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[Title Page]
BY
ALL ALONE.
Ah ! wherefore by the Church-yard side,
Poor little LORN ONE, dost thou stray ?
Thy wavy locks but thinly hide
The tears that dim thy blue-eye's ray;
And wherefore dost thou sigh, and moan,
And weep, that thou art left alone ?
II.
Thou art not left alone, poor boy,
The Trav'ller stops to hear thy tale;
No heart, so hard, would thee annoy !
For tho' thy mother's cheek is pale
And withers under yon grave stone,
Thou art not, Urchin, left alone.
III.
I know thee well ! thy yellow hair
In silky waves I oft have seen;
Thy dimpled face, so fresh and fair,
Thy roguish smile, thy playful mien
Were all to me, poor Orphan, known,
Ere Fate had left thee--all alone !
IV.
Thy russet coat is scant, and torn,
Thy cheek is now grown deathly pale !
Thy eyes are dim, thy looks forlorn,
And bare thy bosom meets the gale;
And oft I hear thee deeply groan,
That thou, poor boy, art left alone.
V.
Thy naked feet are wounded sore
With thorns, that cross thy daily road;
The winter winds around thee roar,
The church-yard is thy bleak abode;
Thy pillow now, a cold grave stone--
And there thou lov'st to grieve--alone !
VI.
The rain has drench'd thee, all night long;
The nipping frost thy bosom froze;
And still, the yewtree-shades among,
I heard thee sigh thy artless woes;
I heard thee, till the day-star shone
In darkness weep--and weep alone !
VII.
Oft have I seen thee, little boy,
Upon thy lovely mother's knee;
For when she liv'd--thou wert her joy,
Though now a mourner thou must be !
For she lies low, where yon grave-stone
Proclaims, that thou art left alone.
VIII.
Weep, weep no more; on yonder hill
The village bells are ringing, gay;
The merry reed, and brawling rill
Call thee to rustic sports away.
Then wherefore weep, and sigh, and moan,
A truant from the throng--alone ?
IX.
"I cannot the green hill ascend,
"I cannot pace the upland mead;
"I cannot in the vale attend,
"To hear the merry-sounding reed:
"For all is still, beneath yon stone,
"Where my poor mother's left alone !
X.
"I cannot gather gaudy flowers
"To dress the scene of revels loud--
"I cannot pass the ev'ning hours
"Among the noisy village croud--
"For, all in darkness, and alone
"My mother sleeps, beneath yon stone.
XI.
"See how the stars begin to gleam
"The sheep-dog barks, 'tis time to go;--
"The night-fly hums, the moonlight beam
"Peeps through the yew-tree's shadowy row--
"It falls upon the white grave-stone,
"Where my dear mother sleeps alone.--
XII.
"O stay me not, for I must go
"The upland path in haste to tread;
"For there the pale primroses grow
"They grow to dress my mother's bed.--
"They must, ere peep of day, be strown,
"Where she lies mould'ring all alone.
XIII.
"My father o'er the stormy sea
"To distant lands was borne away,
"And still my mother stay'd with me
"And wept by night and toil'd by day.
"And shall I ever quit the stone
"Where she is, left, to sleep alone.
XIV.
"My father died; and still I found
"My mother fond and kind to me;
"I felt her breast with rapture bound
"When first I prattled on her knee--
"And then she blest my infant tone
"And little thought of yon grave-stone.
XV.
"No more her gentle voice I hear,
"No more her smile of fondness see;
"Then wonder not I shed the tear
"She would have DIED, to follow me !
"And yet she sleeps beneath yon stone
"And I STILL LIVE--to weep alone.
XVI.
"The playful kid, she lov'd so well
"From yon high clift was seen to fall;
"I heard, afar, his tink'ling bell--
"Which seem'd in vain for aid to call--
"I heard the harmless suff'rer moan,
"And grieved that he was left alone.
XVII.
"Our faithful dog grew mad, and died,
"The lightning smote our cottage low--
"We had no resting-place beside
"And knew not whither we should go,--
"For we were poor,--and hearts of stone
"Will never throb at mis'ry's groan.
XVIII.
"My mother still surviv'd for me,
"She led me to the mountain's brow,
"She watch'd me, while at yonder tree
"I sat, and wove the ozier bough;
"And oft she cried, "fear not, MINE OWN !
"Thou shalt not, BOY, be left ALONE."
"The blast blew strong, the torrent rose
"And bore our shatter'd cot away;
"And, where the clear brook swiftly flows--
"Upon the turf at dawn of day,
"When bright the sun's full lustre shone,
"I wander'd, FRIENDLESS--and ALONE !"
XX.
Thou art not, boy, for I have seen
Thy tiny footsteps print the dew,
And while the morning sky serene
Spread o'er the hill a yellow hue,
I heard thy sad and plaintive moan,
Beside the cold sepulchral stone.
XXI.
And when the summer noontide hours
With scorching rays the landscape spread,
I mark'd thee, weaving fragrant flow'rs
To deck thy mother's silent bed !
Nor, at the church-yard's simple stone,
Wert, thou, poor Urchin, left alone.
XXII.
I follow'd thee, along the dale
And up the woodland's shad'wy way:
I heard thee tell thy mournful tale
As slowly sunk the star of day:
Nor, when its twinkling light had flown,
Wert thou a wand'rer, all alone.
XXIII.
"O ! yes, I was ! and still shall be
"A wand'rer, mourning and forlorn;
"For what is all the world to me--
"What are the dews and buds of morn ?
"Since she, who left me sad, alone
"In darkness sleeps, beneath yon stone !
XXIV.
"No brother's tear shall fall for me,
"For I no brother ever knew;
"No friend shall weep my destiny
"For friends
are scarce, and tears
are few;
"None do I
see, save on this stone
"Where I will stay, and weep alone !
XXV.
"My Father never will return,
"He rests beneath the sea-green wave;
"I have no kindred left, to mourn
"When I am hid in yonder grave !
"Not one
! to dress with flow'rs the stone;--
"Then--surely
, I AM LEFT ALONE !"
A FARMER'S WIFE, both young and gay,
And fresh as op'ning buds of May;
Had taken to herself, a Spouse,
And plighted many solemn vows,
That she a faithful mate would prove,
In meekness, duty, and in love !
That she, despising joy and wealth,
Would be, in sickness and in health,
His only comfort and his Friend--
But, mark the sequel,--and attend !
This Farmer, as the tale is told--
Was somewhat cross, and somewhat old !
His, was the wintry hour of life,
While summer smiled before his wife;
A contrast, rather form'd to cloy
The zest of matrimonial joy !
'Twas Christmas time, the peasant throng
Assembled gay, with dance and Song:
The Farmer's Kitchen long had been
Of annual sports the busy scene;
The wood-fire blaz'd, the chimney wide
Presented seats, on either side;
Long rows of wooden Trenchers, clean,
Bedeck'd with holly-boughs, were seen;
The shining Tankard's foamy ale
It happen'd, that some sport to shew
The ceiling held a MISTLETOE.
A magic bough, and well design'd
To prove the coyest Maiden, kind.
A magic bough, which DRUIDS old
Its sacred mysteries enroll'd;
And which, or gossip Fame's a liar,
Still warms the soul with vivid fire;
Still promises a store of bliss
While bigots snatch their Idol's kiss.
This MISTLETOE was doom'd to be
The talisman of Destiny;
Beneath its ample boughs we're told
Full many a timid Swain grew bold;
Full many a roguish eye askance
Beheld it with impatient glance,
And many a ruddy cheek confest,
The triumphs of the beating breast;
And many a rustic rover sigh'd
Who ask'd the kiss, and was denied.
First MARG'RY smil'd and gave her Lover
A Kiss; then thank'd her stars, 'twas over !
Next, KATE, with a reluctant pace,
Was tempted to the mystic place;
Then SUE, a merry laughing jade
A dimpled yielding blush betray'd;
While JOAN her chastity to shew
Wish'd "the bold knaves would serve her
so,"
She'd "teach the rogues such wanton play !"
And well she could, she knew the way.
The FARMER, mute with jealous care,
Sat sullen, in his wicker chair;
Hating the noisy gamesome host
Yet, fearful to resign his post;
He envied all their sportive strife
But most he watch'd his blooming wife,
And trembled, lest her steps should go,
Incautious, near the MISTLETOE.
Now HODGE, a youth of rustic grace
With form athletic; manly face;
On MISTRESS HOMESPUN turn'd his eye
And breath'd a soul-declaring sigh !
Old HOMESPUN, mark'd his list'ning Fair
And nestled in his wicker chair;
HODGE swore, she might his heart command--
The pipe was dropp'd from HOMESPUN'S hand !
HODGE prest her slender waist around;
The FARMER check'd his draught, and frown'd !
And now beneath the MISTLETOE
'Twas MISTRESS HOMESPUN'S turn to go;
Old Surly shook his wicker chair,
And sternly utter'd--"Let her dare !
"
HODGE, to the FARMER'S wife declar'd
Such husbands never should be spar'd;
Swore, they deserv'd the worst disgrace,
That lights upon the wedded race;
And vow'd--that night he would not go
Unblest, beneath the MISTLETOE.
The merry group all recommend
An harmless Kiss, the strife to end:
"Why not ?" says MARG'RY, "who would fear,
"A dang'rous moment, once a year ?"
SUSAN observ'd, that "ancient folks
"Were seldom pleas'd with youthful jokes;"
But KATE, who, till that fatal hour,
Had held, o'er HODGE, unrivall'd pow'r,
With curving lip and head aside
Look'd down and smil'd in conscious pride,
Then, anxious to conceal her care,
She humm'd--"what fools some women are !
"
Now, MISTRESS HOMESPUN, sorely vex'd,
By pride and jealous rage perplex'd,
And angry, that her peevish spouse
Should doubt her matrimonial vows,
But, most of all, resolved to make
An envious rival's bosom ache;
Commanded Hodge to let her go,
Nor lead her to the Mistletoe;
"Why should you ask it o'er and o'er ?"
Cried she, "we've been there twice before !
"
'Tis thus, to check a rival's sway,
That Women oft themselves betray;
While VANITY, alone, pursuing,
They rashly prove, their own undoing.
THE
Beneath an old wall, that went round an old Castle,
For many a year, with brown ivy o'erspread;
A neat little Hovel, its lowly roof raising,
Defied the wild winds that howl'd over its shed:
The turrets, that frown'd on the poor simple dwelling,
Were rock'd to and fro, when the Tempest would roar,
And the river, that down the rich valley was swelling,
Flow'd swiftly beside the green step of its door.
The Summer Sun, gilded the rushy-roof slanting,
The bright dews bespangled its ivy-bound hedge
And above, on the ramparts, the sweet Birds were chanting,
And wild buds thick dappled the clear river's edge.
When the Castle's rich chambers were haunted, and dreary,
The poor little Hovel was still, and secure;
And no robber e'er enter'd, or goblin or fairy,
For the splendours of pride had no charms to allure.
The Lord of the Castle, a proud, surly ruler,
Oft heard the low dwelling with sweet music ring:
For the old Dame that liv'd in the little Hut chearly,
Would sit at her wheel, and would merrily sing:
When with revels the Castle's great Hall was resounding,
The Old Dame was sleeping, not dreaming of fear;
And when over the mountains the Huntsmen were bounding
She would open her wicket, their clamours to hear.
