, - Can oft converse in Fancy’s shrine, - Until it feels an heav’n-born ray, - Around in mystic beamings play, - And mix a something half-divine. - Oh! ’tis not Solitude!--’tis more - Than life--than earth--than all can give; 90 - ’Tis on the wings of heav’n to soar-- - ’Tis in the land of bliss to live. - - - - -STANZAS TO LYRA. - -_Written at Fifteen Years Old._ - - - The hour for love, in all its bliss, - In all its purity of truth, - Is, when time prints his earliest kiss - Upon the open brow of youth;-- - - When all the heart is on the sigh, - That love has never heav’d before; - When the soft language of the eye - Tells all the rising bosom’s core. - - Yes, yes, my Lyra, love like mine, - Form’d in the orient dawn of day, 10 - That spark of ecstasy divine, - Time never, never can decay. - - Yes, I may rove from flow’r to flow’r, - Yes, I may sip the roseate dew, - But still, believe me, ev’ry hour, - The heart will turn to love, and you! - - Whene’er you mark man’s darken’d hue,-- - Whene’er you hear him swear to prove, - For ever, to your beauties, true, - Believe him not!--he cannot love! 20 - - But, when yon view the glance of shame, - But, when you catch the falt’ring tone - Of youth, first warm’d to passion’s flame, - Oh! that is love,--and love alone! - - - - -GERALDINE; - -OR, - -_THE FATAL BOON_. - -A ROMANTIC TALE. - -_Written at Fourteen._ - - - - -GERALDINE. - -PART I. - - - The morning dawn’d serenely gay; - The feather’d warblers hail’d the day; - The sun it shone forth bright and fair; - And vernal fragrance wooed the air. - - O’er the brown hill and verdant green, - A thousand joyous forms were seen; - All Nature’s works were blithe and gay,-- - For this was Osmond’s nuptial day. - - High on a rock, whose rugged brow - Frown’d sternly o’er the vales below, 10 - And seem’d upon their charms to low’r, - Arose young Osmond’s stately tow’r. - - Now up the craggy steep ascends - A train of vassals, and of friends; - Here serf in festive garb array’d, - Here hoary sire, here matron staid, - Here plumed lord, and blushing maid, - Sweep on in long, long cavalcade. - - See, where his foaming courser’s speed - High Osmond reins by Emma’s steed; 20 - See, how his melting eyes impart - The love-sick tale that warms his heart; - The while her blushing looks reveal - The joy her eyes would fain conceal. - - Each winning charm, each female grace, - Deck’d that soft virgin’s angel face; - While Cupid, thron’d in beauty warm, - Shone on her lover’s manly form: - Yet there, although he striv’d to hide, - You trac’d a wayward, haughty pride, 30 - And a fierce something went and came, - In his dark eye-ball’s rapid flame. - - Lo! as they wind along the green, - Sudden a female form is seen, - A veil, with thickest sable dy’d, - Around her face was closely tied; - At Emma’s feet her form she flung, - And thus her hollow accents rung:-- - - “O lady fair, a boon I ask, - “Trust me, ’tis an easy task; 40 - “No costly robe, no blazing ore, - “No gem from India’s pamper’d shore, - “I wish to have!--O lady fair, - “Give me one lock of thy bright hair!” - ‘A golden ringlet from my bride,’ - In accents gay, young Osmond cried; - ‘In truth, it is a strange request, - ‘Yet, as she has so warmly prest, - ‘Mine Emma, grant the rich bequest.’ - - Upon the stranger, Emma’s eyes 50 - Gaz’d for awhile in soft surprise, - While o’er her damask cheek arose - The brightness of the morning rose. - - One golden lock, that from the braid - That bound her graceful curls had stray’d, - And had luxuriously fell - Adown her bosom’s rising swell, - Was from its snowy mansion riv’n, - And to the suppliant stranger giv’n. - - Oh! then lord Osmond, could’st thou view 60 - The features ’neath that sable hue; - Could’st thou the withering sternness trace, - That darken’d o’er that once-lov’d face; - Sooner would’st thou, with rapture part, - From vital stream that warms thy heart, - Than to that shrouded female’s hold - Consign the curl of wavy gold. - - Soon as the stranger seiz’d the prize, - Swift as the hunted roebuck flies, - Away, away, across the mead, 70 - Scour her feet with fairy speed. - Leave we awhile the blithsome throng, - That thickly, gaily sweep along, - And to that stranger turn our song. - - Deep in a vale’s sequester’d shade, - Blossom’d a young and lovely maid, - Enchanting Geraldine! To thee, - Suppliant nobles bent the knee, - For never human eye might trace - A finer form, or fairer face. 80 - But every ardent suit she flies, - And casts on all averted eyes, - ’Till Osmond came!--What female soul - Could e’er withstand his soft control, - Could see him weep, could hear him sigh, - And mark the language of that eye, - And still unthaw’d, unmov’d remain?-- - Alas! for _her_, th’ attempt was vain! - - Long time the pair enamour’d, prove - The blissful joys of mutual love, 90 - ’Till Osmond cool’d!--On weak pretence, - He, feigning matter of offence, - Deserted her, whose faithful heart - Could ne’er from Osmond’s image part. - What anguish’d grief, what love by turns, - In Geraldine’s rack’d bosom burns,-- - Sighs, tears, and groans, consum’d the day! - Sighs, tears, and groans, wore night away! - At length the fatal news is brought, - “Lord Osmond has in spousals sought 100 - “The high-born Emma!”--Oh, what pain - Thrill’d then across her madd’ning brain, - ’Till fondness fled, and direful rage, - And vengeance stern, her thoughts engage. - But lo! her beldam nurse appears, - Well worn in vice, and bow’d with years, - A potent witch! whose dreadful spell - Had pow’r to bind the fiends of hell. - - To her the injur’d beauty flies, - Her soul fierce flashing in her eyes, 110 - And weeping tells her, how the youth - Had broke his vows of love and truth. - “What though, alas!” the fair one cried, - “I may not, cannot be his bride, - “Revenge is mine! may death and wo-- - “Whom would I curse?--my Osmond!--no! - “_Him_, Dira, _him_, though faithless, spare,-- - “Turn all thy vengeance on the fair, - “Who’s robb’d me of his valued heart, - “Stab, stab her soul with poison’s dart,-- 120 - “Against _her_, all thy charms employ, - “Her life, her soul, her all destroy!” - She ceas’d; but still her eye-ball’s glare - Shew’d vengeance fierce and fix’d was there, - And still that brow declares too well, - What human tongue can feebly tell. - - Her Dira soothes, and hastes t’ unfold - The secrets of a heart grown old - In vice,--whose very name would thrill - And damp the soul with shudd’ring chill, 130 - And to her awe-struck list’ner tells - Her hellish charms, and demon spells; - Proceeds the dreadful means to shew, - To blight young Emma’s hopes with wo. - - One thing alone would still remain, - And Geraldine must that obtain, - To aid their plans,--from Emma fair, - On nuptial day, a lock of hair. - - Her well-known features now to hide, - _A veil, in thickest sable dy’d,_ 140 - _Around her lovely face was tied_. - And she it was, upon that day, - Who met the lovers in their way, - And gain’d the prize!--for, in her hold - Bright beams the wavy lock of gold. - - Mean time to Osmond’s lofty halls, - The God of Love and Pleasure calls. - Hark, hark, loud clamours rend the air, - “Long live our Lord and Emma fair!” - Hark, hark, the minstrels tune their lays, 150 - In one glad song of joy and praise; - And love and wit combine their pow’r, - To gild with bliss each halcyon hour; - And all around is blithe and gay,-- - For this is Osmond’s nuptial day! - - -END OF PART I. - - - - -GERALDINE; - -OR, - -_THE FATAL BOON_. - - -PART II. - - - - -GERALDINE. - -PART II. - - - ’Twas day! and all was bright and fair!-- - Tis night!--and thunders rend the air;-- - The lightning’s blaze illumes the shore;-- - In driving hail, the torrents pour. - Oh! ’tis a night, whose dreadful shade - Seem’d but for hell’s dark demons made, - And Fancy’s eye might, in the storm, - Trace many a wild mysterious form. - - Upon an heath, unmov’d by all, - That human nature can appal, 10 - Dark Dira stood!--and, by her side, - Buoy’d up by vengeful woman’s pride, - Like some fair angel’s slender form, - Near the dire demon of the storm, - The lightning’s blaze, with lurid glare, - Shew’d Geraldine pale, standing there. - And can no fear, can no remorse, - Stop, stop thee, from thy dreadful course?-- - Oh! think, in what a gulph of crime, - Thou sink’st thy soul to endless time! 20 - Oh, think! oh, pause! oh, haste to fly - From such a gulph of misery! - On every feature of her face, - Nought but one fix’d resolve you’d trace, - And vain, alas! is human skill, - When woman once is bent on ill. - - This wither’d heath, the fiends are wont, - With annual festival, to haunt; - And quaff, from many a murderer’s skull, - Bowls with blood-streams bubbling full! 30 - And where has been their blasting tread, - There never shrub can lift its head-- - There never fall the dews of night-- - There never beams the solar light! - - On Dira’s magic-shielded head - Burst, with fierce blaze, the lightnings red; - But, ere they singed one hair, they fell, - And own’d the power of her spell. - Convuls’d her looks,--her eye-balls glare,-- - Her elfin locks stream to the air,-- 40 - Arms, neck, and breast expos’d and bare, - As if the wild wind’s rage to dare. - While nature trembled at the sin, - They now th’ infernal rites begin. - - Within her lean and bony hand, - Dark Dira held a mystic wand; - Thrice, with that wand, she struck the ground, - And mutter’d many a mystic sound: - Then turning to the paly fair, - Who shudder’d, half-repentant, there, 50 - Full on her cold and trembling hand, - She struck the hell-devoted wand; - And, strange to say, one drop of blood - (As if to mar its whiteness) stood - On that fair hand, then downwards bore, - And fell, and was perceived no more; - But where it dropp’d, there instant came, - From the seer earth, a dark-blue flame;-- - When on that flame the sorceress glanc’d, - Round, and round, and round she danc’d, 60 - With action wild, and gesture dread, - This rhime uncouth she sung or said:-- - “Mighty child of darkness, hear! - “Queen of the sable sons of hell, - “Hecate, now incline thy ear, - “Listen to thy Dira’s spell! - “And ye dark train, - “That sport at midnight o’er th’ infernal plain, - “To my charms, now witness bear, - “Charms to all your vot’ries dear. 70 - “Lo! into these flames I fling - “Basilisk’s eye, and scorpion’s sting, - “And the bat’s wing! - “Fire, subservient to my will, - “Burn fiercer, hotter, faster still! - “To aid my charm, - “Lo! in thy flames, I cast a murderer’s arm. - - “Toad, once tenant of the tomb, - “Beetle black, and infant’s thigh, - “Screech owl’s egg, and raven’s plume, 80 - “Mad dog’s foam, and viper’s skin, - “Mandrake’s brain, and black cat’s eye, - “I throw thy mystic flames within. - “Fire, subservient to my will, - “Burn fiercer, hotter, faster still! - “Lo! again to aid my vow, - “Hemlock, and the cypress bough, - “Night-shade, yew, and all that bloom - “O’er the charnel, or the tomb; - “Each potent herb, each magic thing, 90 - “To complete my spells, I bring!” - - She ceas’d;--and now, with vivid rays, - Fiercely tow’rs th’ infernal blaze; - The traveller, who, on that black night, - Beheld from far, the demon light, - Paus’d for awhile!--his pray’rs he said, - Then spurr’d his steed in wond’ring dread; - The owl, who caught the distant ray, - Bore back his pinions in dismay; - The dog, who saw the blaze afar, 100 - That seem’d to burst like meteor star, - In horror stood!--to bark, and tried, - But found his trembling tongue was tied. - - Now as high the hell-flames whirl, - In Dira throws the golden curl; - Round, and round again she flings, - In hellish dance, and thus she sings:-- - “Thou who rul’st the realms below, - “Receive the grateful sacrifice, - “Around thy fire-flames pacing thrice, 110 - “Thy servant offers now! - “Cut away, - “On nuptial day, - “Lo! into these flames, I throw - “Ringlet of a deadly foe; - “And as it now is eat by flame, - “So may the head from whence it came,-- - “So may the heart,--so may the frame, - “Of that detested enemy, - “Wither, and consume, and burn, 120 - “Decay like visions of the morn, - “In bitt’rest pangs of agony!” - - Turn we again to hall and bow’r, - Where Hymen gilds each halcyon hour;-- - To Osmond, and his jovial train - Of lordly friends, turn we again! - Like seamen, feasting safe on shore, - Little reck’d they of the tempest’s roar:-- - Hark! the minstrels tune their lyre, - And sing of love’s celestial fire, 130 - In melting music’s soothing measures, - Tell its more than earthly pleasures! - While Osmond’s eyes, with passion streaming, - Are on his lovely Emma beaming! - Hark! the minstrels change their theme, - A nobler fire illumes their dream! - Of Osmond’s deeds, of Osmond’s might, - Bulwark of the field of fight! - How, mid heaps of slaughter’d foes, - High, his laurell’d crest arose; 140 - How, on Gallia’s hostile shore, - Mid many a stream of crimson gore, - His arm----Ah! whence that piercing cry! - What means that scream of agony? - Turn, Osmond, turn thine orbs of pride, - Behold thy pallid, fainting bride! - She gasps for breath,--she strives to speak,-- - In vain her voice would silence break: - Her locks upstand, her eye-balls glare, - Her trembling form convulsions tear. 150 - ‘Assistance,--help!’ young Osmond cries; - ‘Help! or my angel Emma, dies.’ - But vain was help!--he scarce had said, - Ere her pure soul had ever fled; - And she, whose sight could rapture bring, - Was now pale, cold, and withering! - In madd’ning grief, and dark despair, - Lord Osmond gaz’d, as rooted there; - So still, unheeding all, he stood,-- - It seem’d the calm of fortitude! 160 - But, sudden starting from his trance, - He cast on her one piercing glance; - Then threw himself upon her breast, - And her unconscious lips he prest; - And, torn by frenzy and dismay, - Clasp’d in his arms the lifeless clay, - And mourn’d the hopes of many a day,-- - In one dire moment snatch’d away! - But lo! around the banner’d hall, - A sudden gloom appear’d to fall, 170 - The glimmering lamps burn dark and blue, - And tinge the walls with ghostly hue; - And far more loud the tempests roar - And rage against the sounding shore. - Lo! what a forked flash is there, - Hark! what a peal bursts through the air; - The frighted earth appears to quake, - The lofty tow’rs in terror shake; - And Osmond’s feasters, here and there, - Disperse in wild and wondering fear. 180 - Then, where the madd’ning bridegroom lay, - A dark-blue flame was seen to play, - And, like a sylph, in lightning-storm, - Amid it rose a female form! - But on her pale, majestic face, - A mix’d expression you might trace, - Of pride, of rage, triumphant joy;-- - A something seeking to destroy. - One step to Osmond first she made, - And thus with deep low tone she said:-- 190 - “Osmond, behold! arise! arise! - “On me, once more, direct thine eyes; - “She, whom with treach’ry’s perjur’d part, - “Thou left’st to cure a broken heart, - “Has liv’d to blast, base traitor, know, - “Thy youth with bitterest pangs of wo. - “Gaze on--weep on--o’er that cold fair, - “Who lies, bereft of being, there; - “And know, if pleasure it may be, - “_That glorious work_ was done by me!” 200 - She spoke;--and, as she mov’d away, - Laugh’d, like a demon o’er his prey. - - Fierce flash’d in Osmond’s eyes the fire - Of vengeful rage, of deepest ire. - Sprang from his place, his dirk he drew, - And swift on Geraldine he flew; - One single moment scarce was o’er, - Ere that keen dirk was red with gore. - She fell!--but, haughty e’en in death, - No groan, no sigh, consum’d her breath. 210 - But, though she sunk upon that ground, - Never again her corpse was found: - And, strange to say, I’ve heard the tale, - That, borne upon the passing gale, - Unearthly screams and voices ran, - And sounds--far from the sounds of man! - - When Osmond had that death-blow giv’n, - His eyes, his hands, uprais’d to heav’n, - (To _Emma_ ever true,) he cried, - ‘I come!--receive me, Oh! my bride!’ 220 - Then plung’d his dirk into his side, - Gasp’d out his Emma’s name,--and died! - - - - -IMPROMPTU - -ON SEEING A TEAR ON THE CHEEK OF A YOUNG LADY AT THE RECITAL OF A TALE -OF WOE. - -_Written at Fourteen._ - - - Precious drop of heav’nly feeling, - Purer than the driven snows, - Down the cheek of beauty stealing, - At the tale of Mira’s woes. - - Is that beamy radiance melting? - Does that eye less bright appear? - Love in Pity’s bosom sheltering, - Wafts his arrows on a tear! - - - - -Translations from Horace. - - - - -Translations from Horace[14]. - -ODE XV. BOOK I. - -_Written at Thirteen._ - - - When o’er the seas the treach’rous shepherd bore - His lovely hostess, to the Dardan shore; - Lull’d was each wave, and hush’d each stormy breeze, - By Nereus soften’d to ingrateful ease; - That the dire fate to Priam’s race they bring, - Of mighty woes, the pitying god may sing. - - “Ah! hapless Paris, in an evil day, - “Thou bear’st thy burthen from her home away. - “To break thy guilty ties, the Greeks conspire, - “And wrap thy father’s ancient realms in fire. 10 - “What labour trickles from each warlike face, - “Alas! what carnage dyes the Dardan race; - “Pallas prepares e’en now her flying car, - “The helm, the ægis, and desire of war! - “By guardian Venus’ soft assistance bold, - “In vain, you comb your flowing locks of gold; - “In vain, your finger sweeps th’ unwarlike string, - “And tender measures, loved by females, sing; - “In vain, you fly the Cretan lance; in vain, - “From Ajax swift, you scour your native plain; 20 - “Though harmless through the airy tide be sped - “The dart, so hateful to the nuptial bed, - “Yet still, though late, th’ adult’rous ringlets must - “Be steep’d in blood, and scatter’d in the dust. - “See stern Ulysses, terror of thy race; - “And Pylian Nestor’s venerable grace; - “Teucer, and Sthenelus, renown’d in war, - “Or skill’d to guide the coursers and the car. - “Ah! hapless Paris, dost thou also see, - “Where godlike Merion scours the plain for thee; 30 - “Where fierce Tydides, greater than his sire, - “Searches for thee, and burns with vengeful ire? - “As when some stag perceives, with fearful eyes, - “Across the vale the tawny wolf, and flies; - “So shalt thou fly! forgetful of thy fame;-- - “Not thus thou promised to the Spartan dame. - “Achilles’ angry fleet may bring delay, - “But not less sure th’ inevitable day; - “The fate-allotted time will soon expire, - “And Troy shall sink beneath the Grecian fire.” 40 - - - - -ODE XVI. BOOK II. - -_Written at Fourteen._ - - - When shipwreckt, mid the wide Ægean seas, - The wearied sailor prays to heav’n for ease; - When the dark clouds o’er Cynthia’s splendour low’r, - And glimmering stars refuse to lend their pow’r; - For ease, for ease, the warlike Thracian cries, - In vain, for ease, the quiver’d Parthian sighs: - That blessing, Grosphus, never can be sold - For blushing purple, or for blazing gold. - For neither wealth, nor regal power control - The wretched tumults of the madd’ning soul. 10 - And care, alas! will pour her baleful crowd - Around the vaulted mansions of the proud. - Happy the man, whose humble board is spread - With the coarse viands that his fathers fed. - Nor trembling Fear, nor Av’rice, sordid guest! - Can e’er disturb his lightly-peaceful rest. - Why do we waste, in things that ne’er may be, - The flying hours of short mortality? - Fools that we are!--Oh, wherefore do we run - To climates mellow’d by another sun? 20 - When roves the exile from his native sky, - Say!--can he ever hope himself to fly? - - Ah, no!--for care is swifter than the hind,-- - For care is swifter than the eastern wind. - - How blest that soul, which, moderately gay, - Unheeds the morrow, and enjoys to-day;-- - Sweetens with smiles, the bitterness of strife, - For perfect bliss can ne’er be found in life! - Achilles fell, in life’s primæval day; - The hand of time, Tithonus wore away. 30 - And that long life, by Fate denied to thee, - Perhaps, indulgent, she may give to me. - - A hundred herds adorn thy fertile fields, - For thee, Sicilia, hundred oxen yields; - For thee, the courser eager snuffs the plain, - Bows his proud neck, and seems to court the rein; - For thee, with long, and loosely-sweeping flow, - The Lybian dye reveals its purple glow. - To me, propitious Fate, with kindly hand, - Has giv’n some portion of paternal land, 40 - And deign’d the lays of Horace to inspire, - With one bright beam of ancient Graia’s fire; - And whilst in talent, and in virtue proud, - To scorn the malice of the vulgar crowd. - - - - -Translation - -OF THE FIRST CHORUS - -IN THE - -ŒDIPUS TYRRANNUS OF SOPHOCLES. - -_Written at Fourteen._ - - -STROPHE. - - Oh! sweet-tongued oracle of Phœbus, say, - To aid th’ illustrious Thebans’ ancient shore, - Dost thou from golden Delphos bend thy way, - Where thousand altars daily incense pour? - God, we invoke thee by thy three-fold name, - Rack’d with suspence, and palpitating fear, - Whate’er thou now, or henceforth shalt proclaim, - We list in silence, and with reverence hear. - Child of Hope, immortal Fame, - Deign the dark decree to prove; 10 - Thy pow’r omnipotent we claim, - Pallas! progeny of Jove! - - -ANTISTROPHE. - - To thee, we raise our suppliant hands, - Diana, queen of forests cold, - To where the stately forum stands, - Seated on thy throne of gold. - God of the distant-wounding bow, - Apollo, hear, avert our wo. - If e’er before ye gave us aid, - When burthen’d with the monster-maid, 20 - Averters of Misfortune’s band, - Oh! now assist our suff’ring land. - - Alas! to you, we suppliant call, - And, crush’d with ills unnumber’d, fall, - Whilst all our people pine away with grief, - And vain each plan to bring the wish’d relief; - Our corn is wasted in the barren earth, - Our women sink beneath th’ untimely birth; - Corpse upon corpse promiscuously expire, - Flocking to gloomy Pluto’s dreary reign, 30 - As birds, who, swifter than th’ unwearied fire, - Fall in vast numbers o’er the azure main. - Unnumber’d deaths, alas! exhaust our land-- - Unhonour’d corpses load the burning strand. - Mothers and wives, thy sacred altars round, - Emit one sad, one darkly-mournful sound; - Perpetual Pæans lengthen on the gale, - And dismal sighs and mournful groans prevail. - Oh! haste then, golden Pallas, heav’nly maid, - Deign, in all thy might to aid, 40 - And cause to fly this dreadful god, - Who smites us with his baleful rod; - And, sword and buckler laid aside, - Destroys us with o’erwhelming tide; - Drive him, banish’d, from our home, - Where th’ unbounded ocean’s foam-- - Or where th’ Ægean waters roar - Around the barb’rous Thracian’s shore. - What night has spar’d awhile!--the day - Has unrelenting swept away. 50 - Oh, potent Jove! thy thunders bare, - Oh, bid thy lightnings pierce the air, - And wrap beneath the blazing storm, - The murd’rous fury’s raging form. - Oh, King of Lycia! now thy darts employ, - Beneath thy arms this god destroy. - Those weapons, oh, Diana? pour, - With which thou hunt’st the Lycian boar. - And thou, who lov’st the nymphs to lead, - With golden mitre round thy head, 60 - Guardian God of Theban shore, - Purple Bacchus, we implore, - Oh, rear thy blazing brand on high, - Against this monster of the sky, - And banish, madd’ning with the pain, - The god, most hated of the heav’nly train. - - - - -PARNASSUS[15]; - -A VISION. - -_Written at Fourteen Years and a Half._ - - - Loves not thy soul, when sated with the crowd, - And all the trifles of the great and proud;-- - Loves not thy soul, its wearied pow’rs to bless, - With the rich charms of pensive loneliness?-- - To turn thine eye, in mem’ry’s fond survey, - To scenes and pleasures faded long away; - Till they fall on thee, like spring’s grateful rain, - And, in idea, thou liv’st them o’er again? - Or, if bright Hope extends her magic wand, - To the dark future’s cloud-encircled land; 10 - Dost thou not feel a secret wish to view - Th’ entangled vale, thou hast to wander through? - While Fancy loves to deck the scene with flow’rs, - Gather’d from Glory’s fields, or Pleasure’s roseate bow’rs; - Till, perhaps, some passing peasant’s laughter’s roll, - Breaks the soft spell that binds thy wand’ring soul. - Yes, thou hast felt it, at that grateful hour, - When eve excites the Muse’s heav’nly pow’r,-- - When all is calm!--when nothing rude is near, - To bound the pensive eye, or wound the ear! 20 - When Zephyr, wakened by paternal spring, - Rimples the waters with his roseate wing; - And, like a lover, wooes them with a sigh, - Sweet, but soon over, as he wanders by. - - ’Twas such an eve as this, I lately stood - On the green banks that shade Brent’s humble flood, - And mus’d o’er pleasures past, o’er scenes to be, - The cheering lights of dim futurity; - Till softly o’er my mind began to creep - Th’ unearthly calm of visionary sleep. 30 - - Methought, a spacious plain before me lay, - Ting’d with that light which gilds the dawn of day; - Beauteous in every charm that can impart - Aught to delight, or captivate the heart: - Like those bright realms[16], replete with ev’ry joy, - That Venus rear’d to please her fav’rite boy. - Far up the wide expanse, was clearly seen, - A mountain cover’d with eternal green: - There, wreath’d in flow’rs of heav’n’s own splendid hue, - This hallow’d word blaz’d on the distant view, 40 - “PARNASSUS!”---- - - By the fair bow’rs, and streams, that fill’d this plain, - Were wide-dispers’d the ancient bardic train:-- - There (by a roaring cat’ract’s sweeping force, - That from Parnassus took its turbid course) - Tow’rd Homer’s form! in majesty sublime, - The living monument, of lasting time; - And near to him, beneath a spreading tree, - Stood thy wild Sire[17], imperial Tragedy! - And farther on, with eye, and stroke of fire, - High Pindar woke the transports of his lyre; 50 - While by a river, fann’d with Zephyr’s breeze, - Lay the mild shade of melting Sophocles; - There, many a form, in awful splendour bright, - Caught the wild, wondering raptures of my sight:-- - Maro and Horace, godlike sons of Fame, - And am’rous Ovid’s ever-pleasing name; - While, through the air, that hush’d itself to hear, - Tibullus’ sweetness thrill’d the list’ning ear; - And mighty Lucan, with illustrious strain, - Told the dread scenes of fam’d Pharsalia’s plain: 60 - With gather’d arms, curl’d lip, and eye severe, - Stood Juvenal--alone, calm, stern, austere. - - Methought the scene was changed!--a wider plain, - Spread with a gaudy, but a trifling train, - Before me lay!----No more could I behold - The hallow’d mountain, or its fields of gold; - Till, as I strain’d mine eye, I view’d afar, - Its shrouded beams, like Herschel’s distant star. - Again I turn’d my eye upon the band, - Who pour’d their numbers o’er this humbler land; 70 - These were, I soon perceiv’d, the bards who smile, - In this fair era, o’er Britannia’s isle. - The first, was one, whom many-tongued Renown - Has deem’d the brightest gem that decks the Muse’s crown. - - Apart from all he stood!--his burning eye - He strove to turn in rapture to the sky. - Upon his lyre he leant: and, as he sung, - His curling ringlets o’er his shoulders hung; - In ev’ry look the trifler gave, he sought - To shew how wisely, and how deep he thought; 80 - And to his flowing garb, and studied pace, - He strove, but strove in vain, to give a grace. - His first, his chiefest aim, his dearest pride, - To write!--how different from the world beside; - For this he rack’d his brain!--it would not do! - For every effort, more degen’rate grew. - At length he found a method to succeed, - ’Twas this!--to celebrate each impious deed, - To _Vice_ the charms of _Virtue_ to impart, - To thrill the senses!--but corrupt the heart! 90 - While I gaz’d on this bard!--methought a sound, - Wild, sweet, but awful, swell’d along the ground; - I turn’d mine eye! and, by a mould’ring tow’r, - Espied a form of such high grace and pow’r,-- - It seem’d as if Apollo from the skies - Had rov’d, and now had met my wond’ring eyes. - It was that bard, whose justly-lasting fame, - Illustrious Caledon is proud to claim!-- - It was that bard, whose wild majestic lay, - The floods of time shall never sweep away! 100 - Fast by his side, soul-moving C----l stood-- - C----l, the wise, the noble, and the good. - These two were in the open paths that led - To green Parnassus’ ever-radiant head. - Not far from them, in green, and vig’rous age, - Reclin’d at ease a venerable sage; - Like some calm stream his peaceful numbers flow, - Serenely soft, dispassionately slow; - Not his the genius that can soar sublime, - On wings of Glory, o’er the wrecks of time: 110 - Yet Fame’s fair pages shall record him long, - No humble vot’ry at the shrine of song. - Beneath the luxuries of a neighb’ring bow’r, - I view’d the figure of fantastic M----; - Around the poet’s myrtle-wreathed head, - A train of gaudy insects hovered; - Sudden he rises! and with haste pursues - The splendid fly, that boasts the richest hues; - And long upheld the chace! until it flew 119 - Within his grasp!--and then he straight withdrew. - It griev’d me to behold so vast a mind, - Ideas so grand, and talents so refin’d, - Desert Parnassus, to pursue a fly, - And change, for trifles, Immortality! - - Two well-known sons of rapture-raising song, - Now slowly swept the radiant fields along. - Heroic S----, whose Parnassian lays - Richly deserve Britannia’s laureate bays. - With this great vot’ry of Apollo’s name, - The pensive shade of hallow’d R---- came; 130 - Each melting line, that this soft poet sung, - Flow’d from the heart, its richness to the tongue; - He, who has gain’d a fame for aye to last, - By singing of the Pleasures that are past. - While I did gaze on them, across the plain, - Like summer vapours, swept a jovial train, - Issuing from these, I caught th’ unmeaning note - Of senseless C----’s empty numbers float; - W---- was there, who follow’d Homer’s rule, - In every line, to study Nature’s school; 140 - For as his heroes drive the waggon, so - Rustic and rude his humble verses flow. - - Far to the hinder side, a mountain spread, - With shadowy clouds impervious, o’er its head, - Hiding whate’er beneath the veil might be, - With the dark mantle of futurity. - In vain, my searching eye-balls seek t’ explore - The hidden secrets of that mystic shore. - - From time to time, a legion would emerge - From its dark region’s shade-encircled verge: 150 - But most, ere yet a few short stops were o’er, - Fell to the earth, and were beheld no more! - A few, indeed, a farther distance past; - But, though they sunk not first, they sunk at last. - Yet, as _they_ fell, from forth the sable land, - All careless of their fate, another band - In swift succession issued forth, till they - Soon, in their turn, sunk down the dangerous way. - - Methought my feet with rash, unhallow’d tread, - My longing eyes, to this dark region led; 160 - Methought my hand already seiz’d the shroud, - That o’er it hung its canopy of cloud;-- - Methought, mid those just rushing on to light, - I view’d a form, with awful grandeur bright; - Upon his beaming brows, in leaves of gold, - “Britannia’s greatest glory” was enroll’d! - Scarce could I snatch a momentary trace - Of these high words, when, through the darksome place, - Burst forth these accents, awful, loud, and drear, - “Hold back, hold back, rash mortal, and forbear!” - - Scarce was it utter’d, ere the wondrous scene, 171 - And those who fill’d it, were no longer seen; - And, in the stead of that remember’d dream, - I view’d the waves that swell Brent’s shallow stream; - And heard the tinkling from the distant fold, - Stead of the strains from many a lyre of gold, - That e’en but now, had bound the melting soul, - In thralls of heav’nly, but of vain control. - The grateful spell is broke!--the treasur’d tone-- - The hallow’d visions--yes, alas!--are flown! 180 - And I must back to scenes of loathsome life, - Pregnant with sorrow, and profuse with strife. - - Yes! though the hand of time has scarcely spread - His roseate wreath of youth around my head, - Yet I have felt, how keen the piercing dart, - That grief can give, to lacerate the heart.-- - Yes, I have felt, how full of care, alas! - The thorny paths that man is doom’d to pass. - But for a bright, and ofttimes cheering ray, - Athwart my dark and melancholy way; 190 - For many a soothing, many a raptur’d hour, - I bless, my Muse, thy sweet celestial pow’r. - Oh, mayst thou still continue, o’er my soul, - To hold, for aye, thine heav’n-inspir’d control. - Oh, mayst thou still in many a dream like this, - Give thine unearthly purity of bliss! - Till snatch’d from life, from all its trammels free, - I lose its searing bitterness--in thee! - - - - -Upon the Death - -OF - -A LATE MAN OF QUALITY, - -Well known for his Atheistical Principles. - -_Written at Thirteen._ - - - Behold that man by Fortune’s fickle pow’r, - The gilded fav’rite of the “varying hour;”-- - The gallant lord, whom noble ladies love, - Whom senates homage, and whom crowds approve. - - For him, the bards attune their soften’d lays, - In mellow notes, declare their patron’s praise;-- - For him, soft luxury courts each distant shore, - To tempt his palate with its varied store;-- - For him, the goblet flows with Gallia’s wine, - And wit, and beauty, all their pow’rs combine; 10 - His sov’reign’s smile illumes his pageant day; - And thronging courtiers servile incense pay. - Revers’d the scene!--behold him stript of all! - Though great his height, yet greater still his fall! - Ah! see him stretch’d upon his dying bed, - His vain associates, num’rous flatt’rers fled: - Dim are those eyes, once darting soul and fire-- - Pallid that cheek, which ladies wont t’ admire;-- - Clos’d are those lips, once eloquently gay, - Whose fire of wit illum’d the festive day;-- 20 - Ah! see his wasted limbs convuls’d by death, - Painful, and hard, he draws his quivering breath. - - How different far, he views the face of things!-- - How poor the comfort worldly wisdom brings!-- - How deep he rues the fatal time that’s past, - When each new day was guiltier than the last;-- - How much regrets the tale of former years, - The wide, black prospect, scarce a virtue cheers: - Tremendous mem’ry, to his mind displays, - The vice, the crimes, that stain’d his earlier days. 30 - Lo, he starts up;--his matted ringlets stare, - Like dying lamps, his glazing eye-balls glare. - Heard ye that scream?--and see ye not the fiend, - Come hot from hell to warn him of his end? - See ye him grin?--and wide display a scroll, - The horrid records of the sable soul? - Or is it Conscience all?--Again that cry, - That mocks description in its agony. - Peace!--peace!--upon that withering sound at last, - To heav’n’s high Judgement-Seat th’ escaping spirit’s past. 40 - - - - -TO LYRA. - -_Written at Fifteen Years Old._ - - - By Idalia’s secret grove-- - By the streams so dear to love-- - By the beds, and fragrant bow’rs, - Fram’d from Flora’s brightest flow’rs-- - By the heart’s first hope, first fear, - Tell me!--dost thou love me, dear? - - By the transports of the lyre, - Bursting forth in hallow’d fire-- - By thy tongue’s celestial lay, - Melting all the soul away-- 10 - By the heart’s first hope, first fear, - Tell me!--dost thou love me, dear? - - By the passion-breathing sigh, - When youthful rapture rises high-- - By the drop of glist’ning dew, - In thine eye of violet blue-- - By the heart’s first hope, first fear, - Tell me!--dost thou love me, dear? - - By thy bosom’s heaving snow-- - By thine orb’s averted glow-- 20 - By this lovely hand of thine, - Trembling, thrilling, now in mine-- - By the heart’s first hope, first fear, - Tell me!--dost thou love me, dear? - - - - -FAREWELL TO LYRA. - -_Written at Fifteen._ - - - Farewell, oh farewell! though distance may sever - The persons of lovers, their hearts it can never; - And mine will still, Lyra, be tending on thee, - As the bird of the night on his own fragrant tree[18]. - Can I think of the tear in thine orbit of blue, - When I falt’ringly murmur’d, “My Lyra, adieu!”-- - Can I think of that hand, as it trembled in mine, - How pensive, yet sweet, was its exquisite thrill; - While my pulse woke the motion of transport in thine, 9 - Like the balm of the gale on the breast of the rill. - Can I think of the gift, when thou sigh’d, “we must part,” - That thou cast o’er my bosom to lie on my heart; - And as my keen anguish, thou sawest the while, - Thou strove to look up with a soul-soothing smile; - But when there, thou caught the wild glancing of pain, - Thou burst into tears (oh, how heartfelt!) again:-- - Can I think of that scene, which remembrance will show, - As the sweetest, yet bitt’rest, it ever can know-- - Can I think of that scene, and, oh! e’er can I be, - E’en in thought, for a moment unfaithful to thee? 20 - And now, as thy gift to my bosom I’m pressing, - Oh! dost thou not think, my belov’d, it will glow, - Like the mariner’s star--like the pilgrim’s last blessing, - To guide and to cheer through this desert of wo. - And if ever my country should call to the field - Of Honour’s thick slaughter, and Death’s scenes of gore, - Oh, dost thou not think that my head it will shield, - As the magical charms of the wizards of yore. - As it rests on my heart, I shall think that thine eye - Nerves mine arm, and enkindles the flame of my soul, - It will soften that heart to the conquer’d’s weak cry-- - It will blend with its courage, soft Mercy’s control. - Or should Fate ever guide, in the patriot’s high cause, - To the senate of wisdom, oh, think’st thou this token - Will not cull to thy lover his country’s applause-- - Will not keep the firm ties of the patriot unbroken? - And if e’er, for a moment, his bosom should swerve - From the dictates of Honour, he’s sworn to observe, - As he feels thy lov’d gift on his bosom recline, 39 - Will not all there again straight be Virtue’s and thine? - - Yes, my Lyra, while life in thy lover can dwell-- - While remembrance can give that endearing farewell, - He will carry this gift through life’s thorn-sprouting maze; - ’Twill sublimate rapture--’twill soften despair-- - ’Twill lead him from grief, to those bliss-beaming days, - When each step was on roses,--for Lyra was there! - - Yet, ah, can my lips e’er those hated words tell, - “For ever, my Lyra, for ever farewell!” - - It cannot be _ever_!--or else with the thought, - (With feelings, with throes of such agony fraught,) 50 - This heart would be burst in its innermost core;-- - Could it beat, and each throb of its beating not be - Thine only!--Oh, no, every pulse must be o’er, - Ere it once is forgetful of love and of thee. - If on earth our fond hopings of passion are riv’n, - Yet yonder, oh, gaze!--(where so often before - We have pour’d our full sighs) on yon balm-breathing heav’n, - There bliss will receive us--there grief be no more; - Love will pour round our heads his bright halo divine, - Sublim’d to a loftier, mellower glow, 60 - All celestial, all warm, like the Magi’s pure shrine, - Such as Seraphs can feel--such as heav’n can bestow. - - - - -THE CASKET; - -ADDRESSED TO A LADY. - -_Written at Fourteen._ - - - As Cupid was roving one morning, he found - A Casket emblazon’d in diamond and gold; - The gems of the ocean embrac’d it around, - And the handmaids of Venus had sculptured its mould. - - “How transcendent must be the interior store - “Of so bright an exterior,” the mirth-lover cries, - As he hastens, in rapture, its depths to explore, - With joy in his dimples, and hope in his eyes. - - But, I would ye had seen how he alter’d his air, - How he rag’d!--how to earth the gay bauble he cast, 10 - When the richness of splendour that promis’d so fair, - Was empty of aught--save the æther that past. - - Thus the beaming of beauty may dazzle the glance, - Though void of the stores that beneath them should be; - But when the gay casket is open’d--the trance - Of hopefulness fades like the foam of the sea. - - But, in thee, Queen of Loveliness, wond’ring we find, - Not merely the time-searing bloom of the skin, - But the grace of the form, and the wealth of the mind, - The Casket of Beauty, the treasure within. 20 - - - - -THE - -BATTLE OF WATERLOO; - -A POEM, - -In Two Cantos. - -_Written between Fourteen and Fifteen._ - - -CANTO I. - - “It timor, et major Martis jam apparet imago.” - _Virgil._ - - - - - TO - - THOSE ILLUSTRIOUS HEROES, - - WHOSE LAURELS ARE THE BRIGHTEST ORNAMENTS - - OF THE - - BRIGHTEST VICTORY - - WHICH HAS EVER GRACED THE ANNALS - - OF THE - - BRITISH HISTORY; - - WHOSE NAMES THE BARD GLORIES TO CELEBRATE, - - AND FAME DELIGHTS TO IMMORTALIZE; - - THIS POEM - - IS DEDICATED, - - BY THEIR YOUTHFUL, BUT ARDENT ADMIRER, - - EDW: GEO: LYTTON BULWER - - - - -THE - -BATTLE OF WATERLOO. - -CANTO I. - - -I. - - Awake, my Muse, and o’er my trembling lyre - Breath but one spark of that celestial fire, - But one bright beam, unconscious of decay, - Which shew’d thy bard Parnassus’ flow’ry way; - Immortal Homer! for a bolder theme, - Than ever yet has rous’d my youthful dream, - The deeds of warriors, the delights of war, - And all the glories of the trophied car, - Begin Calliope!--to these belong - A more than common, more than mortal song! 10 - - -II. - - Now stands brave Wellesley on the tow’ring height, - Surveys the war, and kindles at the sight; - O’er each wide rank he casts his eager eye, - Inspired by hope, to conquer, or to die. - Firm, in the midst, the British guards appear, - A band of heroes, never known to fear; - Alcides’ strength on ev’ry form we trace, - Bellona’s ardour, and Apollo’s grace; - Lions in war, possess’d of ev’ry art, - To gain the combat, or to win the heart. 20 - Pale Brunswick mourning for her leader slain, - Spreads her bold legions o’er the martial plain - Far on the right,--with them in numbers pour, - A race of warriors from the Belgian shore. - The haughty war-steed, glorying to bear - His noble burthen, closes up the rear. - - -III. - - Then to the hostile hosts, who adverse stand, - The pride of France, the flow’r of all her land. - Strain’d to the left he casts his eager sight, - Where the proud eagle rears her tow’ring height; 30 - These hardy troops, Napoléon’s brother led, - While to the right Lobau’s brave squadrons spread. - Erlon and Reille, in warlike tumults known, - Of vict’ry hoping, in the centre shone; - Not their’s, or sportive joust, or mimic fray,-- - The fate of Europe hung upon that day. - The mighty leader of each glorious band, - For the first time, in arms confronting stand; - While Vict’ry doubted which her palm might claim, - For each was equal in the lists of fame. 40 - - -IV. - - Proud Gallia’s haughty eagle’s rear’d on high, - And thund’ring cannon rend the vaulted sky; - Majestic Death stalks o’er the bloody plain, - And Honour’s bed receives her heroes slain. - By thee, brave Picton, what great deeds were done, - What martial laurels grac’d thy setting sun! - In Fame’s first page, thy glorious name returned, - What tears erabalm’d thee, and what hearts have mourn’d! - Ah! how record the mighty chiefs that fell, - While peals of cannon sound their fun’ral knell! 50 - - -V. - - Napoléon urg’d his ever-dauntless band, - Nerv’d was each arm, and bare each shining brand; - Flush’d was each cheek, joy beam’d in ev’ry eye,-- - They seem’d to think it were a bliss to die. - “Forward, my comrades; forward speed your way, - Our guardian genius shall record this day!” - They wait no more!--the courser feels the rein - No longer check him from the warring plain. - Thirsting for blood, impatient for the fight, - The sabre glitters with effulgent light; - Rear’d by that arm, which knows no other laws, 60 - Than courting glory, in its chieftain’s cause. - - -VI. - - On, as the waves, they roll their sweeping course, - Where stood the pride of Caledonia’s force: - This legion saw the mighty hosts appear, - Nor yet it felt one dastard throb of fear; - Perhaps a sigh prolong’d the lover’s breath, - As one who saw th’ approach of certain death! - Perhaps the father’s anxious love might know - One throb of feeling cross his manly brow; 70 - Perhaps a tear the patriot’s cheek might stain, - For that dear land, he ne’er might see again;-- - Yet, if the drop of soften’d love would stray, - The warrior wip’d th’ unbidden guest away! - - -VII. - - Slacken’d each rein, each Scottish brand was bare, - The dancing plumage kiss’d the lurid air! - Their steeds they urge--hark!--“Scotland” is the cry, - The loyal sound the echoing hills reply. - Link’d in one body, small, yet firm they go, - And charge impetuous on the yielding foe. 80 - Dismay’d, confounded at the glorious sight, - In vain the Gauls would claim the equal fight; - On ev’ry side their comrades strew the plain, - And heaps arise of Gallia’s mighty slain: - The useless sabre drops,--they turn,--they fly, - The serrying cannon follows through the sky. - Thus the rhinoceros, on Afric’s shore, - Hears from afar the tawny lion’s roar, - Cold tremblings o’er his giant members grow, - He flies affrighted from a weaker foe. 90 - - -VIII. - - Now in full speed t’ avenge their comrades slain, - A Gallic column sweeps along the plain; - And Scotia, aided by an English band, - Against that column makes her glorious stand. - Oh, thou Calliope, inspire the song, - Which falters o’er thy suppliant’s drooping tongue. - - Each adverse warrior combats hand to hand, - No other weapon than the wounding brand; - Charger ’gainst charger, man ’gainst man engage, 99 - Sword clangs ’gainst sword, and all is blood and rage, - Lo! in the thickest of the martial storm, - The Gallic eagle rears her golden form; - Symbol of conquest, ever known to bring - Dark desolation on her fatal wing; - At whose dread sight submissive nations bow’d, - Lord of the mighty, conq’ror of the proud: - Destructive Bird! whose iron pow’r was bore, - By Vict’ry’s gales, to Earth’s remotest shore. - - -IX. - - But gallant Ewart, foremost of the fight, 109 - Saw her proud form, and mark’d her glitt’ring height. - His steed he spurr’d, and, with determin’d hand, - He grasp’d her staff, and rais’d his Scottish brand: - But brave Dubois (who held the bird of Jove) - Still kept his hold, and fierce contesting strove, - While to his left hand firm the standard clung, - Keen in his right the clashing falchion rung; - He mark’d the Briton with indignant eye, - And tow’rds the breast and downwards to the thigh - Sends the sharp blade,--but Ewart’s sword was there, - And turn’d the blow, averted, into air; 120 - And sudden rais’d that sword with giant force, - Full on the Frenchman’s crest he drove its course, - Pierc’d the strong helm, and clove the chieftain’s head, - Through brain, through jaws, and e’en the neck it sped; - Then wrathful drew it lukewarm from the brain, - And seiz’d the eagle from the conquer’d slain: - But, ’gainst the victor, with revengeful speed, - An hostile lancer spurr’d his foaming steed, - And urg’d his spear; but, bending from the blow, - The wary Briton disappoints the foe; 130 - And, ere the lancer could his falchion gain, - He stretch’d him lifeless on the purple plain. - - -X. - - Then stern De Valence, with revengeful eye, - Perceiv’d the deeds of Scottish bravery; - Stirr’d up by vengeance, and the love of fame, - He fir’d his carbine with an hasty aim,-- - But miss’d the Scotsman, though not vainly sped, - It pierc’d immortal Campbell’s plumy head. - And could not worth, and could not valour save - The great, the godlike Campbell from the grave? 140 - Yet is thy death reveng’d,--for Ewart’s blade - Sent thy dark murderer to appease thy shade; - And he the bird of Jove victorious bore, - Red with the streams of its defender’s gore. - - -XI. - - Here Mars, terrific, wheel’d his iron car, - And stirr’d the fight, and gloried in the war; - No modern field could ever yet behold - A fight so slaught’rous, and a war so bold. - The steel-clad Gaul derides the gath’ring storm, - Which pours in torrents o’er his warlike form; 150 - Yet, though his _breast_ the pond’rous cuirass shield, - His slaughter’d _limbs_ bestrew the bloody field. - Each seem’d resolv’d the victor’s prize to claim, - Each seem’d resolv’d to live, or die, in fame. - But nought could stop the firm, determin’d course - Of Scotia’s strength, of Scotia’s matchless force: - Then, in that hour to Caledon so dear, - Proud Gallia learnt her mighty name to fear: - She turns--she rallies--then again we view - Her numbers fly;--the gallant Scots pursue! 160 - Yet was that victory bought by many a tear, - O’er Cameron’s, Mitchell’s, and o’er Holmes’s bier; - And long th’ historian and the muse shall tell, - How bright they triumph’d, and how great they fell. - - -XII. - - Mean time, where Hougoumont conspicuous stands, - The valiant Byng draws up his Albion bauds; - And _there_ the hottest of the battle rag’d,-- - _There_ Gauls and Britons fiercest warfare wag’d. - As some tall rock, the Anglian centre stood, - While Saltoun battled for the neighboring wood; 170 - And, as the stormy waves, the Gauls roll’d on, - Led by fierce Jerome, and the sage D’Erlon. - The tubes of death sent lightning through the air; - The arm of fate, the sword of Jove, was bare. - So thick the smoke, the eye could scarce survey - What its next object in the dire affray; - Save, where the sulphur flash’d on some proud crest, - Or danc’d terrific on the steel-clad breast: - The warrior rear’d his arm,--then, sudden fell, - Nor knew who sent him to the gates of hell. 180 - Long was the fight, and furiously severe, - For neither host e’er felt the pow’r of fear: - Here fell the flow’r of Britain! here the pride - Of Gallia’s long-extended squadrons died! - Whose muse can sing, whose daring tongue can tell, - What heroes triumph’d, and what chieftains fell? - How many a youth, who ne’er had fought before, - Sent souls unnumber’d to the Stygian shore? - How Gauls and Britons pil’d the field with slain, - And, foes in death, still grappled on the plain? 190 - - -XIII. - - But here, while Mars and dread Bellona rag’d, - And the hot conflict Gaul and Albion wag’d, - An hostile race, from Poland’s northern shore, - On Wellesley’s bands their martial numbers pour; - Skill’d in the art, a piercing death they bear, - Their native arms, the far-extending spear. - Th’ heroic Ponsonby perceiv’d the band,-- - Forth from the scabbard leapt his beamy brand; - His heaving breast with indignation burn’d, - While to his troops the godlike warrior turn’d: 200 - “Shall haughty Poland triumph o’er the plain, - And boast her heaps of Britain’s mighty slain? - Shall Poland conquer in this glorious day, - And bear the prize from Albion’s race away? - Forward, my friends! exalt your matchless name, - And seize the moment to increase your fame!” - - -XIV. - - Thus spoke the chief;--then drove his angry course - Where Poland pour’d her unrelenting force: - Sharing his rage, exulting in his wrath, - His troops pursue his death-awakening path. 210 - As, when the torrents overwhelm the plain, - And threaten ruin to the golden grain; - So, fierce with hatred and revenge, they go - And heap destruction on th’ astounded foe: - Some fly; yet some with bolder courage fir’d, - Still keep their ground, by martial rage inspir’d: - And first, dark Holstein, whom Eliza bore - To fierce Kolinskorf, on Masavia’s shore; - Another Hercules, whose mighty hand - Could awe the boldest of a modern band, 220 - With scornful eye, beheld the hostile storm, - Wav’d his bright lance, and rear’d his giant form; - Where rag’d the fiercest of the British force, - With pow’rful arm, he drove his sweeping course. - - -XV. - - But Cecil, lov’d of Pallas, met the Pole, - And all the hero kindled in his soul. - His steed he spurr’d, on high his youthful hand - Rear’d the bright terrors of the blasting brand; - But Holstein saw th’ impending danger near, - With giant strength he hurl’d his weighty spear; 230 - Like lightning-flash, it piere’d the Briton’s side, - And life receded on the crimson tide. - Forth from the victor’s sheath the sword was bare, - Hov’ring on high, it thinn’d the ranks of war; - Ten bleeding warriors, gasping on the strand, - Proclaim’d the prowess of his mighty hand; - Terror and death attend his rabid way, - And conquest claim’d him as her own that day. - - -XVI. - - Him Ponsonby, in arms renown’d, espies, - With raging bosom, and with vengeful eyes; 240 - His gory hand upon the holster hung, - Then, through the air the loud explosion rung:-- - Why droops the arm which scatter’d death from far? - Why sinks the pride, the terror of the war? - Th’ unerring ball, the winds of fate have bore, - And that proud arm shall scatter death no more: - One threat’ning glance, one vengeful look he cast - Towards the foe;--that action was his last:-- - Yet still in death his lurid eye-balls glare, - The fire of hate, of fierce contempt, is there; 250 - On his curl’d lip the scornful smile yet hung, - Still in his hand the deadly falchion rung, - O’er that pale cheek, scarce bronz’d by manhood’s glow, - Crimson’d by gore, the sable ringlets flow. - Weep Poland! weep! the bloody work is done, - In tears of anguish mourn thy slaughter’d son. - - -XVII. - - And now, exulting o’er the glorious slain, - The troops of Ponsonby usurp the plain: - Where’er their leader’s conq’ring claymore shone, - _There_, may the widow make her joyless moan; 260 - The orphan’s wailing, and the mother’s tear; - The maiden’s anguish, and the sire’s despair; - The dying warrior’s last accusing breath, - And all the laurell’d pageantry of death; - Pursue the path their chieftain’s bloody blade - Through the thick whirl of eddying hosts has made. - And now the Poles on ev’ry side give way, - And, routed, yield the fortunes of the day: - But, warm’d by fame, exulting in their might, - Too far the conq’rors urge the conquer’d’s flight; 270 - And their dread _leader_’s[19] all-surveying eyes - Saw the rash deed of heated enterprise. - To check their unadvis’d, and hasty speed, - Across the plain, he spurr’d his foaming steed; - Fleeter than air, and swifter than the wind, - The scene of conquest soon he leaves behind. - - -XVIII. - - A field there was, on which the lab’ring swain - Had lately sown the life-supporting grain: - Soft was the soil, by vernal showers fed, 279 - Damp, yielding moistures o’er the plain were spread. - By fate ordain’d, its baleful influence lay - Where the swift courser urg’d his flying way; - Light, o’er the bank which mark’d the treach’rous ground - Swift as a dart, his fairy footsteps bound. - Why stops his speed? why rolls his frenzied eye? - Why lost the pow’r, but not the wish to fly? - Why vainly strive to quit the fatal field? - With all the strength which agony can yield, - Why vainly nerve each mighty limb to strain? - Each effort binds him closer to the plain; 290 - The hand of fate has fix’d his master there, - And heav’n has call’d him from his bright career. - - -XIX. - - When that dread chief perceiv’d th’ inglorious doom, - Which seem’d to sink him to a living tomb, - Pale grew his cheek, his raging eye-balls glare, - And thus, to heav’n, he offers up his prayer:-- - “Oh, thou dread Pow’r, whose mighty name is bore - On ev’ry tongue, to earth’s remotest shore! - O God Omnipotent, whom all obey, 299 - While heav’n, and earth, and ocean, own thy sway! - Bend from thy radiant throne, incline thine ear, - Listen! oh, listen! to a suppliant’s pray’r: - Not thus inglorious, claim my fleeting breath, - But let a warrior, die a warrior’s death!” - - Strong passions drown’d his voice, yet heav’n had heard - The pray’r by valour’s votary preferr’d: - Far to the right, a moving host appears, - The sunbeams glitt’ring on their hostile spears. - - As some dark mist, when wintry storms arise, - Slow, spreads its influence o’er the mirky skies; 310 - So, (wrapt in dusk and smoke,) the distant train - Obscure the fields, and slowly sweep the plain. - - -XX. - - Brightly the chieftain smil’d! a gladdening beam - Shot o’er his brow, his bloodshot eye-balls gleam; - Backwards his view, with haughty joy he cast - Towards the bounds his fiery steed had past;-- - One sole, one fond, one faithful friend was there,-- - A brother’s love had join’d the godlike pair; - From youth to manhood, grew that love sublime, - Began by virtue, and matur’d by time. 320 - When peace and plenty held their golden reign, - And crown’d the efforts of the lab’ring swain, - Th’ unmeasurable space they wander’d o’er - Of wisdom’s paths, of learning’s sacred lore: - But, when Bellona yok’d her iron car, - And honour call’d them to the paths of war, - Still, side by side, the youthful heroes led - Their hardy warriors to their country’s aid; - The aim of each, amidst the bloody strife, 330 - To scorn his own, to guard his comrade’s life. - If ’gainst the chieftain’s bosom gleam’d the spear, - The other’s arm would ward the danger near; - And, if th’ uplifted sabre of the foe - Should rise, to lay his lov’d companion low, - The mighty Ponsonby’s avenging hand, - Would smite the threat’ner lifeless on the strand. - - -XXI. - - His long-tried friend had not o’er past the bound, - Which mark’d the limits of the fatal ground; - For when he saw the sad, untimely end - Which seem’d to wait his dearer half, his friend, 340 - Beneath a weight of more than mortal care, - He stood transfix’d in motionless despair; - His falt’ring tongue, with agony of wo, - Cleav’d to his mouth! his blood forgot to flow. - The glorious leader saw his mighty grief, - And, pitying, strove to give his friend relief: - The stern contempt of death, the warrior’s pride, - No more his feelings or his judgment guide; - To gentlest passions meltingly resign’d - Each harsh emotion of his mighty mind: 350 - Soft beam’d his lucid eye, the kindling flame - Melted to love, before a brother’s name. - With soften’d voice, and pitying looks, began - The parting accents of the godlike man. - - -XXII. - - “Ah! more than brother, for thy gen’rous heart - Has ever shewn a more than brother’s part; - Say, my beloved, can the sobbing breath, - The ling’ring tear, put off the stroke of death? - The hand of destiny has fix’d my doom, - By heav’n allotted to a warrior’s tomb. 360 - Yet still my words in prophecy may say, - Death shall not call my ev’ry part away: - To late posterity, recording fame - Shall tell the triumphs that adorn my name. - Check then, O chosen of my soul, the tear - Which mourns my path to Honour’s proudest bier; - Accept a short, a last farewell, ere death - Has chill’d my tongue, or claim’d my fleeting breath.” - ‘Hold!’ cried the youth; but thus the chief pursued, - While with fond eyes, his dearer self he view’d: 370 - “Back to my wife, her lovely image bear, - Torn from that heart which only beats for her. - Ah! check the orphan’s tear, the widow’s sigh, - Tell them, the lot of mortals is to die!” - - -XXIII. - - Then drew a portrait from his manly breast, - And to his lips th’ unconscious image prest, - Gave it one sad, one ling’ring, last adieu, - Then to his friend the precious token threw: - “Fly, fly, my friend, ere yet it be too late, 379 - E’en now approach the vengeful troops of fate.” - ‘Die will I first,’ the faithful youth replies, - While love courageous sparkles in his eyes; - His steed he struck; his clanging arms rebound, - The charger speeds him to the fatal ground, - Close by the chieftain’s side: a smile as bright - As erst o’er Chrishna shot its dazzling light[20], - Flash’d o’er that pallid cheek with brilliant glow, - Like sunshine beaming o’er an heap of snow. - ‘Living, or dead, no earthly hand shall part - The ties that bind thee to this constant heart.’ 