To the merry-ton'd horn, she would dance on the threshold,
And louder, and louder, repeat her old Song:
And when Winter its mantle of Frost was displaying
She caroll'd, undaunted, the bare woods among:
She would gather dry Fern, ever happy and singing,
With her cake of brown bread, and her jug of brown beer,
And would smile when she heard the great Castle-bell ringing,
Inviting the Proud--to their prodigal chear.
Thus she liv'd, ever patient and ever contented,
Till Envy the Lord of the Castle possess'd,
For he hated that Poverty should be so chearful,
While care could the fav'rites of Fortune molest;
He sent his bold yeomen with threats to prevent her,
And still would she carol her sweet roundelay;
At last, an old Steward, relentless he sent her--
Who bore her, all trembling, to Prison away !
Three weeks did she languish, then died, broken-hearted,
Poor Dame ! how the death-bell did mournfully sound !
And along the green path six young Bachelors bore her,
And laid her, for ever, beneath the cold ground !
And the primroses pale, 'mid the long grass were growing,
The bright dews of twilight bespangled her grave
And morn heard the breezes of summer soft blowing
To bid the fresh flow'rets in sympathy wave.
The Lord of the Castle, from that fatal moment
When poor Singing MARY was laid in her grave,
Each night was surrounded by Screech-owls appalling,
Which o'er the black turrets their pinions would wave !
On the ramparts that frown'd on the river, swift flowing,
They hover'd, still hooting a terrible song,
When his windows would rattle, the Winter blast blowing,
They would shriek like a ghost, the dark alleys among !
Wherever he wander'd they followed him crying,
At dawnlight, at Eve, still they haunted his way !
When the Moon shone across the wide common, they hooted,
Nor quitted his path, till the blazing of day.
His bones began wasting, his flesh was decaying,
And he hung his proud head, and he perish'd with shame;
And the tomb of rich marble, no soft tear displaying,
O'ershadows the grave, of THE POOR SINGING DAME !
Old MISTRESS GURTON had a Cat,
A Tabby, loveliest of the race,
Sleek as a doe, and tame, and fat
With velvet paws, and whisker'd face;
The Doves of VENUS not so fair,
Nor JUNO'S Peacocks half so grand
As MISTRESS GURTON'S Tabby rare,
The proudest of the purring band;
So dignified in all her paces--
She seem'd, a pupil of the Graces !
There never was a finer creature
In all the varying whims of Nature !
All liked Grimalkin, passing well !
Save MISTRESS GURTON, and, 'tis said,
She oft with furious ire would swell,
When, through neglect or hunger keen,
Puss, with a pilfer'd scrap, was seen,
Swearing beneath the pent-house shed:
For, like some fav'rites, she was bent
On all things, yet with none content;
And still, whate'er her place or diet,
She could not pick her bone, in quiet.
Sometimes, new milk GRIMALKIN stole,
And sometimes--over-set the bowl !
For over eagerness will prove,
Oft times the bane of what we love;
And sometimes, to her neighbour's home,
GRIMALKIN, like a thief would roam,
Teaching poor Cats, of humbler kind,
For high example sways the mind !
Sometimes she paced the garden wall,
Thick guarded by the shatter'd pane,
One day, report, for ever busy,
"Alone, I heard her piercing cries--
"Poor Puss ! I vow it grieves me sore,
"Methinks I see her pretty paws--
"Now stretch'd beside the social fire;
"O ! Cease !" exclaim'd DAME GURTON, straight,
"The dear, domestic creature knew !
And now DAME GURTON, bath'd in tears,
A China bowl of luscious cream
Puss, who was somewhat tired and dry,
As MISTRESS GURTON heard the thief,
"I'll hang the vicious, ugly creature--
Thus, often, we with anguish sore
"Another day, Ah ! me, a day
"Since, gaudy Sun ! I see no more
"What is, to me, the City gay ?
"To drink the tear of deep despair;
"Shut out the Sun, O ! pitying Night !
"Was it for this, that on the main
"Oft, I the stately Camel led,
"Lull'd her to rest, as on she past--
"Where'er I turn my sleepless eyes,
The morn had scarcely shed its rays
Again the Summer Sun flam'd high
And sparkling dew-drops, falling round
And whither could the wand'rer go ?
The noon-tide Sun, now flaming wide,
The weary LASCAR turn'd away,
The sultry hour was long, and high
It was the church-bell's merry peal;
With keen reproach, and menace rude,
The LASCAR Boy still journey'd on,
And now, in fancy's airy dream,
The Indian Wand'rer, waking, gaz'd
And the lone Owlet shriek'd, while He
He rose, and hast'ning swiftly on,
And now the flood began to rise
The LASCAR now with transport ran
He nothing saw, while onward prest,
And now he groan'd, by pain opprest,
"Here, in this smiling land we find
And now he hears a distant bell,
Again he listens, while the peal
And now the Sun begins to rise
And now a Cottage low he sees,
And now the village throngs are seen,
Far off they mark the wretch, as he
Close on the margin of a brawling brook
On ev'ry tree of the near shelt'ring wood
There dwells the Soldier's Widow ! young and fair
Of Sabbath rest, she trims her little hut
One little Son she has, a lusty Boy,
Soft words of filial fondness, ere his feet
The tune mellifluous which his father sung,
Of peace domestic, or the circling arm
O ! far more graceful ! far more exquisite,
A Shepherd's Dog there was; and he
His form was shaggy clothed; yet he
All night, upon the cold turf he
Among the villagers was he
When Spring in gaudy dress would be,
Now, up the rugged path would he
On Sunday, at the old Yew Tree,
Near their small hovel stood a tree,
And now he pac'd the valley, free,
Full many a year, the same was he
One morn, to the low mead went he,
Old TRIM was urg'd to wrath; for he
The Sun was setting o'er the Sea
The kind old Shepherd wept, for he
"Behold his dim, yet speaking eye !
The Shepherd ceas'd to speak, for He
But not forsaken yet, was he,
Six days had pass'd and still was he
Old TRIM, now doom'd his friend to see
Together, still their flocks they tend,
Oft have I seen yon Solitary Man
From his wrung bosom. To the rising moon,
His garb is coarse and threadbare, and his cheek
"A desart, full of weeds and wounding thorns,
And, now I mark thy features, I behold
What of that !
The sweetest Rose will wither, while the storm
Upon a lonely desart Beach
Above, a jutting cliff was seen
And often, while the moaning wind
And pale their faces were, as snow,
And then, above the haunted hut
A Shipwreck'd Mariner was he,
The Spectre band, his messmates brave
And since that hour the Fisherman
Full thirty years his task has been,
OLD BARNARD was still a lusty hind,
OLD BARNARD briskly jogg'd along,
His GRANDSON was a Squire, and he
Old BARNARD had neither house nor lands,
But BARNARD a quiet conscience had,
But his GRANDSON, he could never sleep
And whenever he feasted the rich and gay,
And whenever, in fine and costly geer,
And he could not command the Sunny day,
And the cramp would wring his youthful bones,
And why could Old BARNARD sweetly sleep,
One night, the GRANDSON hied him forth,
"I must pray for your Soul; the MONK replied,
In the Monkish cell did old BARNARD wait,
"O ! shrive me, Father !" the GRANDSON cried,
"Get home young Sinner," Old BARNARD said,
The SQUIRE obey'd; and Old BARNARD now
High, on the Solitude of Alpine Hills,
Cross'd in the fond affections of his soul
Clothing the upland scene, and spreading wide
Was he, to save the wretched. On the top
His Scrip each morning bore the day's repast
In silent sadness on the jutting block
And oft, when Summer breath'd ambrosial gales,
So liv'd the HERMIT, like an hardy Tree
One dreary night when Winter's icy breath
With painful agitation. On his cheek
Like the pale Image of Despair he sat,
And rous'd him into action. To the sill
To break the spell of horrors. Down the steep
From the shagg'd altitude. But, ere his pray'rs
Trembled as though an Earthquake shook their base
'Twas in a little western town
And why was she so wond'rous pure,
Miss DEBBY was of mien demure
At Church, she was a model Godly !
Her dress was always stiff brocade,
Miss DEBBY had a PARROT, who,
This little joke, Miss DEBBY taught him,
For, the Old PARROT, like his teacher
At last, Miss DEBBY sore was flouted
For though the Spinster's wealth was known,
Soon, to a distant town remov'd,
One day, Old JENKINS had been out
JENKINS went home, but all the night
Next morning, at the breakfast table.
Old JENKINS listen'd, and grew pale,
And now again the PARROT'S Tale
So MISTRESS JENKINS, her dismay
Now JENKINS from the table rose,
And many a drubbing DEBBY bought
Thus, SLANDER turns against its maker;
Dark was the dawn, and o'er the deep
Her eager Eyes beheld the main,
White were the billows, wide display'd
"Be still !" she cried, "loud tempest cease !
"O ! barb'rous Pow'r ! relentless Fate !
"Yon Vessel oft has plough'd the main
"Thou gav'st, in thy caprice, the Soul
"Is it the dim and glossy hue
"Could the proud rulers of the land
"Why seek to mock the Ethiop's face ?
"Behold ! the angry waves conspire
"Torn from my Mother's aching breast,
"The Tyrant WHITE MAN taught my mind--
"With jealous rage he mark'd my love
"Swift, o'er the plain of burning Sand
"Again the lightning flashes white--
"The topmast falls--three shackled slaves--
"Why, cruel WHITE-MAN ! when away
The lab'ring Ship was now a wreck,
Now frantic, on the sands she roam'd,
Long, on the swelling surge sustain'd
It was in the days of a gay British King
Some talk'd of their Valour, and some of their Race,
And here sat a Baron, and there sat a Knight,
It was in a vast gothic Hall that they sate,
And, now in their Cups, the bold topers began
"It is fit," said the Monarch, "that riches should claim
"That the low-lineag'd CARLES should be scantily fed--
Now the Topers grew bold, and each talk'd of his right,
But ONE, who had neither been valiant nor wise,
"I have fought with all nations, and bled in the field,
The Monarch now rose, with majestical look,
Now the revellers rose, and began to complain--
So saying, he quitted the Banquetting Hall,
From that moment the Monarch grew sober and good,
Who dwelt in yonder lonely Cot,
And yet, it tops a verdant hill
Then why is ev'ry casement dark ?
There, far above the busy croud,
For there, the ever tranquil mind,
Stranger, yon spot was once the scene
Old JACOB was the Cottage Lord,
The coming morn, with lustre gay,
One lovely Girl, Old JACOB rear'd
'Twas her's, the vagrant lamb to lead,
One sturdy Boy, a younker bold,
Young, in the wars, the brave Boy fell !
At night, by moonshine would he stray,
One morn, upon the dewy grass
He lies beneath yon Poplar tree
And now behold yon little Cot
Yet, if for Truth and feeling known,
LUBIN and KATE, as gossips tell,
KATE liked the youth; but woman-kind
When most they promise, soonest change,
STEPHEN was LUBIN'S rival; he
STEPHEN had long in secret sigh'd;
Now, LUBIN was a modest swain,
Vows, were to him but fairy things
KATE had too often play'd the fool,
Was now, poor Maiden, taught !
LUBIN had giv'n inconstant KATE,
Some promis'd riches; others swore
And never sad, and never poor--
ONE roguish Girl, with sparkling eyes,
The gypsy-girl, with speaking eyes,
LUBIN complies. And straight he hears
"In just six moons !" Poor LUBIN hears
Swift to the wood she hies, tho' late
And now she loiter'd near the scene.
And now across the thicket side
"You gain a fool
," the youth replies,
The false one blushes deep, and sighs,
"Hush ! hush !" cried KATE, for Heav'n's sake be
But, what was her dismay, to find
Thus, Fortune pays the LOVER bold !
Swift, o'er the wild and dreary waste
Dark was her large and sunken eye
And swiftly down her freckled face
Her garments were by briars torn,
She felt the wintry blast of night,
Across the waste of printless snow,
The weedy lane she Iov'd to tread
While from the lone and silent Cot
Oft, by the splashy brook she stood
Dash'd rudely against the sandy shore,
And many a time she chac'd the fly,
And why did she with sun-burnt breast,
What stole the hour of slumber sweet--
Soon shalt thou know; for see how lorn
"Here will I build a rocky shed,
"And the Sea-birds, that hover across the wide main,
"The setting Sun, with golden ray,
"Here, did the exil'd HENRY stray
Thus, wild she sung ! when on the sand
And now the Twilight shadows spread
And now he beckon'd her along
The moon in cloudy veil was seen,
When SUPERSTITION rul'd the land
Near, in a little Farm, there liv'd
At GODSTOW, 'mid the holy band,
Which SATAN chalk'd upon his Tally;
And lightly treading with disdain,
Fear'd not Ambition's certain fall !
Old China broke, or scratch'd her Dame
And brought domestic friends to shame !
And many a time this Cat was curst,
Of squalling, thieving things, the worst !
Wish'd Dead ! and
For Cats of such scant Fame, deserv'd to swing !
Resolv'd to make Dame Gurton easy;
A Neighbour came, with solemn look,
And thus, the dismal tidings broke.
"Know you, that poor GRIMALKIN died
"Last night, upon the pent-house side ?
"I heard her for assistance call;
"I heard her shrill and dying squall !
"I heard her, in reproachful tone,
"Pour, to the stars, her feeble groan !
Page 25
"With not a Friend to close her Eyes !
"
"Never to see thy beauties more !
"Never again to hear thee purr,
"To stroke thy back, of Zebra fur;
"To see thy emral'd eyes--so bright,[This and the following two lines are connected by a large brace in the right margin of the original printed edition.]
"Flashing around their lust'rous light
"Amid the solemn shades of night !
"As gracefully she paced along;
"I hear her voice, so shrill, among
"The chimney rows ! I see her claws,
"While, like a Tyger, she pursued
"Undauntedly the pilf'ring race;
"I see her lovely whisker'd face
"When she her nimble prey subdued !
"And then, how she would frisk, and play,
"And purr the Evening hours away:
Page 26
"Now on the sunny lawn, at noon,
"Watching the vagrant Birds that flew,
"Across the scene of varied hue,
"To peck the Fruit. Or when the Moon
"Stole o'er the hills, in silv'ry suit,
"How would she chaunt her lovelorn Tale
"Soft as the wild Eolian Lyre !
"'Till ev'ry brute, on hill, in dale,
"Listen'd with wonder mute !"
"Has my poor Puss been torn away ?
"Alas ! how cruel is my fate,
"How shall I pass the tedious day ?
"Where can her mourning mistress find
"So sweet a Cat ? so meek ! so kind !
"So keen a mouser, such a beauty,
"So orderly, so fond, so true,
"That every gentle task of duty
Page 27
"Hers, was the mildest tend'rest heart !
"She knew no little cattish
art;
"Not cross, like fav'rite Cats
, was she
"But seem'd the queen of Cats to be !
"I cannot live--since doom'd, alas ! to part
"From poor GRIMALKIN kind, the darling of my heart !"
With a black top-knot vast, appears:
Some say that a black gown she wore,
As many oft have done before,
For Beings, valued less, I ween,
Than this, of Tabby Cats, the fav'rite Queen !
But lo ! soon after, one fair day,
Puss, who had only been a roving--
Across the pent-house took her way,
To see her Dame, so sad, and loving;
Eager to greet the mourning fair
She enter'd by a window, where
Page 28
Was quiv'ring in the sunny beam.
And somewhat fond of bev'rage sweet;
Beholding such a tempting treat,
Resolved its depth to try.
She saw the warm and dazzling ray
Upon the spotless surface play:
She purr'd around its circle wide,
And gazed, and long'd, and mew'd and sigh'd !
But Fate, unfriendly, did that hour controul,
She overset the cream, and smash'd the gilded bowl !
She started from her easy chair,
And, quite unmindful of her grief,
Began aloud to swear !
"Curse that voracious beast !" she cried,
"Here SUSAN bring a cord--
Page 29
"The veriest plague e'er form'd by nature !"
And MISTRESS GURTON kept her word--
And Poor GRIMALKIN--DIED !
The dead
, in clam'rous grief deplore;
Who, were they once alive
again
Would meet the sting of cold disdain !
For FRIENDS, whom trifling faults can sever,
Are valued most
, WHEN LOST FOR EVER !
Page 30
The LASCAR.
IN TWO PARTS.
I.
"Of dreary Sorrow is begun !
"And still I loath the temper'd ray,
"And still I hate the sickly Sun !
"Far from my Native Indian shore,
"I hear our wretched race deplore;
"I mark the smile of taunting Scorn,
"And curse the hour, when I was born !
"I weep, but no one gently tries
"To stop my tear, or check my sighs;
"For, while my heart beats mournfully,
"Dear Indian home, I sigh for Thee !
Page 31
II.
"Thy hottest glory gild the day;
"Since, sever'd from my burning shore,
"I waste the vapid hours away;
"O ! darkness come ! come, deepest gloom !
"Shroud the young Summer's op'ning bloom;
"Burn, temper'd Orb, with fiercer beams
"This northern world ! and drink the streams
"That thro' the fertile vallies glide
"To bathe the feasted Fiends of Pride !
"Or, hence, broad Sun ! extinguish'd be !
"For endless night encircles Me !
III.
"And what, the board profusely spread ?
"I have no home, no rich array,
"No spicy feast, no downy bed !
"I, with the dogs am doom'd to eat,
"To perish in the peopled street,
Page 32
"The scoff and scorn of fools to bear !
"I sleep upon a bed of stone,
"I pace the meadows, wild--alone !
"And if I curse my fate severe,
"Some Christian Savage mocks my tear !
IV.
"Make the wide world my silent tomb !
"O'ershade this northern, sickly light,
"And shroud me, in eternal gloom !
"My Indian plains, now smiling glow,
"There stands my Parent's hovel low,
"And there the tow'ring aloes rise
"And fling their perfumes to the skies !
"There the broad palm Trees covert lend,
"There Sun and Shade delicious blend;
"But here, amid the blunted ray,
"Cold shadows hourly cross my way !
Page 33
V.
"I met the tempest fierce and strong,
"And steering o'er the liquid plain,
"Still onward, press'd the waves among ?
"Was it for this, the LASCAR brave
"Toil'd, like a wretched Indian Slave;
"Preserv'd your treasures by his toil,
"And sigh'd to greet this fertile soil ?
"Was it for this, to beg, to die,
"Where plenty smiles, and where the Sky
"Sheds cooling airs; while fev'rish pain,
"Maddens the famish'd LASCAR'S brain ?
VI.
"And sung the short-hour'd night away;
"And oft, upon the top-mast's head,
"Hail'd the red Eye of coming day.
"The Tanyan's back my mother bore;
"And oft the wavy Ganges' roar
Page 34
"'Mid the hot sands and burning blast !
"And oft beneath the Banyan tree
"She sate and fondly nourish'd me;
"And while the noontide hour past slow,
"I felt her breast with kindness glow.
VII.
"No cheek so dark as mine, I see;
"For Europe's Suns, with softer dyes
"Mark Europe's favour'd progeny !
"Low is my stature, black my hair,
"The emblem of my Soul's despair !
"My voice no dulcet cadence flings,
"To touch soft pity's throbbing strings !
"Then wherefore cruel Briton, say,
"Compel my aching heart to stay ?
"To-morrow's Sun--may rise, to see--
"The famish'd LASCAR, blest as thee !"
Page 35
VIII.
When, from the City's din he ran;
For he had fasted, four long days,
And faint his Pilgrimage began !
The LASCAR, now, without a friend,--
Up the steep hill did slow ascend;
Now o'er the flow'ry meadows stole,
While pain, and hunger, pinch'd his Soul;
And now his fev'rish lip was dried,
And burning tears his thirst supply'd,
And, ere he saw the Ev'ning close,
Far off, the City dimly rose !
IX.
The plains were golden, far and wide;
And fervid was the cloudless sky,
And slow the breezes seem'd to glide:
The gossamer, on briar and spray,
Shone silv'ry in the solar ray;
Page 36
Spangled the hot and thirsty ground;
The insect myriads humm'd their tune
To greet the coming hour of noon,
While the poor LASCAR Boy, in haste,
Flew, frantic, o'er the sultry waste.
X.
Who would receive a stranger poor ?
Who, when the blasts of night should blow,
Would ope to him the friendly door ?
Alone, amid the race of man,
The sad, the fearful alien ran !
None would an Indian wand'rer bless;
None greet him with the fond caress;
None feed him, though with hunger keen
He at the Lordly gate were seen,
Prostrate, and humbly forc'd to crave
A shelter, for an Indian Slave.
Page 37
XI.
No cloud its fierce beam shadow'd o'er,
But what could worse to him betide
Than begging, at the proud man's door ?
For clos'd and lofty was the gate,
And there, in all the pride of State,
A surly Porter turn'd the key,
A man of sullen soul was he--
His brow was fair; but in his eye
Sat pamper'd scorn, and tyranny;
And, near him, a fierce mastiff stood,
Eager to bathe his fangs in blood.
XII.
For trembling fear his heart subdued,
And down his cheek the tear would stray,
Though burning anguish drank his blood !
The angry Mastiff snarl'd, as he
Turn'd from the house of luxury;
Page 38
The broad-sun flamed athwart the sky--
But still a throbbing hope possess'd
The Indian wand'rer's fev'rish breast,
When from the distant dell a sound
Of swelling music echo'd round.
XIII.
And now a pleasant house he view'd:
And now his heart began to feel
As though, it were not quite subdu'd !
No lofty dome, shew'd loftier state,
No pamper'd Porter watch'd the gate,
No Mastiff, like a tyrant stood,
Eager to scatter human blood;
Yet the poor Indian wand'rer found,
E'en where Religion smil'd around--
That tears had little pow'r to speak
When trembling, on a sable cheek !
Page 39
XIV.
The LASCAR Boy away was sent;
And now again he seem'd subdu'd,
And his soul sicken'd, as he went.