390 - No more he could;--he scarce could bare his brand, - When down impetuous pour’d the hostile band. - They saw the swampy marsh the chiefs that held, - Nor dar’d, incautious, leap the fatal field, - But from afar, their flying weapons pour, - A glitt’ring tempest, and an iron show’r. - - -XXIV. - - Pierc’d by seven mortal wounds, oppress’d, at length, - Spite of his valour, struggles, and his strength, - All hurl’d upon his godlike form from far, - Sinks first the bulwark of the British war. 400 - Thus falls the lion in the treach’rous snare, - Which o’er the woods the Lybian youths prepare, - Sunk by a grove of darts, he strives in vain, - And falls at last, invincible, though slain. - - - Cold grew his comrade’s cheek! for wild despair, - And frenzied wo, and agony, was there. - Sprung from his flound’ring steed, with aching breast, - The lifeless hero in his arms he prest. - ‘Take, O ye war-hounds! take my hateful breath, - We lov’d in life, and still we’ll join in death.’ 410 - Swift through the air a fatal jav’lin prest, - Pierc’d through his scarf, and sunk within his breast. - One glance, expressive of contempt, he cast, - Then kiss’d his friend, and, smiling, breath’d his last. - - -END OF CANTO I. - - - - -THE - -BATTLE OF WATERLOO; - -A POEM, - -In Two Cantos. - -CANTO II. - - - - -THE - -BATTLE OF WATERLOO. - -CANTO II. - - -I. - - Again, Calliope, my song inspire, - And sweep the numbers from my falt’ring lyre; - Again the joys of war, and warriors, sing, - And wake to life each wild-resounding string; - Oh! give that verse which soars beyond control, - Which fires the genius, and awakes the soul. - E’en now, e’en now, impatient of delays, - Across my mind thy beamy influence plays. - - -II. - - Bright was the noon!--for Phœbus’ warmest ray - Illum’d the slaughters of the dreadful day: 10 - Hush’d was each ruder wind!--all nature seem’d to wait - In mute attention on a world’s debate. - Far as the eye could reach, the breeze could bear, - The wand’ring sound, to rapt suspence’s ear; - All was one mix’d, and one promiscuous train - Of warring heroes, scattered o’er the plain. - Thus through the glassy hive the bees we view, - Industrious race, their various tasks pursue, - Confus’d, dispers’d, to unaccustom’d eyes,-- - Yet each a settled occupation plies. 20 - - -III. - - The frighten’d skies are red with bursting fire, - Warriors on warriors, heaps on heaps expire; - The cannon’s roar, the martial music’s sound; - The conq’rers’ shouts, and conquer’d’s groans confound. - The mighty hosts promiscuously engage, - And war terrific, burns with tenfold rage. - War! horrid war! whom Death to Pluto bore, - ’Mids’t the dark caverns of th’ infernal shore; - A dreadful monster, at whose baleful birth, - Love, Peace, and Plenty, fled the groaning earth. 30 - His form was horrid, ghastly, grim, and fell, - No mortal man its terrors e’er can tell! - A wreath of skulls his iron temples bound, - Where’er he trod, red carnage dy’d the ground,-- - All nature wither’d at his dire advance, - And nations sunk beneath his lurid glance. - Four raging tygers, with tremendous roar, - His sweeping car (a thund’ring cannon) bore; - Confusion, Flight, and Terror’s wild alarms, - Shrieking pursue his all-destroying arms. 40 - But to the view, the treach’rous demon show’d - A form that bright with glorious beauty glow’d; - And held, deceitful, in his bloody hand, - Giv’n by Ambition, an enchanted wand-- - And this he wav’d! and, to the wond’ring eyes, - Sceptres, and crowns, and laurell’d wreaths would rise:-- - But now he gloried o’er the Gallic plain, - To feast in triumph on the mighty slain. - - -IV. - - O thou, Calliope, the heroes tell, - Who, bright with honour and with glory, fell; 50 - While Retrospection’s sweetly pensive tear, - Moistens the bays that blossom round their bier. - For them no friend can soothe the quiv’ring breath, - And give the last sad offices of death; - For them no prayers of pitying love are giv’n-- - No priest consoling points the road to heav’n; - Their whit’ning bones no stately urn shall hide,-- - No flatt’ring bust--no monument of pride; - ’Mids’t piles of slaughter’d thousands lost, they lie, - By all forsaken, unregarded die. 60 - Yet each seem’d gladly to resign his breath, - And hail th’ approach of honourable death: - And still in death, o’er each undaunted face, - Nought but the pride of heroism you’d trace;-- - Each dying warrior, welt’ring on the strand, - Still strain’d each nerve to grasp his broken brand. - - -V. - - As Gordon, great in arms, whose glorious name - Was ever foremost of the sons of Fame, - (With that bright warmth of love and friendly fire, - Which only godlike Wellesley can inspire;) 70 - Besought his chief, who mingled with the strife, - Of danger heedless, to regard his life, - A ball, fast hissing on the airy tide, - Stretched the brave soldier by his leader’s side. - And glorious Canning, ere the shades of death - Had numb’d his arm, or stopt his fleeting breath, - Rais’d up his eyes to heav’n, and faintly cried, - “Ah, bless my chief”--and in that blessing died! - The brave Delancey left his native land, 79 - Young Hymen’s chaplet, and Love’s plighted hand-- - He left them all!--for Honour’s notes afar - Proclaim’d the signal of reviving war: - Destruction hover’d where his falchion prest, - And Fate’s dark lightnings glitter’d round his crest. - But Death, with envy, saw his feats that day, - Another Death, he thought, had bore his pow’r away; - He rais’d his arm--he hurl’d the fatal dart, - And bad it moisten in the warrior’s heart; - Urg’d by the spectre’s hand, the weapon prest, 89 - Pierc’d the knight’s garb, and sunk within his breast,-- - Adown his bosom stream’d the ebbing blood, - And life came rushing on the purple flood. - - -VI. - - Two British heroes, of a meaner name, - That day shone proudly in the field of Fame; - Immortal Thonne, and bold Herculean Shawe, - Before whose arms, with fear and wond’ring awe, - Proud Gallia shrunk; while gasping on the strand, - Nine chieftains fell by Thonne’s destructive hand. - D’Avigné fam’d throughout the Gallic race, - For warlike honours, and for martial grace, 100 - Perceiv’d the victor glorying from afar, - And spurr’d his courser to the promis’d war: - So the fierce tyger stalks the Lybian plain, - Exulting o’er the savage nations slain, - While o’er each hill, and dark impervious wood, - They strive t’ escape the ravisher of blood: - Forth from the forest, gaunt with vengeful ire, - With stiffen’d mane, and eyes of living fire, - Rushes the lion with indignant glow, - And pours his fury on the raging foe. 110 - - -VII. - - And first D’Avigné rais’d his mighty hand, - Bright with the terrors of the wounding brand; - Full on the dauntless Briton’s plumy crest - The blow descends,--then glances tow’rds the breast; - But there it stopt--the sabre’s parrying care - Gleam’d cautious down and turn’d the wound to air. - The Briton then his weapon rear’d on high, - And mark’d the Frenchman with a wary eye; - Then sudden swept his vengeful sword around, - And stretch’d his victim gasping on the ground; 120 - But, as he lay, ere yet the damps of death - Had numb’d his arm, or stopp’d his fleeting breath, - Against the charger of his conq’ring foe, - Full on the chest, he strikes the griding blow[21]; - The noble beast, convuls’d by piercing pain, - Rear’d his proud form, and shook his flowing mane, - Then instant fell--and from the mortal wound, - The gushing life’s-blood issued on the ground; - Full on his noble master, ere he rose, - On ev’ry side resound a hundred blows-- 130 - A hundred lances glitter at his breast-- - A hundred strokes re-echo on his crest; - He strikes--retreats--advances--strives in vain, - And adds another to the heaps of slain. - Thus falls some tow’r which long has rear’d its form, - And mock’d the fury of the raging storm: - The fierce besiegers strive each art in vain, - To cast its lofty fabric on the plain; - At length the treach’rous mine, with secret care, - Beneath its strong foundations they prepare; 140 - With horrid crash, its crackling piles resound, - And fall, a mighty ruin on the ground. - - -VIII. - - Mean time brave Shawe usurps the martial plain, - And spreads the field with Gallic heaps of slain; - Where beams his sabre, wild confusion brings - Terror and death upon her iron wings; - A cuirass’d band of Gallic heroes saw - His martial prowess with admiring awe. - And first Bernot withdrew his wond’ring eyes, - And thus the chief with indignation cries:-- 150 - “O friends! O soldiers, shall the Gallic name - Rest, for a moment, in disgraceful shame? - And shall you Briton, glorying from far, - Destroy our troops, and thin the ranks of war? - Frenchmen, charge forwards! and your king’s applause - Awaits your efforts in his glorious cause; - For he that sends yon haughty Briton’s head, - A worthy off’ring to the noble dead, - Napoléon’s self shall grace his radiant name, - And age to age perpetuate his fame.” 160 - He ceas’d;--and, warm’d by hope, his legion broke - Through fires of sulphur, and through mists of smoke[22]: - Onwards they roll’d, elate with warrior’s pride, - Each soldier charging by his comrade’s side. - To check their course, drawn up in firm array, - A gallant troop of Britons urge their way. - Those arms destructive fill their mighty hands, - The bayonet--weapon of the Anglian bands:-- - They mingle!--hark! what mighty strokes resound-- - What streams of slaughter dye the thirsty ground! 170 - - -IX. - - De Bruyere, bending from his saddle-bow, - Aim’d first at British Eth’rington his blow. - Thirsting for blood the gleaming weapon prest, - And forceful pierc’d the Briton’s sable crest:-- - He sunk!--but Beauchamp, with indignant eye, - Perceived the feat of Gallic bravery, - With bayonet charg’d, full rushing on the foe, - He pierc’d his courser with a mortal blow;-- - He fell!--and Bernot, riding o’er the plain, - Trod on his crackling crest and crush’d the brain. 180 - Britons and Gauls now gath’ring clos’d around, - One war tumultuous shook th’ affrighted ground: - Arm rose ’gainst arm, and man encounter’d man; - Through ev’ry breast revenge and hatred ran. - At length, so fierce the Britons’ rushing force, - In vain the Gauls attempt to stop their course: - Slow they retreat!--yet, facing to the foe, - Defiance threaten, as they sternly go; - But Bernot turn’d, and wav’d his hand on high-- - “Hold, cowards, hold! nor thus inglorious fly, 190 - What, though the fury of yon rushing tide, - Our smaller numbers vain attempt to bide; - Yet still revenge is ours, yon Briton’s hand[23] - Still gives to death the heroes of our land; - That mighty warrior, whom we lately swore, - Should wreak his fury on our troops no more; - Forward with me!--for here again I swear, - That if this arm the trusty blade can bear, - To meet this dreaded conqueror I fly, - I go to conquer--or I go to die!” 200 - - -X. - - He spoke!--and wav’d his scymitar on air, - And rush’d impatient to the promis’d war. - Five Gallic warriors sharing in his wrath, - Eager pursue his devastating path; - And soon around the mighty Briton close, - And pour on ev’ry side a show’r of blows. - Ah! cease! the pitying Muse forbids to tell, - How great, in death, that gallant hero fell! - - Still, undiminish’d, Gaul her numbers pours, - Vast as the sand that loads the sea-girt shores. 210 - E’en by their vict’ries tir’d, in heaps of slain, - Fast fall the Britons on the groaning plain. - Yet view the various fortunes of that hour, - The Anglians’ weakness, and the Frenchmen’s pow’r, - You’d find each British form, that loads the ground, - Piere’d by _no backward, no inglorious_ wound. - And still no murmurs waste their panting breath, - When all around they see the works of death; - Still with fresh courage they demand to go, - And in their turn to charge th’ exulting foe: 220 - “On! let us on!” impetuous they cry, - “Not thus inglorious,--scarce opposing,--die.” - Chief of the Island sons, how great thy praise!-- - How bright thy honour!--and how green thy bays! - “Wait yet, my friends,” the pitying chief would say, - “And conquest still shall be our own this day,-- - Wait yet till come the long-expected force, - Till valiant Blücher speeds his driving horse.” - - -XI. - - Yet though his words can animate the heart, - And lively courage to each breast impart, 230 - Still anxious doubt, though kept in wise control, - Chill’d his own cheek, and dampt his mighty soul. - If Blücher come not in _one_ passing hour, - Full well he knew how weak was all his pow’r. - With eagle-eye the squadrons he survey’d, - And, where they fainted, sent the timely aid;-- - His person, counsel, and his chiefest care, - Where most the dreadful dangers of the war, - And where, disdaining self, his form he threw, - To guard that form, invincible they grew. 240 - Though less thy skill, not less thy daring might, - Uxbridge! thou pride, thou bulwark of the fight! - Shew me, ye Muses of Parnassian shades, - A chief more glorious for the horse brigades-- - A chief more skill’d to please th’ unconstant fair, - Or shine the first, and foremost of the war. - But by thy fire of valour led away, - A shot, at close of that tremendous day, - Mangled thy form, and drove thee from the fray. - - -XII. - - Lo! where Hibernia pours her gen’rous train, 250 - Dread of her foes, and foremost of the plain; - Bright honour, and the em’rald isle, their cry, - To fall is glory--infamy to fly. - Mean time, brave Orange, mightiest of his name, - Spreads desolation o’er the field of Fame. - Great Prince! who, midst the thickest of the strife, - Led on by native ardour, risk’d his life. - Encompass’d round, amidst the hostile lines, - Th’ heroic youth his liberty resigns: - A Belgian troop rush timely in, to save 260 - The gallant chieftain from an early grave. - The brilliant gem, th’ insignia’s regal pride, - That matchless hero from his form untied, - With grateful ardour, midst the martial crew, - The signs of birth and royalty he threw. - “Long live our Prince! long live our martial Lord!” - Shout Belgia’s hardy sons, with one accord; - “Come life, come death, this token we will shield, - Through all the dangers of the dreadful field.” 269 - Then where their ranks the tow’ring standard grac’d, - With pride exulting, the rich ensign plac’d; - Along the plain, as driving bail, they pour, - And flood the field with many a stream of gore. - - -XIII. - - But, lo! where yonder, what approaching train, - Wrapt in a cloud of smoke, obscure the plain?-- - ’Tis they!--’tis they!--the long-expected force, - ’Tis godlike Blücher rolls his sweeping course;-- - ’Tis Bulow, dreadful thunderbolt of war, - Leads Prussia’s injur’d warriors from afar; - And, as they wound along the mountain’s brow, 280 - They hurl’d their cannon on the Gauls below; - While the red sulphur, seem’d in pride to dance, - On the broad blade, steel crest, and gleaming lance; - And, as their bright and lengthen’d squadrons roll’d on high, - They seem’d like shadowy legions, gliding through the sky. - - Monarch of Gaul, what pangs of hopeless wo - Dim thy bright eye, and cross thy thoughtful brow, - Where all around thee heaps of death arise, - And Prussia’s cannon seem to rend the skies; - And where the warlike bands of Cossacks fly, 290 - Resolv’d to conquer, or sublimely die;-- - Where Briton’s Genius rears her tow’ring head, - No longer weeping o’er the glorious dead. - - -XIV. - - Lo! o’er the Monarch’s cheek, a gladd’ning ray - Danc’d in his eye, and bad the smile to play, - Where on the right his fav’rite legion stands, - The imperial guards, those ever-dauntless bands; - Swift in the midst his arm he wav’d on high, - “On, soldiers on, to conquer, or to die!” - Then, where the bravest of the British force, 300 - He leads the way, and points their angry course; - As when the stormy waves are o’er the deep, - With hope of glory on that legion sweep. - E’en their brave enemies hung back, and saw - Their stern battalions with admiring awe. - That man, to whom contending nations bow’d, - Whose iron sceptre half a world allow’d-- - Whose rapid fortunes urg’d the wheels of Fate-- - Whose prosp’rous victories seem’d of endless date, - Now shapes his way, and fires his daring band, 310 - With Vengeance’ torch terrific in his hand; - That band, in mighty deeds of arms renown’d, - With valour arm’d, as yet with victory crown’d,-- - The sons of conquest, and the flow’r of France, - Who fill’d all Europe with alarms, advance. - - -XV. - - Beneath a friendly vale the warriors pause, - And thus began the chieftain of their cause:-- - “Friends, countrymen! the battle’s dubious fate, - The fate of Europe, on your arms await; - Should victory crown our efforts, then no more 320 - Shall war destructive waste our native shore. - The hostile league, which now appears so fast, - Will break asunder, ere a day be past; - And Wellesley, weaken’d in the dire affray, - To Gallic brav’ry, falls an easy prey. - Think of your ancient deeds! beneath your arms, - Prussia, and Austria, fled with dire alarms; - Dejected Spain, a Gallic Monarch own’d, - And soft Italia mourn’d her Sire dethron’d; - The winds of Fame your conq’ring eagles bore, 330 - To climes ne’er fann’d by Victory’s wing before. - These were your former deeds!--disgrace, or shame, - Ne’er yet have soil’d your laurels, or your name. - But now has envious Jealousy arose, - To blight those laurels with unnumber’d foes; - And yet they say, ’tis me!--’tis me alone! - Your king, they wish to conquer, to dethrone! - Yes!--were I dead,--proud Prussia’s ruthless hand - Would hurl destruction on your fated land; - They say, they ask not to decide your choice, 340 - But me depos’d, to leave it to your voice. - Yes!--were I dead,--their haughty pow’r would place - Upon your throne th’ accursed Bourbon race. - Say, will you have the idiot-line again, - The mock of Europe, o’er your realms to reign? - No! I can see in each indignant face, - Your scorn, your hatred of the lawless race. - A people’s voice, the voice of half a world, - Rais’d me from whence that tyrant race was hurl’d; - And since that time, my reign or ill, or well, 350 - Let Gallia’s wealth--let Gallia’s conquest tell. - But on the features of each ardent face, - Your fire impetuous for the war I trace,-- - Go then, my countrymen! no more restrain - Your native ardour from the glorious plain-- - Go with fresh laurels still to gild your name, - To track the path of Honour and of Fame!-- - Go, let your ancient conquests be surpast, - By this brave deed, the mightiest and the last.” - - -XVI. - - The hero ceas’d!--but loud applauding cries, 360 - “Long live our Emperor!” rend the list’ning skies; - From hill to hill, the deaf’ning shouts rebound, - And Britain’s Genius trembled at the sound! - E’en vengeful Prussia, thund’ring from afar, - Dropt the red brand, and, wond’ring, ceas’d the war. - Those notes so loudly, and so sternly rung, - That ev’ry warring rank in mute attention hung! - Now slowly winding o’er the devious path, - The pride of France, direct their ardent wrath! - Not one warm bosom, felt a pang of fear-- 370 - No colder throbbing, check their bold career! - So gladly stern, they bend their awful way, - They seem’d to think their conquest sure that day. - - Sudden a band of Brunswick’s sons appear, - High in the air, their scathing swords they rear; - And dare to extend the death-arousing hand, - ’Gainst Europe’s dread--Napoléon’s favour’d band: - Vain are their force!--the eye can scarce survey - What heaps the Gauls, exulting, swept away! - Again, in that dread hour, proud Victory spread 380 - Her ample pinions o’er Napoléon’s head; - In cold anxiety, he views from far, - Screen’d by the vale, th’ achievements of the war. - - Hark! what a peal re-echoes through the skies; - What sudden clouds of lurid smoke arise? - ’Tis the hoarse sound, so fatal to the brave, - Red Death’s loud herald--patron of the grave! - Lo! what a troop of Gallia’s flow’r, who late, - Exulted wide, and scorn’d the rod of Fate, - Stretch’d upon earth, depriv’d of life and breath, 390 - Still sternly frowning, seem to spurn at Death! - But as _one_ fell, _another_ quick supplied - The vacant place, with fierce, undaunted pride;-- - That pride which scorns all ties, that seem to part - The idol Glory from the warrior’s heart! - E’en if a brother, son, or father die, - They view his slaughter with unalter’d eye; - Each earthly passion from their souls had flow’n, - Or rather seem’d absorb’d in one alone, 399 - To grace their much-lov’d Sov’reign’s honour’d name, - To live in glory, or to die in fame! - - -XVII. - - A band of Britons, ’neath an hollow lay, - Where Europe’s terror urg’d their rolling way, - When, close behind, great Wellesley sudden threw - His form rever’d, amid the warlike crew, - And thus indignant cries, “Till British force - Has backward drove the Gauls’ destructive course, - E’en should the hostile sabre, rear’d on high, - Destruction threaten, ne’er from hence I’ll fly.” - Of self regardless, and unknown to fear, 410 - Thus rush’d the hero--thus the foe’s career - To stop he sought; while, round his form belov’d, - His martial band, a matchless phalanx prov’d; - Hid in the shelving depth, a kindling flame, - Play’d round their hearts and lit the road to Fame. - Mean time th’ imperial guard, with dauntless might, - Still roll impetuous o’er the paths of fight,-- - Unconscious where the fatal ambush lay, - Within its verge, they bend their destin’d way. - When, lo! a sudden voice amaz’d they hear, 420 - “Up, guards, attack! your ready guns uprear.” - Instant the Britons rose; the Gauls, in mute surprise, - Thought they perceiv’d the sons of earth arise; - But for surprise, or thought, not long had they, - Ere the loud volley swept their troops away. - Heaps upon heaps, that fire destructive made, - Drove rank on rank, and back’d the whole brigade; - And, whilst the wounded make attempt to rise, - Another volley echoes through the skies. - - -XVIII. - - Where now is Gallia’s boast?--far, far around, 430 - Their mangled corpses welter on the ground; - Save, where a few of that tremendous band, - In stern amaze, still make their wonted stand. - But see, the Britons, with exulting joy, - Bare their bright sabres, eager to destroy; - And, breathing vengeance, sword in hand they go, - To end the conquest of the wilder’d foe; - They, lost to reason, and the mind’s control, - Sunk in despair each energy of soul: - Some instinctively fly--some idly stand, 440 - Yet drop the useless weapon from the hand. - So fell, in one promiscuous pile of dead, - Proud Gallia’s glory, and all Europe’s dread! - - Napoléon view’d, with piercing pangs, afar, - The adverse fortunes of the fatal war; - E’en his bright talents, and gigantic soul, - Which soar’d ’bove mortals, and beyond control, - Sunk in that hour--in that eventful day, - When his lov’d troops by fate were swept away; - Fain would he rush his raging form to throw 450 - Before the progress of his conq’ring foe; - But Bertrand, Drouët, on the Monarch hung, - Melted to tears, and bath’d the knees they clung-- - “Whither, great Sire, oh, whither would’st thou fly? - And dost thou think that thou alone would’st die? - Upon _thy_ life, unnumber’d lives await-- - On thee, depends thy native Gallia’s fate. - Think of thy safety, and if not thy own, - That of thy country, and thy infant son. - What, though to-day opposing Fortune low’rs, 460 - To-morrow’s sun may yet behold her ours!” - With words like these, they strive to soothe the chief, - Soften his anger, and allay his grief. - Mov’d by their prayers, that glorious chief resign’d - The dreadful purpose of his mighty mind. - Backwards one long, one lingering look he cast - Tow’rds the red place his band had breath’d their last, - Then pass’d his hand across his madd’ning brow-- - “I follow, Bertrand, where you lead me now.” - - -XIX. - - Mean time fierce Blücher, with impetuous might, 470 - Supports the war, and claims the equal fight; - Hill’s conq’ring banners, midst the thickest war, - Dripping red carnage, glitter’d from afar; - His ruthless Prussians, dreadful Bulow roll’d, - While Uxbridge shone the boldest of the bold; - Exulting Fame, in shouting clamours calls, - And Britain’s vengeance on Napoléon falls. - But now the Gauls are mass’d in one vast throng, - And Albion’s troops, collected, sweep along. - On each vast squadron rush, each mighty band, 480 - Now charge, collected, scymitar in hand. - So from some rock the gushing torrents pour, - Burst the weak banks, and overwhelm the shore: - Their mighty streams in ev’ry quarter roll, - And sweep away, whate’er their force control. - What pen can tell each hero’s deathless name, - Who spread destruction o’er the field of Fame. - Let some sublimer bard’s illustrious verse, - Their laurel’s number, and their deeds rehearse; 489 - How Cooke, how Maitland, Packe, and Ferrier shone; - How Ellis, Somerset, and Cairnes were known;-- - How brave Fitzgerald, through the bloody fray, - Spread ruin dark, and wond’ring wild dismay. - With many a chief, whose ever-living name - No voice can tell!--except the voice of Fame! - Nor yet shalt thou, with well-earn’d laurels bright, - Be sunk, O, C----t! in oblivious night, - In that dread day thy crest refulgent shone, - A youth in years, a vet’ran in renown; - Sprung from a sire, who rear’d our nobler youth 500 - To wisdom, virtue, learning, sense, and truth. - Nor less thy brother’s fame, where Ganges pours - His sacred waters through the Indian shores. - - -XX. - - But, lo! what daring Frenchman’s desperate force - Dare strive t’ oppose Britannia’s conq’ring course? - Alone, scarce arm’d, from ev’ry limb, and pore, - Dripping, a long and ghastly stream of crimson gore? - ’Tis Shawe’s fierce murd’rer, by his sable crest, - And ruby crosslet glitt’ring at his breast-- - ’Tis dark Bernot!--the hero’s thirst of fame, 510 - Led his _last_ act, to consecrate his name: - See! in the thickest of the hostile band, - Wave his dark plumes, and gleam his gory brand. - Five chiefs he strikes--and rears to strike again-- - Why drops his arm?--why useless on the plain - Falls the red blade?--why sinks his plumy crest? - The streams of life no longer warm his breast! - By drop, by drop, from many a gashing wound, - As he rode on, they trickled on the ground; - Till the last streams had floated from his side, 520 - And life and strength had issued on the tide. - - -XXI. - - Hark! hark! what means that deep and frantic yell, - That seems to burst the iron gates of hell? - ’Tis Gallia’s Genius mourns her slaughter’d host! - Her Empire, Sov’reign, and her Glory lost! - Her car triumphant, now has stopp’d its course, - And yields reluctant to Britannia’s force! - Her darling hero makes his glorious stand, - Her fav’rite son, the flow’r of Anglia’s band! - Hark! hark!--again the sounds of victory rise, 530 - In strains of triumph to the list’ning skies! - ’Tis Britain conquers--Britain gives the blow-- - ’Tis Britain glories o’er an humbled foe! - - Now all is still!--save, where the breezes bear - The groans of ling’ring nature to the ear. - Peaceful at length, extended, side by side, - Lay Britain’s boast, and humbled Gallia’s pride; - While victory all her brightest honours shed, - On Anglia’s warriors, and on Wellesley’s head. - To that great chieftain is the glory due, 540 - That first the haughty monarch learn’d to sue: - Though great _his_ might, though deathless is _his_ name, - Yet thou surpass’d him in the field of Fame. - And long, as Albion’s laurel-mantled isle - Shall o’er old Ocean’s conquer’d waters smile; - And long, as through a Briton’s veins shall roll - The mighty blood, that nerves a Briton’s soul; - That blood shall boil! that heaving soul shall rise! - And glory’s rapture bright the sparkling eyes! - When the high name of Wellesley gives to view, 550 - Thy deathless plains, imperial Waterloo! - And the glad son of him, who fought and bled - In that dire fray, shall rear his tow’ring head, - And cry, in honest pride’s exulting swell,-- - “’Twas there my father fought, my father fell!” - - -END OF CANTO II. - - - - -NOTES - -ON CANTO I. - - -As so many excellent works have been published, giving a full and -accurate account of the transactions of the battle, and as they are so -recent in the memory of all who may honour this Poem with their perusal, -I shall be very brief and select in my Notes. - - -Stanza III. - - “_These hardy troops_ Napoléon’s brother _led_.” - -Jerome Buonaparte. - - * * * * * - - “_For the first time in arms confronting stand._” - -The Duke of Wellington had won twenty-seven battles over Napoléon’s -generals, and was at last personally confronted with their master. -Napoléon observed at Paris,--“that he was at last going to “measure -swords with this Wellington, of whom he should certainly give a good -account.” - - -Stanza VI. - - “_Where stood the pride of Caledonia’s force._” - -The Scotch Greys. - - -Stanza VII. - - “_And Scotia, aided by an English band._” - -The Bays. - - -Stanza XI. - - “_No modern field could ever yet behold_ - “_A fight so slaught’rous, and a war so bold._” - -This was perhaps the severest engagement of cavalry ever fought on a -modern field, and though the Greys eventually conquered by miracles of -valour, they might well exclaim with Pyrrhus,--“Another such victory -would ruin us.” - - -Stanza XII. - - “_The gallant Byng._”--General Byng. - - “_While Saltoun._”--Lord Saltoun. - - -Stanza XIII. - - “_Th’ heroic Ponsonby._”--Sir William Ponsonby. - -As Sir William Ponsonby was gallopping after his impetuous regiments, he -had to cross a field lately ploughed, and of a very soft soil, and being -badly mounted, his horse sunk in it. At that very moment he perceived a -troop of lancers coming at full speed, and seeing all was over, took the -picture of his wife from his bosom, and was giving the melancholy token -to his aid-de-camp, to bear to his family, when the lancers coming up, -killed both of them. To make the story more poetically affecting, I have -taken the almost unpardonable licence of altering the facts. - - -Stanza XXI. - - “_Melted to love before a brother’s name._” - -Not so by the ties of love, but friendship. - - -Stanza XXIV. - - “_Spite of his valour, struggles, and his strength._” - -This line is borrowed from the following one in Rokeby:-- - - “Spite of his struggles and his strength.” - - - - -NOTES - -ON CANTO II. - - -Stanza V. - - “_As Gordon._”--Sir Alexander Gordon. - - “_And glorious Canning._”--Lieut. Canning. - - “_The brave Delancey._”--Sir W. Delancey. - - -Stanza XXI. - - “_Moved by their prayers, the_ glorious chief.” - -I have endeavoured throughout the whole of this Poem, to observe a -strict impartiality between the British and French, and their -commanders; not following the practice of some, who seem scarcely -disposed to allow Buonaparte the character of a general; but these -should consider, that the braver the troops, and the more experienced -and skilful their leader, so much more is the glory of conquering them. - - -_Printed by J. Brettell, -Rupert Street, Haymarket, London._ - - - - -BOOKS PUBLISHED BY J. HATCHARD AND SON, No. 187, PICCADILLY. - -[Illustration] - - -A MISCELLANY of POETRY, in Two Parts, dedicated by especial permission -to Her Royal Highness the Duchess of York. 1 Vol. 8vo. Price 7_s._ -boards. - -IMAGINATION. A Poem, in Two Parts. 1 vol. 8vo. Price 6_s._ boards. - -ARMAGEDDON, a Poem, in Twelve Books. By the Rev. GEORGE TOWNSEND, B.A. -of Trinity College, Cambridge. 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Price 3_s._ 6_d._ boards. - - -HAVERFIELD’s LECTURES on the CHURCH CATECHISM. - -The Church Catechism and Rite of Confirmation, explained and illustrated -in a Course of Lectures, by the Rev. Thomas Tunstall Haverfield, B. D. -Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Oxford; and Chaplain to his Royal -Highness the Duke of Sussex. 1 Vol. 8vo. 13_s._ boards. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] See The Lay of the Last Minstrel. - -[2] See Roderick Dhu’s Sacrifice in The Lady of the Lake. - -[3] See the Banquet at Holyrood Palace in Marmion, &c. - -[4] Bulbul, is the Persian nightingale. - -[5] Zel, is an Eastern instrument of martial music. - -[6] Shich-Eidar, see Note the First. - -[7] Azrail, is the Angel of Death. - -[8] Wine is forbidden by the Mahometan religion. - -[9] Sir R---- ----, an ancestor of Mrs. ----, was Lord Lieutenant of -the county of ---- in the reign of Elizabeth, and commanded the forces -of that county at the time of the Spanish Armada. - -[10] Henry II. - -[11] Castor and Pollux. - -[12] Damon and Pythias. - -[13] David, whose friendship with Jonathan is so beautifully described -in the Scriptures. - -[14] I am conscious that the metre of the following Translations is -very different from that of the original; but it is my humble opinion, -that it is utterly impossible to imitate the Version, and, at the same -time, to preserve the spirit of the expression, and dignity of the -idea; and it is really surprising that so many men of deep learning and -judgment have attempted what was certain of failure: even Francis, who -has done Horace more justice than any other translator, frequently, -even in some of the sublimest odes, degenerates to a mere ballad -singer. Were we, indeed, to make use of an irregular metre, it might, -perhaps, be easy to translate _the beauty_, as well as _the meaning_; -but, of all regular metres, I think our heroic is by far the best -adapted for the grander odes. - -[15] For this poem the Author must crave peculiar indulgence; it was -written at the desire of a lady, who asked him for his opinion of our -living poets in verse, and was completed in a _very short_ space of -time, so that there are necessarily many faults in it: it would not, -however, have been inserted, were it not for the particular wish of the -lady for whom it was written. - -[16] The gardens of Adonis. - -[17] Æschylus, who may, I think, be called the Father of Tragedy, -although Thespis was the first inventor of it. - - Ignotum Tragicæ genus invenisse Camænæ, - Dicitur, et plaustris vexisse poëmata Thespis, - Quæ canerent agerentque peruncti fæcibus ora. - Post hunc, personæ pallæque repertor honestæ - Æschylus, et modicis instravit pulpita tignis, - Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothurno.”--_Hor._ - - -[18] The nightingale is said to be particularly and faithfully attached -to the rose tree. - -[19] Ponsonby is generally called the chieftain, or leader, throughout -the whole battle. - -[20] Chrishna, is the Apollo of the Hindoo Mythology, and his smile is -supposed to have been so bright as to have diffused an halo around his -whole face. - -[21] - - “The _griding_ sword with discontinuous wound - “Pass’d through him:----” - _Milton_. - - -[22] - - “Through flames of sulphur and a night of smoke.” - _Addison’s Campaign_. - - -[23] Shawe. - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISMAEL; AN ORIENTAL TALE. 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margin-left: 17em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -.linenum {position:absolute;top:auto;right:20%; -font-size:80%;} -</style> - </head> -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems, by Edward George Lytton Bulwer</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Ismael; an oriental tale. With other poems</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Edward George Lytton Bulwer</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 16, 2021 [eBook #65357]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charlene Taylor, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISMAEL; AN ORIENTAL TALE. WITH OTHER POEMS ***</div> -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="500" alt="" title="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_i" id="page_i">{i}</a></span></p> - -<p class="cb"><span class="lspc">ISMAEL;<br /><br /> -AN ORIENTAL TALE.<br /><br /></span> -<small>WITH</small><br /><br /> -<span class="eng">Other Poems</span>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ii" id="page_ii">{ii}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iii" id="page_iii">{iii}</a></span> </p> - -<h1><span class="lspc"> -ISMAEL;<br /><small> -<br /> -AN ORIENTAL TALE.</small></span><br /> -<br /> -<small>WITH<br /> -<br /> -<span class="eng">Other Poems</span>.</small></h1> - -<p class="cb"> -<small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -EDWARD GEORGE LYTTON BULWER.<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<i>Written between<br /> -The Age of Thirteen and Fifteen.</i><br /> -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Scribimus indocti doctique poëmata passim.”<br /></span> -<span class="i17"><i>Hor. 2 Ep. 1.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="cb"> -<i>LONDON:</i><br /> -<br /> -PRINTED FOR J. HATCHARD AND SON<br /> -No. 187, PICCADILLY.<br /> -<br /> -1820.<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_iv" id="page_iv">{iv}</a></span><br /> -<br /><small> -<i>Printed by J. Brettell,<br /> -Rupert Street, Haymarket, London.</i></small><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_v" id="page_v">{v}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><big>T</big>o court applause by oblique dexterity, or without -a due sense of respect for public opinion, impertinently -to advance pretensions, is equally revolting to -the feelings of an ingenuous mind. But as genius -and a desire of fame are naturally allied, and, perhaps, -the former never existed without the latter; -will not the youthful adventurer be justified in endeavouring -to stand well in the opinion of the judicious -and discerning, by disseminating his works -among them—under a confidence, that the more -candid will be pleased with the first blossoms of -poetical talent, not only as the fruits of industry, but -as presages in maturer years of more elevated titles -to distinction? With these impressions, the Author -of the following Poems has been induced, by the -advice of his friends, to offer the present Collection<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vi" id="page_vi">{vi}</a></span> -to the public. The praise of friends, I am aware, is -not always a sufficient reason for publication;—and -pieces of poetry, dictated by some local occurrence, -or intended as a tribute of politeness or affection to -some individual, though at first much admired, may, -nevertheless scarcely deserve to be transmitted to -posterity. I am well aware that the strict eye of -criticism may discover imperfections, and that a nice -ear may, perhaps, occasionally be hurt by a harsh -line;—and, that some, from a dread of inspiring into -a young mind, a taste for extra-academical fame, may -be disposed to extinguish altogether such attempts—yet -it would be straining delicacy beyond convenient -bounds, if we did not cherish the idea, that there may -be others, who may be pleased to look propitiously -on the first specimens of genius at so early an age—many -of them having been written when the Author -had attained only his Thirteenth year, and the whole -before he had completed Fifteen years of age. Their -claims are not, <i>perhaps</i>, of that superior kind, which -will find a place among the first orders of poetry; -but the pieces breathe throughout the true spirit of -virtuous sensibility, vigour of fancy, and that characteristic -manner, which always accompanies strong -power of invention;—they display richness of imagery, -and elegance of style, while the language has an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_vii" id="page_vii">{vii}</a></span> -easy flow, and unaffected simplicity, free from that -artificial splendor, and obscure magnificence, which -modern taste seems to establish as the excellence of -poetical diction. Most of the larger Poems in the -Collection express in easy language, and at the same -time with all the graces of genuine poetry, every sentiment -fitted to the occasion on which they were -written. Of this, among the lighter ones, the reader -will have an agreeable specimen in the verses dedicated -to Lady C . . . . . L——, which though on a trivial subject, -may, perhaps, give as just and pleasing an idea of -this Writer’s poetical talents, as any other single piece -among the more trifling ones which we can collect. -The Translations of the first Chorus of Œdipus Tyrrannus, -and two Odes of Horace, exhibit no small degree -of classical attainment: and, however just or otherwise -the remark may be, “that the failure of preceding -translators has arisen, in a great measure, -from a desire to copy the variations of Horace’s -measures;” the present ones convey a correct and -spirited explanation of the sense in general, and by -observing circumstances and the little figures and -turns on the words, (that <i>curiosa felicitas verborum</i>,) -they have preserved the beauties, and kept alive that -spirit and fire, which make the chief character of the -original.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_viii" id="page_viii">{viii}</a></span></p> - -<p>It will not, therefore, be presuming too much, to -hope that these Poems may contain enough to draw -from such as value the display of early talents, a -favourable reception; and that the Author, under -such encouragement, when his taste is more matured, -will perfect the produce of his youthful industry, -and by diligence add to the stores of a mind formed -by nature to accumulate and decorate them—there is -only left for me to say,</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His saltem accumulem donis.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i10">ΦΙΛΌΜΟΥΣΟΣ.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_ix" id="page_ix">{ix}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ADVERTISEMENT" id="ADVERTISEMENT"></a>ADVERTISEMENT<br /><br /> -BY THE AUTHOR.</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Notwithstanding</span> my friend has said so much and -so flattering to myself, in his Preface, yet the diffidence -and the anxiety which ever accompany a first -attempt, particularly at so early an age, urge me to -add a few words, however superfluous they may -appear. An apology is indeed, perhaps, always -requisite for an intrusion on the public, and I cannot, -therefore, refrain from offering one for some of the -Poems which are inferior to the rest. They were -written when but a child—they were the first faint -dawnings of poetic enthusiasm,—and that sense of -integrity, which should accompany every action, -prevented my now altering them, in any <i>material</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_x" id="page_x">{x}</a></span> -respect. I expressly state the age at which they were -written, and I think it but a duty to the public, that -they should actually be written at that age. For the -same reason, therefore, and not from any arrogant -vanity, I have been particularly careful that no other -hand should have polished, or improved them.</p> - -<p>For the Battle of Waterloo, much ought to be said -in apology, when so many far, far more adequate to -the task, than myself, have written upon it; and when -so many have failed in the attempt, it seems to argue -vanity in the design; but such, I may assert, was far -from my mind, at the time of its composition. It -was begun in a moment of enthusiasm—it was continued -from a deep interest in the undertaking—and -it was completed from a dislike, I have always entertained, -to leave any thing unfinished. But I was -myself very unwilling to commit it to the press, and -only did so at the express and flattering desire of -some intimate friends, who were, perhaps, too partial -to perceive its defects.</p> - -<p>To the generosity of the more lenient of the public, -do I now confide this first attempt for their favour; -and, as they scan over the faults with the eye of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xi" id="page_xi">{xi}</a></span> -Criticism, may the hand of Mercy restrain them from -dragging those faults to light.</p> - -<p>The solicitude that I feel, would induce me to -indulge in a tedious prolixity; but I must remember, -that none but <i>myself</i> can be interested in my <i>own</i> -feelings, and I will, therefore, no longer detain my -readers from the proof.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiii" id="page_xiii">{xiii}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xii" id="page_xii">{xii}</a></span></p> - -<p class="cded"> -TO WHOM SHOULD A YOUNG, AND TIMID<br /> -COMPETITOR FOR PUBLIC REPUTATION,<br /> -DEDICATE HIS ATTEMPTS,<br /> -BUT TO<br /> -A BRITISH PUBLIC?<br /> -TO THAT PUBLIC, WHO HAVE ALWAYS<br /> -BEEN THE FOSTERERS OF INDUSTRY, OR GENIUS,<br /> -WHO HAVE ALWAYS LOOKED FORWARD FROM<br /> -THE IMPERFECTIONS OF YOUTH,<br /> -TO THE<br /> -FRUITS OF MATURITY.<br /> -IT IS TO THAT GENEROUS PUBLIC,<br /> -THAT HE NOW COMMITS HIS HOPES AND HIS FEARS.<br /> -IT IS TO THAT GENEROUS PUBLIC,<br /> -THAT HE NOW OFFERS HIS<br /> -JUVENILE EFFORTS,<br /> -FOR THEIR APPLAUSE!<br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xv" id="page_xv">{xv}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xiv" id="page_xiv">{xiv}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td class="pdd"> </td><td class="rt"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Address to Walter Scott, Esq.</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Ismael; an Oriental Tale</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Notes</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_55">55</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>To Lady C . . . . . L——</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_61">61</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>To Lady W . . . . .</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_63">63</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Ode to the Muse of Verse</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_64">64</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Ode to a Poker</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_67">67</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>To K——, the Seat of Mrs. ——</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_70">70</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>On Friendship</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_75">75</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Irregular Lines</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_80">80</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Stanzas to Lyra</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_84">84</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Geraldine; a Romantic Tale</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_87">87</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>On seeing a Tear on the Cheek of a Young Lady</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_109">109</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Translations from Horace</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_111">111</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Translation of the First Chorus in the Œdipus<br /> Tyrrannus of Sophocles</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_119">119</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Parnassus; a Vision</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_123">123</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Upon a late Man of Quality</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_133">133</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>To Lyra</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_136">136</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Farewell to Lyra</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_138">138</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>The Casket</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_142">142</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>The Battle of Waterloo</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_145">145</a></td></tr> -<tr><td class="pdd"><i>Notes</i></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_195">195</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_xvi" id="page_xvi">{xvi}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="ERRATA" id="ERRATA"></a>ERRATA.</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td></td><td><i>Page</i></td><td> 22, </td><td><i>line</i> </td><td>389, <i>for</i> is, <i>read</i> bath</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td class="c">——</td><td class="rt">28,</td><td> ——</td><td>391, <i>for</i> dying, <i>read</i> mortal</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td class="c">——</td><td class="rt">31,</td><td> ——</td><td>90, <i>for</i> t’, <i>read</i> to</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td class="c">——</td><td class="rt">36,</td><td> ——</td><td>206,</td></tr> - -<tr><td><i>for</i></td><td colspan="4"> “Some mouths ago this arm had sav’d his life”</td></tr> -<tr><td><i>read</i></td><td colspan="4"> “Some moons have past since Ismael sav’d his life”</td></tr> -<tr><td></td><td><i>Page</i> </td><td>64,</td><td> <i>line</i></td><td> 5, <i>for</i> whither, <i>read</i> whether<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span></td></tr> -</table> - -<h2><a name="ADDRESS" id="ADDRESS"></a>ADDRESS<br /><br /> -TO WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Thirteen Years Old.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">To</span> thee, O <span class="smcap">Scott</span>, I tune my humble lyre,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who first inflam’d me with a Poet’s fire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Well may fair Scotland glory in the fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That waits thy verse, and crowns thy radiant name:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The child of Nature, all thy strains impart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A charm more lasting than the works of Art.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How oft in sweet delirium past the day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When pond’ring o’er thy richly-varied lay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To view the page with retrospective eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of deeds long done, of years long glided by.<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">E’en now, methinks, I view, by Fancy’s pow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ unearthly scene of Melross’ mould’ring tow’r<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, feel each vein, in icy horror bound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark! the dire curse re-echoes o’er the ground<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The regal banquet<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>, or the mazy dance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alternate court the raptures of my glance!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In lasting colours all, thy pencil drew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And held their beauties to our wond’ring view.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The first of Phœbus’ vot’ries, thou, to show<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How sweetly-wild the streams of Verse can flow;<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy dazzling genius, to the future age,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall shine resplendent in the Muse’s page:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For who, like thee, each pow’r of soul can bind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wake the dull strings of the folded mind?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Awful, or pensive, soften’d, wild, or gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! who, like thee, can waft the sense away<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In dreams divine?—and who so blind can be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’er to prefer that wayward Bard[*] to thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sublime in what?—in what!—Impiety!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes! when Oblivion o’er <i>his</i> name at last,<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her endless and impervious shroud shall cast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Britons shall mark with proud, enraptur’d eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Thine</i> are the lays that shall not, cannot die.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2>ISMAEL;</h2> -<p class="c"> -AN ORIENTAL POEM.<br /><br /> - -<span class="eng">In Two Cantos</span>.<br /><br /> - -<i>Written at Fifteen Years Old.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Let those who rule on Persia’s jewell’d throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Be fam’d for love, and gentlest love alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Or twine, like Abbas, full of fair renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The lover’s myrtle with the warrior’s crown.”<br /></span> -<span class="i13">Collins’s Oriental Eclogues.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2>ISMAEL.</h2> - -<h3>CANTO I.</h3> - -<h4>I.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Tis eve, and bright through Caymyr’s fragrant trees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spread Ismael’s banners to the wanton breeze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er martial camps, and trophied armour blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rising moon-beams cast a silvery hue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lull’d is each ruder wind, so hush’d, and calm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That not a leaf is mov’d on yonder palm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save by the soft, sweet breeze that now floats by,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the faint meltings of a lover’s sigh;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the lone bulbul<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>, on that beauteous tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pours out her strains of purest melody;<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a flow’r, that shuns day’s fervid glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Puts forth its modest, fragrant beauties now;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the high heav’ns smile so sublimely fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eye might think to waft the spirit there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While yonder clouds, that o’er the mountain roll’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have caught the sun’s last parting glance of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seem to glory in their splendid hue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give to the heav’ns around a brighter blue.