Now, on the river's bank he stood;
Now, drank the cool refreshing flood;
Again his fainting heart beat high;
Again he rais'd his languid eye;
Then, from the upland's sultry side,
Look'd back, forgave the wretch, and sigh'd !
While the proud PASTOR bent his way
To preach of CHARITY--and PRAY !
Page 40
PART SECOND.
I.
For the hot Sun, HE well could bear,
And now the burning hour was gone,
And Evening came, with softer air !
The breezes kiss'd his sable breast,
While his scorch'd feet the cold dew prest;
The waving flow'rs soft tears display'd,
And songs of rapture fill'd the glade;
The South-wind quiver'd, o'er the stream
Reflecting back the rosy beam,
While, as the purpling twilight clos'd,
On a turf bed--the Boy repos'd !
Page 41
II.
The LASCAR Boy his Mother spied;
And, from her breast, a crimson stream
Slow trickled down her beating side:
And now he heard her wild, complain,
As loud she shriek'd--but shriek'd in vain !
And now she sunk upon the ground,
The red stream trickling from her wound,
And near her feet a murd'rer stood,
His glitt'ring poniard tipp'd with blood !
And now, "farewell, my son !" she cried,
Then clos'd her fainting eyes--and died !
III.
With grief, and pain, and horror wild;
And tho' his fev'rish brain was craz'd,
He rais'd his eyes to Heav'n, and smil'd !
And now the stars were twinkling clear,
And the blind Bat was whirling near;
Page 42
Still sate beneath a shelt'ring tree;
And now the fierce-ton'd midnight blast
Across the wide heath, howling past,
When a long cavalcade he spied
By torch-light near the river's side.
IV.
Call'd loudly to the Sumptuous train,--
But soon the cavalcade was gone--
And darkness wrapp'd the scene again.
He follow'd still the distant sound;
He saw the lightning flashing round;
He heard the crashing thunder roar;
He felt the whelming torrents pour;
And, now beneath a shelt'ring wood
He listen'd to the tumbling flood--
And now, with falt'ring, feeble breath,
The famish'd LASCAR, pray'd for Death.
Page 43
V.
And foaming rush'd along the vale;
The LASCAR watch'd, with stedfast eyes,
The flash descending quick and pale;
And now again the cavalcade
Pass'd slowly near the upland glade;--
But HE was dark, and dark the scene,
The torches long extinct had been;
He call'd, but, in the stormy hour,
His feeble voice had lost its pow'r,
'Till, near a tree, beside the flood,
A night-bewilder'd Trav'ller stood.
VI.
"Stop ! stop !" he cried--with accents bold;
The Trav'ller was a fearful man--
And next his life he priz'd his gold !--
He heard the wand'rer madly cry;
He heard his footsteps following nigh;
Page 44
Black as the sky, the Indian's breast;
Till his firm grasp he felt, while cold
Down his pale cheek the big drop roll'd;
Then, struggling to be free, he gave--
A deep wound to the LASCAR Slave.
VII.
And now crept onward, sad and slow:
And while he held his bleeding breast,
He feebly pour'd the plaint of woe !
"What have I done ?" the LASCAR cried--
"That Heaven to me the pow'r denied
"To touch the soul of man, and share
"A brother's love, a brother's care;
"Why is this dingy form decreed
"To bear oppression's scourge and bleed ?--
"Is there a GOD, in yon dark Heav'n,
"And shall such monsters be forgiv'n ?
Page 45
VIII.
"Neglect and mis'ry sting our race;
"And still, whate'er the LASCAR'S mind,
"The stamp of sorrow marks his face !"
He ceas'd to speak; while from his side
Fast roll'd life's swiftly-ebbing tide,
And now, though sick and faint was he,
He slowly climb'd a tall Elm tree,
To watch, if, near his lonely way,
Some friendly Cottage lent a ray,
A little ray of chearful light,
To gild the LASCAR'S long, long night !
IX.
His heart is almost rent with joy !
And who, but such a wretch can tell,
The transports of the Indian boy ?
And higher now he climbs the tree,
And hopes some shelt'ring Cot to see;
Page 46
Seems up the woodland vale to steal;
The twinkling stars begin to fade,
And dawnlight purples o'er the glade--
And while the sev'ring vapours flee,
The LASCAR boy looks chearfully !
X.
Above the Eastern summit blue;
And o'er the plain the day-breeze flies,
And sweetly bloom the fields of dew !
The wand'ring wretch was chill'd, for he
Sate, shiv'ring in the tall Elm tree;
And he was faint, and sick, and dry,
And bloodshot was his fev'rish eye;
And livid was his lip, while he
Sate silent in the tall Elm tree--
And parch'd his tongue; and quick his breath,
And his dark cheek, was cold as Death !
Page 47
XI.
The chimney smoke, ascending grey,
Floats lightly on the morning breeze
And o'er the mountain glides away.
And now the Lark, on flutt'ring wings,
Its early Song, delighted sings;
And now, across the upland mead,
The Swains their flocks to shelter lead;
The shelt'ring woods, wave to and fro;
The yellow plains, far distant, glow;
And all things wake to life and joy,
All I but the famish'd Indian Boy!
XII.
Each lane is peopled, and the glen
From ev'ry op'ning path-way green,
Sends forth the busy hum of men.
They cross the meads, still, all alone,
They hear the wounded LASCAR groan !
Page 48
Falls, senseless, from the tall Elm tree !
Swiftly they cross the river wide
And soon they reach the Elm tree's side,
But, ere the sufferer they behold,
His wither'd Heart
, is
DEAD, and
COLD !
Page 49
THE
WIDOW's HOME.
That bathes the low dell's bosom, stands a Cot;
O'ershadow'd by broad Alders. At its door
A rude seat, with an ozier canopy
Invites the weary traveller to rest.
'Tis a poor humble dwelling; yet within,
The sweets of joy domestic, oft have made
The long hour not unchearly, while the Moor
Was covered with deep snow, and the bleak blast
Swept with impetuous wing the mountain's brow !
Page 50
The minstrelsy of Nature, shrill and wild,
Welcomes the stranger guest, and carolling
Love-songs, spontaneous, greets him merrily.
The distant hills, empurpled by the dawn
And thinly scatter'd with blue mists that float
On their bleak summits dimly visible,
Skirt the domain luxuriant, while the air
Breathes healthful fragrance. On the Cottage roof
The gadding Ivy, and the tawny Vine
Bind the brown thatch, the shelter'd winter-hut
Of the tame Sparrow, and the Red-breast bold.
Yet not more fair than virtuous. Every day
She wastes the hour-glass, waiting his return,--
And every hour anticipates the day,
(Deceiv'd, yet cherish'd by the flatt'rer hope)
When she shall meet her Hero. On the Eve
Page 51
With blossoms, fresh and gaudy, still, herself
The queen-flow'r of the garland ! The sweet Rose
Of wood-wild beauty, blushing thro' her tears.
The darling of her guiltless, mourning heart,
The only dear and gay associate
Of her lone widowhood. His sun-burnt cheek
Is never blanch'd with fear, though he will climb
The broad oak's branches, and with brawny arm
Sever the limpid wave. In his blue eye
Beams all his mother's gentleness of soul;
While his brave father's warm intrepid heart
Throbs in his infant bosom. 'Tis a wight
Most valourous, yet pliant as the stem
Of the low vale-born lily, when the dew
Presses its perfum'd head. Eight years his voice
Has chear'd the homely hut, for he could lisp
Page 52
Could measure the smooth path-way.
On the hills
He watches the wide waste of wavy green
Tissued with orient lustre, till his eyes
Ache with the dazzling splendour, and the main,
Rolling and blazing, seems a second Sun !
And, if a distant whitening sail appears,
Skimming the bright horizon while the mast
Is canopied with clouds of dappled gold,
He homeward hastes rejoicing. An old Tree
Is his lone watch-tow'r; 'tis a blasted Oak
Which, from a vagrant Acorn, ages past,
Sprang up, to triumph like a Savage bold
Braving the Season's warfare. There he sits
Silent and musing the long Evening hour,
'Till the short reign of Sunny splendour fades
At the cold touch of twilight. Oft he sings;
Or from his oaten pipe, untiring pours
Page 53
When HE could only listen.
On the sands
That bind the level sea-shore, will he stray,
When morn unlocks the East, and flings afar
The rosy day-beam ! There the boy will stop
To gather the dank weeds which ocean leaves
On the bleak strand, while winter o'er the main
Howls its nocturnal clamour. There again
He chaunts his Father's ditty. Never more
Poor mountain minstrel, shall thy bosom throb
To the sweet cadence ! never more thy tear
Fall as the dulcet breathings give each word
Expression magical ! Thy Father, Boy,
Sleeps on the bed of death ! His tongue is mute,
His fingers have forgot their pliant art,
His oaten pipe will ne'er again be heard
Echoing along the valley ! Never more
Will thy fond mother meet the balmy smile
Page 54
Of valour, temper'd by the milder joys
Of rural merriment. His very name
Is now forgotten ! for no trophied tomb
Tells of his bold exploits; such heraldry
Befits not humble worth: For pomp and praise
Wait in the gilded palaces of Pride
To dress Ambition's Slaves. Yet, on his grave,
The unmark'd resting place of Valour's Sons,
The morning beam shines lust'rous; The meek flow'r
Still drops the twilight tear, and the night breeze
Moans melancholy music !
Then, to ME,
O ! dearer far is the poor Soldier's grave,
The Widow's lone and unregarded Cot,
The brawling Brook, and the wide Alder-bough,
The ozier Canopy, and plumy choir,
Hymning the Morn's return, than the rich Dome
Of gilded Palaces ! and sweeter far--
Page 55
The Widow's tear bathing the living rose,
Than the rich ruby, blushing on the breast,
Of guilty greatness. Welcome then to me--
The WIDOW'S LOWLY HOME : The Soldier's HEIR;
The proud inheritor of Heav'n's best gifts--
The mind unshackled--and the guiltless Soul !
Page 56
THE
SHEPHERD's DOG.
Was faithful to his master's will,
For well he lov'd his company,
Along the plain or up the hill;
All Seasons were, to him, the same
Beneath the Sun's meridian flame;
Or, when the wintry wind blew shrill and keen,
Still the Old Shepherd's Dog, was with his Master seen.
Page 57
II.
Was of a bold and faithful breed;
And kept his master company
In smiling days, and days of need;
When the long Ev'ning slowly clos'd,
When ev'ry living thing repos'd,
When e'en the breeze slept on the woodlands round,
The Shepherd's watchful Dog, was ever waking found.
III.
Contented lay, with list'ning care;
And though no stranger company,
Or lonely traveller rested there;
Old Trim was pleas'd to guard it still,
For 'twas his aged master's will;--
And so pass'd on the chearful night and day,
'Till the poor Shepherd's Dog, was very old, and grey.
Page 58
IV.
Belov'd by all the young and old,
For he was chearful company,
When the north-wind blew keen and cold;
And when the cottage scarce was warm,
While round it flew, the midnight storm,
When loudly, fiercely roll'd the swelling tide--
The Shepherd's faithful Dog, crept closely by his side.
V.