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the rich beauties of that sacred still,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With war’s rude mingled sounds are suited ill<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With clang of arms, loud shouting, and rough swell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rousing trumpet, and of clashing zel<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a>;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It breaks the balm divine, that breathes around,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That else might pour its healing in the wound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of rack’d Despair, and Murder’s self awhile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of its soul-withering agony beguile.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes! ’tis an eve, whose pensive, sweet control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thrills in soft transport through the care-worn soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And man would cry, “Is this a place, an hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“For war’s dread tyrant to exert his power?<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Perchance this scene, that now, so softly mild,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Of love and sweetness seems the heav’nly child,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“May soon, alas! where now these flowrets glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Red carnage pour, and echo sounds of wo!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“This far-extended camp, this glorious train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“That spread their numbers o’er green Caymyr’s plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Vast as the sand, that loads the Persian shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“A day shall come,—and they shall be no more.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sees’t thou yon crescent gleaming from afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like half-hid influence of some meteor star?<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">It glows on Ismael’s tent; the sentry there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With cautious step, keeps more than common care.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But say, why (lord of all this num’rous band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sword of conquest flaming in his hand)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He, he alone, of all his armies yield,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is absent now from Caymyr’s tented field;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When mark’d by royal jealousy’s keen eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Sage of Ardevil<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> was doom’d to die;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He, whose high soul e’er soar’d on sacred wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Above the toils of kingdoms and of kings.<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Three sons he left; and two their danger knew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of age to see them, and to fly them too.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The third, young Ismael, then of infant age,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His father’s friends convey’d from Rustam’s rage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And flying hence, to Pyrchilim the Brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His sire’s illustrious friend, the child they gave:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there he grew, and every virtuous grace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enrich’d the noblest of Shich-Eidar’s race;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Talent and honour all his soul possest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In form of scarcely human beauty drest.<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In earliest youth, ere yet the toils of man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ambitious fire, and war’s alarms, began,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He lov’d a maid, the flow’r of Ava’s race;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No rose, no lily match’d that maiden’s face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He sigh’d his love, and Selyma return’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The chasten’d flame with which his bosom burn’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! mid the beauties of those heav’nly shores,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where all her charms, luxuriant Nature pours;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not such cold charms, as, in the frozen North,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Few, and half ripe, her niggard hand puts forth;<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But such, as on Love’s warmest, brightest shrine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She strews around, all glowing, all divine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, it were sweet to mark those lovers’ bliss—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bliss far too great for such a world as this.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they would sit beneath some spreading palm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When mellowing eve put forth her fragrant balm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And watch the setting sun’s last dazzling sheen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sink slow, as loth to quit so soft, so fair a scene.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And <i>he</i> would cull fresh flowrets’ varied glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To form a wreath to deck her lovely brow,<span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And twine his fingers in her locks of night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As down her breast they stray’d, as envious of its white;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, as they lay, their breathing lips would meet,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hearts, that love first taught th’ ecstatic beat.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And oh, to part at night, the ling’ring pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And oh, the happiness to meet again.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes, love like their’s so rapturous, yet so pure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas! could never, never long endure!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When Ismael learn’d, from whom he drew his breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shich-Eidar’s virtues, and Shich-Eidar’s death,<span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rightful heir to Persia’s realms; his soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With glory heav’d, disdaining Love’s control.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He left the maid, for Honour’s trumpet blew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And straight to arms, and to revenge he flew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wrong’d by oppression, or impell’d by fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around his standard, thousands daily came:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His sire’s old followers, joying to behold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From their dead sage, arise a son so bold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And many a chief, who lov’d in him to trace<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span><span class="i0">A branch of Iran’s ancient royal race,<span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that an alien from his blood should fill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The throne of Usum Cassan, brook’d it ill.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Many, who view’d his talents and admir’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And more, by love of battle-spoils inspir’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Widen’d each day the miscellaneous band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That swore to fight at Ismael’s command.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He fought, and conquer’d! to applauding fame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Victorious war had giv’n his youthful name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alvante reign’d upon the Persian throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Tauris sway’d, what Ismael deem’d his own;<span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thither he march’d, resolv’d, at one great blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His hopes, his fortunes, and his life to throw.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Tir’d with their rapid march, eve found his train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Encamp’d near Tauris, on soft Caymyr’s plain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In yon tall tow’r, just peeping from the grove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knew Ismael there, now dwelt his ancient love:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For Ava fell in battle, and the fair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gave to her mother Amagilda’s care.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she, for safety from the civil war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fled from her native halls and vallies far;<span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with this only child, the widow’d dame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To that tall tow’r near stately Tauris, came.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unknown to all, high Ismael mounts his horse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tow’rds his Selyma directs his course.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">What light is streaming through the darken’d gloom?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That radiance comes from Selyma’s lone room!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She, pensive, leaning on her iv’ry arm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hangs o’er her lattice, to imbibe the balm<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That eve imparts, while Fancy’s pow’r pourtrays<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ling’ring charm, that hangs on other days.<span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">From her bright eyes, where Love had fix’d his throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tears of mem’ry cours’d each other down,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her white bosom heav’d so deep a sigh—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twas like a long, long strain of dying melody!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And where art thou, companion of my youth?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Where are thy vows of never-ceasing truth?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis in idea alone, alas! I trace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The well-known features of that beaming face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Curs’d be the fatal, the dire-omen’d day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“That glory tore thee, from mine arms, away!<span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Curs’d be that glory, which will lead thee on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Where ruthless Azrail’s thickest dangers throng;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Yes, thou wilt die; or, living, die to me!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘No, Selyma, I’m here, and live for thee.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span>’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scarce had the virgin turn’d her wond’ring eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scarce giv’n the sound of fearful, glad surprise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then at her feet, reality has brought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The worshipp’d object of her ev’ry thought:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift o’er the senses of her ravish’d soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A temporary, kind oblivion stole;<span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But soon reviv’d, her eager eyes survey<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Him, whom she thought was ever snatch’d away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And dost thou live, and does mine eye once more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“View, what it deem’d was ever, ever o’er?”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Yes, Selyma, my first, my only love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I still am faithful as thy kindred dove.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The <i>Chieftain Ismael</i>, heir to Persia’s throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Comes, <i>humble Ismael’s</i> vows of love to own;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To lead thee forth, the fairest of the fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘My love, my glory, and my realms to share.<span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To morrow’s sun shall see my banners wave<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘O’er Persia’s city, and Alvante’s grave.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And thronging crowds shall hail my lovely bride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Rich Iran’s princess, and high Ismael’s pride!’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Ah, Ismael, happier far my lot would be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To range our earlier scenes of love with thee!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“How would thine humble Selyma repine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“That loathed state should keep her soul from thine.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“But why should selfish love attempt to mar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The bright refulgence of thine happier star!<span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Whatever pleases Ismael, must be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“O soul of Selyma, most dear to thee!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus, in sweet converse, the fast-flying hours<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were, like some bridegroom’s path, o’erstrew’d with flow’rs.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At length remember’d Ismael, lest the morn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should show his absence, he must now return.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Selyma, awak’ning from her trance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sent all her soul to his in one fond glance.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Ah, dost thou leave me, still, alas! unkind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Must Ismael go, and I remain behind?<span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Perhaps some arm, amid the bloody strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“May rear the blade against thy valued life;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Oh, let me go with thee!—thine arm, my shield,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Oh, let me share the perils of the field!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“What though I fall, what death can be so dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To cast my dying eyes around, and see thee near.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">High Ismael clasp’d the mourner to his breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dried the falling torrents in his vest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en though inur’d to war, to toil, to pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though wont to gaze, unmoved, at heaps of slain,<span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, as he view’d the anguish of the maid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Adown his cheek the pitying tear-drop stray’d.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Farewell, another sun perchance may see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Thine Ismael return to love, and thee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘How could that form of beauty learn to bear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The din of camps, the toils of blood and war!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Unman me not with this thy pleading wo—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Think, O my love, that Honour bids me go;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And the same law that summons me away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Commands thee here, my Selyma, to stay;—<span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Farewell.’—<br /></span> -<span class="i8">O! who that ne’er experienc’d it can tell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What meaning hangs on that sole word—farewell—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The piercing, thrilling glance, the tender air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That utter more than words can tell,—are there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the big tear that dims the sparkling eye;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the mute language of th’ imploring sigh;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that soft, ling’ring tone, that seems the sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of love himself, upon that word is found.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O ne’er, O ne’er can he, whose inmost soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has never felt it, tell its sweet control!<span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Selyma views him seize the snowy rein,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er his dark courser’s widely-streaming mane<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Like streaks of light in sable clouds) that hung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then on the back of mighty pride he sprung;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One parting look he casts!—with eagle speed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Away, away, swift scours that gen’rous steed.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now pensive midnight’s sable mantle falls<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er stately Tauris’ proud imbattled walls;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there dark Desolation’s fix’d his throne;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No sound is there, save sigh or plaintive groan:—<span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">There drops the widow’s tear—there heaves the sigh<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of mourning sire—there sounds the orphan’s cry—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there dark Azrail<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a> sits, and grimly waves<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His sable pinions o’er a thousand graves;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet e’en his rugged soul is tir’d—his hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would fain let drop his all-destructive brand—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would gladly spread his deadly plumes, to fly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From such a scene of desolate misery.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For when Alvante’s brother claim’d a throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which none but Ismael had the right to own;<span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tyrant, wak’ning from inglorious ease,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rush’d to the battle, like the northern breeze:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They fought! and young Moratcham’s lesser band<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fled in dismay before his brother’s hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But wo to Tauris’ chiefs!—for, there return’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With vengeful rage the haughty victor burn’d:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">For they had help’d to place the daring brand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of red Rebellion, in Moratcham’s hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like some roaring whirlwind’s sweeping path,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That tears whole forests with its rabid wrath;<span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, like some demon’s all-destroying form,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That wings the blast, and rides the gath’ring storm:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So fierce Alvante saw each coming day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The luckless chiefs of Tauris sweep away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whence is that piercing scream?—Oh, turn thine eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To view that scene of more than misery!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yon maiden lov’d yon lifeless youth; he fell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath Alvante’s rage,—the rest too well<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That scream has told;—wide floats her streaming hair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if to ask compassion of the air,<span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her dark eye-balls’ wilder’d, frenzied roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell all the pangs that rend her madd’ning soul.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She press’d her lips to his, in vain to breathe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Life into lips, where all is death beneath;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She feels his heart, for ever cold its glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And its high bound of rapture, silenc’d now!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And up she springs, and laughs—she laughs—but there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burst forth the horrid laughter of Despair.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vain, vain is reason, life against the stroke,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dead on her love she falls—her faithful heart is broke.<span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">See the pale tyrant in his lofty tow’rs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In reckless revelry employ his hours;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No blood, though torrents round his dwelling roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dims the forbidden<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> sparkle of the bowl.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His form gigantic, and commanding mien,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The eye of memory ne’er could quit, once seen.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet there, no foulness stain’d, no beauty shone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If each stern feature were remark’d alone;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But all united, the tremendous whole<span class="linenum">269</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went, in an instant, through the awe-struck soul—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All, all appear’d t’ announce—this, this must be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Almost a demon, or a deity.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But lo! a messenger, whose reeking steed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bears tacit witness to its rider’s speed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stops at the palace gate:—“Haste, haste, I bear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Important tidings to the Sultan’s ear.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Admittance granted, from his breast he drew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A scroll, and gave it to Alvante’s view:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Sultan open’d it—his steady cheek<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span><span class="i0">Was little wont his inward thoughts to speak;<span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, as he read, his varying hue exprest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That Fury’s tortures rack’d his raging breast;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knit were his sable brows—his flashing eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shone like some orbit in a clouded sky;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fierce tow’rd his giant form, his hand of war<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stretch’d down to grasp his pond’rous scymitar;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His sounding voice was like the thunder’s roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the hero swell’d his mighty soul:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis well; the rebel boy shall rue the hour<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“When first he dar’d to tempt Alvante’s pow’r:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Brav’d by a stripling! where is then this arm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“At which whole squadrons fled with dire alarm?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Am <i>I</i> not king? and shall this Ismael dare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To seize a crown which I alone should wear?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“No, never no! but hence—command Reylain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To draw our troops before high Tauris’ plain.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He ceas’d—but still his mutt’ring tongue, the fire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which flash’d his eye, declar’d his inward ire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While deepest passions o’er his senses came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The monarch’s musing, and the hero’s flame,<span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mingled with many a pang that conscience brought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To dampen courage, and t’ embitter thought.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His fav’rite slave approach’d, the salem made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And some low words in whisp’ring accent said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis right, them instant to our presence bring,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hasty tone replied the haughty king.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The doors of polish’d cedar open flew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gave a warrior legion to the view;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, in the midst, fast bound in iron bands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A warlike youth, with scorn indignant, stands:<span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The simply-splendid garments that he wore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some blast of battle-storm had lately tore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the rich gold blush’d deep in harden’d gore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet his bright face and form divine, where love<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And war’s fierce monarch for the mastery strove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seem’d ’mid soil’d garb and fett’ring chains t’ exclaim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Behold a son of Conquest and of Fame.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He that had seen his eye of azure fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Tint in those darkly-glowing climes so rare,)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the soft cygnet down, that now began<span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">His cheek to blossom, and to promise man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a sweet something o’er it spread—might trace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A woman’s softness in that god-like face.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, had he seen the almost burning flame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That o’er his eye, when rous’d by wrath or fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flash’d (like the lightning hurl’d from heav’nly arm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When hush’d each wind, on ocean’s azure calm),<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, with a blaze that pierc’d the bosom’s core,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Made it still fiercer from the peace before:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, had he mark’d the form, the tow’ring crest,<span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gait, that spurn’d the vile earth which it prest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! he would cry,—“Sure Glory’s charms alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Can call this youth of mightiness her own.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As glares some lion on his num’rous foe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So here and there bright flash’d his eye-ball’s glow:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the guards who held him, first it beam’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then to the Sultan’s lofty form it gleam’d:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alvante met the fire with steady eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which darted back the flame of majesty,<span class="linenum">339</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, turning to the guards,—“Ye’ve speeded well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Where met ye this young warrior?—Sadi, tell.”—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With lowly salem, the time-serving man,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pimp to his master’s vices, thus began:—<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Sultan of Persia, whose wide-spreading sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“With trembling awe an universe obey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“List to thine humble slave!—As with this band<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I view’d afar green Caymyr’s fragrant land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And saw with horror, on its flow’ry plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The rebel Ismael’s far-extending train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“We met this youth; and on his breast the star,<span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Which marks the chiefs of Ismael’s impious war:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“We rush upon him!—in thy name command<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To yield his person to his Sultan’s band.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“No answer made he!—spurr’d his Arab horse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Bar’d his keen blade!—on us his driving course<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“He dash’d impetuous;—we around him close,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And pour on every side an iron show’r of blows.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“But he, his flashing sabre sweeping round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Roll’d four brave Moslems on the verdant ground:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Then broke his weapon; or, perchance, his might<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Had brought him safely through th’ unequal fight.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Then, as on some fair tree descends the storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So rush’d our valiant soldiers on his form.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“But, when life hung upon that slender thread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I rear’d my sabre o’er his fenceless head:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“For I admir’d his courage, and I thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“If thus for Ismael he so bravely fought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“His martial prowess, and his weighty hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Might prove some succour to our Sultan’s band.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He ceas’d:—Alvante, from his brows of pride,<span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With wond’ring glance the youthful hero ey’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“What say’st thou, slave,” began the low’ring king;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Slave, in thy teeth the dastard word I fling,’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Exclaim’d the youth; ‘no crouching craven I;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Brave as thou art, of name perhaps as high!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Wert thou and I, upon some desert place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Where, save our own, was never human trace,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘This arm perchance might teach thee, to thy wo,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘That it could deal no slave’s ignoble blow.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In patient silence stern Alvante heard<span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The youthful stranger’s fierce defying word;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again with darkling eye he scann’d him o’er,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And certain grew the doubts he had before;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then beam’d his joy in that dark-glowing hue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That instant o’er his haughty features grew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His hand half-drew the sabre from his side;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Now, by my faith, ’tis Ismael’s self,” he cried:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Prophet, I thank thee, that this glorious hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“My only dread is plac’d within my pow’r.<span class="linenum">389</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Guards, instant bring the bow-string—he shall die;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“His dying agonies shall glut mine eye:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“No, hold—the traitor shall not yield his breath<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“By pang so short, and by so mild a death:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Convey him to the darkest dungeon!—there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Leave him, to nurse the horrors of despair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Whilst we devise some torture dire and new,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Dreadful as man e’er felt, or demon knew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“That, ere the chariot of the sun shall roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Shall rack his form, and madden all his soul.”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With glance disdainful, and majestic pride,<span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tyrant’s frowns high Ismael scornful ey’d.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then calmly turn’d away, and greater far<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than when in all the pomps of prosp’rous war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leaving, with footsteps firm, the regal room,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The guards he follow’d to his dungeon’s gloom.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="fint">END OF CANTO I.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span></p> - -<h2>ISMAEL.</h2> - -<h3>CANTO II.</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Let those who rule on Persia’s jewell’d throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Be fam’d for love, and gentlest love alone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Or twine, like Abbas, full of fair renown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The lover’s myrtle with the warrior’s crown.”<br /></span> -<span class="i6">Collins’s Oriental Eclogues.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2>ISMAEL.</h2> - -<h3>CANTO II.</h3> - -<h4>I.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Another hour is fled;—a few, few more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And life, and all its sweets, are ever o’er;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis hard in youth’s fair blossom to decay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And, like the dreams of midnight, pass away:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To go—we scarce know where,—and, as the wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To leave, alas! no ling’ring trace behind!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘This present sun upon my glory glow’d!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The next shall light me to my last abode!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Farewell, ye scenes of youth, whose brightning hue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Gave hopes and joys, so empty to my view!<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Farewell, those hopes and joys!—thou bubble, Fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Farewell! what art thou?—nothing but a name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Yet none, O none of these, once tinted high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘From this cold breast, can wring a single sigh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And never soul, save <i>one</i>, this heart of care<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Would loath for ever from its bonds to tear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘But ah! that <i>one</i>, when thoughts of her arise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘They pour my melting spirit from mine eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘But this unmans me!—cease, thou ruthless thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘With woman’s softness, woman’s feeling fraught!’<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus Ismael sigh’d, as, on his stony bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In dungeon mirk, he lean’d his aching head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mem’ry pond’ring o’er the former day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Recall’d dear cherished scenes, far, far away!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hark, on the ear the roughly-sullen jar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Creaks harshly hoarse, of op’ning bolt and bar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Ismael started up, and turn’d his eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To gaze on black expanse of vacancy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thought,—“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis morn, the tyrant’s abject train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Are come to drag me to a death of pain.<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis well!—I am prepar’d—the fiend shall find<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘That Ismael’s bosom holds no vulgar mind.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Back on its pond’rous hinge the huge door flew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the grim gaoler met the pris’ner’s view.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">High Ismael gaz’d in sullen, scornful mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On him (so whisper’d thought) the man of blood?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when he saw the gaoler soft replace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dungeon door, and then with noiseless pace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Steal where he lay; and, by the lamp he brought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A glimm’ring glance of steely dagger caught;<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mark’d him draw his cloke around, and creep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some assassin murd’ring infant sleep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A pang of bootless rage, of shiv’ring chill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cross’d his proud soul with agonising thrill:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘What, here shall Ismael yield a life so brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To death so craven, by so base a slave;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And not a limb to move?’ The bursting fire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glar’d in his starting eye; in frantic ire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With madd’ning rage, he shook, he gnaw’d the chain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dash’d, roll’d his form!—but each attempt was vain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The last soul-piercing pang of rending life,<span class="linenum">51</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could never match that moment’s harrowing strife!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">With finger rais’d to lip, with voice so drown’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That list’ning ear could scarcely catch the sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Hush, hush,” the gaoler cried; “be still, and see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy servant comes to set his Sultan free.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scarce had he said, when Ismael’s wond’ring eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saw at his feet the prostrate gaoler lie.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And heard, with wilder’d joy, the grateful sound<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span><span class="i0">Of clinking fetters clashing on the ground;<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And raptur’d felt each limb of might again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Free as the air that wantons o’er the main:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘O say what means all this’—“Hush, hush, my lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The life of both hangs on a single word.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“This is no time for talk!—these garments take,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Wrap them around you close!—the salem make<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“If aught accost you; but, mind, no reply,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Your part a mute, be silent, or you die!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“But, more for safety, take this sword; ’twill be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Of use in peril—now then, follow me.”<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">All this strange scene had pass’d so swift, to seem<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Ismael like th’ adventures of a dream;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, when his hand the pond’rous sabre prest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He felt his soul high heaving in his breast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And courage whisper’d, ‘If I fall, my fate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall, like my life, be gloriously great.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Meanwhile the gaoler, cautious as before,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roll’d on its massy hinge, and barr’d the dungeon door;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then down a mirky passage pacing slow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They left that scene of horror and of wo.<span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hotly-beaming orb of noon-day’s sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Illum’d green Caymyr with his golden eye,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cast a mellowing splendour, warm and bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er many a scene of beauty and delight.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here the soft waters gliding, like the hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through balmy banks of variegated flow’rs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here the camp, and here the martial train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, like himself, cast lustre on the plain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there, o’er yon wide hill, that grove of trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That fling their fragrance t’ th’ enamour’d breeze;<span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">While where they leave an op’ning, give to view<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some tow’r, or temple, proudly frowning through:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All seem’d as if in Union’s silken bands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Young Love, and glorious War, had met to join their hands.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But through that num’rous army, rude commotion<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was like the storm that ruffles o’er the ocean;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though louder, wilder was the mingled sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of thousand tongues that echoed o’er the ground;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The whisper’d murder, or the bolder cry<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of stern upbraiding, or of mutiny.<span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And whence is this?—Their youthful chief alone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is gone! but when—or where—to all unknown.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His tent is search’d, that night was pass’d not there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His couch untouch’d, his absent steed, declare:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Throughout the camp, throughout the martial train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They seek high Ismael,—but they seek in vain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In anger stern, the chiefs together came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Suspicion black’ning o’er their leader’s name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In speaking silence, each glanc’d round on each,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All loath alike to be the first in speech<span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To vent his wrath.—At length, each rolling eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is turn’d on one, who stands indignant by:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bold was that chief, through all that conq’ring band<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not one surpassed the prowess of his hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But fierce in temper, “turbulent in tongue,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He lov’d to lead the factions of the throng:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Abbas, his name. Rage sparkling in his eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He mark’d the chiefs, and thus the warrior cries;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Say, is it meet, that here, while squadrons stand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To fight and conquer at a boy’s command;<span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“He, he the cause, the leader of the fray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Is gone in secret, fled, perchance, away?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Say, is it meet, that we, whose rank and fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Would some respect from mightier chieftains claim;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Should thus be treated with contemptuous scorn;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“By Mahomet, ’tis no longer to be borne!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Nor shall ye bear it! rouse, and let us own<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“This wretch unworthy of so great a throne.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span>”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus far he said, when to the listening heav’n<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A long, loud shout of “Ismael! Ismael” ’s given.<span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">All that wide camp re-echoed with the name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So high in glory, and so dear to fame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now towards the chieftain’s ample tent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The clanging sounds of scouring steed are bent.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And each on each the assembled leaders gaze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fix’d to their stations in profound amaze.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Ismael enter’d on that busy scene,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With bearing princely, and with brow serene;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saluting all around with regal grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He took his station in the vacant place.<span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Straight to the earth, was bent each look of shame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Straight o’er each cheek, the tingling colour came;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So motionless was ev’ry chieftain there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That scarce a breathing died upon the car.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">High Ismael rose!—in language short and cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Began th’ adventures of the night t’ unfold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>The cause of all</i>, alone forbears to tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>His seeking her</i> his bosom lov’d so well.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Nor had he finished his narration brief,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span><span class="i0">Ere the fierce rage of Abbas, haughty chief!<span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That rage, which scarce had been restrain’d till now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burst like the flamings of red Ætna’s brow:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Go hence, thou liar! hence, thou smooth-tongued youth!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To other ears go take thy tale of truth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“For here ’tis not believ’d! Yet grant it true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“What mighty aim could Ismael have in view,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To leave his army on the very night<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Before he meant to lead it to the fight?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Why should that gaoler too, in spite of danger<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Of his own life, free thee, to him a stranger?<span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And though I grant thy courser’s speed from here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“In a few hours to Tauris’ walls, might bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Yet, as that steed was captur’d, or was slain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“In combat with Alvante’s troops, again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“How in so short a time did’st thou return,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“For when thou quitted thence, ’twas near the morn?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Think’st thou, that Persia’s mightier sons will be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The dupes of falsehood, and the slaves of thee?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Perish the thought; this arm shall ne’er permit<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So base a wretch on Iran’s throne to sit.<span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis my resolve!”—“And mine! and mine!” was sent<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From ev’ry quarter of the crowded tent:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As up the chieftains rose, the sudden glare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hundred sabres glimmer’d in the air.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And, traitor, this is mine,’ high Ismael cries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death on his brow, and fury in his eyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As flash’d his weapon forth, and through the head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Abbas, down e’en to the mouth it sped.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He fell:—o’er Ismael’s eye th’ expression came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of pitying softness, conq’ring wrathful flame:<span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">He dropt the blade,—he sigh’d,—for he could glow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In soft compassion o’er a fallen foe.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He turn’d away—his eye-ball’s fire renew’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As red it roll’d where, half-repentant, stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The low’ring chiefs amaz’d—the same wild band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As when they first uprose, in look and stand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The garb flung back, the haughty lips apart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The voice just issuing from the swelling heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The foot advanc’d in menace, and the sword<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High rear’d, to wreak the fury of its lord.<span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">They seem’d so still, and yet that still spoke more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than thousand voices mix’d in loud uproar.