Sporting across the meadows green,
He kept his master company,
And all amid the flow'rs was seen;
Now barking loud, now pacing fast,
Now, backward he a look would cast,
And now, subdu'd and weak, with wanton play,
Amid the waving grass, the Shepherd's Dog would stay.
Page 59
VI.
The steep hill's summit slowly gain,
And still be chearful company,
Though shiv'ring in the pelting rain;
And when the brook was frozen o'er,
Or the deep snow conceal'd the moor,
When the pale moon-beams scarcely shed a ray,
The Shepherd's faithful Dog, would mark the dang'rous way.
VII.
Which canopies the church-yard stile,
Forc'd from his master's company,
The faithful TRIM would mope awhile;
For then his master's only care
Was the loud Psalm, or fervent Pray'r,
And, 'till the throng the church-yard path retrod,
The Shepherd's patient guard, lay silent on the sod.
Page 60
VIII.
Where TRIM was ev'ry morning found--
Waiting his master's company,
And looking wistfully around;
And if, along the upland mead,
He heard him tune the merry reed,
O, then ! o'er hedge and ditch, thro' brake and briar,
The Shepherd's dog would haste, with eyes that seem'd on fire.
IX.
And now he bounded o'er the dew,
For well his master's company
Would recompence his toil he knew;
And where a rippling rill was seen
Flashing the woody brakes between,
Fearless of danger, thro' the lucid tide,
The Shepherd's eager dog, yelping with joy, would glide.
Page 61
X.
His love still stronger every day,
For, in his master's company,
He had grown old, and very grey;
And now his sight grew dim: and slow
Up the rough mountain he would go,
And his loud bark, which all the village knew,
With ev'ry wasting hour, more faint, and peevish grew.
XI.
Rous'd from his threshold-bed to meet
A gay and lordly company !
The Sun was bright, the air was sweet;
Old TRIM was watchful of his care,
His master's flocks were feeding there,
And, fearful of the hounds, he yelping stood
Beneath a willow Tree, that wav'd across the flood.
Page 62
XII.
Was guardian of the meadow bounds;
And, heedless of the company,
With angry snarl attack'd the hounds !
Some felt his teeth, though they were old,
For still his ire was fierce and bold,
And ne'er did valiant chieftain feel more strong
Than the Old Shepherd's dog, when daring foes among.
XIII.
The breezes murmuring sad, and slow,
When a gay lordly company,
Came to the Shepherd's hovel low;
Their arm'd associates stood around
The sheep-cote fence's narrow bound,
While its poor master heard, with fix'd despair,
That TRIM, his friend, deem'd MAD, was doom'd to perish there !
Page 63
XIV.
Had no such guide, to mark his way,
And kneeling pray'd the company,
To let him live, his little day !
"For many a year my Dog has been
"The only friend these eyes have seen,
"We both are old and feeble, he and I--
"Together we have liv'd, together let us die !
XV.
"Which ill befits his visage grim
"He cannot from your anger fly,
"For slow and feeble is old TRIM !
"He looks, as though he fain would speak,
"His beard is white--his voice is weak--
"He IS NOT MAD ! O ! then, in pity spare
"The only watchful friend, of my small fleecy care !"
Page 64
XVI.
Leant on his maple staff, subdu'd;
While pity touch'd the company,
And all, poor TRIM with sorrow view'd :
Nine days upon a willow bed
Old TRIM was doom'd to lay his head,
Oppress'd and sever'd from his master's door,
Enough to make him MAD--were he not so before !
XVII.
For ev'ry morn, at peep of day,
To keep his old friend company,
The lonely Shepherd bent his way:
A little boat, across the stream,
Which glitter'd in the sunny beam,
Bore him, where foes no longer could annoy,
Where TRIM stood yelping loud, and ALMOST MAD with joy !
Page 65
XVIII.
Upon the island left to roam,
When on the stream a wither'd tree
Was gliding rapid midst the foam !
The little Boat now onward prest,
Danc'd o'er the river's bounding breast,
Till dash'd impetuous, 'gainst the old tree's side,
The Shepherd plung'd and groan'd, then sunk amid the tide.
XIX.
Beating the foam with wasted breath,
Resolv'd to bear him company,
E'en in the icy arms of death;
Soon with exulting cries he bore
His feeble master to the shore,
And, standing o'er him, howl'd in cadence sad,
For, fear and fondness, now, had nearly made him MAD.
Page 66
XX.
More happy than the proudly great;
The Shepherd has no other friend--
No Lordly home, no bed of state !
But on a pallet, clean and low,
They hear, unmov'd, the wild winds blow,
And though they ne'er another spring may see;
The Shepherd, and his Dog, are chearful company.
Page 67
THE
FUGITIVE.
Pacing the upland meadow. On his brow
Sits melancholy, mark'd with decent pride,
As it would fly the busy, taunting world,
And feed upon reflection. Sometimes, near
The foot of an old Tree, he takes his seat
And with the page of legendary lore
Cheats the dull hour, while Evening's sober eye
Looks tearful as it closes. In the dell
By the swift brook he loiters, sad and mute,
Save when a struggling sigh, half murmur'd, steals
Page 68
His eye rais'd wistfully, expression fraught,
He pours the cherish'd anguish of his Soul,
Silent yet eloquent: For not a sound
That might alarm the night's lone centinel,
The dull-eyed Owl, escapes his trembling lip,
Unapt in supplication. He is young,
And yet the stamp of thought so tempers youth,
That all its fires are faded. What is He ?
And why, when morning sails upon the breeze,
Fanning the blue hill's summit, does he stay
Loit'ring and sullen, like a Truant boy,
Beside the woodland glen; or stretch'd along
On the green slope, watch his slow wasting form
Reflected, trembling, on the river's breast ?
Is prematurely faded. The check'd tear,
Dimming his dark eye's lustre, seems to say,
"This world is now, to me, a barren waste,
Page 69
"And I am weary: for my journey here
"Has been, though short, but chearless." Is it so ?
Poor Traveller ! Oh tell me, tell me all--
For I, like thee, am but a Fugitive
An alien from delight, in this dark scene !
The cause of thy complaining. Thou art here
A persecuted Exile ! one, whose soul
Unbow'd by guilt, demands no patronage
From blunted feeling, or the frozen hand
Of gilded Ostentation. Thou, poor PRIEST !
Art here, a Stranger, from thy kindred torn--
Thy kindred massacred ! thy quiet home,
The rural palace of some village scant,
Shelter'd by vineyards, skirted by fair meads,
And by the music of a shallow rill
Made ever chearful, now thou hast exchang'd
For stranger woods and vallies.
Page 70
Here, or on torrid desarts; o'er the world
Of trackless waves, or on the frozen cliffs
Of black Siberia, thou art not alone !
For there, on each, on all, The DEITY
Is thy companion still ! Then, exiled MAN !
Be chearful as the Lark that o'er yon hill
In Nature's language, wild, yet musical,
Hails the Creator ! nor thus, sullenly
Repine, that, through the day, the sunny beam
Of lust'rous fortune gilds the palace roof,
While thy short path, in this wild labyrinth,
Is lost in transient shadow.
Who, that lives,
Hath not his portion of calamity ?
Who, that feels, can boast a tranquil bosom ?
The fever, throbbing in the Tyrant's veins
In quick, strong language, tells the daring wretch
That He is mortal, like the poorest slave
Who wears his chain, yet healthfully suspires.
Page 71
Passes the mountain thistle. The bold Bird,
Whose strong eye braves the ever burning Orb,
Falls like the Summer Fly, and has at most,
But his allotted sojourn. EXILED MAN !
Be chearful ! Thou art not a fugitive !
All are thy kindred--all thy brothers, here--
The hoping--trembling Creatures--of one
GOD !
Page 72
THE
HAUNTED BEACH.
Where the white foam was scatter'd,
A little shed uprear'd its head
Though lofty Barks were shatter'd.
The Sea-weeds gath'ring near the door,
A sombre path display'd;
And, all around, the deaf'ning roar,
Re-echo'd on the chalky shore,
By the green billows made.
Page 73
Where Sea Birds hover'd, craving;
And all around, the craggs
were bound
With weeds--for ever waving.
And here and there, a cavern wide
Its shad'wy jaws display'd;
And near the sands, at ebb of tide,
A shiver'd mast was seen to ride
Where the green billows stray'd.
Stole o'er the Summer Ocean;
The moonlight scene, was all serene,
The waters scarce in motion:
Then, while the smoothly slanting sand
The tall cliff wrapp'd in shade,
The Fisherman beheld a band
Of Spectres, gliding hand in hand--
Where the green billows play'd.
Page 74
And sullenly they wander'd:
And to the skies with hollow eyes
They look'd as though they ponder'd.
And sometimes, from their hammock shroud,
They dismal howlings made,
And while the blast blew strong and loud
The clear moon mark'd the ghastly croud,
Where the green billows play'd !
The Curlews screaming hover'd;
And the low door with furious roar
The frothy breakers cover'd.
For, in the Fisherman's lone shed
A MURDER'D MAN was laid,
With ten wide gashes in his head
And deep was made his sandy bed
Where the green billows play'd.
Page 75
Doom'd from his home to sever;
Who swore to be thro' wind and sea
Firm and undaunted ever !
And when the wave resistless roll'd,
About his arm he made
A packet rich of Spanish gold,
And, like a British sailor, bold,
Plung'd, where the billows play'd !
Sunk in the yawning ocean,
While to the mast he lash'd him fast
And brav'd the storm's commotion.
The winter moon, upon the sand
A silv'ry carpet made,
And mark'd the Sailor reach the land,
And mark'd his murd'rer wash his hand
Where the green billows play'd.
Page 76
Has toil'd and toil'd in vain !
For all the night, the moony light
Gleams on the specter'd main !
And when the skies are veil'd in gloom,
The Murd'rer's liquid way
Bounds o'er the deeply yawning tomb,
And flashing fires the sands illume,
Where the green billows play !
Day after day more weary;
For Heav'n design'd, his guilty mind
Should dwell on prospects dreary.
Bound by a strong and mystic chain,
He has not pow'r to stray;
But, destin'd mis'ry to sustain,
He wastes, in Solitude and Pain--
A loathsome life away.
Page 77
OLD BARNARD,
A MONKISH TALE.
Though his age was full fourscore;
And he us'd to go
Thro' hail and snow,
To a neighb'ring town,
With his old coat brown,
To beg, at his GRANDSON'S door !
When the hail and snow did fall;
And, whatever the day,
He was always gay,
Did the broad Sun glow,
Or the keen wind blow,
While he begg'd in his GRANDSON'S Hall.
Page 78
Had houses, and lands, and gold;
And a coach beside,
And horses to ride,
And a downy bed
To repose his head,
And he felt not the winter's cold.
Nor gold to buy warm array;
Nor a coach to carry,
His old bones weary
Nor beds of feather
In freezing weather,
To sleep the long nights away.
Page 79
No guile did his bosom know;
And when Ev'ning clos'd,
His old bones repos'd,
Tho' the wintry blast
O'er his hovel past,
And he slept, while the winds did blow !
'Till the Sun began to rise;
For a fev'rish pain
Oppress'd his brain,
And he fear'd some evil
And dream'd of the Devil,
Whenever he clos'd his eyes !