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Ismael cast on all his dark’ning eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That beam’d with stern and conscious dignity,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus he said,—‘It boots not Ismael, here<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘In length of words his slighted fame to clear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘But if, to prove mine honour, you are bent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘My brave deliverer waits without the tent;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Examine him or not, as suits you best,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘For truth, like gold, is purer from the test.<span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To use this traitor’s words, who, on the floor<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Sends out his treason on his ebbing gore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘<span class="lftspc">“</span>Why should that gaoler too, in spite of danger<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘<span class="lftspc">“</span>To his own life, free me, to him a stranger?”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis easy answer’d:—In the hostile strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Some months ago, this arm had sav’d his life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Albeit a valiant foe, and set him free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Once more to taste the sweets of liberty:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Since then Alvante rais’d him to the pow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Chief gaoler to the royal dungeon tow’r:<span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘He knew me, and on Gratitude’s fair shrine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Repaid the life I gave—by saving mine.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘Rude Abbas ask’d again, how, with such speed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I here return’d, unaided by my steed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I had began t’ explain it—when the force<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Of his rash fury broke on my discourse.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘We had not long left Tauris, when the birth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Of yonder sun began to wake the earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And nature open’d all her stores of bliss,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span><span class="i0">‘On hill and vale, to meet his golden kiss.<span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘When, as we swift strode on, we turn’d our eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘On two young horsemen slowly riding by;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘What should be done?—we wanted steeds—and now<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Fate in our way these travellers seem’d to throw:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘We hasten’d to them—mildly proffer’d gold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To yield their steeds—they were not to be sold:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘We seiz’d the reins—we bar’d our blades—and swore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘That we would buy them with their master’s gore:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘They heard our threaft’nings, and they mark’d our pow’rs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The caitiffs trembled—and the steeds were ours.<span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Scarce had we mounted, ere the distant sound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Of clanking horse-treads rush’d along the ground.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Away we speed—a neighbouring hill we gain—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘We look behind—we view Alvante’s train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘In hot pursuance:—like the winged wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Off, off we scour, and leave them far behind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And noon has view’d us here arrive, t’ assuage<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The clam’rous treason of suspicious rage.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">‘But now, away; ere evening’s shadows fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Our bands shall revel in Alvante’s hall.<span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘This is the moment of propitious fate;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Alvante’s name is held in general hate:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘At our approach the gates shall open fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And thou art all our own, O Victory!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span>’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He ceas’d: on every chieftain’s war-worn face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of former fury vanish’d every trace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On each stern brow, swart cheek, and lofty mien,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nought but the hope of coming fame is seen.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As their dark eyes, with admiration warm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glanc’d on their leader’s soul-inspiring form,<span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">As high it tower’d, a something like divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A heav’n-born ray around it seem’d to shine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His kindling soul flash’d glory from his eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to his voice, that gleam of enterprise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had giv’n a tone prophetic; as it roll’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He seem’d a being of immortal mould.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And loud they cry, as high is rear’d each sword,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Long live great Ismael, Persia’s mighty lord.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forth from the tent then rush’d the warrior-train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And here, and there, disperse along the plain;<span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift sink the tents, the bands in many a throng,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arm,—form their deep’ning squares,—and sweep along.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Commotion hovers with her dark wide wings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er Persia’s stately city; there she brings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her sister, wild Amaze; each dweller’s soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, owns those kindred demons’ joint control.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">On every form, on every busy mien,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nought but one mixt expression there was seen;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But that expression told of all the train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of throbbing passions that usurp the brain.<span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, you might trace young joy, but also there<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spoke something like the reign of fear, of care,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of wonder, of confusion: sight and speech,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like freezing streams, seem’d half bound up in each.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As they pour’d from their houses, like the bees<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That leave their hives, and throng the fragrant trees,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The only sound that fell upon the ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was (faintly mutter’d) “Ismael is near!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Till, as the news gain’d ground, the clamours rise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And “Ismael! Ismael!” rend the list’ning skies.<span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some fling the high gates open—some loud cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Perish the proud Alvante;” while they fly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To seek the palace, and the court to force,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And send th’ usurper on his long, last course.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The gen’ral shouts, the long and deaf’ning din,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alvante heard, his stately halls within:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He started up in wonder and alarm;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flashing sabre found his giant arm.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Hark! hark! methought I heard that hated name,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span><span class="i0">“What, is it Ismael?—hark! again—the same.”<span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then his friend Muly rush’d within that room,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trembling his form, and pale as cygnet’s plume<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His vet’ran cheek:—‘Fly, fly, ere yet too late,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The clam’rous throng are at the palace gate;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Thine head they swear’—(hark, hark, again that roar!)—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Shall pay for all the streams of kindred gore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Thou’st caus’d to flow; in vain we’ve tried t’assuag<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Their treasonous tumults, and their guilty rage.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘They cry that Ismael’s bands are sweeping now,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘In swift procession, o’er yon mountain’s brow.<span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘O fly, O fly to shield thy regal form,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Till lull’d the beating dangers of the storm,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Haste to Armenia, that e’er loyal land<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Will yield my sultan many a mighty band;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Haste, haste, O haste!’—“And whither should I fly?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Here in his courts must king Alvante die;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“King am I now, and Death will lose his sting,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“E’en ’mid his grasp, to think I die a king.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And think’st thou, if thou tarriest here, thy fate<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Will be in all the royalty of state?<span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘That thou’lt fall nobly? No, a slave thou’lt die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Brought out to grace thy victor’s victory;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To feast his minions with thy dying wo;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘(Hark, hark, the rebels burst the gates below!)<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘This door will lead us hence,—away, away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Lost is your life, your kingdom, if you stay!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘But hold!—I have it!—cast these garments on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Muffle your face, and mingle with the throng;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Then unperceiv’d escape, and haste to gain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The troops of conquest in Armenia’s plain;<span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘But now away.’ Though more than mortal brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A natural wish his life, his realms to save,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alvante felt. If tarrying here, he knew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That he must die, and die ignobly too.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If for awhile he went, Armenia might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By fortune aided, place him in his right.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He instinctively clasp’d the muffling vest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In many a fold around his face and breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And both are now disguis’d! one moment more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And they have past yon gold-enamell’d door,<span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mingled with the throng—and to the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now, they have join’d the gen’ral clam’rous cry.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A leader mark’d their garb—their mien—their tone—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again he turn’d to view them—they are gone.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By Tauris’ walls, along the delving plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift drive young Ismael’s far-extending train;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">On yonder hill, has paus’d the setting sun,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To mark their glories ere his race be run,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And loves his splendour o’er their arms to cast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Type of their fame, ere yet that splendour’s past;<span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forth from the walls, like billows on the deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In one vast mass the joyous numbers sweep.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Welcome, great Chief! welcome, the golden hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“That frees us from the tyger-tyrant’s pow’r;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Welcome, O welcome; see our gates are riv’n,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“T’ admit, to welcome thee, O son of heav’n.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“O let us shout, O let us gladly sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Long life to Ismael, glory to our King!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Upon a milk-white steed, high Ismael rode,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That pranc’d exulting in his mighty load;<span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that great warrior, cast in Beauty’s mould,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blaz’d like a god-head in his arms of gold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From hill, from vale, around, and from afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Roll’d the loud music of tremendous war;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The awful gong, the trumpet’s brazen tone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the rough thunder of the tymbalon,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rude, yet rousing clashings of the zel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hollow blast of Süankos’ shell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, like some meteor rising here and there,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span><span class="i0">The wide, bright banners wanton’d in the air.<span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus, while their welcome path, on every side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All Tauris hails, full royally they ride;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, ’mid the clamours of th’ admiring crowd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That hail th’ auspicious march; yon palace proud<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(With not a drop of blood upon his sword,)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Receives another, and a mightier lord.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mark’st thou yon banners waving in the gale?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mark’st thou yon troops, that over hill and vale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their martial numbers pour; and, spreading far,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now thirst impatient for the coming war?<span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mark’st thou, fiercely, there, against them bent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yon wide, and long, and glorious armament?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mark’st thou too that chief, whose brows appear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like sable clouds, that in night’s dark’ning sphere<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hang o’er two blazing stars; whose awful form,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is as some tow’r amid the whelming storm;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose all-defying mien, whose stern, wild air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Luxuriant Fancy might perhaps compare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To angel Eblis, when rebellious driv’n,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Destruction breathing, from the courts of heav’n?<span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who is that warrior?—who!—and can that mien<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be e’er forgotten, when once known, once seen?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is Alvante!—Bulwark of the fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose sword is vengeance, and whose arm is might.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who’d safe arrived, with his faithful friend,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His care-beguiler, to Armenia’s land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with Moratcham, whom he had subdued,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His rebel brother, he his league renew’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twere strange to mark their meeting, how they came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Souls fierce as sparkles in the rising flame.<span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">How loth to speak the first: each eye-ball’s swell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beam’d on the earth, where scarce it e’er had fell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before; how sullen, like a wayward child,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They sooth’d, they soften’d, and they reconcil’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But well I ween, that spirits proud and strong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like theirs, can never intermingle long.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And even now they half-reluctant go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hand link’d in hand, against a mutual foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To wage a mutual war.—They part awhile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moratcham hast’ning to Assyria’s soil,<span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fresh troops to raise; while to Armenia’s skies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In warlike pride, Alvante’s banners rise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And numbers daily to those banners came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or led by plunder, or arous’d by fame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Meantime young Ismael hears the dread alarms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of his great enemy’s increasing arms.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again his standard on the breezes burst;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again his bands, in ancient victories nurst,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">He wakes; and, as the Simoom’s fiery breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That wafts the kiss of pestilential death;<span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fate-bearing Ismael, glorying in his might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Destruction’s sabre bar’d, and rush to meet the fight.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From wide Assyria, young Moratcham led<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A martial squadron to his brother’s aid;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Ismael, with his courage, mingling still<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sage’s prudence and the leader’s skill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Prevents their joining; and now hastes to dare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ enraged Alvante to the scenes of war:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that bold chief determines, with this band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cull’d from the bravest of Armenia’s land,<span class="linenum">420</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the fight to set his fortunes all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A king to conquer, or a king to fall.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But lo, the thick’ning masses move, and slow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Advance in order, ’gainst th’ advancing foe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hark, that crash!—The mingling hosts engage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blood streams, and armour clangs, and all is war and rage;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Man combats man, on hero hero dies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glares sword on sword, and ring the battle cries.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High in the air the hov’ring vultures soar,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span><span class="i0">And scream impatient for their feast of gore.<span class="linenum">430</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the shock’d earth the slaughter’d numbers roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And glory burns in every warrior’s soul;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The battle-fields, like cauldrons, fiercely boil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Azrail claps his iron wings and claims the soil.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tremendous is that scene of carnage fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No mortal tongue its horrors e’er can tell!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As, when on some thick forest’s lofty head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From high, some fierce autumnal blast is sped,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drives through the leafy throng its rabid way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shakes their thousand branches with dismay;<span class="linenum">440</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The leaves, the boughs, the trees themselves around<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are swept away, and scatter’d on the ground:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So stern Alvante, with resistless might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cleaves his red pathway through the groves of fight.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">War-loving Azrail, Death’s tremendous lord,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frowns on his crest, and hovers on his sword.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bath’d in red streams of hostile gore, where’er<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tow’rs his proud form, confusion wild is there.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His bands scarce think him mortal, and, inspir’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By his example, think that God has fir’d<span class="linenum">450</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their swelling breasts; and, like the billowy deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fierce (led by him) against the foe they sweep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They thin the hostile ranks, who, in dismay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In more than fear, half-routed, yield them way.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, in that moment, when Alvante’s eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saw the bright beams of coming victory;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, in idea, his hand has grasp’d again<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With raptur’d joy, the throne of Iran: then,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, in that moment of eventful strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Worth a whole age of common, passive life;<span class="linenum">460</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before Alvante’s way, at headlong speed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A youthful chief has spurr’d his snowy steed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each combatant has rous’d him from the fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Awhile to gaze on that high form of might.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Iran’s genius, as aloft she flew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hung back, and trembled at the dangerous view:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, in that god-like youth, she marks too well<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her last, lone hope, her favour’d Ismael.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Come on,’ he cries, ‘proud tyrant; come, and know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘That thou wilt combat with no vulgar foe;<span class="linenum">470</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Use thy whole art and strength; for I am he,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Worthy alone, to fight—to conquer thee.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I come arm’d in my bleeding country’s might!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis Ismael, chief, who wooes thee to the fight!’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alvante answered not, but in the flame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That flash’d his brow, and glar’d his eye-balls, came<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dreadful something, eager to destroy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An horrid energy, a demon joy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So high he rear’d his blade, it seem’d that fate<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span><span class="i0">Upon one blow from that dread arm would wait.<span class="linenum">480</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Ismael’s courser, practis’d in the war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swerv’d, and the sabre cut the yielding air.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not so did Ismael’s blade, though broke its force,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the steel corselet it has ta’en its course,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gash’d full sore:—and now the strokes so fast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From either arm, to either form are past,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That scarce the eye-ball’s searching glance can know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where giv’n, where parried, or receiv’d the blow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save by the sparks that from their armour flash’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save by the gore, that from the corselets gash’d,<span class="linenum">490</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pour’d in long streams; the drops upon the plain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fell from their brows, like pattering of rain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every stroke was aim’d full strong and true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For each great chieftain ’mid the combat knew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That all the war was on a single hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That Iran’s empire hung upon his brand.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A foe so dread, Alvante never yet<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In conflict’s thickest walks of heroes met;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ne’er had Ismael, mid th’ embattled throng,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Known eye so keen, and arm so swift and strong.<span class="linenum">500</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each stroke, that like the flash of lightning past,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seem’d fiercer, heavier, mightier than the last;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till Ismael felt his youthful arm at length,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weaken its blows, and slacken in its strength;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">While stern Alvante, like some massy tow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still seem’d to combat with the prime of pow’r:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Ismael hop’d one blow, that should contain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All his remaining strength, should smite him on the plain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He nerv’d his arm, he rear’d it high in air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then downwards drove the pondrous scymitar;<span class="linenum">510</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alvante’s sword receiv’d that dreadful stroke,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Ismael’s treach’rous blade snapp’d short, and broke.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Over Alvante’s face appear’d to play<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wild ecstatic joy, a dreadful ray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And o’er his eye’s dark field of fierceness flew<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A something, O! too horrible to view!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Now, now thine hour is come,” he inly said,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And high in air, he rear’d his shining blade.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then Persia’s Genius, as she soar’d on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trembled with fear, at Ismael’s death so nigh.<span class="linenum">520</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Among the darts, that cleave the airy tides,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She singles one, and to Alvante guides:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then in that moment, through his bending head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When thund’ring down his massy blade, it sped.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ exulting speech has fainted from his tongue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From his numb’d hand down dropt the sword and rung<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Useless on earth; the swarthy colour flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The field recedes upon his glazing eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Azrail’s cold tremendous shades around him rise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He fell! still Ismael held his stifled breath,<span class="linenum">530</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still waiting for the dire approach of death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, though he saw him fall, yet still he deem’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twas not reality, but that he dream’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At length he thought the coming stroke of fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From fierce Alvante, linger’d long and late:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He lifts his eyes—he sees him not—again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Surpris’d, he drops them on the purple plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there he views him!—Oh! how chang’d his state!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That arm, so dread—how cold, inanimate!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, then he felt it all! then, then it came<span class="linenum">540</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swiftly upon him, like the glance of flame:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He bent his body o’er his steed, his hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seiz’d from the earth, his enemy’s red brand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then lifts his voice, and dashes mid the crowd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Alla! il Alla!’ shouting, long and loud.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">New strength has nerv’d his weaken’d arm; where’er<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It rises, death and destiny are there.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">His troops have caught his fire, and to the heav’n,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Alla! il Alla! and his Ismael!’ ‘s given.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On, on they drive:—in thunder-struck dismay,<span class="linenum">550</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">On every side Alvante’s troops give way;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They fly tumultuous, or, around the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By pow’rs resistless, fall in heaps of slain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>X.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The setting sun his parting beams has shed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On many a pile of dying, and of dead;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Emblem of life! like his last dying ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thousands have seen the closing of their day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Have, when he sunk beneath yon hill, and fir’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The plains beneath, with mellowing blaze—expired.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, by yon palm, that waves its arms on high,<span class="linenum">560</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">A youthful chief has laid him down to die;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His mother’s last, lone hope, her joy, her pride:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Three other sons, by war’s o’erwhelming tide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had long been swept away: and he, now gasping here,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was left alone, her aged breast to cheer.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And must he also die? in life’s gay morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And leave her wretched (like a wreck forlorn):<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she now sits at home; and thinks the while,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That fate, propitious, on his arms will smile;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That glory’s hand will gild his youthful name,<span class="linenum">570</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With laurels gather’d in the field of fame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How fruitless all her cares—her hopes how vain—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He ne’er will bless her widow’d sight again!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From his cold heart fast ebb the torrents red,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down sinks his arm, he’s dying!—ah! he’s dead!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And there, by yonder shelt’ring hill, is laid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Expiring Seyd, the once-fam’d Renegade.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From his own country banished; all he lov’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were left behind, and hither he had rov’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then he was young, and fate might have in store,<span class="linenum">580</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cheer the future, many a blessing more:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, in one fatal hour, of sense bereft,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All, all was withered—for his God he left!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Black were his ringlets then, they now are grey;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet ne’er could mem’ry quit that dreadful day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He rush’d to battle, glory met him there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For in Seyd’s bosom, courage was despair.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Years roll’d away, and found him still the same,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deep sunk in guilt, yet conscious of his shame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now, alas! that guilt has brought him here,<span class="linenum">590</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Without a friend his dying hour to cheer;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the past he turns his desperate eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A long, long scene of guilt and infamy;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the future,—no!—he does not dare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cast a look on what awaits him there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fain he’d lift his thoughts to heav’n, and fain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would pray once more; to him th’ attempt is vain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He rears him up, towards his native shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He rolls his eye;—peace,—he can gaze no more.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And Ismael dropp’d the blade, and wav’d his hand,<span class="linenum">600</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the pursuit to stay his conq’ring band.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Hold, hold, my friends; no longer drive the blow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Against a vanquish’d, and unworthy foe:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Hold, and remember mercy’s soft control<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Should e’er be dearest to a hero’s soul.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Cease the pursuit: and haste to search the field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Haste to the wounded, every help to yield;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Nor to <i>our</i> bands <i>alone</i>, but also those<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Whom fate or chance have number’d with our foes:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And then, to mighty Alla let us give<span class="linenum">610</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The debt of gratitude, that still we live—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘That conquest’s ours: while coming night shall steep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘The toils of slaughter in the sweets of sleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Although to-morrow’s dawning sun must see<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Us march again to war and victory;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Must mark us go to wield the conq’ring brand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Against Moratcham’s far-inferior band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘To place me on my glorious grandsire’s throne,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘And then—O Selyma, I’m all thine own!’<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2>NOTES<br /><br /> -ON CANTO I.</h2> - -<h3>Stanza I.</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Spread Ismael’s banners to the wanton breeze.</i>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>For the better understanding of several passages in -this Poem, I will here subjoin a short account of the -claims of my hero, Ismael, to the throne of Persia, -and a brief history of his life.</p> - -<p>Usum Cassan, king of Persia, gave his daughter, -Martha, in marriage to Shich-Eidar, a certain sage, -famous for a new sect of religion, and for extraordinary -piety and virtue.</p> - -<p>At Usum Cassan’s death, he was succeeded by his -son Jacup, but he being murdered by his wife, Julaver, -a man of high rank, and a distant relation to him, -seized the throne, and dying, after three years, was -succeeded by Baysinger, and at his death, the crown -came to a young nobleman named Rustam.</p> - -<p>Though no one had a better (nor indeed so good -a) right to the kingdom of Persia as Shich-Eidar, on -account of his marriage with Usum Cassan’s daughter, -yet his birth being inferior to those who had hitherto -reigned, and being so entirely absorbed in the care of -religion, and the sweets of retirement; during the -sway of the three preceding kings, there was not -even any mention of him, or his pretensions. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> -Rustam was alarmed at the numbers who daily flocked -to Shich-Eidar, to embrace his religious principles, -and he was afraid of the reverence which the Persians -paid to his high virtues and brilliant talents, and of -their secret attachment to the race of Usum Cassan; -he therefore resolved to rid himself of so formidable -an object for his fears, and employed assassins, who -murdered the unfortunate sage at his residence in -Ardevil. But Rustam was afterwards slain in his turn -by Achmet, who is said <i>to have been favoured by the -king’s own mother, and aided by her in the death of her -son</i>.</p> - -<p>The murderer seized the crown, but enjoyed it only -six months, when Carabes, one of Rustam’s ancient -officers, collecting a considerable body of soldiers, -marched straight to Tauris, then the capital of Persia, -and surprising Achmet, who was in no condition to -resist, put him to death, by the most dreadful (though -almost merited) tortures.</p> - -<p>The throne being thus vacant, Alvante, a nobleman -of high rank, was chosen to fill it.</p> - -<p>Shich-Eidar left three sons, who would have shared -the same fate as their father, had they fallen into -Rustam’s hands. The two eldest fled, one to Asia -Minor, the other to Aleppo, and the third, Ismael, -then only a child, was secretly conveyed, by his -father’s friends, to Hyrcania or Ghilan; where he -was protected by Pyrchalim, a nobleman then in -possession of several places on the Caspian Sea. -Pyrchalim caused him to be reared in the religious -tenets of Shich-Eidar, and the youth perceiving that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> -was the best way to acquire popular favour, of which -he had great need to support the just pretensions he -had to the throne, shewed a great zeal to observe, -and to propagate, his paternal sect. As he was possessed -of great personal beauty, and inherited all the -splendid abilities of his father, combined with great -courage and eloquence, he was soon joined, not only -by the common people, but also by many of high rank.</p> - -<p>His first success in arms, was the regaining certain -lands in Armenia, which had been given his mother -as her dowry, and afterwards being reinforced by -many of Shich-Eidar’s old disciples, he attacked the -castle of Mamurlac, and after having taken and -plundered it, he led his victorious army to Sumach, -the capital of Mesopotamia, which he also took, and -gave the spoils to his soldiers. At the noise of these -first exploits, and at the immense booty acquired by -those who followed his standard, numbers daily flocked -to him from all parts, and he soon found himself at -the head of a considerable army, with which he resolved -to march immediately to Tauris, where Alvante, -lately placed upon the throne, held his court. That -monarch had but just recovered from the fatigues -and confusion of a civil war with Moratcham, his -brother (or, as some assert, his son), who disputed the -crown with him, and having lost an important battle, -had fled from the Persian territories.</p> - -<p>The severe persecutions which Alvante had exercised, -after his victory, upon several of the chiefs of -Tauris, who had taken part with his opponent, rendered -his name odious, and presented Ismael with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> -very fair opportunity, who no sooner came before the -city, than the gates were thrown open. Alvante, who -suspected nothing of this irruption into his capital, -without troops, and aware of the hatred entertained -against him by the whole city, was obliged to fly (and -as one author relates) in disguise: and Ismael entered -triumphantly into Tauris, without shedding the least -blood, except of a few of Alvante’s guards.</p> - -<p>In the mean time Moratcham had reconciled himself -to his brother Alvante, for the purpose of repelling -their common enemy, the former hastened to Assyria -to raise forces, and the latter was already at the head -of a large army in Armenia: there Ismael followed -him, and (preventing Moratcham’s joining his brother, -which was their intention,) defeated him in a battle, -in which Alvante fell, bravely fighting at the head of -his troops. Moratcham, hearing of his brother’s fate, -carried his army towards Tauris, but Ismael intercepting -him, totally routed and put him to flight.</p> - -<p>After this, Ismael reigned gloriously for twenty-five -years, and died in peaceable possession of one of the -most powerful monarchies in the world, having verified -the predictions of Shich-Eidar, who was a very -skilful astrologer, and who had foretold,—“That this -“son of his should one day by his zeal and conquests -“almost equal the glory of Mahomet himself.”</p> - -<h3>Stanza III.—Line 119.</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>And she for safety from the civil war.</i>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>It must be remembered that Ismael first attacked -Armenia, &c. before his successes made him so bold<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span> -as to strike so adventurous a blow as attacking -Alvante in his own capital. It was the custom of -those who inhabited the provinces, and who were -too peaceably inclined to mix in the intestine commotions -that so often occur in the East, to remove their -families and effects as near the capital as possible, -though this scheme must appear very injudicious to -one who reflects that the chief city is generally the -most harrassed, ultimately.</p> - -<h2>NOTE<br /><br />ON CANTO II.</h2> - -<h3>Stanza VII.—Line 358.</h3> - -<p class="c">“<i>The hollow blast of Süankos’ shell.</i>”</p> - -<p>The Süankos cannot properly be called a war -instrument, although in the earlier ages of Persia, -and even perhaps in Ismael’s time, it was made use -of for that purpose. It is at present often used as a -trumpet, for sounding an alarm, or a signal. Its tones -are deep and hollow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="TO" id="TO"></a>TO<br /><br /> -<big> -LADY C . . . . . L . . .,</big></h2> - -<div class="blockquot"><p class="hang">Who, at the Private Races given by Lord D——, set a noble -example of humanity and feeling; when a poor man being -much hurt, she had him conveyed to her carriage, and interested -herself most anxiously in his recovery.</p></div> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fifteen.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Daughter</span> of Feeling, Queen of Love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis to thee these lines are due,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all the beauty of the dove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hast thou then her nature too!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Though formed in Woman’s purest mould;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though form’d ’mid crowds and courts to shine;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though in thy pow’r to stand enroll’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The boast of M . . . . .’s favour’d line:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet has that hand which kings might prize,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deign’d to relieve the poor man’s wo,<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet have those all-subduing eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Pity’s dew-drop deign’d to flow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thy guardian angel hov’ring near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soar’d upwards with that deed of thine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as he dropt the applauding tear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wrote down the name of C . . . . ..<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_LADY_W_mdash" id="TO_LADY_W_mdash"></a><big>TO LADY W . . .,</big></h2> - -<p class="c">PLAYING ON THE HARP, ACCOMPANIED BY HER -VOICE.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Written Extempore, at the Age of Fifteen.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Cease</span>, cease, in pity cease your lay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would you melt the soul away?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, while such rapture you impart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thrill the ear, but steal the heart?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Must every Godhead bring some grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To aid th’ enchantment of your face?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must Venus give the beauty warm?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must Pallas mould the radiant form?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Must Jove his lightnings yield, and sigh<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To see them melting in your eye?<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But not, alas! with these content,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To make us all your vot’ries bent,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, must Apollo too inspire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To burn our bosoms, all his fire?<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="AN_ODE" id="AN_ODE"></a>AN ODE<br /><br /> - -TO THE MUSE OF VERSE.<br /><br /> - -<span class="eng">Irregular</span>,</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fourteen</i>.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O <span class="smcap">come</span>, thou Goddess ever fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who lov’st to braid thy golden hair<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With many a wreath of laurel bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From old Parnassus’ sacred height!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whither, beneath some time-devoted tow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou lov’st to pass the solitary hour;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And slowly-solemn pour along the pensive verse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or the bright deeds of chivalry rehearse;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And view by fairy Fancy’s magic sway,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Old deeds long done, and years long past away.<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or, if beneath some spreading tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou lov’st the sounds of jollity;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, with thy laughing song, to raise<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The rural dance’s sportive maze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, oft attracted by thy song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nymphs and satyrs join the throng,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And interweaving at the sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lightly skim the verdant ground;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While every bird, on every tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is lull’d to catch the melody:<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And e’en the zephyr’s wanton gale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moves not a leaf amid the dale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But folds his wings, and creeping near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Imbibes the notes with ravish’d ear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when is broke the silver tone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Rapture’s fled, and thou art gone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still, still, he linger’s o’er the scene<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Poesy divine has been,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And strives again, though vainly, to rehearse<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fire of Music, and the soul of Verse.<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Or by rose-embalm’d bow’r, or murmuring stream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If Love, king of passions, inspires thy theme;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That blessing the purest, to man, from above,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They gave us all, all, in that blessing of love.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh still let me hov’ring nigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strive to catch the heav’nly fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When with wildly-beaming eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glancing upward to the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if to seize the spirit there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy tresses streaming to the air,<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou strik’st the hallow’d lyre.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh who can tell the heart’s ecstatic play,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So sweetly pensive, so sublimely pure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When wand’ring far from world’s disgusting lure,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Muse bewitching wafts the soul away.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">In sickness, pain, or care, or strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all the woes that wait on life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy pow’r can soothing balm impart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lull to sleep the breaking heart.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Come then, Goddess, if from high,<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’er thou’st heard thy vot’ry sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come, and o’er my ravish’d soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hold thy soft, thy sweet control!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O let me soar on Fancy’s wing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Piërus pours his sacred spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And while such joys divine thy pow’r can give,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath thy reign, O ever let me live!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ODE_TO_A_POKER" id="ODE_TO_A_POKER"></a>ODE TO A POKER.</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Thirteen Years Old.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Hail</span>, blithsome wand, and bring with thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dancing mirth, and airy glee!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the laughing jest goes round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sparkling wit’s enliv’ning sound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the fire, thy cheerful mien<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On winter’s dark’ning eve is seen.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft thy gladsome stirs inspire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strains from Bard’s poetic lyre;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of winning love, or times of old;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of courtly dames, and barons bold;<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or some high deed of ancient knight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Achiev’d in tournament, or fight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oft, when ’gainst the echoing shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hail-drops beat, the tempests roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shelter’d from the raging storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The trav’ller warms his cold-pinch’d form.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With thee in hand, derides the rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beating down the glassy pane.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oft when, at some ghostly tale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fear, each ruddy cheek is pale;<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And half-asham’d, and half-dismay’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They startle at each other’s shade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fancying, that the ghost they saw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around the fire they nearer draw;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, perhaps, some hoary sire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stirs, with thee, the waning fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And every eye, now grown more bold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Explores the curtain’s mystic fold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where just before, by terror’s aid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They saw the spectre’s gliding shade;<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And laughing at each other’s fears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again the wonted blush appears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And oft, when talk has ebb’d apace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And melancholy shewed her face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy spirit-rousing aid once more,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Renew’d the pleasure lost before.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Friendship, love, and all that life<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yields to cheer this scene of strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Courting oft thy fairy pow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gaily pass the jovial hour,<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">While joy and mirth new blessings bring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And care, awhile, forgets her sting.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_K_mdash" id="TO_K_mdash"></a><big>TO K . . . .</big></h2> - -<p class="c">THE SEAT OF MRS. ——</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fifteen Years Old.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Hail</span>, lofty domes, hail, venerable place,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The noble dwelling of a nobler race.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High on an hill, thy stately fabric rears<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its ancient summit, mark’d by rolling years;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By woods surrounded, and by fertile fields,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy cultur’d soil abundant plenty yields.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here, giant groves in sweeping grandeur rise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, lengthen’d prospects meet th’ admiring eyes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But thou, who gazest on yon graceful dome,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That seems to rival e’en the works of Rome,<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where blooms life’s fading emblem, yonder rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis there, the ashes of the dead repose!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh pause thou there, this awful lesson learn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“That dust thou art, to dust shalt thou return.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span>”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now from the heav’ns, the queen of twilight grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mellows each object with her silvery ray.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis silence all!—’tis that lone pensive hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Fancy reigns in all her magic pow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When o’er the poet’s lull’d, enraptur’d soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She holds her sweet, her undefin’d control!<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">K . . . ., how chang’d from those old feudal hours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When minstrel’s music echoed through thy tow’rs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When steel-clad knights rode forth in glorious pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And led their troops to combat by their side.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or at their castles tournaments proclaim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And enter lists, to gain the wreath of fame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From beauty’s hand receive the valued meed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While plauding shouts approve the martial deed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when the gath’ring shades of eve would call<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our great forefathers to the festive hall,<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, in vast bowls, the grape’s rich liquor pour’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wholesome viands smok’d along the board;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such as were wont an hero’s hall to grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere yet, refinement reach’d our hardy race;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere yet, we learn’d, from nations we subdued,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To spurn at Freedom’s hospitable food.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To every lip the joyous toast went round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And frolic laughter gambol’d o’er the ground;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">While from the lofty gallery swell’d the lays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of some past deed of old heroic days;<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps of Britain’s sable chief, who bore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His conq’ring standard to the Gallic shore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps of R . . . . .<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a>, gallant knight! who led<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His country’s warriors to his country’s aid!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps they sung the softest, brightest fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That ever yet has burst from minstrel’s lyre.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Almighty love, whose sigh-inflated sail<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wafts, more than bliss, on ev’ry halcyon gale.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How warlike Henry<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> joy’d to lay aside<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glare of rank, the pageantry of pride:<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">At beauty’s feet, he cast his regal pow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sought for smiles at Rosamond’s lov’d bow’r:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! hapless Rosamond, condemn’d to prove<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The penalty, that waits on lawless love!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But now, “the bashful virgin’s sidelong” glance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Delights her partner in the mazy dance.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he, who foremost in the lists that day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bore the rich prize of martial fame away;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose crest shone proudest of the youthful band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With joy, receives the fairest lady’s hand.<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The old look on, and seem again to share<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In each light movement of the graceful pair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or talk of deeds long done, of years gone by;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of many an ancient feat of chivalry.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While each proud banner, won in glory’s cause,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The spoils of conquest, seem’d to wave applause.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See, in yon nook, retir’d, the love-sick youth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pays his fond vows of ever-lasting truth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the soft maiden’s blushing looks reveal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A tale so dear, that love alone can feel!<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">K . . . ., ere yet the hand of taste around,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Display’d the charms with which thy scenes are crown’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The drooping dryads of thy proud domain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of cold neglect, proclaim’d the ruin’d reign.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy falling fabric seem’d in vain to moan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its glories tarnish’d, and its beauties gone:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The weed’s rank verdure overspread the hearth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So late the scene of hospitable mirth;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The moss’s velvet, and the violet’s blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In wild luxuriance o’er the pavements grew;—<span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here bloom’d each flowret which the fields impart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The charms of Nature o’er the wrecks of art.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, then, arose the last of all her race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To join each pow’r, her native house to grace;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again to raise the beauties of thy pile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With added lustre, make her K . . . . smile;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again thy halls, the graceful dance shall bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And heav’nly music charm the thrilling ear;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again thy doors shall open to receive<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lordly noble, and the poor relieve;—<span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again shall taste and elegance impart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each varied scene, to charm the captive heart.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mayst thou, the lov’d possessor, find repaid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Friendship’s smile, the works thy hand has made;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mayst thou long live happy, to retrace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The faded honours of thy ancient race;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May virtue still her fairest flow’rs entwine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To form a wreath to grace the . . . . . line.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ON_FRIENDSHIP" id="ON_FRIENDSHIP"></a>ON FRIENDSHIP.</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fourteen Years Old.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Hail</span>, star of love, hail, offspring of the skies!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That gilds our day, when darken’d storms arise;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis thou that blunts affliction’s bitter dart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And turns the wound, averted from the heart.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all the changes that await mankind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all the woes we here are doom’d to find,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy hand, amid a world of care and strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scatters fresh roses o’er the paths of life.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis not the fawning flatt’rer’s ready praise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose word is honey, but whose word betrays.<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, ah! while happiness yet gilds each hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere yet adversity’s dark tempests low’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like flies in summer, basking in the ray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of prosp’rous sunshine, in thy golden day:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Many thy followers, who pollute the name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With sordid lips, of hallow’d Friendship’s flame:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But if thy sun, by gath’ring clouds o’erspread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Retract its beams—those followers all are fled,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not one remains of that late num’rous horde,<span class="linenum">19</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who swore thee friendship, round thy genial board.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From scenes like this, with stern indignant eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">True Friendship wings her rapid flight:—on high<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She views the venal slaves of guilt and gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Purchas’d by int’rest, and by int’rest sold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom dark Dishonour, by the Stygian shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An hideous progeny, to Mammon bore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hypocrisy receiv’d them at their birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, nurs’d by her, they issued into earth.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Friendship’s soft pow’r, mild as the vernal gale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That floats at eve o’er Tempè’s peaceful vale;<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Holds her vast rule, unbounded by control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er the wide realms of the capacious soul;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And spurns the limits of the little mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To narrow thoughts, and mean ideas confin’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For he, alone, can taste her purest streams—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He, he, alone, can feel her warmest beams,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose breast ennobled, and whose soul refin’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Display the treasures of an heav’n-taught mind;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enrich’d with every virtue, that can lend<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span><span class="i0">Her pow’rful aid, to form a perfect friend;<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud in the pride which dignifies the heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That scorns deceit, and spurns each baser art;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In whose high front, and spirit-rousing eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright honour beams in all her majesty;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sublimely humble, virtuously bold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unmov’d by flatt’ry, and unbrib’d by gold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vot’ries like this, can feel her pow’r sublime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Begun by virtue, and matur’d by time;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vot’ries like this, once reverenced her laws,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And prov’d them worthy of so great a cause.<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! ye twin stars<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a>, who grace the spangled sphere,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When night’s dark shadows o’er the heav’ns appear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ye, bright patterns of her sacred reign<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who bound the tyrant in her silver chain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thou, O Salem’s king<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a>, whose heav’n-taught lyre,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In sacred strains, Jehovah deign’d t’ inspire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all ye ancient vot’ries of her name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be ye the mighty witness of the same!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! now how changed!—for scarce one ling’ring trace<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span><span class="i0">Proves us descendants of our former race;<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">All things degen’rate! e’en the present times<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall seem ennobled, by our future crimes.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">True Friendship, now, appears but as a dream,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ historian’s subject, or the muse’s theme.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long might we search, and long might search in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Him, who, to save his friend a <i>moment’s pain</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would set the world and all its charms, at nought;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And think, e’en life was far too dearly bought.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What venal lips now utter Friendship’s name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And strive to counterfeit her heav’nly flame;<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">How few the souls, o’er whom she deigns to reign;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, ah! how few would bear her silver chain!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For her swift wing, like Love’s, disdains all ties,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er boundless seas and trackless deserts flies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And scorns those barriers, which th’ ignoble prize.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! thou soft soother of our earthly wo,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Grant, from my heart thy precious streams to flow!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For what is grief, or pain, or cank’ring care,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When ev’ry pang, another seeks to share.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when our night of sorrow glides away,<span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And joy, returning, gilds the opening day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! what avails it, if no friendly heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bears, in that joy, a sympathizing part:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, as the laurel, (through the winter’s gloom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all her leafy rivals cease to bloom,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And when each drooping tree, by nature bound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No longer waves its foliage o’er the ground,)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Maintains her verdure unimpair’d, and green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shines conspicuous mid the icy scene:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So does true Friendship, in misfortune’s hour,<span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">When wint’ry storms o’er life’s gay sunshine low’r;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When false pretenders, base, and servile band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chill at the touch of fortune’s alter’d wand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So does she cheer the solitary scene,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Glows ever-warm, and blossoms ever-green.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="IRREGULAR_LINES" id="IRREGULAR_LINES"></a>IRREGULAR LINES.</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fifteen Years Old.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">There’s </span>not a heart, whose inward shrine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reflects one throb that rouses mine!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That when young Pleasure rises high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can give the smile to Friendship dear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Sorrow prompts the speaking sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can waft its answer,—on the tear.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet the world can freely share,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In boist’rous mirth, in vulgar care:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Albeit it marvels, when the soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Escapes its tinsell’d, vain control,<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To joy, or weep alone.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, ah! how few, alas! can find<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>One</i> dear, <i>one</i> sympathizing mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In un’son with their own.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">I’ve stood in crowds, where all was gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Pleasure held her roseate sway;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And there, mid hundreds met to show’r<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fresh flowrets o’er the laughing hour;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I’ve stood, and felt that lonely feel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As keen, as cold, as piercing steel,<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which whispers,—What to thee, this crowd?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vulgar great, the reckless proud?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On whose unvaried, smiling face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not one congenial thought you trace.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, nought but pleasure seems to shine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like o’er the snow, the sun of spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There ev’ry heart seems glad;—but thine<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is cold, and sear’d, and withering.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, yes! unknowing, and unknown,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mid circling throngs—thou art alone!<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But why, oh, why! should I complain?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before me life extends her plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which Hope, and Fancy lend their pow’rs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To gild with gold, or deck with flow’rs.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What! though mid all the crowds of state,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My wayward heart is desolate;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet oft, I’ve felt the spirit’s play,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That wafts from earth the soul away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the calm eye, or musing ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gives nought of life, or motion near;<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To gaze upon the heav’ns, so still, so fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(Oh, who can feel a grief, while gazing there?)<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To mark, when night extends her sable reign,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ unnumber’d worlds of that ethereal plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till snatch’d from earth, the soul appears to spring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To those high realms, on Rapture’s hallow’d wing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To change the view!—To note the spreading scene,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mountain’s grandeur, or the valley’s green;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or mark the murm’ring riv’let’s wavy blue<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Catch, from the skies, their own harmonious hue;<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And (as the moonlight o’er the water throws,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The light that, like the virgin, trembling glows,)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hear, in thought, th’ aërial Sylphids sweep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their wings of sapphire o’er the beaming deep:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the old oak-tree, blasted by the storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spreads o’er the waves its venerable form;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the hoarse breeze, that, whisp’ring, rushes near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gives wild, unearthly music to the ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till Fancy shews the Druids’ ancient train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strike their bold harps, and slowly sweep the plain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, if the roaring tempest courts the sight;—<span class="linenum">61</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">For scene or dread, or gentle, can delight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lofty soul;—how sweet, on some sear’d rock,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To mark the warring element’s rough shock;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To smile unmov’d, while bursting thunders roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the red flames of lightning flash the pole;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And calm, uninjur’d, mid the blazing storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some proud tow’r, to rear the godlike form.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, while the conflict fierce he joys to scan,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Man well can feel the majesty of man.<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet this, when all the spirits beam,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In loveliest, loftiest, holiest mood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The world’s vain, heartless vot’ries deem,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cheerless gloom of solitude.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What! is it Solitude to hold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rich commune with the soul’s high pow’r?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To mark its various buds unfold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bloom, the beauty of the flow’r?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What! is it Solitude to trace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hand of heav’n in Nature’s face?<span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis then the rising breast can throw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its deathless essence, far from aught<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That savours of the world below;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, with the beings rear’d by thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can oft converse in Fancy’s shrine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Until it feels an heav’n-born ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around in mystic beamings play,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mix a something half-divine.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! ’tis not Solitude!—’tis more<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than life—than earth—than all can give;<span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis on the wings of heav’n to soar—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis in the land of bliss to live.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="STANZAS_TO_LYRA" id="STANZAS_TO_LYRA"></a>STANZAS TO LYRA.</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fifteen Years Old.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> hour for love, in all its bliss,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In all its purity of truth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Is, when time prints his earliest kiss<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon the open brow of youth;—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When all the heart is on the sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That love has never heav’d before;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the soft language of the eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tells all the rising bosom’s core.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, yes, my Lyra, love like mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Form’d in the orient dawn of day,<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That spark of ecstasy divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Time never, never can decay.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, I may rove from flow’r to flow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes, I may sip the roseate dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But still, believe me, ev’ry hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heart will turn to love, and you!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Whene’er you mark man’s darken’d hue,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whene’er you hear him swear to prove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ever, to your beauties, true,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Believe him not!—he cannot love!<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, when yon view the glance of shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, when you catch the falt’ring tone<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of youth, first warm’d to passion’s flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! that is love,—and love alone!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2> -GERALDINE;</h2> - -<p class="c">OR,<br /> -<br /> -<i>THE FATAL BOON</i>.<br /> -<br /> -A ROMANTIC TALE.<br /> -<br /> -<i>Written at Fourteen.</i><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span></p> - -<h2>GERALDINE.</h2> - -<h3>PART I.</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">The</span> morning dawn’d serenely gay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The feather’d warblers hail’d the day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sun it shone forth bright and fair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And vernal fragrance wooed the air.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O’er the brown hill and verdant green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A thousand joyous forms were seen;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All Nature’s works were blithe and gay,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For this was Osmond’s nuptial day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">High on a rock, whose rugged brow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frown’d sternly o’er the vales below,<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seem’d upon their charms to low’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arose young Osmond’s stately tow’r.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now up the craggy steep ascends<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A train of vassals, and of friends;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here serf in festive garb array’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here hoary sire, here matron staid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here plumed lord, and blushing maid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweep on in long, long cavalcade.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">See, where his foaming courser’s speed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High Osmond reins by Emma’s steed;<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">See, how his melting eyes impart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The love-sick tale that warms his heart;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The while her blushing looks reveal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The joy her eyes would fain conceal.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Each winning charm, each female grace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deck’d that soft virgin’s angel face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Cupid, thron’d in beauty warm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shone on her lover’s manly form:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet there, although he striv’d to hide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You trac’d a wayward, haughty pride,<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And a fierce something went and came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In his dark eye-ball’s rapid flame.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lo! as they wind along the green,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sudden a female form is seen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">A veil, with thickest sable dy’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around her face was closely tied;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At Emma’s feet her form she flung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus her hollow accents rung:—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“O lady fair, a boon I ask,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Trust me, ’tis an easy task;<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“No costly robe, no blazing ore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“No gem from India’s pamper’d shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I wish to have!—O lady fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Give me one lock of thy bright hair!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘A golden ringlet from my bride,’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In accents gay, young Osmond cried;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘In truth, it is a strange request,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Yet, as she has so warmly prest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Mine Emma, grant the rich bequest.’<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Upon the stranger, Emma’s eyes<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gaz’d for awhile in soft surprise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While o’er her damask cheek arose<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brightness of the morning rose.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One golden lock, that from the braid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bound her graceful curls had stray’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And had luxuriously fell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Adown her bosom’s rising swell,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was from its snowy mansion riv’n,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to the suppliant stranger giv’n.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! then lord Osmond, could’st thou view<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The features ’neath that sable hue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could’st thou the withering sternness trace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That darken’d o’er that once-lov’d face;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sooner would’st thou, with rapture part,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From vital stream that warms thy heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than to that shrouded female’s hold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Consign the curl of wavy gold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Soon as the stranger seiz’d the prize,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift as the hunted roebuck flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Away, away, across the mead,<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scour her feet with fairy speed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leave we awhile the blithsome throng,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That thickly, gaily sweep along,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to that stranger turn our song.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Deep in a vale’s sequester’d shade,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Blossom’d a young and lovely maid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Enchanting Geraldine! To thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Suppliant nobles bent the knee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For never human eye might trace<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span><span class="i0">A finer form, or fairer face.<span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But every ardent suit she flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And casts on all averted eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Till Osmond came!—What female soul<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could e’er withstand his soft control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could see him weep, could hear him sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mark the language of that eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still unthaw’d, unmov’d remain?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alas! for <i>her</i>, th’ attempt was vain!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Long time the pair enamour’d, prove<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blissful joys of mutual love,<span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Till Osmond cool’d!—On weak pretence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He, feigning matter of offence,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deserted her, whose faithful heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could ne’er from Osmond’s image part.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What anguish’d grief, what love by turns,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Geraldine’s rack’d bosom burns,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sighs, tears, and groans, consum’d the day!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sighs, tears, and groans, wore night away!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At length the fatal news is brought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Lord Osmond has in spousals sought<span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The high-born Emma!”—Oh, what pain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thrill’d then across her madd’ning brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Till fondness fled, and direful rage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And vengeance stern, her thoughts engage.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But lo! her beldam nurse appears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Well worn in vice, and bow’d with years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A potent witch! whose dreadful spell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had pow’r to bind the fiends of hell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To her the injur’d beauty flies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her soul fierce flashing in her eyes,<span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And weeping tells her, how the youth<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had broke his vows of love and truth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“What though, alas!” the fair one cried,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I may not, cannot be his bride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Revenge is mine! may death and wo—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Whom would I curse?—my Osmond!—no!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<i>Him</i>, Dira, <i>him</i>, though faithless, spare,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Turn all thy vengeance on the fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Who’s robb’d me of his valued heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Stab, stab her soul with poison’s dart,—<span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Against <i>her</i>, all thy charms employ,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Her life, her soul, her all destroy!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She ceas’d; but still her eye-ball’s glare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shew’d vengeance fierce and fix’d was there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still that brow declares too well,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What human tongue can feebly tell.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her Dira soothes, and hastes t’ unfold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The secrets of a heart grown old<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In vice,—whose very name would thrill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And damp the soul with shudd’ring chill,<span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to her awe-struck list’ner tells<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her hellish charms, and demon spells;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proceeds the dreadful means to shew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To blight young Emma’s hopes with wo.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">One thing alone would still remain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Geraldine must that obtain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To aid their plans,—from Emma fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On nuptial day, a lock of hair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Her well-known features now to hide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>A veil, in thickest sable dy’d,</i><span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>Around her lovely face was tied</i>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she it was, upon that day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who met the lovers in their way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And gain’d the prize!—for, in her hold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright beams the wavy lock of gold.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mean time to Osmond’s lofty halls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The God of Love and Pleasure calls.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark, hark, loud clamours rend the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Long live our Lord and Emma fair!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark, hark, the minstrels tune their lays,<span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In one glad song of joy and praise;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And love and wit combine their pow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To gild with bliss each halcyon hour;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all around is blithe and gay,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For this is Osmond’s nuptial day!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="fint">END OF PART I.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span></p> - -<h2>GERALDINE;</h2> - -<p class="c">OR,</p> - -<p class="c"><i>THE FATAL BOON</i>.</p> - -<h3>PART II.</h3> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span></p> - -<h2>GERALDINE.</h2> - -<h3>PART II.</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">’Twas</span> day! and all was bright and fair!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tis night!—and thunders rend the air;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lightning’s blaze illumes the shore;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In driving hail, the torrents pour.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! ’tis a night, whose dreadful shade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seem’d but for hell’s dark demons made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Fancy’s eye might, in the storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trace many a wild mysterious form.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Upon an heath, unmov’d by all,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That human nature can appal,<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark Dira stood!—and, by her side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Buoy’d up by vengeful woman’s pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some fair angel’s slender form,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Near the dire demon of the storm,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lightning’s blaze, with lurid glare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shew’d Geraldine pale, standing there.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And can no fear, can no remorse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stop, stop thee, from thy dreadful course?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! think, in what a gulph of crime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou sink’st thy soul to endless time!<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, think! oh, pause! oh, haste to fly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From such a gulph of misery!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On every feature of her face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nought but one fix’d resolve you’d trace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And vain, alas! is human skill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When woman once is bent on ill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">This wither’d heath, the fiends are wont,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With annual festival, to haunt;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And quaff, from many a murderer’s skull,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bowls with blood-streams bubbling full!<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where has been their blasting tread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There never shrub can lift its head—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There never fall the dews of night—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There never beams the solar light!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On Dira’s magic-shielded head<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burst, with fierce blaze, the lightnings red;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, ere they singed one hair, they fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And own’d the power of her spell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Convuls’d her looks,—her eye-balls glare,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her elfin locks stream to the air,—<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arms, neck, and breast expos’d and bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As if the wild wind’s rage to dare.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While nature trembled at the sin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They now th’ infernal rites begin.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Within her lean and bony hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark Dira held a mystic wand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thrice, with that wand, she struck the ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mutter’d many a mystic sound:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then turning to the paly fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who shudder’d, half-repentant, there,<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full on her cold and trembling hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She struck the hell-devoted wand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, strange to say, one drop of blood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(As if to mar its whiteness) stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On that fair hand, then downwards bore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fell, and was perceived no more;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But where it dropp’d, there instant came,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the seer earth, a dark-blue flame;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When on that flame the sorceress glanc’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round, and round, and round she danc’d,<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With action wild, and gesture dread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This rhime uncouth she sung or said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Mighty child of darkness, hear!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Queen of the sable sons of hell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Hecate, now incline thy ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Listen to thy Dira’s spell!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And ye dark train,<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“That sport at midnight o’er th’ infernal plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To my charms, now witness bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Charms to all your vot’ries dear.<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Lo! into these flames I fling<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Basilisk’s eye, and scorpion’s sting,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“And the bat’s wing!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Fire, subservient to my will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Burn fiercer, hotter, faster still!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“To aid my charm,<br /></span> -<span class="iq">“Lo! in thy flames, I cast a murderer’s arm.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Toad, once tenant of the tomb,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Beetle black, and infant’s thigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Screech owl’s egg, and raven’s plume,<span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Mad dog’s foam, and viper’s skin,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Mandrake’s brain, and black cat’s eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I throw thy mystic flames within.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Fire, subservient to my will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Burn fiercer, hotter, faster still!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Lo! again to aid my vow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Hemlock, and the cypress bough,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Night-shade, yew, and all that bloom<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“O’er the charnel, or the tomb;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Each potent herb, each magic thing,<span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To complete my spells, I bring!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">She ceas’d;—and now, with vivid rays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fiercely tow’rs th’ infernal blaze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The traveller, who, on that black night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beheld from far, the demon light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Paus’d for awhile!—his pray’rs he said,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then spurr’d his steed in wond’ring dread;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The owl, who caught the distant ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bore back his pinions in dismay;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dog, who saw the blaze afar,<span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That seem’d to burst like meteor star,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In horror stood!—to bark, and tried,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But found his trembling tongue was tied.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now as high the hell-flames whirl,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Dira throws the golden curl;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Round, and round again she flings,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In hellish dance, and thus she sings:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Thou who rul’st the realms below,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Receive the grateful sacrifice,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Around thy fire-flames pacing thrice,<span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Thy servant offers now!