Page 80
The Devil still had his joke;
For however rare
The sumptuous fare,
When the sparkling glass
Was seen to pass,--
He was fearful the draught would choke !
The Squire went forth to ride:
The owl would cry,
And the raven fly
Across his road,
While the sluggish toad
Would crawl by his Palfry's side.
Page 81
For the rain would wet him through;
And the wind would blow
Where his nag did go,
And the thunder roar,
And the torrents pour,
And he felt the chill Evening dew.
And would make him groan aloud;
And the doctor's art
Could not cure the heart,
While the conscience still
Was o'ercharg'd with ill;
And he dream'd of the pick-axe and shroud.
Page 82
Since so poor, and so old was he ?
Because he could say
At the close of day,
"I have done no wrong
"To the weak or strong,
"And so, Heaven look kind on me !"
To a MONK, that liv'd hard by;
"O ! Father !" said he,
"I am come to thee,
"For I'm sick of sin,
"And would fain begin
"To repent me, before I die !"
Page 83
"But will see you to-morrow, ere noon:
Then the MONK flew straight
To Old BARNARD'S gate,
And he bade him haste
O'er the dewy waste,
By the light of the waning Moon.
And his GRANDSON went thither soon;
In a habit of grey
Ere the dawn of day,
With a cowl and cross,
On the sill of moss,
He knelt by the light of the Moon.
Page 84
"For the Devil is waiting for me !
"I have robb'd the poor,
"I have shut my door,
"And kept out the good
"When they wanted food,--
"And I come for my pardon, to Thee."
And your GRANDSIRE quickly see;
"Give him half your store
,
"For he's old, and poor,
"And avert each evil
"And cheat the Devil,--
By making him rich as thee
."
Page 85
Is rescued from every evil:
For he fears no wrong,
From the weak or strong,
And the Squire can snore,
When the loud winds roar,
For he dreams no more of THE DEVIL !
Page 86
The HERMIT of MONT-BLANC.
O'er-topping the grand imag'ry of Nature,
Where one eternal winter seem'd to reign;
An HERMIT'S threshold, carpetted with moss,
Diversified the Scene. Above the flakes
Of silv'ry snow, full many a modest flow'r
Peep'd through its icy veil, and blushing ope'd
Its variegated hues; The ORCHIS sweet,
The bloomy CISTUS, and the fragrant branch
Of glossy MYRTLE. In his rushy cell,
The lonely ANCHORET consum'd his days,
Unnotic'd, and unblest. In early youth,
Page 87
By false Ambition, from his parent home
He, solitary, wander'd; while the Maid
Whose peerless beauty won his yielding heart
Pined in monastic horrors ! Near his sill
A little cross he rear'd, where, prostrate low
At day's pale glimpse, or when the setting Sun
Tissued the western sky with streamy gold,
His Orisons he pour'd, for her, whose hours
Were wasted in oblivion. Winters pass'd,
And Summers faded, slow, unchearly all
To the lone HERMIT'S sorrows: For, still, Love
A dark, though unpolluted altar, rear'd
On the white waste of wonders !
From the peak
Which mark'd his neighb'ring Hut, his humid Eye
Oft wander'd o'er the rich expanse below;
Oft trac'd the glow of vegetating Spring,
The full-blown Summer splendours, and the hue
Of tawny scenes Autumnal: Vineyards vast,
Page 88
The promised tide nectareous; while for him
The liquid lapse of the slow brook was seen
Flashing amid the trees, its silv'ry wave !
Far distant, the blue mist of waters rose
Veiling the ridgy outline, faintly grey,
Blended with clouds, and shutting out the Sun.
The Seasons still revolv'd, and still was he
By all forgotten, save by her, whose breast
Sigh'd in responsive sadness to the gale
That swept her prison turrets. Five long years,
Had seen his graces wither ere his Spring
Of life was wasted. From the social scenes
Of human energy an alien driv'n,
He almost had forgot the face of Man.--
No voice had met his ear, save, when perchance
The Pilgrim wand'rer, or the Goatherd Swain,
Bewilder'd in the starless midnight hour
Implored the HERMIT'S aid, the HERMIT'S pray'rs;
And nothing loath by pity or by pray'r
Page 89
Of his low rushy Dome, a tinkling bell
Oft told the weary Trav'ller to approach
Fearless of danger. The small silver sound
In quick vibrations echo'd down the dell
To the dim valley's quiet, while the breeze
Slept on the glassy LEMAN. Thus he past
His melancholy days, an alien Man
From all the joys of social intercourse,
Alone, unpitied, by the world forgot !
Gather'd on summits, mingling with the clouds,
From whose bleak altitude the Eye look'd down
While fast the giddy brain was rock'd by fear.
Oft would he start from visionary rest
When roaming wolves their midnight chorus howl'd,
Or blasts infuriate shatter'd the white cliffs,
While the huge fragments, rifted by the storm,
Plung'd to the dell below. Oft would he sit
Page 90
Of snow-encrusted ice, and, shudd'ring mark
(Amid the wonders of the frozen world)
Dissolving pyramids, and threatening peaks,
Hang o'er his hovel, terribly Sublime.
Soft sailing o'er the waste of printless dew
Or twilight gossamer, his pensive gaze
Trac'd the swift storm advancing, whose broad wing
Blacken'd the rushy dome of his low Hut;
While the pale lightning smote the pathless top
Of tow'ring CENIS, scatt'ring high and wide
A mist of fleecy Snow. Then would he hear,
(While MEM'RY brought to view his happier days)
The tumbling torrent, bursting wildly forth
From its thaw'd prison, sweep the shaggy cliff
Vast and Stupendous ! strength'ning as it fell,
And delving, 'mid the snow, a cavern rude !
Page 91
Plac'd on a mountain's solitary brow,
And destin'd, thro' the Seasons, to endure
Their wond'rous changes. To behold the face
Of ever-varying Nature, and to mark
In each grand lineament, the work of GOD !
And happier he, in total Solitude
Than the poor toil-worn wretch, whose ardent Soul
That GOD has nobly organiz'd, but taught,
For purposes unknown, to bear the scourge
Of sharp adversity, and vulgar pride.
Happier, O ! happier far, than those who feel,
Yet live amongst the unfeeling ! feeding still
The throbbing heart, with anguish, or with Scorn.
Half petrified the scene, when not a star
Gleam'd o'er the black infinity of space,
Sudden, the HERMIT started from his couch
Fear-struck and trembling ! Ev'ry limb was shook
Page 92
The blanch'd interpreter of horror mute
Sat terribly impressive ! In his breast
The ruddy fount of life convulsive flow'd
And his broad eyes, fix'd motionless as death,
Gaz'd vacantly aghast ! His feeble lamp
Was wasting rapidly; the biting gale
Pierc'd the thin texture of his narrow cell;
And Silence, like a fearful centinel
Marking the peril which awaited near,
Conspir'd with sullen Night, to wrap the scene
In tenfold horrors. Thrice he rose; and thrice
His feet recoil'd; and still the livid flame
Lengthen'd and quiver'd as the moaning wind
Pass'd thro' the rushy crevice, while his heart
Beat, like the death-watch, in his shudd'ring breast.
The cold drops pacing down his hollow cheek,
When a deep groan assail'd his startled ear,
Page 93
Of his low hovel he rush'd forth, (for fear
Will sometimes take the shape of fortitude,
And force men into bravery) and soon
The wicker bolt unfasten'd. The swift blast,
Now unrestrain'd, flew by; and in its course
The quiv'ring lamp extinguish'd, and again
His soul was thrill'd with terror. On he went,
E'en to the snow-fring'd margin of the cragg,
Which to his citadel a platform made
Slipp'ry and perilous ! 'Twas darkness, all !
All, solitary gloom !--The concave vast
Of Heav'n frown'd chaos; for all varied things
Of air, and earth, and waters, blended, lost
Their forms, in blank oblivion ! Yet not long
Did Nature wear her sable panoply,
For, while the HERMIT listen'd, from below
A stream of light ascended, spreading round
A partial view of trackless solitudes;
And mingling voices seem'd, with busy hum,
Page 94
The HERMIT hasten'd, when a shriek of death
Re-echoed to the valley. As he flew,
(The treach'rous pathway yielding to his speed,)
Half hoping, half despairing, to the scene
Of wonder-waking anguish, suddenly
The torches were extinct; and second night
Came doubly hideous, while the hollow tongues
Of cavern'd winds, with melancholy sound
Increas'd the HERMIT'S fears. Four freezing hours
He watch'd and pray'd: and now the glimm'ring dawn
Peer'd on the Eastern Summits; (the blue light
Shedding cold lustre on the colder brows
Of Alpine desarts;) while the filmy wing
Of weeping Twilight, swept the naked plains
Of the Lombardian landscape.
On his knees
The ANCHORET blest Heav'n, that he had 'scap'd
The many perilous and fearful falls
Of waters wild and foamy, tumbling fast
Page 95
Rose to their destin'd Heav'n, another sight,
Than all preceding far more terrible,
Palsied devotion's ardour. On the Snow,
Dappled with ruby drops, a track was made
By steps precipitate; a rugged path
Down the steep frozen chasm had mark'd the fate
Of some night traveller, whose bleeding form
Had toppled from the Summit. Lower still
The ANCHORET descended, 'till arrived
At the first ridge of silv'ry battlements,
Where, lifeless, ghastly, paler than the snow
On which her cheek repos'd, his darling Maid
Slept in the dream of Death ! Frantic and wild
He clasp'd her stiff'ning form, and bath'd with tears
The lilies of her bosom,--icy cold--
Yet beautiful and spotless.
Now, afar
The wond'ring HERMIT heard the clang of arms
Re-echoing from the valley: the white cliffs
Page 96
With terrible concussion ! Thund'ring peals
From warfare's brazen throat, proclaim'd th' approach
Of conquering legions: onward they extend
Their dauntless columns ! In the foremost group
A Ruffian met the HERMIT'S startled Eyes
Like Hell's worst Demon ! For his murd'rous hands
Were smear'd with gore; and on his daring breast
A golden cross, suspended, bore the name
Of his ill-fated Victim !--ANCHORET !
Thy VESTAL Saint, by his unhallow'd hands
Torn from RELIGION'S Altar, had been made
The sport of a dark Fiend, whose recreant Soul
Had sham'd the cause of Valour ! To his cell
The Soul-struck Exile turn'd his trembling feet,
And after three lone weeks, of pain and pray'r,
Shrunk from the scene of Solitude--and DIED !
Page 97
DEBORAH's PARROT,
A VILLAGE TALE.
An ancient Maiden dwelt:
Her name was MISS, or MISTRESS, Brown,
Or DEBORAH, or DEBBY: She
Was doom'd a Spinster pure to be,
For soft delights her breast ne'er felt:
Yet, she had watchful Ears and Eyes
For ev'ry youthful neighbour,
And never did she cease to labour
A tripping female to surprize.
Page 98
So stiff, so solemn--so demure ?
Why did she watch with so much care
The roving youth, the wand'ring fair ?
The tattler, Fame, has said that she
A Spinster's life had long detested,
But 'twas her quiet destiny,
Never to be molested !--
And had Miss DEBBY'S form been grac'd,
Fame adds,--She had not been so chaste;--
But since for frailty she would roam,
She ne'er was taught--to look at home
.