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Cut away,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“On nuptial day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Lo! into these flames, I throw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Ringlet of a deadly foe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And as it now is eat by flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So may the head from whence it came,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So may the heart,—so may the frame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“Of that detested enemy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Wither, and consume, and burn,<span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Decay like visions of the morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">“In bitt’rest pangs of agony!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Turn we again to hall and bow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Hymen gilds each halcyon hour;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Osmond, and his jovial train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of lordly friends, turn we again!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like seamen, feasting safe on shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Little reck’d they of the tempest’s roar:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark! the minstrels tune their lyre,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span><span class="i0">And sing of love’s celestial fire,<span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In melting music’s soothing measures,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell its more than earthly pleasures!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Osmond’s eyes, with passion streaming,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Are on his lovely Emma beaming!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark! the minstrels change their theme,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A nobler fire illumes their dream!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Osmond’s deeds, of Osmond’s might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bulwark of the field of fight!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How, mid heaps of slaughter’d foes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High, his laurell’d crest arose;<span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">How, on Gallia’s hostile shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mid many a stream of crimson gore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His arm——Ah! whence that piercing cry!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What means that scream of agony?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Turn, Osmond, turn thine orbs of pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Behold thy pallid, fainting bride!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She gasps for breath,—she strives to speak,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In vain her voice would silence break:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her locks upstand, her eye-balls glare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her trembling form convulsions tear.<span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Assistance,—help!’ young Osmond cries;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Help! or my angel Emma, dies.’<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But vain was help!—he scarce had said,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere her pure soul had ever fled;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And she, whose sight could rapture bring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was now pale, cold, and withering!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In madd’ning grief, and dark despair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lord Osmond gaz’d, as rooted there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So still, unheeding all, he stood,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It seem’d the calm of fortitude!<span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, sudden starting from his trance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He cast on her one piercing glance;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then threw himself upon her breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And her unconscious lips he prest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, torn by frenzy and dismay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clasp’d in his arms the lifeless clay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mourn’d the hopes of many a day,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In one dire moment snatch’d away!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But lo! around the banner’d hall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sudden gloom appear’d to fall,<span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glimmering lamps burn dark and blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tinge the walls with ghostly hue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And far more loud the tempests roar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And rage against the sounding shore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo! what a forked flash is there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark! what a peal bursts through the air;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The frighted earth appears to quake,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lofty tow’rs in terror shake;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Osmond’s feasters, here and there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Disperse in wild and wondering fear.<span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, where the madd’ning bridegroom lay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dark-blue flame was seen to play,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like a sylph, in lightning-storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Amid it rose a female form!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But on her pale, majestic face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mix’d expression you might trace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of pride, of rage, triumphant joy;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A something seeking to destroy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One step to Osmond first she made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus with deep low tone she said:—<span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Osmond, behold! arise! arise!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“On me, once more, direct thine eyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“She, whom with treach’ry’s perjur’d part,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Thou left’st to cure a broken heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Has liv’d to blast, base traitor, know,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Thy youth with bitterest pangs of wo.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Gaze on—weep on—o’er that cold fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Who lies, bereft of being, there;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And know, if pleasure it may be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<i>That glorious work</i> was done by me!”<span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">She spoke;—and, as she mov’d away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Laugh’d, like a demon o’er his prey.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Fierce flash’d in Osmond’s eyes the fire<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of vengeful rage, of deepest ire.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sprang from his place, his dirk he drew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And swift on Geraldine he flew;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One single moment scarce was o’er,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere that keen dirk was red with gore.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">She fell!—but, haughty e’en in death,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No groan, no sigh, consum’d her breath.<span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, though she sunk upon that ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Never again her corpse was found:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, strange to say, I’ve heard the tale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That, borne upon the passing gale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unearthly screams and voices ran,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sounds—far from the sounds of man!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When Osmond had that death-blow giv’n,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His eyes, his hands, uprais’d to heav’n,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(To <i>Emma</i> ever true,) he cried,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘I come!—receive me, Oh! my bride!’<span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then plung’d his dirk into his side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gasp’d out his Emma’s name,—and died!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="IMPROMPTU" id="IMPROMPTU"></a>IMPROMPTU</h2> - -<p class="c">ON SEEING A TEAR ON THE CHEEK OF A YOUNG -LADY AT THE RECITAL OF A TALE OF WOE.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fourteen.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Precious drop of heav’nly feeling,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Purer than the driven snows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Down the cheek of beauty stealing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At the tale of Mira’s woes.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Is that beamy radiance melting?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Does that eye less bright appear?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love in Pity’s bosom sheltering,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wafts his arrows on a tear!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> </p> - -<h2 class="eng"><a name="Translations_from_Horace14" id="Translations_from_Horace14"></a>Translations from Horace<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a>.</h2> - -<h3>ODE XV. BOOK I.</h3> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Thirteen.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> o’er the seas the treach’rous shepherd bore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His lovely hostess, to the Dardan shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lull’d was each wave, and hush’d each stormy breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Nereus soften’d to ingrateful ease;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That the dire fate to Priam’s race they bring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of mighty woes, the pitying god may sing.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Ah! hapless Paris, in an evil day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Thou bear’st thy burthen from her home away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“To break thy guilty ties, the Greeks conspire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And wrap thy father’s ancient realms in fire.<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“What labour trickles from each warlike face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Alas! what carnage dyes the Dardan race;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Pallas prepares e’en now her flying car,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The helm, the ægis, and desire of war!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“By guardian Venus’ soft assistance bold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“In vain, you comb your flowing locks of gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“In vain, your finger sweeps th’ unwarlike string,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And tender measures, loved by females, sing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“In vain, you fly the Cretan lance; in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“From Ajax swift, you scour your native plain;<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Though harmless through the airy tide be sped<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The dart, so hateful to the nuptial bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Yet still, though late, th’ adult’rous ringlets must<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Be steep’d in blood, and scatter’d in the dust.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“See stern Ulysses, terror of thy race;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And Pylian Nestor’s venerable grace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Teucer, and Sthenelus, renown’d in war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Or skill’d to guide the coursers and the car.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Ah! hapless Paris, dost thou also see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Where godlike Merion scours the plain for thee;<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Where fierce Tydides, greater than his sire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Searches for thee, and burns with vengeful ire?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“As when some stag perceives, with fearful eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Across the vale the tawny wolf, and flies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“So shalt thou fly! forgetful of thy fame;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Not thus thou promised to the Spartan dame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Achilles’ angry fleet may bring delay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“But not less sure th’ inevitable day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“The fate-allotted time will soon expire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And Troy shall sink beneath the Grecian fire.”<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="ODE_XVI_BOOK_II" id="ODE_XVI_BOOK_II"></a>ODE XVI. BOOK II.</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fourteen.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">When</span> shipwreckt, mid the wide Ægean seas,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wearied sailor prays to heav’n for ease;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the dark clouds o’er Cynthia’s splendour low’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And glimmering stars refuse to lend their pow’r;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For ease, for ease, the warlike Thracian cries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In vain, for ease, the quiver’d Parthian sighs:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That blessing, Grosphus, never can be sold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For blushing purple, or for blazing gold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For neither wealth, nor regal power control<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wretched tumults of the madd’ning soul.<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And care, alas! will pour her baleful crowd<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around the vaulted mansions of the proud.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Happy the man, whose humble board is spread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the coarse viands that his fathers fed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor trembling Fear, nor Av’rice, sordid guest!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can e’er disturb his lightly-peaceful rest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why do we waste, in things that ne’er may be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The flying hours of short mortality?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fools that we are!—Oh, wherefore do we run<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To climates mellow’d by another sun?<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">When roves the exile from his native sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say!—can he ever hope himself to fly?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah, no!—for care is swifter than the hind,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For care is swifter than the eastern wind.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How blest that soul, which, moderately gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unheeds the morrow, and enjoys to-day;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweetens with smiles, the bitterness of strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For perfect bliss can ne’er be found in life!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Achilles fell, in life’s primæval day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hand of time, Tithonus wore away.<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that long life, by Fate denied to thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps, indulgent, she may give to me.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A hundred herds adorn thy fertile fields,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For thee, Sicilia, hundred oxen yields;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For thee, the courser eager snuffs the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bows his proud neck, and seems to court the rein;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For thee, with long, and loosely-sweeping flow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Lybian dye reveals its purple glow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To me, propitious Fate, with kindly hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has giv’n some portion of paternal land,<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And deign’d the lays of Horace to inspire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With one bright beam of ancient Graia’s fire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And whilst in talent, and in virtue proud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To scorn the malice of the vulgar crowd.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2 class="eng"><a name="Translation" id="Translation"></a>Translation</h2> - -<p class="c">OF THE FIRST CHORUS</p> - -<p class="c">IN THE</p> - -<p class="c">ŒDIPUS TYRRANNUS OF SOPHOCLES.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fourteen.</i></p> - -<h4>STROPHE.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Oh</span>! sweet-tongued oracle of Phœbus, say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To aid th’ illustrious Thebans’ ancient shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dost thou from golden Delphos bend thy way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where thousand altars daily incense pour?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God, we invoke thee by thy three-fold name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rack’d with suspence, and palpitating fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whate’er thou now, or henceforth shalt proclaim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We list in silence, and with reverence hear.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Child of Hope, immortal Fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Deign the dark decree to prove;<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy pow’r omnipotent we claim,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Pallas! progeny of Jove!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>ANTISTROPHE.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">To thee, we raise our suppliant hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Diana, queen of forests cold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To where the stately forum stands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seated on thy throne of gold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">God of the distant-wounding bow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Apollo, hear, avert our wo.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If e’er before ye gave us aid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When burthen’d with the monster-maid,<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Averters of Misfortune’s band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! now assist our suff’ring land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Alas! to you, we suppliant call,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, crush’d with ills unnumber’d, fall,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whilst all our people pine away with grief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And vain each plan to bring the wish’d relief;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our corn is wasted in the barren earth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our women sink beneath th’ untimely birth;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Corpse upon corpse promiscuously expire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flocking to gloomy Pluto’s dreary reign,<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">As birds, who, swifter than th’ unwearied fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fall in vast numbers o’er the azure main.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unnumber’d deaths, alas! exhaust our land—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unhonour’d corpses load the burning strand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mothers and wives, thy sacred altars round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Emit one sad, one darkly-mournful sound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perpetual Pæans lengthen on the gale,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dismal sighs and mournful groans prevail.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! haste then, golden Pallas, heav’nly maid,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Deign, in all thy might to aid,<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cause to fly this dreadful god,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who smites us with his baleful rod;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, sword and buckler laid aside,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Destroys us with o’erwhelming tide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drive him, banish’d, from our home,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where th’ unbounded ocean’s foam—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or where th’ Ægean waters roar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around the barb’rous Thracian’s shore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What night has spar’d awhile!—the day<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has unrelenting swept away.<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, potent Jove! thy thunders bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, bid thy lightnings pierce the air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wrap beneath the blazing storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The murd’rous fury’s raging form.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, King of Lycia! now thy darts employ,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath thy arms this god destroy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those weapons, oh, Diana? pour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With which thou hunt’st the Lycian boar.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thou, who lov’st the nymphs to lead,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span><span class="i0">With golden mitre round thy head,<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Guardian God of Theban shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Purple Bacchus, we implore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, rear thy blazing brand on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against this monster of the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And banish, madd’ning with the pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The god, most hated of the heav’nly train.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="PARNASSUS15" id="PARNASSUS15"></a>PARNASSUS<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a>;</h2> - -<p class="c">A VISION.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fourteen Years and a Half.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Loves</span> not thy soul, when sated with the crowd,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the trifles of the great and proud;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Loves not thy soul, its wearied pow’rs to bless,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the rich charms of pensive loneliness?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To turn thine eye, in mem’ry’s fond survey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To scenes and pleasures faded long away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till they fall on thee, like spring’s grateful rain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, in idea, thou liv’st them o’er again?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or, if bright Hope extends her magic wand,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span><span class="i0">To the dark future’s cloud-encircled land;<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dost thou not feel a secret wish to view<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ entangled vale, thou hast to wander through?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Fancy loves to deck the scene with flow’rs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gather’d from Glory’s fields, or Pleasure’s roseate bow’rs;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till, perhaps, some passing peasant’s laughter’s roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breaks the soft spell that binds thy wand’ring soul.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes, thou hast felt it, at that grateful hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When eve excites the Muse’s heav’nly pow’r,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all is calm!—when nothing rude is near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To bound the pensive eye, or wound the ear!<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">When Zephyr, wakened by paternal spring,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rimples the waters with his roseate wing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, like a lover, wooes them with a sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sweet, but soon over, as he wanders by.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">’Twas such an eve as this, I lately stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the green banks that shade Brent’s humble flood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mus’d o’er pleasures past, o’er scenes to be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cheering lights of dim futurity;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till softly o’er my mind began to creep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ unearthly calm of visionary sleep.<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Methought, a spacious plain before me lay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ting’d with that light which gilds the dawn of day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beauteous in every charm that can impart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aught to delight, or captivate the heart:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like those bright realms<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a>, replete with ev’ry joy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That Venus rear’d to please her fav’rite boy.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far up the wide expanse, was clearly seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mountain cover’d with eternal green:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, wreath’d in flow’rs of heav’n’s own splendid hue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This hallow’d word blaz’d on the distant view,<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="smcap">Parnassus!</span>”——<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By the fair bow’rs, and streams, that fill’d this plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Were wide-dispers’d the ancient bardic train:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There (by a roaring cat’ract’s sweeping force,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That from Parnassus took its turbid course)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tow’rd Homer’s form! in majesty sublime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The living monument, of lasting time;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And near to him, beneath a spreading tree,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stood thy wild Sire<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a>, imperial Tragedy!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And farther on, with eye, and stroke of fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High Pindar woke the transports of his lyre;<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">While by a river, fann’d with Zephyr’s breeze,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lay the mild shade of melting Sophocles;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There, many a form, in awful splendour bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Caught the wild, wondering raptures of my sight:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Maro and Horace, godlike sons of Fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And am’rous Ovid’s ever-pleasing name;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While, through the air, that hush’d itself to hear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tibullus’ sweetness thrill’d the list’ning ear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mighty Lucan, with illustrious strain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Told the dread scenes of fam’d Pharsalia’s plain:<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With gather’d arms, curl’d lip, and eye severe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stood Juvenal—alone, calm, stern, austere.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Methought the scene was changed!—a wider plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spread with a gaudy, but a trifling train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before me lay!—--No more could I behold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hallow’d mountain, or its fields of gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till, as I strain’d mine eye, I view’d afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Its shrouded beams, like Herschel’s distant star.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again I turn’d my eye upon the band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who pour’d their numbers o’er this humbler land;<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">These were, I soon perceiv’d, the bards who smile,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In this fair era, o’er Britannia’s isle.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The first, was one, whom many-tongued Renown<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has deem’d the brightest gem that decks the Muse’s crown.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Apart from all he stood!—his burning eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He strove to turn in rapture to the sky.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon his lyre he leant: and, as he sung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His curling ringlets o’er his shoulders hung;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In ev’ry look the trifler gave, he sought<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To shew how wisely, and how deep he thought;<span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to his flowing garb, and studied pace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He strove, but strove in vain, to give a grace.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His first, his chiefest aim, his dearest pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To write!—how different from the world beside;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For this he rack’d his brain!—it would not do!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For every effort, more degen’rate grew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At length he found a method to succeed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twas this!—to celebrate each impious deed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To <i>Vice</i> the charms of <i>Virtue</i> to impart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To thrill the senses!—but corrupt the heart!<span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">While I gaz’d on this bard!—methought a sound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wild, sweet, but awful, swell’d along the ground;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I turn’d mine eye! and, by a mould’ring tow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Espied a form of such high grace and pow’r,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It seem’d as if Apollo from the skies<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had rov’d, and now had met my wond’ring eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was that bard, whose justly-lasting fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Illustrious Caledon is proud to claim!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It was that bard, whose wild majestic lay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The floods of time shall never sweep away!<span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fast by his side, soul-moving C . . . . .l stood—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">C . . . . .l, the wise, the noble, and the good.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These two were in the open paths that led<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To green Parnassus’ ever-radiant head.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not far from them, in green, and vig’rous age,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Reclin’d at ease a venerable sage;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like some calm stream his peaceful numbers flow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Serenely soft, dispassionately slow;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not his the genius that can soar sublime,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On wings of Glory, o’er the wrecks of time:<span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet Fame’s fair pages shall record him long,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No humble vot’ry at the shrine of song.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath the luxuries of a neighb’ring bow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I view’d the figure of fantastic M . . . . .;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around the poet’s myrtle-wreathed head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A train of gaudy insects hovered;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sudden he rises! and with haste pursues<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The splendid fly, that boasts the richest hues;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And long upheld the chace! until it flew<span class="linenum">119</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within his grasp!—and then he straight withdrew.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It griev’d me to behold so vast a mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ideas so grand, and talents so refin’d,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Desert Parnassus, to pursue a fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And change, for trifles, Immortality!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Two well-known sons of rapture-raising song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now slowly swept the radiant fields along.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heroic S . . . . ., whose Parnassian lays<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Richly deserve Britannia’s laureate bays.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With this great vot’ry of Apollo’s name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pensive shade of hallow’d R—— came;<span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each melting line, that this soft poet sung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flow’d from the heart, its richness to the tongue;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He, who has gain’d a fame for aye to last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By singing of the Pleasures that are past.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While I did gaze on them, across the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like summer vapours, swept a jovial train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Issuing from these, I caught th’ unmeaning note<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of senseless C . . . . .’s empty numbers float;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">W . . . . . was there, who follow’d Homer’s rule,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In every line, to study Nature’s school;<span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">For as his heroes drive the waggon, so<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rustic and rude his humble verses flow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Far to the hinder side, a mountain spread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With shadowy clouds impervious, o’er its head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hiding whate’er beneath the veil might be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the dark mantle of futurity.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In vain, my searching eye-balls seek t’ explore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hidden secrets of that mystic shore.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">From time to time, a legion would emerge<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From its dark region’s shade-encircled verge:<span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But most, ere yet a few short stops were o’er,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fell to the earth, and were beheld no more!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A few, indeed, a farther distance past;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, though they sunk not first, they sunk at last.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, as <i>they</i> fell, from forth the sable land,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All careless of their fate, another band<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In swift succession issued forth, till they<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soon, in their turn, sunk down the dangerous way.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Methought my feet with rash, unhallow’d tread,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">My longing eyes, to this dark region led;<span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Methought my hand already seiz’d the shroud,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That o’er it hung its canopy of cloud;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Methought, mid those just rushing on to light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I view’d a form, with awful grandeur bright;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon his beaming brows, in leaves of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Britannia’s greatest glory” was enroll’d!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Scarce could I snatch a momentary trace<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of these high words, when, through the darksome place,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burst forth these accents, awful, loud, and drear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Hold back, hold back, rash mortal, and forbear!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Scarce was it utter’d, ere the wondrous scene,<span class="linenum">171</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And those who fill’d it, were no longer seen;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, in the stead of that remember’d dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I view’d the waves that swell Brent’s shallow stream;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And heard the tinkling from the distant fold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stead of the strains from many a lyre of gold,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That e’en but now, had bound the melting soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In thralls of heav’nly, but of vain control.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The grateful spell is broke!—the treasur’d tone—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hallow’d visions—yes, alas!—are flown!<span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And I must back to scenes of loathsome life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pregnant with sorrow, and profuse with strife.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes! though the hand of time has scarcely spread<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His roseate wreath of youth around my head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet I have felt, how keen the piercing dart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That grief can give, to lacerate the heart.—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes, I have felt, how full of care, alas!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The thorny paths that man is doom’d to pass.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But for a bright, and ofttimes cheering ray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Athwart my dark and melancholy way;<span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">For many a soothing, many a raptur’d hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I bless, my Muse, thy sweet celestial pow’r.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, mayst thou still continue, o’er my soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To hold, for aye, thine heav’n-inspir’d control.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, mayst thou still in many a dream like this,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give thine unearthly purity of bliss!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till snatch’d from life, from all its trammels free,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I lose its searing bitterness—in thee!<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2 class="eng"><a name="Upon_the_Death" id="Upon_the_Death"></a>Upon the Death</h2> - -<p class="c">OF</p> - -<p class="c">A LATE MAN OF QUALITY,</p> - -<p class="c">Well known for his Atheistical Principles.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Thirteen.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Behold</span> that man by Fortune’s fickle pow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gilded fav’rite of the “varying hour;”—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gallant lord, whom noble ladies love,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whom senates homage, and whom crowds approve.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For him, the bards attune their soften’d lays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In mellow notes, declare their patron’s praise;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For him, soft luxury courts each distant shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To tempt his palate with its varied store;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For him, the goblet flows with Gallia’s wine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wit, and beauty, all their pow’rs combine;<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">His sov’reign’s smile illumes his pageant day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thronging courtiers servile incense pay.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Revers’d the scene!—behold him stript of all!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though great his height, yet greater still his fall!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! see him stretch’d upon his dying bed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His vain associates, num’rous flatt’rers fled:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dim are those eyes, once darting soul and fire—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pallid that cheek, which ladies wont t’ admire;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Clos’d are those lips, once eloquently gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose fire of wit illum’d the festive day;—<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! see his wasted limbs convuls’d by death,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Painful, and hard, he draws his quivering breath.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">How different far, he views the face of things!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How poor the comfort worldly wisdom brings!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How deep he rues the fatal time that’s past,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When each new day was guiltier than the last;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How much regrets the tale of former years,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wide, black prospect, scarce a virtue cheers:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tremendous mem’ry, to his mind displays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vice, the crimes, that stain’d his earlier days.<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo, he starts up;—his matted ringlets stare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like dying lamps, his glazing eye-balls glare.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heard ye that scream?—and see ye not the fiend,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Come hot from hell to warn him of his end?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">See ye him grin?—and wide display a scroll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The horrid records of the sable soul?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or is it Conscience all?—Again that cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That mocks description in its agony.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peace!—peace!—upon that withering sound at last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To heav’n’s high Judgement-Seat th’ escaping spirit’s past.<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="TO_LYRA" id="TO_LYRA"></a>TO LYRA.</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fifteen Years Old.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">By</span> Idalia’s secret grove—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the streams so dear to love—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the beds, and fragrant bow’rs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fram’d from Flora’s brightest flow’rs—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the heart’s first hope, first fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell me!—dost thou love me, dear?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By the transports of the lyre,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bursting forth in hallow’d fire—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By thy tongue’s celestial lay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Melting all the soul away—<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the heart’s first hope, first fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell me!—dost thou love me, dear?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By the passion-breathing sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When youthful rapture rises high—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the drop of glist’ning dew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In thine eye of violet blue—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the heart’s first hope, first fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell me!—dost thou love me, dear?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By thy bosom’s heaving snow—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By thine orb’s averted glow—<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">By this lovely hand of thine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trembling, thrilling, now in mine—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By the heart’s first hope, first fear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell me!—dost thou love me, dear?<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="FAREWELL_TO_LYRA" id="FAREWELL_TO_LYRA"></a>FAREWELL TO LYRA.</h2> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fifteen.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Farewell</span>, oh farewell! though distance may sever<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The persons of lovers, their hearts it can never;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mine will still, Lyra, be tending on thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the bird of the night on his own fragrant tree<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a>.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can I think of the tear in thine orbit of blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When I falt’ringly murmur’d, “My Lyra, adieu!”—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can I think of that hand, as it trembled in mine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How pensive, yet sweet, was its exquisite thrill;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While my pulse woke the motion of transport in thine,<span class="linenum">9</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the balm of the gale on the breast of the rill.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span><span class="i0">Can I think of the gift, when thou sigh’d, “we must part,”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That thou cast o’er my bosom to lie on my heart;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And as my keen anguish, thou sawest the while,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou strove to look up with a soul-soothing smile;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when there, thou caught the wild glancing of pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou burst into tears (oh, how heartfelt!) again:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can I think of that scene, which remembrance will show,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the sweetest, yet bitt’rest, it ever can know—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can I think of that scene, and, oh! e’er can I be,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en in thought, for a moment unfaithful to thee?<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now, as thy gift to my bosom I’m pressing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! dost thou not think, my belov’d, it will glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the mariner’s star—like the pilgrim’s last blessing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To guide and to cheer through this desert of wo.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if ever my country should call to the field<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Honour’s thick slaughter, and Death’s scenes of gore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, dost thou not think that my head it will shield,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As the magical charms of the wizards of yore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As it rests on my heart, I shall think that thine eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nerves mine arm, and enkindles the flame of my soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It will soften that heart to the conquer’d’s weak cry—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It will blend with its courage, soft Mercy’s control.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or should Fate ever guide, in the patriot’s high cause,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To the senate of wisdom, oh, think’st thou this token<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will not cull to thy lover his country’s applause—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will not keep the firm ties of the patriot unbroken?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And if e’er, for a moment, his bosom should swerve<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the dictates of Honour, he’s sworn to observe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As he feels thy lov’d gift on his bosom recline,<span class="linenum">39</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will not all there again straight be Virtue’s and thine?<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yes, my Lyra, while life in thy lover can dwell—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While remembrance can give that endearing farewell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He will carry this gift through life’s thorn-sprouting maze;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twill sublimate rapture—’twill soften despair—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Twill lead him from grief, to those bliss-beaming days,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When each step was on roses,—for Lyra was there!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet, ah, can my lips e’er those hated words tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“For ever, my Lyra, for ever farewell!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It cannot be <i>ever</i>!—or else with the thought,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(With feelings, with throes of such agony fraught,)<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">This heart would be burst in its innermost core;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could it beat, and each throb of its beating not be<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thine only!—Oh, no, every pulse must be o’er,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere it once is forgetful of love and of thee.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">If on earth our fond hopings of passion are riv’n,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet yonder, oh, gaze!