And blush'd, like any maid !
She could not saucy man endure
Lest she should be betray'd !
She never fail'd at dance or fair
To watch the wily lurcher's snare;
Page 99
Though sometimes she had other eyes
Than those, uplifted to the skies,
Leering most oddly !
And Scandal, ever busy, thought
She rarely practic'd--what she taught.
With laces broad and dear;
Fine Cobwebs ! that would thinly shade
Her shrivell'd cheek of sallow hue,
While, like a Spider, her keen eye,
Which never shed soft pity's tear,
Small holes in others geer could spy,
And microscopic follies, prying view.
And sorely vex'd was ev'ry simple thing
That wander'd near her never-tiring sting !
Page 100
If Fame speaks true,
Could prate, and tell what neighbours did,
And yet the saucy rogue was never chid !
Sometimes, he talk'd of roving Spouses
Who wander'd from their quiet houses:
Sometimes, he call'd a Spinster pure
By names, that Virtue can't indure !
And sometimes told an ancient Dame
Such tales as made her blush with shame !
Then gabbled how a giddy Miss
Would give the boist'rous Squire a kiss !
But chiefly he was taught to cry,
Who with the Parson toy'd ? O fie !
"
To vex a young and pretty neighbour;
But by her scandal-zealous labour
To shame she brought him !
Page 101
Was but a false and canting preacher,
And many a gamesome pair had sworn
Such lessons were not to be borne.
And by her angry neighbours scouted;
She never knew one hour of rest,
Of ev'ry Saucy Boor, the jest:
The young despis'd her, and the Sage
Look'd back on Time's impartial page;
They knew that youth was giv'n to prove
The season of extatic joy,
That none but Cynics would destroy,
The early buds of Love.
They also knew that DEBBY sigh'd
For charms that envious Time deny'd;
That she was vex'd with jealous Spleen
That Hymen pass'd her by, unseen.
Page 102
Gold
will not purchase Love--alone
.
She, and her PARROT, now were thought
The torments of their little Sphere;
He, because mischievously taught,
And She, because a maid austere !--
In short, she deem'd it wise to leave
A Place, where none remain'd, to grieve.
Miss DEBBY'S gold an husband bought;
And all she had her PARROT taught,
(Her PARROT now no more belov'd,)
Was quite forgotten. But, alas !
As Fate would have it come to pass,
Her Spouse was giv'n to jealous rage,
For, both in Person
and in Age
,
He was the partner of his love,
Ordain'd her second Self to prove !
Page 103
With merry friends to dine,
And, freely talking, had, no doubt
Been also free with wine.
One said, of all the wanton gay
In the whole parish search it round,
None like the PARSON could be found,
Where a frail Maid was in the way.
Another thought the Parson sure
To win the heart of maid or wife;
And would have freely pledg'd his life
That young, or old, or rich or poor
None could defy
The magic of his roving eye !
He dream'd of this strange tale !
Yet, bless'd his stars ! with proud delight,
His partner was not young, nor frail.
Page 104
The PARROT, loud as he was able,
Was heard repeatedly to cry,
Who with the Parson toy'd ? O fie !
"
The PARROT then, more loudly scream'd,
And MISTRESS JENKINS heard the tale
And much alarm'd she seem'd !
Trembling she tried to stop his breath,
Her lips and cheek as pale as death !
The more she trembled, still the more
Old JENKINS view'd her o'er and o'er;
And now her yellow cheek was spread
With blushes of the deepest red.
Made his old Tutoress doubly pale;
For cowardice and guilt, they say
Are the twin brothers of the soul;
Page 105
Could not controul !
While the accuser, now grown bold,
Thrice o'er, the tale of mischief told.
"Who with the Parson toy'd ?
" he cried.
"So MISTRESS FRAILTY, you must play,
"And sport, your wanton hours away.
"And with your gold, a pretty joke,
"You thought to buy a pleasant cloak;
"A screen to hide your shame--but know
"I will not blind
to ruin go.--
"I am no modern Spouse
, dy'e see,
"Gold
will not gild disgrace
, with me !"
Some say he seiz'd his fearful bride,
And came to blows !
Day after day, the contest dire
Augmented, with resistless ire !
Page 106
For mischief, she her PARROT taught !
And if this little Story reaches
A SPINSTER, who her PARROT teaches,
Let her a better task pursue,
And here, the certain VENGEANCE view
Which surely will, in TIME, O'ERTAKE HER.
Page 107
The NEGRO GIRL.
I.
The boist'rous whirlwinds blew;
The Sea-bird wheel'd its circling sweep,
And all was drear to view--
When on the beach that binds the western shore
The love-lorn ZELMA stood, list'ning the tempest's roar.
II.
While on her DRACO dear
She madly call'd, but call'd in vain,
No sound could DRACO hear,
Save the shrill yelling of the fateful blast,
While ev'ry Seaman's heart, quick shudder'd as it past.
Page 108
III.
The clouds were black and low;
The Bittern shriek'd, a gliding shade
Seem'd o'er the waves to go !
The livid flash illum'd the clam'rous main,
While ZELMA pour'd, unmark'd, her melancholy strain.
IV.
"O ! spare the gallant souls:
"The thunder rolls--the winds increase--
"The Sea, like mountains, rolls !
"While, from the deck, the storm worn victims leap,
"And o'er their struggling limbs, the furious billows sweep.
V.
"Does Heav'n's high will decree
"That some should sleep on beds of state,--
"Some, in the roaring Sea ?
"Some, nurs'd in splendour, deal Oppression's blow,
"While worth and DRACO pine--in Slavery and woe!
Page 109
VI.
"With human traffic fraught;
"Its cargo,--our dark Sons of pain--
"For worldly treasure bought !
"What had they done ?--O Nature tell me why--
"Is taunting scorn the lot, of thy dark progeny ?
VII.
"Peculiarly enshrin'd;
"Nor from the ebon Casket stole
"The Jewel of the mind !
"Then wherefore let the suff'ring Negro's breast
"Bow to his fellow, MAN, in brighter colours drest.
VIII.
"That marks him for despair ?--
"While men with blood their hands embrue,
"And mock the wretch's pray'r ?
"Shall guiltless Slaves the Scourge of tyrants feel,
"And, e'en before their GOD ! unheard, unpitied kneel.
Page 110
IX.
"Our Sable race behold;
"Some bow'd by torture's Giant hand
"And others, basely sold !
"Then would they pity Slaves, and cry, with shame,
"Whate'er their TINTS may be, their SOULS are still the same !
X.
"Why goad our hapless kind ?
"Can features alienate the race--
"Is there no kindred mind ?
"Does not the cheek which vaunts the roseate hue
"Oft blush for crimes, that Ethiops never knew ?
XI.
"To check the barb'rous toil !
"While wounded Nature's vengeful ire--
"Roars, round this trembling Isle !
"And hark ! her voice re-echoes in the wind--
"Man was not form'd by Heav'n, to trample on his kind !
Page 111
XII.
"My Tyrant sought my love--
"But, in the Grave shall ZELMA rest,
"E'er she will faithless prove--
"No DRACO !--Thy companion I will be
"To that celestial realm, where Negros shall be free !
XIII.
"The letter'd page to trace;--
"He taught me in the Soul to find
"No tint, as in the face:
"He bade my Reason, blossom like the tree--
"But fond affection gave, the ripen'd fruits to thee.
XIV.
"He sent thee far away;--
"And prison'd in the plantain grove--
"Poor ZELMA pass'd the day--
"But ere the moon rose high above the main,
"ZELMA, and Love contriv'd, to break the Tyrant's chain.
Page 112
XV.
"My course I bent to thee;
"And soon I reach'd the billowy strand
"Which bounds the stormy Sea.--
"DRACO ! my Love ! Oh yet, thy ZELMA'S soul
"Springs ardently to thee,--impatient of controul.
XVI.
"The rattling cords among !
"Now, by the transient vivid light,
"I mark the frantic throng !
"Now up the tatter'd shrouds my DRACO flies--
While o'er the plunging prow, the curling billows rise.
XVII.
"Cling to the Vessel's side !
"Now lost amid the madd'ning waves--
"Now on the mast they ride--
"See ! on the forecastle my DRACO stands
"And now he waves his chain, now clasps his bleeding hands.
Page 113
XVIII.
"My sable Love was torn,
"Why did you let poor ZELMA stay,
On Afric's sands to mourn ?
"No ! ZELMA is not left, for she will prove
"In the deep troubled main, her fond--her faithful LOVE."
XIX.
The shrouds were flutt'ring wide !
The rudder gone, the lofty deck
Was rock'd from side to side--
Poor ZELMA'S eyes now dropp'd their last big tear,
While, from her tawny cheek, the blood recoil'd with fear.
XX.
Now shrieking stop'd to view
Where high the liquid mountains foam'd,
Around the exhausted crew--
'Till, from the deck, her DRACO'S well known form
Sprung mid the yawning waves, and buffetted the Storm.
Page 114
XXI.
Brave DRACO sought the shore,
Watch'd the dark Maid, but ne'er complain'd,
Then sunk, to gaze no more !
Poor ZELMA saw him buried by the wave--
And, with her heart's true Love, plung'd in a wat'ry grave.
Page 115
The TRUMPETER,
AN OLD ENGLISH TALE.
(In the old fashion'd custom of merry-making)
The Palace of Woodstock with revels did ring,
While they sang and carous'd--one and all:
For the monarch a plentiful treasury had,
And his Courtiers were pleas'd, and no visage was sad,
And the knavish and foolish with drinking were mad,
While they sat in the Banquetting hall.
Page 116
And vaunted, till vaunting was black in the face;
Some bragg'd for a title, and some for a place,
And, like braggarts, they bragg'd one and all !
Some spoke of their scars in the Holy Crusade,
Some boasted the banner of Fame they display'd,
And some sang their Loves in the soft serenade
As they sat in the Banquetting hall.
And here stood a Page in his habit all bright,
And here a young Soldier in armour bedight
With a Friar carous'd, one and all.
Some play'd on the dulcimer, some on the lute,
And some, who had nothing to talk of, were mute,
Till the Morning, awakened, put on her grey suit--
And the Lark hover'd over the Hall.
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And the Tables were cover'd with rich gilded plate,
And the King and his minions were toping in state,
Till their noddles turn'd round, one and all:--
And the Sun through the tall painted windows 'gan peep,
And the Vassals were sleeping, or longing to sleep,
Though the Courtiers, still waking, their revels did keep,
While the minstrels play'd sweet, in the Hall.
To call for more wine, from the cellar yeoman,
And, while each one replenish'd his goblet or can,
The Monarch thus spake to them all:
"It is fit that the nobles do just what they please,
"That the Great live in idleness, riot, and ease,
"And that those should be favor'd, who mark my decrees,
"And should feast in the Banquetting Hall.
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"A passport to freedom, to honor, and fame,--
"That the poor should be humble, obedient, and tame,
"And, in silence, submit--one and all.
"That the wise and the holy should toil for the Great,
"That the Vassals should tend at the tables of state,
"That the Pilgrim should--pray for our souls at the gate
"While we feast in our Banquetting Hall.