—(where so often before<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We have pour’d our full sighs) on yon balm-breathing heav’n,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There bliss will receive us—there grief be no more;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love will pour round our heads his bright halo divine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sublim’d to a loftier, mellower glow,<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">All celestial, all warm, like the Magi’s pure shrine,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Such as Seraphs can feel—such as heav’n can bestow.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2><a name="THE_CASKET" id="THE_CASKET"></a>THE CASKET;</h2> - -<p class="c">ADDRESSED TO A LADY.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Written at Fourteen.</i></p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">As</span> Cupid was roving one morning, he found<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Casket emblazon’d in diamond and gold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gems of the ocean embrac’d it around,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the handmaids of Venus had sculptured its mould.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“How transcendent must be the interior store<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Of so bright an exterior,” the mirth-lover cries,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As he hastens, in rapture, its depths to explore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With joy in his dimples, and hope in his eyes.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span><br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, I would ye had seen how he alter’d his air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How he rag’d!—how to earth the gay bauble he cast,<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the richness of splendour that promis’d so fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was empty of aught—save the æther that past.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus the beaming of beauty may dazzle the glance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though void of the stores that beneath them should be;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But when the gay casket is open’d—the trance<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of hopefulness fades like the foam of the sea.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, in thee, Queen of Loveliness, wond’ring we find,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not merely the time-searing bloom of the skin,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the grace of the form, and the wealth of the mind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Casket of Beauty, the treasure within.<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2>THE<br /><br /> -BATTLE OF WATERLOO;</h2> - -<p class="c">A POEM,</p> - -<p class="c">In Two Cantos.</p> - -<p class="c"><i>Written between Fourteen and Fifteen.</i></p> - -<h3>CANTO I.</h3> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“It timor, et major Martis jam apparet imago.”<br /></span> -<span class="i15"><i>Virgil.</i><br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<p class="cded"> -TO<br /> -<br /> -THOSE ILLUSTRIOUS HEROES,<br /> -<br /> -WHOSE LAURELS ARE THE BRIGHTEST ORNAMENTS<br /> -<br /> -OF THE<br /> -<br /> -BRIGHTEST VICTORY<br /> -<br /> -WHICH HAS EVER GRACED THE ANNALS<br /> -<br /> -OF THE<br /> -<br /> -BRITISH HISTORY;<br /> -<br /> -WHOSE NAMES THE BARD GLORIES TO CELEBRATE,<br /> -<br /> -AND FAME DELIGHTS TO IMMORTALIZE;<br /> -<br /> -THIS POEM<br /> -<br /> -IS DEDICATED,<br /> -<br /> -BY THEIR YOUTHFUL, BUT ARDENT ADMIRER,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="c"><span style="margin-left: 4em;"> -EDW: GEO: LYTTON BULWER</span><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE<br /><br /> -BATTLE OF WATERLOO.</h2> - -<h3>CANTO I.</h3> - -<h4>I.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Awake</span>, my Muse, and o’er my trembling lyre<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Breath but one spark of that celestial fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But one bright beam, unconscious of decay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which shew’d thy bard Parnassus’ flow’ry way;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Immortal Homer! for a bolder theme,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than ever yet has rous’d my youthful dream,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The deeds of warriors, the delights of war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the glories of the trophied car,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Begin Calliope!—to these belong<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A more than common, more than mortal song!<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now stands brave Wellesley on the tow’ring height,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Surveys the war, and kindles at the sight;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er each wide rank he casts his eager eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Inspired by hope, to conquer, or to die.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Firm, in the midst, the British guards appear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A band of heroes, never known to fear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alcides’ strength on ev’ry form we trace,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bellona’s ardour, and Apollo’s grace;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lions in war, possess’d of ev’ry art,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To gain the combat, or to win the heart.<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale Brunswick mourning for her leader slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spreads her bold legions o’er the martial plain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far on the right,—with them in numbers pour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A race of warriors from the Belgian shore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The haughty war-steed, glorying to bear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His noble burthen, closes up the rear.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then to the hostile hosts, who adverse stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pride of France, the flow’r of all her land.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Strain’d to the left he casts his eager sight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the proud eagle rears her tow’ring height;<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">These hardy troops, Napoléon’s brother led,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While to the right Lobau’s brave squadrons spread.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Erlon and Reille, in warlike tumults known,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of vict’ry hoping, in the centre shone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not their’s, or sportive joust, or mimic fray,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fate of Europe hung upon that day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mighty leader of each glorious band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For the first time, in arms confronting stand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Vict’ry doubted which her palm might claim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For each was equal in the lists of fame.<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Proud Gallia’s haughty eagle’s rear’d on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thund’ring cannon rend the vaulted sky;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Majestic Death stalks o’er the bloody plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Honour’s bed receives her heroes slain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By thee, brave Picton, what great deeds were done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What martial laurels grac’d thy setting sun!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In Fame’s first page, thy glorious name returned,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What tears erabalm’d thee, and what hearts have mourn’d!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! how record the mighty chiefs that fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While peals of cannon sound their fun’ral knell!<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Napoléon urg’d his ever-dauntless band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nerv’d was each arm, and bare each shining brand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flush’d was each cheek, joy beam’d in ev’ry eye,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They seem’d to think it were a bliss to die.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Forward, my comrades; forward speed your way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our guardian genius shall record this day!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span>”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They wait no more!—the courser feels the rein<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No longer check him from the warring plain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thirsting for blood, impatient for the fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sabre glitters with effulgent light;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rear’d by that arm, which knows no other laws,<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than courting glory, in its chieftain’s cause.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">On, as the waves, they roll their sweeping course,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where stood the pride of Caledonia’s force:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">This legion saw the mighty hosts appear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor yet it felt one dastard throb of fear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps a sigh prolong’d the lover’s breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As one who saw th’ approach of certain death!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps the father’s anxious love might know<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One throb of feeling cross his manly brow;<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perhaps a tear the patriot’s cheek might stain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For that dear land, he ne’er might see again;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, if the drop of soften’d love would stray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The warrior wip’d th’ unbidden guest away!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Slacken’d each rein, each Scottish brand was bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dancing plumage kiss’d the lurid air!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their steeds they urge—hark!—“Scotland” is the cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The loyal sound the echoing hills reply.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Link’d in one body, small, yet firm they go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And charge impetuous on the yielding foe.<span class="linenum">80</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dismay’d, confounded at the glorious sight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In vain the Gauls would claim the equal fight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On ev’ry side their comrades strew the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And heaps arise of Gallia’s mighty slain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The useless sabre drops,—they turn,—they fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The serrying cannon follows through the sky.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus the rhinoceros, on Afric’s shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hears from afar the tawny lion’s roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cold tremblings o’er his giant members grow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He flies affrighted from a weaker foe.<span class="linenum">90</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now in full speed t’ avenge their comrades slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Gallic column sweeps along the plain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Scotia, aided by an English band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against that column makes her glorious stand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh, thou Calliope, inspire the song,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which falters o’er thy suppliant’s drooping tongue.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Each adverse warrior combats hand to hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No other weapon than the wounding brand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Charger ’gainst charger, man ’gainst man engage,<span class="linenum">99</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sword clangs ’gainst sword, and all is blood and rage,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo! in the thickest of the martial storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Gallic eagle rears her golden form;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Symbol of conquest, ever known to bring<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dark desolation on her fatal wing;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At whose dread sight submissive nations bow’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lord of the mighty, conq’ror of the proud:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Destructive Bird! whose iron pow’r was bore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By Vict’ry’s gales, to Earth’s remotest shore.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IX.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But gallant Ewart, foremost of the fight,<span class="linenum">109</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saw her proud form, and mark’d her glitt’ring height.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His steed he spurr’d, and, with determin’d hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He grasp’d her staff, and rais’d his Scottish brand:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But brave Dubois (who held the bird of Jove)<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still kept his hold, and fierce contesting strove,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While to his left hand firm the standard clung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Keen in his right the clashing falchion rung;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He mark’d the Briton with indignant eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And tow’rds the breast and downwards to the thigh<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sends the sharp blade,—but Ewart’s sword was there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And turn’d the blow, averted, into air;<span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sudden rais’d that sword with giant force,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full on the Frenchman’s crest he drove its course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pierc’d the strong helm, and clove the chieftain’s head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through brain, through jaws, and e’en the neck it sped;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then wrathful drew it lukewarm from the brain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seiz’d the eagle from the conquer’d slain:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, ’gainst the victor, with revengeful speed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An hostile lancer spurr’d his foaming steed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And urg’d his spear; but, bending from the blow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wary Briton disappoints the foe;<span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, ere the lancer could his falchion gain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He stretch’d him lifeless on the purple plain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>X.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then stern De Valence, with revengeful eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perceiv’d the deeds of Scottish bravery;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stirr’d up by vengeance, and the love of fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He fir’d his carbine with an hasty aim,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But miss’d the Scotsman, though not vainly sped,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It pierc’d immortal Campbell’s plumy head.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And could not worth, and could not valour save<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The great, the godlike Campbell from the grave?<span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet is thy death reveng’d,—for Ewart’s blade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sent thy dark murderer to appease thy shade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And he the bird of Jove victorious bore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red with the streams of its defender’s gore.<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Here Mars, terrific, wheel’d his iron car,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stirr’d the fight, and gloried in the war;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No modern field could ever yet behold<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A fight so slaught’rous, and a war so bold.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The steel-clad Gaul derides the gath’ring storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which pours in torrents o’er his warlike form;<span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet, though his <i>breast</i> the pond’rous cuirass shield,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His slaughter’d <i>limbs</i> bestrew the bloody field.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each seem’d resolv’d the victor’s prize to claim,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each seem’d resolv’d to live, or die, in fame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But nought could stop the firm, determin’d course<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Scotia’s strength, of Scotia’s matchless force:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, in that hour to Caledon so dear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud Gallia learnt her mighty name to fear:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">She turns—she rallies—then again we view<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her numbers fly;—the gallant Scots pursue!<span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet was that victory bought by many a tear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er Cameron’s, Mitchell’s, and o’er Holmes’s bier;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And long th’ historian and the muse shall tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How bright they triumph’d, and how great they fell.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mean time, where Hougoumont conspicuous stands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The valiant Byng draws up his Albion bauds;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And <i>there</i> the hottest of the battle rag’d,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>There</i> Gauls and Britons fiercest warfare wag’d.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As some tall rock, the Anglian centre stood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Saltoun battled for the neighboring wood;<span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, as the stormy waves, the Gauls roll’d on,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Led by fierce Jerome, and the sage D’Erlon.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The tubes of death sent lightning through the air;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The arm of fate, the sword of Jove, was bare.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So thick the smoke, the eye could scarce survey<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What its next object in the dire affray;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save, where the sulphur flash’d on some proud crest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or danc’d terrific on the steel-clad breast:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The warrior rear’d his arm,—then, sudden fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor knew who sent him to the gates of hell.<span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Long was the fight, and furiously severe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For neither host e’er felt the pow’r of fear:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here fell the flow’r of Britain! here the pride<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of Gallia’s long-extended squadrons died!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose muse can sing, whose daring tongue can tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What heroes triumph’d, and what chieftains fell?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How many a youth, who ne’er had fought before,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sent souls unnumber’d to the Stygian shore?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How Gauls and Britons pil’d the field with slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, foes in death, still grappled on the plain?<span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But here, while Mars and dread Bellona rag’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the hot conflict Gaul and Albion wag’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">An hostile race, from Poland’s northern shore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Wellesley’s bands their martial numbers pour;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Skill’d in the art, a piercing death they bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their native arms, the far-extending spear.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ heroic Ponsonby perceiv’d the band,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forth from the scabbard leapt his beamy brand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His heaving breast with indignation burn’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While to his troops the godlike warrior turn’d:<span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Shall haughty Poland triumph o’er the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And boast her heaps of Britain’s mighty slain?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall Poland conquer in this glorious day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bear the prize from Albion’s race away?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forward, my friends! exalt your matchless name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And seize the moment to increase your fame!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thus spoke the chief;—then drove his angry course<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Poland pour’d her unrelenting force:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sharing his rage, exulting in his wrath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His troops pursue his death-awakening path.<span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">As, when the torrents overwhelm the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And threaten ruin to the golden grain;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">So, fierce with hatred and revenge, they go<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And heap destruction on th’ astounded foe:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some fly; yet some with bolder courage fir’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still keep their ground, by martial rage inspir’d:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And first, dark Holstein, whom Eliza bore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fierce Kolinskorf, on Masavia’s shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Another Hercules, whose mighty hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Could awe the boldest of a modern band,<span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With scornful eye, beheld the hostile storm,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wav’d his bright lance, and rear’d his giant form;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where rag’d the fiercest of the British force,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With pow’rful arm, he drove his sweeping course.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But Cecil, lov’d of Pallas, met the Pole,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the hero kindled in his soul.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His steed he spurr’d, on high his youthful hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rear’d the bright terrors of the blasting brand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Holstein saw th’ impending danger near,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With giant strength he hurl’d his weighty spear;<span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like lightning-flash, it piere’d the Briton’s side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And life receded on the crimson tide.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forth from the victor’s sheath the sword was bare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hov’ring on high, it thinn’d the ranks of war;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ten bleeding warriors, gasping on the strand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proclaim’d the prowess of his mighty hand;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Terror and death attend his rabid way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And conquest claim’d him as her own that day.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Him Ponsonby, in arms renown’d, espies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With raging bosom, and with vengeful eyes;<span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">His gory hand upon the holster hung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, through the air the loud explosion rung:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why droops the arm which scatter’d death from far?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why sinks the pride, the terror of the war?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ unerring ball, the winds of fate have bore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And that proud arm shall scatter death no more:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One threat’ning glance, one vengeful look he cast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Towards the foe;—that action was his last:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet still in death his lurid eye-balls glare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fire of hate, of fierce contempt, is there;<span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">On his curl’d lip the scornful smile yet hung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still in his hand the deadly falchion rung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O’er that pale cheek, scarce bronz’d by manhood’s glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Crimson’d by gore, the sable ringlets flow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Weep Poland! weep! the bloody work is done,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In tears of anguish mourn thy slaughter’d son.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And now, exulting o’er the glorious slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The troops of Ponsonby usurp the plain:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where’er their leader’s conq’ring claymore shone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><i>There</i>, may the widow make her joyless moan;<span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The orphan’s wailing, and the mother’s tear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The maiden’s anguish, and the sire’s despair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dying warrior’s last accusing breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And all the laurell’d pageantry of death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pursue the path their chieftain’s bloody blade<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through the thick whirl of eddying hosts has made.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And now the Poles on ev’ry side give way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, routed, yield the fortunes of the day:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, warm’d by fame, exulting in their might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Too far the conq’rors urge the conquer’d’s flight;<span class="linenum">270</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And their dread <i>leader</i>’s<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> all-surveying eyes<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Saw the rash deed of heated enterprise.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To check their unadvis’d, and hasty speed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across the plain, he spurr’d his foaming steed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fleeter than air, and swifter than the wind,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The scene of conquest soon he leaves behind.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A field there was, on which the lab’ring swain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had lately sown the life-supporting grain:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soft was the soil, by vernal showers fed,<span class="linenum">279</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Damp, yielding moistures o’er the plain were spread.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By fate ordain’d, its baleful influence lay<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where the swift courser urg’d his flying way;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Light, o’er the bank which mark’d the treach’rous ground<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift as a dart, his fairy footsteps bound.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why stops his speed? why rolls his frenzied eye?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why lost the pow’r, but not the wish to fly?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why vainly strive to quit the fatal field?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With all the strength which agony can yield,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why vainly nerve each mighty limb to strain?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each effort binds him closer to the plain;<span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hand of fate has fix’d his master there,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And heav’n has call’d him from his bright career.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIX.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">When that dread chief perceiv’d th’ inglorious doom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which seem’d to sink him to a living tomb,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pale grew his cheek, his raging eye-balls glare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus, to heav’n, he offers up his prayer:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Oh, thou dread Pow’r, whose mighty name is bore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On ev’ry tongue, to earth’s remotest shore!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O God Omnipotent, whom all obey,<span class="linenum">299</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">While heav’n, and earth, and ocean, own thy sway!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bend from thy radiant throne, incline thine ear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Listen! oh, listen! to a suppliant’s pray’r:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not thus inglorious, claim my fleeting breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But let a warrior, die a warrior’s death!”<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Strong passions drown’d his voice, yet heav’n had heard<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pray’r by valour’s votary preferr’d:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far to the right, a moving host appears,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sunbeams glitt’ring on their hostile spears.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As some dark mist, when wintry storms arise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slow, spreads its influence o’er the mirky skies;<span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">So, (wrapt in dusk and smoke,) the distant train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Obscure the fields, and slowly sweep the plain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XX.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Brightly the chieftain smil’d! a gladdening beam<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shot o’er his brow, his bloodshot eye-balls gleam;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Backwards his view, with haughty joy he cast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Towards the bounds his fiery steed had past;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One sole, one fond, one faithful friend was there,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A brother’s love had join’d the godlike pair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From youth to manhood, grew that love sublime,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span><span class="i0">Began by virtue, and matur’d by time.<span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">When peace and plenty held their golden reign,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And crown’d the efforts of the lab’ring swain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ unmeasurable space they wander’d o’er<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of wisdom’s paths, of learning’s sacred lore:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, when Bellona yok’d her iron car,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And honour call’d them to the paths of war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still, side by side, the youthful heroes led<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their hardy warriors to their country’s aid;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The aim of each, amidst the bloody strife,<span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To scorn his own, to guard his comrade’s life.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If ’gainst the chieftain’s bosom gleam’d the spear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The other’s arm would ward the danger near;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, if th’ uplifted sabre of the foe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should rise, to lay his lov’d companion low,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mighty Ponsonby’s avenging hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would smite the threat’ner lifeless on the strand.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">His long-tried friend had not o’er past the bound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which mark’d the limits of the fatal ground;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For when he saw the sad, untimely end<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which seem’d to wait his dearer half, his friend,<span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath a weight of more than mortal care,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He stood transfix’d in motionless despair;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His falt’ring tongue, with agony of wo,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Cleav’d to his mouth! his blood forgot to flow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The glorious leader saw his mighty grief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, pitying, strove to give his friend relief:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The stern contempt of death, the warrior’s pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more his feelings or his judgment guide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To gentlest passions meltingly resign’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each harsh emotion of his mighty mind:<span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soft beam’d his lucid eye, the kindling flame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Melted to love, before a brother’s name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With soften’d voice, and pitying looks, began<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The parting accents of the godlike man.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Ah! more than brother, for thy gen’rous heart<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has ever shewn a more than brother’s part;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say, my beloved, can the sobbing breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ling’ring tear, put off the stroke of death?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hand of destiny has fix’d my doom,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By heav’n allotted to a warrior’s tomb.<span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet still my words in prophecy may say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death shall not call my ev’ry part away:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To late posterity, recording fame<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall tell the triumphs that adorn my name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Check then, O chosen of my soul, the tear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which mourns my path to Honour’s proudest bier;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Accept a short, a last farewell, ere death<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has chill’d my tongue, or claim’d my fleeting breath.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Hold!’ cried the youth; but thus the chief pursued,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While with fond eyes, his dearer self he view’d:<span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Back to my wife, her lovely image bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Torn from that heart which only beats for her.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! check the orphan’s tear, the widow’s sigh,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tell them, the lot of mortals is to die!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Then drew a portrait from his manly breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And to his lips th’ unconscious image prest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gave it one sad, one ling’ring, last adieu,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then to his friend the precious token threw:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Fly, fly, my friend, ere yet it be too late,<span class="linenum">379</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en now approach the vengeful troops of fate.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Die will I first,’ the faithful youth replies,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While love courageous sparkles in his eyes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His steed he struck; his clanging arms rebound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The charger speeds him to the fatal ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Close by the chieftain’s side: a smile as bright<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As erst o’er Chrishna shot its dazzling light<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Flash’d o’er that pallid cheek with brilliant glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like sunshine beaming o’er an heap of snow.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Living, or dead, no earthly hand shall part<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ties that bind thee to this constant heart.’<span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more he could;—he scarce could bare his brand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When down impetuous pour’d the hostile band.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They saw the swampy marsh the chiefs that held,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor dar’d, incautious, leap the fatal field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But from afar, their flying weapons pour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A glitt’ring tempest, and an iron show’r.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXIV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Pierc’d by seven mortal wounds, oppress’d, at length,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spite of his valour, struggles, and his strength,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All hurl’d upon his godlike form from far,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sinks first the bulwark of the British war.<span class="linenum">400</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus falls the lion in the treach’rous snare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which o’er the woods the Lybian youths prepare,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sunk by a grove of darts, he strives in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And falls at last, invincible, though slain.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> - -<span class="i0">Cold grew his comrade’s cheek! for wild despair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And frenzied wo, and agony, was there.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sprung from his flound’ring steed, with aching breast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lifeless hero in his arms he prest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">‘Take, O ye war-hounds! take my hateful breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We lov’d in life, and still we’ll join in death.’<span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift through the air a fatal jav’lin prest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pierc’d through his scarf, and sunk within his breast.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One glance, expressive of contempt, he cast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then kiss’d his friend, and, smiling, breath’d his last.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="fint">END OF CANTO I.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span></p> - -<h2> -THE<br /> -<br /> -BATTLE OF WATERLOO;<br /> -<br /> -A POEM,<br /> -<br /><span class="eng"> -In Two Cantos.</span><br /> -<br /> -CANTO II.<br /> -</h2> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> </p> - -<h2>THE<br /><br /> -BATTLE OF WATERLOO.</h2> - -<h3>CANTO II.</h3> - -<h4>I.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Again</span>, Calliope, my song inspire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sweep the numbers from my falt’ring lyre;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again the joys of war, and warriors, sing,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wake to life each wild-resounding string;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! give that verse which soars beyond control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which fires the genius, and awakes the soul.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en now, e’en now, impatient of delays,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Across my mind thy beamy influence plays.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>II.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Bright was the noon!—for Phœbus’ warmest ray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Illum’d the slaughters of the dreadful day:<span class="linenum">10</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hush’d was each ruder wind!—all nature seem’d to wait<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In mute attention on a world’s debate.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Far as the eye could reach, the breeze could bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The wand’ring sound, to rapt suspence’s ear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All was one mix’d, and one promiscuous train<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of warring heroes, scattered o’er the plain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus through the glassy hive the bees we view,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Industrious race, their various tasks pursue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Confus’d, dispers’d, to unaccustom’d eyes,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet each a settled occupation plies.<span class="linenum">20</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>III.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The frighten’d skies are red with bursting fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Warriors on warriors, heaps on heaps expire;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The cannon’s roar, the martial music’s sound;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The conq’rers’ shouts, and conquer’d’s groans confound.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mighty hosts promiscuously engage,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And war terrific, burns with tenfold rage.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">War! horrid war! whom Death to Pluto bore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mids’t the dark caverns of th’ infernal shore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A dreadful monster, at whose baleful birth,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love, Peace, and Plenty, fled the groaning earth.<span class="linenum">30</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">His form was horrid, ghastly, grim, and fell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No mortal man its terrors e’er can tell!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A wreath of skulls his iron temples bound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where’er he trod, red carnage dy’d the ground,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">All nature wither’d at his dire advance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And nations sunk beneath his lurid glance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Four raging tygers, with tremendous roar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His sweeping car (a thund’ring cannon) bore;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Confusion, Flight, and Terror’s wild alarms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shrieking pursue his all-destroying arms.<span class="linenum">40</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But to the view, the treach’rous demon show’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A form that bright with glorious beauty glow’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And held, deceitful, in his bloody hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Giv’n by Ambition, an enchanted wand—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And this he wav’d! and, to the wond’ring eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sceptres, and crowns, and laurell’d wreaths would rise:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But now he gloried o’er the Gallic plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To feast in triumph on the mighty slain.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">O thou, Calliope, the heroes tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, bright with honour and with glory, fell;<span class="linenum">50</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Retrospection’s sweetly pensive tear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Moistens the bays that blossom round their bier.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For them no friend can soothe the quiv’ring breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And give the last sad offices of death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For them no prayers of pitying love are giv’n—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No priest consoling points the road to heav’n;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their whit’ning bones no stately urn shall hide,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No flatt’ring bust—no monument of pride;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Mids’t piles of slaughter’d thousands lost, they lie,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span><span class="i0">By all forsaken, unregarded die.<span class="linenum">60</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet each seem’d gladly to resign his breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And hail th’ approach of honourable death:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still in death, o’er each undaunted face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nought but the pride of heroism you’d trace;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each dying warrior, welt’ring on the strand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still strain’d each nerve to grasp his broken brand.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>V.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">As Gordon, great in arms, whose glorious name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Was ever foremost of the sons of Fame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">(With that bright warmth of love and friendly fire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which only godlike Wellesley can inspire;)<span class="linenum">70</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Besought his chief, who mingled with the strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of danger heedless, to regard his life,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A ball, fast hissing on the airy tide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stretched the brave soldier by his leader’s side.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And glorious Canning, ere the shades of death<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had numb’d his arm, or stopt his fleeting breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rais’d up his eyes to heav’n, and faintly cried,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Ah, bless my chief”—and in that blessing died!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brave Delancey left his native land,<span class="linenum">79</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Young Hymen’s chaplet, and Love’s plighted hand—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He left them all!—for Honour’s notes afar<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proclaim’d the signal of reviving war:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Destruction hover’d where his falchion prest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Fate’s dark lightnings glitter’d round his crest.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Death, with envy, saw his feats that day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Another Death, he thought, had bore his pow’r away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He rais’d his arm—he hurl’d the fatal dart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And bad it moisten in the warrior’s heart;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Urg’d by the spectre’s hand, the weapon prest,<span class="linenum">89</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Pierc’d the knight’s garb, and sunk within his breast,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Adown his bosom stream’d the ebbing blood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And life came rushing on the purple flood.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Two British heroes, of a meaner name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That day shone proudly in the field of Fame;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Immortal Thonne, and bold Herculean Shawe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before whose arms, with fear and wond’ring awe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud Gallia shrunk; while gasping on the strand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nine chieftains fell by Thonne’s destructive hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">D’Avigné fam’d throughout the Gallic race,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For warlike honours, and for martial grace,<span class="linenum">100</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perceiv’d the victor glorying from afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And spurr’d his courser to the promis’d war:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So the fierce tyger stalks the Lybian plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Exulting o’er the savage nations slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While o’er each hill, and dark impervious wood,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They strive t’ escape the ravisher of blood:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forth from the forest, gaunt with vengeful ire,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With stiffen’d mane, and eyes of living fire,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rushes the lion with indignant glow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pours his fury on the raging foe.<span class="linenum">110</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And first D’Avigné rais’d his mighty hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright with the terrors of the wounding brand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full on the dauntless Briton’s plumy crest<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The blow descends,—then glances tow’rds the breast;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But there it stopt—the sabre’s parrying care<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gleam’d cautious down and turn’d the wound to air.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Briton then his weapon rear’d on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mark’d the Frenchman with a wary eye;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then sudden swept his vengeful sword around,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And stretch’d his victim gasping on the ground;<span class="linenum">120</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But, as he lay, ere yet the damps of death<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Had numb’d his arm, or stopp’d his fleeting breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Against the charger of his conq’ring foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full on the chest, he strikes the griding blow<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a>;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The noble beast, convuls’d by piercing pain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rear’d his proud form, and shook his flowing mane,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then instant fell—and from the mortal wound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gushing life’s-blood issued on the ground;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full on his noble master, ere he rose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On ev’ry side resound a hundred blows—<span class="linenum">130</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hundred lances glitter at his breast—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A hundred strokes re-echo on his crest;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He strikes—retreats—advances—strives in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And adds another to the heaps of slain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus falls some tow’r which long has rear’d its form,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And mock’d the fury of the raging storm:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fierce besiegers strive each art in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To cast its lofty fabric on the plain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At length the treach’rous mine, with secret care,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath its strong foundations they prepare;<span class="linenum">140</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With horrid crash, its crackling piles resound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fall, a mighty ruin on the ground.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>VIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mean time brave Shawe usurps the martial plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And spreads the field with Gallic heaps of slain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where beams his sabre, wild confusion brings<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Terror and death upon her iron wings;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A cuirass’d band of Gallic heroes saw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His martial prowess with admiring awe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And first Bernot withdrew his wond’ring eyes,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus the chief with indignation cries:—<span class="linenum">150</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“O friends! O soldiers, shall the Gallic name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rest, for a moment, in disgraceful shame?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shall you Briton, glorying from far,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Destroy our troops, and thin the ranks of war?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Frenchmen, charge forwards! and your king’s applause<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Awaits your efforts in his glorious cause;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For he that sends yon haughty Briton’s head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A worthy off’ring to the noble dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Napoléon’s self shall grace his radiant name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And age to age perpetuate his fame.”<span class="linenum">160</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">He ceas’d;—and, warm’d by hope, his legion broke<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through fires of sulphur, and through mists of smoke<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a>:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Onwards they roll’d, elate with warrior’s pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each soldier charging by his comrade’s side.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To check their course, drawn up in firm array,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A gallant troop of Britons urge their way.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those arms destructive fill their mighty hands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The bayonet—weapon of the Anglian bands:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They mingle!—hark! what mighty strokes resound—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What streams of slaughter dye the thirsty ground!<span class="linenum">170</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>IX.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">De Bruyere, bending from his saddle-bow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aim’d first at British Eth’rington his blow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thirsting for blood the gleaming weapon prest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And forceful pierc’d the Briton’s sable crest:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He sunk!—but Beauchamp, with indignant eye,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Perceived the feat of Gallic bravery,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With bayonet charg’d, full rushing on the foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He pierc’d his courser with a mortal blow;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He fell!—and Bernot, riding o’er the plain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Trod on his crackling crest and crush’d the brain.<span class="linenum">180</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Britons and Gauls now gath’ring clos’d around,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One war tumultuous shook th’ affrighted ground:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Arm rose ’gainst arm, and man encounter’d man;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through ev’ry breast revenge and hatred ran.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">At length, so fierce the Britons’ rushing force,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In vain the Gauls attempt to stop their course:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Slow they retreat!—yet, facing to the foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Defiance threaten, as they sternly go;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Bernot turn’d, and wav’d his hand on high—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Hold, cowards, hold! nor thus inglorious fly,<span class="linenum">190</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">What, though the fury of yon rushing tide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our smaller numbers vain attempt to bide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet still revenge is ours, yon Briton’s hand<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still gives to death the heroes of our land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That mighty warrior, whom we lately swore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should wreak his fury on our troops no more;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Forward with me!—for here again I swear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That if this arm the trusty blade can bear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To meet this dreaded conqueror I fly,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I go to conquer—or I go to die!”<span class="linenum">200</span><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>X.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">He spoke!—and wav’d his scymitar on air,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And rush’d impatient to the promis’d war.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Five Gallic warriors sharing in his wrath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eager pursue his devastating path;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And soon around the mighty Briton close,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And pour on ev’ry side a show’r of blows.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ah! cease! the pitying Muse forbids to tell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How great, in death, that gallant hero fell!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Still, undiminish’d, Gaul her numbers pours,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vast as the sand that loads the sea-girt shores.<span class="linenum">210</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en by their vict’ries tir’d, in heaps of slain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fast fall the Britons on the groaning plain.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet view the various fortunes of that hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Anglians’ weakness, and the Frenchmen’s pow’r,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">You’d find each British form, that loads the ground,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Piere’d by <i>no backward, no inglorious</i> wound.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And still no murmurs waste their panting breath,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When all around they see the works of death;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still with fresh courage they demand to go,<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span><span class="i0">And in their turn to charge th’ exulting foe:<span class="linenum">220</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“On! let us on!” impetuous they cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Not thus inglorious,—scarce opposing,—die.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chief of the Island sons, how great thy praise!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How bright thy honour!—and how green thy bays!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Wait yet, my friends,” the pitying chief would say,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“And conquest still shall be our own this day,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wait yet till come the long-expected force,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till valiant Blücher speeds his driving horse.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Yet though his words can animate the heart,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lively courage to each breast impart,<span class="linenum">230</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still anxious doubt, though kept in wise control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Chill’d his own cheek, and dampt his mighty soul.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">If Blücher come not in <i>one</i> passing hour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Full well he knew how weak was all his pow’r.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With eagle-eye the squadrons he survey’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, where they fainted, sent the timely aid;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His person, counsel, and his chiefest care,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where most the dreadful dangers of the war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where, disdaining self, his form he threw,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To guard that form, invincible they grew.<span class="linenum">240</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though less thy skill, not less thy daring might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Uxbridge! thou pride, thou bulwark of the fight!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shew me, ye Muses of Parnassian shades,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A chief more glorious for the horse brigades<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A chief more skill’d to please th’ unconstant fair,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or shine the first, and foremost of the war.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But by thy fire of valour led away,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A shot, at close of that tremendous day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mangled thy form, and drove thee from the fray.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lo! where Hibernia pours her gen’rous train,<span class="linenum">250</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dread of her foes, and foremost of the plain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bright honour, and the em’rald isle, their cry,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fall is glory—infamy to fly.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mean time, brave Orange, mightiest of his name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spreads desolation o’er the field of Fame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Great Prince! who, midst the thickest of the strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Led on by native ardour, risk’d his life.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Encompass’d round, amidst the hostile lines,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Th’ heroic youth his liberty resigns:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A Belgian troop rush timely in, to save<span class="linenum">260</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">The gallant chieftain from an early grave.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brilliant gem, th’ insignia’s regal pride,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That matchless hero from his form untied,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With grateful ardour, midst the martial crew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The signs of birth and royalty he threw.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Long live our Prince! long live our martial Lord!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shout Belgia’s hardy sons, with one accord;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Come life, come death, this token we will shield,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through all the dangers of the dreadful field.”<span class="linenum">269</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then where their ranks the tow’ring standard grac’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With pride exulting, the rich ensign plac’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Along the plain, as driving bail, they pour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And flood the field with many a stream of gore.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, lo! where yonder, what approaching train,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wrapt in a cloud of smoke, obscure the plain?—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis they!—’tis they!—the long-expected force,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis godlike Blücher rolls his sweeping course;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis Bulow, dreadful thunderbolt of war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Leads Prussia’s injur’d warriors from afar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, as they wound along the mountain’s brow,<span class="linenum">280</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">They hurl’d their cannon on the Gauls below;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While the red sulphur, seem’d in pride to dance,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On the broad blade, steel crest, and gleaming lance;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, as their bright and lengthen’d squadrons roll’d on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They seem’d like shadowy legions, gliding through the sky.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Monarch of Gaul, what pangs of hopeless wo<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dim thy bright eye, and cross thy thoughtful brow,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where all around thee heaps of death arise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Prussia’s cannon seem to rend the skies;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And where the warlike bands of Cossacks fly,<span class="linenum">290</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Resolv’d to conquer, or sublimely die;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Briton’s Genius rears her tow’ring head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No longer weeping o’er the glorious dead.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Lo! o’er the Monarch’s cheek, a gladd’ning ray<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Danc’d in his eye, and bad the smile to play,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where on the right his fav’rite legion stands,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The imperial guards, those ever-dauntless bands;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Swift in the midst his arm he wav’d on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“On, soldiers on, to conquer, or to die!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then, where the bravest of the British force,<span class="linenum">300</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">He leads the way, and points their angry course;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As when the stormy waves are o’er the deep,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With hope of glory on that legion sweep.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en their brave enemies hung back, and saw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their stern battalions with admiring awe.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That man, to whom contending nations bow’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose iron sceptre half a world allow’d—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose rapid fortunes urg’d the wheels of Fate—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Whose prosp’rous victories seem’d of endless date,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now shapes his way, and fires his daring band,<span class="linenum">310</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">With Vengeance’ torch terrific in his hand;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That band, in mighty deeds of arms renown’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With valour arm’d, as yet with victory crown’d,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span>—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The sons of conquest, and the flow’r of France,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who fill’d all Europe with alarms, advance.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Beneath a friendly vale the warriors pause,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus began the chieftain of their cause:—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Friends, countrymen! the battle’s dubious fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The fate of Europe, on your arms await;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Should victory crown our efforts, then no more<span class="linenum">320</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall war destructive waste our native shore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The hostile league, which now appears so fast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Will break asunder, ere a day be past;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Wellesley, weaken’d in the dire affray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To Gallic brav’ry, falls an easy prey.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Think of your ancient deeds! beneath your arms,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Prussia, and Austria, fled with dire alarms;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dejected Spain, a Gallic Monarch own’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And soft Italia mourn’d her Sire dethron’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The winds of Fame your conq’ring eagles bore,<span class="linenum">330</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To climes ne’er fann’d by Victory’s wing before.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These were your former deeds!—disgrace, or shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ne’er yet have soil’d your laurels, or your name.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But now has envious Jealousy arose,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To blight those laurels with unnumber’d foes;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yet they say, ’tis me!—’tis me alone!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your king, they wish to conquer, to dethrone!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes!—were I dead,—proud Prussia’s ruthless hand<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Would hurl destruction on your fated land;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They say, they ask not to decide your choice,<span class="linenum">340</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But me depos’d, to leave it to your voice.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yes!—were I dead,—their haughty pow’r would place<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon your throne th’ accursed Bourbon race.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Say, will you have the idiot-line again,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mock of Europe, o’er your realms to reign?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No! I can see in each indignant face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your scorn, your hatred of the lawless race.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A people’s voice, the voice of half a world,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rais’d me from whence that tyrant race was hurl’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And since that time, my reign or ill, or well,<span class="linenum">350</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let Gallia’s wealth—let Gallia’s conquest tell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But on the features of each ardent face,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your fire impetuous for the war I trace,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go then, my countrymen! no more restrain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your native ardour from the glorious plain—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go with fresh laurels still to gild your name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To track the path of Honour and of Fame!—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Go, let your ancient conquests be surpast,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By this brave deed, the mightiest and the last.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The hero ceas’d!—but loud applauding cries,<span class="linenum">360</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Long live our Emperor!” rend the list’ning skies;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">From hill to hill, the deaf’ning shouts rebound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Britain’s Genius trembled at the sound!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en vengeful Prussia, thund’ring from afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dropt the red brand, and, wond’ring, ceas’d the war.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those notes so loudly, and so sternly rung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That ev’ry warring rank in mute attention hung!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now slowly winding o’er the devious path,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The pride of France, direct their ardent wrath!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not one warm bosom, felt a pang of fear—<span class="linenum">370</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">No colder throbbing, check their bold career!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So gladly stern, they bend their awful way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They seem’d to think their conquest sure that day.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Sudden a band of Brunswick’s sons appear,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High in the air, their scathing swords they rear;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dare to extend the death-arousing hand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Gainst Europe’s dread—Napoléon’s favour’d band:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Vain are their force!—the eye can scarce survey<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What heaps the Gauls, exulting, swept away!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Again, in that dread hour, proud Victory spread<span class="linenum">380</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her ample pinions o’er Napoléon’s head;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In cold anxiety, he views from far,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Screen’d by the vale, th’ achievements of the war.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hark! what a peal re-echoes through the skies;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">What sudden clouds of lurid smoke arise?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis the hoarse sound, so fatal to the brave,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Red Death’s loud herald—patron of the grave!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lo! what a troop of Gallia’s flow’r, who late,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Exulted wide, and scorn’d the rod of Fate,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stretch’d upon earth, depriv’d of life and breath,<span class="linenum">390</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still sternly frowning, seem to spurn at Death!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But as <i>one</i> fell, <i>another</i> quick supplied<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The vacant place, with fierce, undaunted pride;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That pride which scorns all ties, that seem to part<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The idol Glory from the warrior’s heart!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en if a brother, son, or father die,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They view his slaughter with unalter’d eye;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Each earthly passion from their souls had flow’n,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or rather seem’d absorb’d in one alone,<span class="linenum">399</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To grace their much-lov’d Sov’reign’s honour’d name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To live in glory, or to die in fame!<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">A band of Britons, ’neath an hollow lay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Europe’s terror urg’d their rolling way,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, close behind, great Wellesley sudden threw<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His form rever’d, amid the warlike crew,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And thus indignant cries, “Till British force<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Has backward drove the Gauls’ destructive course,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en should the hostile sabre, rear’d on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Destruction threaten, ne’er from hence I’ll fly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span>”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of self regardless, and unknown to fear,<span class="linenum">410</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thus rush’d the hero—thus the foe’s career<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To stop he sought; while, round his form belov’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His martial band, a matchless phalanx prov’d;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hid in the shelving depth, a kindling flame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Play’d round their hearts and lit the road to Fame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mean time th’ imperial guard, with dauntless might,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Still roll impetuous o’er the paths of fight,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unconscious where the fatal ambush lay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within its verge, they bend their destin’d way.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When, lo! a sudden voice amaz’d they hear,<span class="linenum">420</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Up, guards, attack! your ready guns uprear.”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Instant the Britons rose; the Gauls, in mute surprise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thought they perceiv’d the sons of earth arise;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But for surprise, or thought, not long had they,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere the loud volley swept their troops away.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Heaps upon heaps, that fire destructive made,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Drove rank on rank, and back’d the whole brigade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, whilst the wounded make attempt to rise,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Another volley echoes through the skies.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XVIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Where now is Gallia’s boast?—far, far around,<span class="linenum">430</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their mangled corpses welter on the ground;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Save, where a few of that tremendous band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In stern amaze, still make their wonted stand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">But see, the Britons, with exulting joy,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Bare their bright sabres, eager to destroy;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And, breathing vengeance, sword in hand they go,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To end the conquest of the wilder’d foe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">They, lost to reason, and the mind’s control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sunk in despair each energy of soul:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Some instinctively fly—some idly stand,<span class="linenum">440</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet drop the useless weapon from the hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So fell, in one promiscuous pile of dead,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Proud Gallia’s glory, and all Europe’s dread!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Napoléon view’d, with piercing pangs, afar,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The adverse fortunes of the fatal war;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">E’en his bright talents, and gigantic soul,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Which soar’d ’bove mortals, and beyond control,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sunk in that hour—in that eventful day,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When his lov’d troops by fate were swept away;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fain would he rush his raging form to throw<span class="linenum">450</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before the progress of his conq’ring foe;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But Bertrand, Drouët, on the Monarch hung,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Melted to tears, and bath’d the knees they clung—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Whither, great Sire, oh, whither would’st thou fly?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And dost thou think that thou alone would’st die?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon <i>thy</i> life, unnumber’d lives await—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On thee, depends thy native Gallia’s fate.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Think of thy safety, and if not thy own,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That of thy country, and thy infant son.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">What, though to-day opposing Fortune low’rs,<span class="linenum">460</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To-morrow’s sun may yet behold her ours!”<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With words like these, they strive to soothe the chief,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Soften his anger, and allay his grief.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Mov’d by their prayers, that glorious chief resign’d<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dreadful purpose of his mighty mind.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Backwards one long, one lingering look he cast<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tow’rds the red place his band had breath’d their last,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then pass’d his hand across his madd’ning brow—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“I follow, Bertrand, where you lead me now.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XIX.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Mean time fierce Blücher, with impetuous might,<span class="linenum">470</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Supports the war, and claims the equal fight;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hill’s conq’ring banners, midst the thickest war,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dripping red carnage, glitter’d from afar;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His ruthless Prussians, dreadful Bulow roll’d,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Uxbridge shone the boldest of the bold;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Exulting Fame, in shouting clamours calls,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Britain’s vengeance on Napoléon falls.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But now the Gauls are mass’d in one vast throng,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Albion’s troops, collected, sweep along.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On each vast squadron rush, each mighty band,<span class="linenum">480</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Now charge, collected, scymitar in hand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So from some rock the gushing torrents pour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Burst the weak banks, and overwhelm the shore:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their mighty streams in ev’ry quarter roll,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sweep away, whate’er their force control.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">What pen can tell each hero’s deathless name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who spread destruction o’er the field of Fame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let some sublimer bard’s illustrious verse,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their laurel’s number, and their deeds rehearse;<span class="linenum">489</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">How Cooke, how Maitland, Packe, and Ferrier shone;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How Ellis, Somerset, and Cairnes were known;—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How brave Fitzgerald, through the bloody fray,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Spread ruin dark, and wond’ring wild dismay.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With many a chief, whose ever-living name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No voice can tell!—except the voice of Fame!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor yet shalt thou, with well-earn’d laurels bright,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Be sunk, O, C . . . . .t! in oblivious night,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In that dread day thy crest refulgent shone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A youth in years, a vet’ran in renown;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Sprung from a sire, who rear’d our nobler youth<span class="linenum">500</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">To wisdom, virtue, learning, sense, and truth.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor less thy brother’s fame, where Ganges pours<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His sacred waters through the Indian shores.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XX.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But, lo! what daring Frenchman’s desperate force<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dare strive t’ oppose Britannia’s conq’ring course?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Alone, scarce arm’d, from ev’ry limb, and pore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dripping, a long and ghastly stream of crimson gore?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis Shawe’s fierce murd’rer, by his sable crest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ruby crosslet glitt’ring at his breast—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis dark Bernot!—the hero’s thirst of fame,<span class="linenum">510</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Led his <i>last</i> act, to consecrate his name:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">See! in the thickest of the hostile band,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wave his dark plumes, and gleam his gory brand.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Five chiefs he strikes—and rears to strike again—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Why drops his arm?—why useless on the plain<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Falls the red blade?—why sinks his plumy crest?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The streams of life no longer warm his breast!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By drop, by drop, from many a gashing wound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As he rode on, they trickled on the ground;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till the last streams had floated from his side,<span class="linenum">520</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">And life and strength had issued on the tide.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>XXI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hark! hark! what means that deep and frantic yell,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That seems to burst the iron gates of hell?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis Gallia’s Genius mourns her slaughter’d host!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her Empire, Sov’reign, and her Glory lost!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her car triumphant, now has stopp’d its course,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And yields reluctant to Britannia’s force!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her darling hero makes his glorious stand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Her fav’rite son, the flow’r of Anglia’s band!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hark! hark!—again the sounds of victory rise,<span class="linenum">530</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">In strains of triumph to the list’ning skies!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis Britain conquers—Britain gives the blow—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">’Tis Britain glories o’er an humbled foe!<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Now all is still!—save, where the breezes bear<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The groans of ling’ring nature to the ear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Peaceful at length, extended, side by side,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lay Britain’s boast, and humbled Gallia’s pride;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While victory all her brightest honours shed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On Anglia’s warriors, and on Wellesley’s head.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To that great chieftain is the glory due,<span class="linenum">540</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">That first the haughty monarch learn’d to sue:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Though great <i>his</i> might, though deathless is <i>his</i> name,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet thou surpass’d him in the field of Fame.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And long, as Albion’s laurel-mantled isle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall o’er old Ocean’s conquer’d waters smile;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And long, as through a Briton’s veins shall roll<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The mighty blood, that nerves a Briton’s soul;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That blood shall boil! that heaving soul shall rise!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And glory’s rapture bright the sparkling eyes!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">When the high name of Wellesley gives to view,<span class="linenum">550</span><br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy deathless plains, imperial Waterloo!<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And the glad son of him, who fought and bled<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In that dire fray, shall rear his tow’ring head,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And cry, in honest pride’s exulting swell,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Twas there my father fought, my father fell!”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p class="fint">END OF CANTO II.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span></p> - -<h2>NOTES</h2> - -<h3>ON CANTO I.</h3> - -<p>As so many excellent works have been published, -giving a full and accurate account of the transactions -of the battle, and as they are so recent in the memory -of all who may honour this Poem with their perusal, I -shall be very brief and select in my Notes.</p> - -<h4>Stanza III.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>These hardy troops</i> Napoléon’s brother <i>led</i>.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Jerome Buonaparte.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>For the first time in arms confronting stand.</i>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>The Duke of Wellington had won twenty-seven -battles over Napoléon’s generals, and was at last -personally confronted with their master. Napoléon -observed at Paris,—“that he was at last going to -“measure swords with this Wellington, of whom he -should certainly give a good account.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span>”</p> - -<h4>Stanza VI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Where stood the pride of Caledonia’s force.</i>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>The Scotch Greys.</p> - -<h4>Stanza VII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>And Scotia, aided by an English band.</i>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>The Bays.</p> - -<h4>Stanza XI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>No modern field could ever yet behold</i><br /></span> -<span class="i0">“<i>A fight so slaught’rous, and a war so bold.</i>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>This was perhaps the severest engagement of -cavalry ever fought on a modern field, and though -the Greys eventually conquered by miracles of valour, -they might well exclaim with Pyrrhus,—“Another -such victory would ruin us.”</p> - -<h4>Stanza XII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>The gallant Byng.</i>”—General Byng.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>While Saltoun.</i>”—Lord Saltoun.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>Stanza XIII.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Th’ heroic Ponsonby.</i>”—Sir William Ponsonby.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>As Sir William Ponsonby was gallopping after his -impetuous regiments, he had to cross a field lately -ploughed, and of a very soft soil, and being badly -mounted, his horse sunk in it. At that very moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> -he perceived a troop of lancers coming at full speed, -and seeing all was over, took the picture of his wife -from his bosom, and was giving the melancholy token -to his aid-de-camp, to bear to his family, when the -lancers coming up, killed both of them. To make -the story more poetically affecting, I have taken the -almost unpardonable licence of altering the facts.</p> - -<h4>Stanza XXI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Melted to love before a brother’s name.</i>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>Not so by the ties of love, but friendship.</p> - -<h4>Stanza XXIV.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Spite of his valour, struggles, and his strength.</i>”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>This line is borrowed from the following one in -Rokeby:—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Spite of his struggles and his strength.”<br /></span> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span></div></div> -</div> - -<h2>NOTES<br /><br /> -ON CANTO II.</h2> - -<h4>Stanza V.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>As Gordon.</i>”—Sir Alexander Gordon.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>And glorious Canning.</i>”—Lieut. Canning.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>The brave Delancey.</i>”—Sir W. Delancey.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<h4>Stanza XXI.</h4> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“<i>Moved by their prayers, the</i> glorious chief.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>I have endeavoured throughout the whole of this -Poem, to observe a strict impartiality between the -British and French, and their commanders; not -following the practice of some, who seem scarcely -disposed to allow Buonaparte the character of a -general; but these should consider, that the braver -the troops, and the more experienced and skilful -their leader, so much more is the glory of conquering -them.</p> - -<p class="fint"> -<i>Printed by J. Brettell,<br /> -Rupert Street, Haymarket, London.</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> </p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span class="eng">BOOKS</span></h2> -<p class="c">PUBLISHED BY -J. HATCHARD AND SON, -No. 187, PICCADILLY.</p> - -<p>A MISCELLANY of POETRY, in Two Parts, dedicated -by especial permission to Her Royal Highness the Duchess -of York. 1 Vol. 8vo. Price 7<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>IMAGINATION. A Poem, in Two Parts. 1 vol. 8vo. -Price 6<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>ARMAGEDDON, a Poem, in Twelve Books. By the Rev. -<span class="smcap">George Townsend</span>, B.A. of Trinity College, Cambridge. The -first eight Books, 1 vol. 8vo. Price 12<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>THE INFLUENCE OF GENIUS, a Poem. By <span class="smcap">James -Brydges Willyams</span>. 1 vol. 8vo. Price 6<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>MEDITATIONS OF A NEOPHYTE. 1 vol. 8vo. Price -6<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> Boards.</p> - -<p>SACRED BEAUTIES, a Poetical Work. By Capt. <span class="smcap">Henry -Nathaniel Rowe</span>, Commander in the Royal Navy. 1 vol. 8vo. -Price 10<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>ARABIA, a Poem, with Notes; to which are added several -smaller Pieces. By <span class="smcap">Johnson Grant</span>, M. A. of St. John’s College, -Oxon, and Domestic Chaplain to the Countess Dowager of -Balcarras. Second Edition. 1 vol. 12mo. Price 5<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>THE RECITER. A Work particularly adapted for the Use -of Schools; consisting of Pieces Moral, Religious, and Sacred, -in Verse and Prose, selected and classed on a new Plan, as -Exercises in Elocution, with References to the different Ages -of Students. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">Edward Ward</span>, A. M. 1 vol. 12mo. -Price 4<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>A WORLD WITHOUT SOULS. By the Rev. <span class="smcap">J. W. Cunningham</span>, -A. M. Vicar of Harrow on the Hill. Seventh Edition. -1 vol. foolscap. Price 5<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>A HYMN IN PRAISE OF RELIGION, and in Allusion -to the Present Times. By <span class="smcap">A Layman</span>. 8vo. Price 1<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> -sewed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span></p> - -<p>THE HISTORY OF MICHAEL KEMP, the Happy Farmer’s -Lad. In Two Parts. Price 5<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>A REVIEW OF THE COLONIAL SLAVE REGISTRATION -ACTS, in a Report of a Committee of the Board of -Directors of the African Institution. Made on the 22nd of -February, 1820, and published by order of that Board. 8vo. -Price 2<i>s.</i> sewed.</p> - -<p>DEBRETT’s CORRECT PEERAGE OF ENGLAND, -SCOTLAND, and IRELAND. With the extinct and forfeited -Peerages of the Three Kingdoms, a List of their Family Names, -Second Titles, &c., and a Translation of their Mottos. 2 Vols. -12mo. Price 24<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<p class="c">APICIUS REDIVIVUS.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">The Cook’s Oracle</span>: containing Practical Receipts for -Roasting, Boiling, Frying, Broiling, Vegetables, Fish, Hashes, -Made Dishes, &c. &c., on the most economical Plan for Private -Families; also the Art of composing the most simple, and most -highly finished Broths, Gravies, Soups, Sauces, and Flavouring -Essences: the Quantity of each Article being accurately stated -by Weight or Measure, the humblest Novice may work with the -same certainty as the experienced Cook. The result of actual -Experiments made in the Kitchen of a Physician, for the purpose -of composing a Culinary Code for the Rational Epicure, and -augmenting the Alimentary Enjoyments of Private Families; -combining Economy with Elegance; and saving Expense to -Housekeepers, and Trouble to Servants. Second Edition, carefully -revised. 12mo. Price 10<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<p>HINTS for the IMPROVEMENT of EARLY EDUCATION -and NURSERY DISCIPLINE. 1 Vol. 12mo. Fourth Edition. -Price 3<i>s.</i> 6<i>d.</i> boards.</p> - -<p class="c">HAVERFIELD’s LECTURES on the CHURCH CATECHISM.</p> - -<p>The Church Catechism and Rite of Confirmation, explained -and illustrated in a Course of Lectures, by the Rev. Thomas -Tunstall Haverfield, B. D. Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Oxford; -and Chaplain to his Royal Highness the Duke of Sussex. -1 Vol. 8vo. 13<i>s.</i> boards.</p> - -<div class="footnotes"><p class="cb">FOOTNOTES:</p> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> See The Lay of the Last Minstrel.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> See Roderick Dhu’s Sacrifice in The Lady of the Lake.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> See the Banquet at Holyrood Palace in Marmion, &c.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Bulbul, is the Persian nightingale.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Zel, is an Eastern instrument of martial music.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Shich-Eidar, see Note the First.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> Azrail, is the Angel of Death.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> Wine is forbidden by the Mahometan religion.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Sir R—— ——, an ancestor of Mrs. ——, was -Lord Lieutenant of the county of —— in the reign of Elizabeth, -and commanded the forces of that county at the time of -the Spanish Armada.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> Henry II.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> Castor and Pollux.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Damon and Pythias.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> David, whose friendship with Jonathan is so beautifully -described in the Scriptures.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> I am conscious that the metre of the following Translations -is very different from that of the original; but it is my humble -opinion, that it is utterly impossible to imitate the Version, and, -at the same time, to preserve the spirit of the expression, and -dignity of the idea; and it is really surprising that so many men -of deep learning and judgment have attempted what was certain -of failure: even Francis, who has done Horace more justice than -any other translator, frequently, even in some of the sublimest -odes, degenerates to a mere ballad singer. Were we, indeed, to -make use of an irregular metre, it might, perhaps, be easy to -translate <i>the beauty</i>, as well as <i>the meaning</i>; but, of all regular -metres, I think our heroic is by far the best adapted for the -grander odes.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> For this poem the Author must crave peculiar indulgence; -it was written at the desire of a lady, who asked him for his -opinion of our living poets in verse, and was completed in a -<i>very short</i> space of time, so that there are necessarily many -faults in it: it would not, however, have been inserted, were it -not for the particular wish of the lady for whom it was written.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> The gardens of Adonis.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> Æschylus, who may, I think, be called the Father of Tragedy, -although Thespis was the first inventor of it. -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ignotum Tragicæ genus invenisse Camænæ,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Dicitur, et plaustris vexisse poëmata Thespis,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Quæ canerent agerentque peruncti fæcibus ora.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Post hunc, personæ pallæque repertor honestæ<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Æschylus, et modicis instravit pulpita tignis,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Et docuit magnumque loqui, nitique cothurno.”—<i>Hor.</i><br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> The nightingale is said to be particularly and faithfully -attached to the rose tree.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Ponsonby is generally called the chieftain, or leader, -throughout the whole battle.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Chrishna, is the Apollo of the Hindoo Mythology, and his -smile is supposed to have been so bright as to have diffused an -halo around his whole face.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“The <i>griding</i> sword with discontinuous wound<br /></span> -<span class="i0">“Pass’d through him:——”<br /></span> -<span class="i11"><i>Milton</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> -</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Through flames of sulphur and a night of smoke.”<br /></span> -<span class="i13"><i>Addison’s Campaign</i>.<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Shawe.</p></div> - -</div> -<hr class="full" /> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ISMAEL; AN ORIENTAL TALE. 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