"That their drink should be small, and still smaller their bread;
"That their wives and their daughters to ruin be led,
"And submit to our will, one and all !
"It is fit, that whoever I choose to defend--
"Shall be courted, and feasted, and lov'd as a friend,
"While before them the good and enlighten'd shall bend,
"While they sit in the Banquetting Hall."
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One would fain be a Baron, another a Knight;
And another, (because at the Tournament fight
He had vanquished his foes, one and all)
Demanded a track of rich lands; and rich fare;
And of stout serving Vassals a plentiful share;
With a lasting exemption from penance and pray'r
And a throne in the Banquetting Hall.
With a tone of importance, thus vauntingly cries,
"My Leige he knows how a good subject to prize--
"And I therefore demand--before all--
"I this Castle possess: and the right to maintain
"Five hundred stout Bowmen to follow my train,
"And as many strong Vassals to guard my domain
"As the Lord of the Banquetting Hall !
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"See my lance is unshiver'd, tho' batter'd my shield,
"I have combatted legions, yet never would yield
"And the Enemy fled--one and all !
"I have rescued a thousand fair Donnas, in Spain,
"I have left in gay France, every bosom in pain.
"I have conquer'd the Russian, the Prussian, the Dane,
"And will reign in the Banquetting Hall !"
And his sword from the scabbard of Jewels he took,
And the Castle with laughter and ribaldry shook.
While the braggart accosted thus he:
"I will give thee a place that will suit thy demand,
"What to thee, is more fitting than Vassals or Land--
"I will give thee,--what justice and valour command,
"For a TRUMPETER bold--thou shalt be !"
Page 121
While they menanc'd with gestures, and frown'd with disdain,
And declar'd, that the nobles were fitter to reign
Than a Prince so unruly as He.
But the Monarch cried, sternly, they taunted him so,
"From this moment the counsel of fools I forego--
"And on Wisdom and Virtue will honors bestow
"For such, ONLY, are welcome to Me !"
And leaving his Courtiers and flatterers all--
Straightway for his Confessor loudly 'gan call
"O ! Father ! now listen !" said he:
"I have feasted the Fool, I have pamper'd the Knave,
"I have scoff'd at the wise, and neglected the brave--
"And here, Holy Man, Absolution I crave--
"For a penitent now I will be."
Page 122
(And nestled with Birds of a different brood,)
For he found that the pathway which wisdom pursu'd
Was pleasant, safe, quiet, and even !
That by Temperance, Virtue and liberal deeds,
By nursing the flowrets, and crushing the weeds,
The loftiest Traveller always succeeds--
For his journey will lead him to HEAV'N.
Page 123
The DESERTED COTTAGE.
Why is it thus forsaken ?
It seems, by all the world forgot,
Above its path the high grass grows,
And through its thatch the northwind blows
--Its thatch, by tempests shaken.
By Summer gales surrounded:
Beneath its door a shallow rill
Runs brawling to the vale below,
And near it sweetest flowrets grow
By banks of willow bounded.
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Why looks the Cot so chearless ?
Ah ! why does ruin seem to mark
The calm retreat where LOVE should dwell,
And FRIENDSHIP teach the heart to swell
With rapture, pure and fearless ?
Man may repose in quiet;
There, smile, that he has left the proud,
And blest with liberty, enjoy
More than Ambition's gilded toy,
Or Folly's sick'ning riot.
On calm Religion resting,
May in each lonely labyrinth find
The DEITY, whose boundless pow'r
Directs the blast, or tints the flow'r--
No mortal foe molesting.
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Where peace and joy resided:
And oft the merry time has been
When Love and Friendship warm'd the breast,
And Freedom, making wealth a jest,
The pride of Pomp derided.
His wide domain, surrounding,
By Nature's treasure amply stor'd;
He from his casement could behold
The breezy mountain, ting'd with gold,
The varied landscape bounding !
Breath'd sweetly on his dwelling;
The twilight veil of parting day
Stole softly o'er his quiet shed,
Hiding the mountain's misty head,
Where the night-breeze was swelling.
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And she was fair, and blooming;
She, like the morning Star, appear'd,
Swift gliding o'er the mountain's crest,
While her blue eyes her soul confess'd,
No borrow'd rays assuming.
To watch the wild goat playing:
To join the Shepherd's tuneful reed,
And, when the sultry Sun rose high,
To tend the Herds, deep-lowing nigh,
Where the swift brook was straying.
Ere they were doom'd to sever,
Maintain'd poor JACOB, sick and old;
But now, where yon tall poplars wave,
Pale primroses adorn the grave--
Where JACOB sleeps, for Ever !
Page 127
His Sister died of sadness !
But one
remain'd their fate to tell,
For JACOB now was left alone,
And he, alas ! was helpless grown,
And pin'd in moody madness.
Along the upland dreary;
And, talking wildly all the way,
Would fancy, 'till the Sun uprose,
That Heav'n, in pity, mark'd the woes--
Of which his soul was weary.
Poor JACOB's sorrows ended,
The woodland's narrow winding pass
Was his last scene of lonely care,
For, gentle Stranger, lifeless there--
Was JACOB'S form extended !
Page 128
That tops the church-yard, sighing !
For sighing oft it seems to be,
And as its waving leaves, around,
With morning's tears begem the ground
The Zephyr trembles, flying !
All dreary and forsaken !
And know, that soon 'twill be thy lot,
To fall, like Jacob and his race,
And leave on Time's swift wing no trace,
Which way thy course is taken.
Thou still shalt be lamented !
For when thy parting sigh has flown,
Fond MEM'RY on thy grave shall give
A tear
--to bid thy VIRTUES live !
Then--Smile, AND BE CONTENTED !
Page 129
The FORTUNE-TELLER,
A GYPSY TALE.
Were Lovers many a day;
LUBIN the damsel lov'd so well,
That folks pretend to say
The silly, simple, doting Lad,
Was little less than loving mad:
A malady not known of late--
Among the little-loving Great !
Are sometimes giv'n to range.
And oft, the giddy Sex, we find,
(They know not why)
Page 130
And still for conquest sigh:
So 'twas with KATE; she, ever roving
Was never fix'd, though always loving !
A rustic libertine was known;
And many a blushing simple She,
The rogue had left,--to sigh alone !
KATE cared but little for the rover,
Yet she resolv'd to have her way,
For STEPHEN was the village Lover,
And women pant for Sov'reign sway.
And he, who has been known to ruin,--
Is always sought, and always wooing.
And STEPHEN never was deny'd:
Page 131
And therefore, treated with disdain:
For, it is said, in Love
and War
,--
The boldest, most successful are !
Borne on capricious Fancy's wings;
And promises, the Phantom's Airy
Which falsehood form'd to cheat th' unwary;
For still deception was his trade,
And though his traffic well was known,
Still, every trophy was his own
Which the proud Victor, Love, display'd.
In short, this STEPHEN was the bane
Of ev'ry maid,--and ev'ry swain !
And now, at length, was caught;
For she, who had been pleas'd to rule,
Page 132
And STEPHEN rul'd with boundless sway,
The rustic tyrant of his day.
Ten pounds
, to buy her wedding geer:
And now, 'tis said, tho' somewhat late,
He thought his bargain rather dear.
For, Lo ! The day before the pair
Had fix'd, the marriage chain to wear,
A GYPSY gang, a wand'ring set,
In a lone wood young LUBIN met.
All round him press with canting tale,
And, in a jargon, well design'd
To cheat the unsuspecting mind,
His list'ning ears assail.
He should, by women, be ador'd;
Page 133
Live like a Squire, or Lord;--
Do what he pleas'd, and ne'er be brought
To shame,--for what he did, or thought;
Seduce mens wives and daughters fair,
Spend wealth, while others toil'd in vain,
And scoff at honesty, and swear,--
And scoff, and trick, and swear again !
To win the handsome LUBIN tries;
She smil'd, and by her speaking glance,
Enthrall'd him in a wond'ring trance;
He thought her lovelier far than KATE,
And wish'd that she had been his mate;
For when the FANCY is on wing,
VARIETY'S a dangerous thing:
And PASSIONS, when they learn to stray
Will seldom seldom keep the beaten way.
Page 134
Observ'd her pupil's fond surprize,
She begg'd that he her hand would cross,
With Sixpence; and that He should know
His future scene of gain and loss,
His weal and woe.--
That he had many long, long years;
That he a maid inconstant, loves,
Who, to another slyly roves.
That a dark man his bane will be--
"And poison his domestic hours;
"While a fair woman, treach'rously--
"Will dress his brow--with thorns and flow'rs !"
It happen'd, to confirm his care--
STEPHEN was dark
,--and KATE was fair
!
Nay more that "home his bride would bring
"A little, alien, prattling thing
Page 135
All that confirms his jealous fears;
Perplex'd and frantic, what to do
The cheated Lover scarcely knew.
He flies to KATE, and straight he tells
The wonder that in magic dwells !
Speaks of the Fortune-telling crew,
And how all things the Vagrants knew;
KATE hears: and soon determines, she
Will know her
future destiny.
To read the tablet of her Fate.
The Moon its crystal beam scarce shew'd
Upon the darkly shadow'd road;
The hedge-row was the feasting-place
Where, round a little blazing wood,
The wand'ring, dingy, gabbling race,
Crowded in merry mood.
Page 136
Now peep'd the hazle copse between;
Fearful that LUBIN might be near
The story of her
Fate to hear.--
She saw the feasting circle gay
By the stol'n faggot's yellow light;
She heard them, as in sportive play,
They chear'd the sullen gloom of night.
Nor was sly KATE by all unseen
Peeping, the hazle copse between.
A tatter'd, skulking youth she spied;
He beckon'd her along, and soon,
Hid safely from the prying moon,
His hand with silver, thrice she crosses--
"Tell me," said she, "my gains and losses ?"
"You lose a lover
too."
Page 137
For well the truth she knew !
"You gave to STEPHEN, vows; nay more
"You gave him favors rare:
"And LUBIN is condemn'd to share
"What many others shar'd before !
"A false, capricious, guilty heart,
"Made up of folly, vice, and art,
"Which only takes a wedded mate
"To brand with shame, an husband's fate."
"As secret as the grave--
"For LUBIN means to marry me--
"And if you will not me betray,
"I for your silence well will pay;
"Five pounds
this moment you shall have."--
"I will have TEN !" the gypsy cries--
"The fearful, trembling girl complies.
Page 138
That LUBIN was the gypsy bold;
The cunning, fortune-telling hind
Who had the artful story told--
Who thus, was cur'd of jealous pain,--
"And got his
TEN POUNDS back again !
But, gentle Maids, should Fate
Have any secret
yet untold,--
Remember, simple
KATE !
Page 139
POOR MARGUERITE.
A NUT-BROWN GIRL was seen to haste;
Wide waving was her unbound hair,
And sun-scorch'd was her bosom bare;
For Summer's noon had shed its beams
While she lay wrapp'd in fev'rish dreams;
While, on the wither'd hedge-row's side,
By turns she slept, by turns she cried,
"Ah ! where lies hid the balsam sweet,
"To heal the wounds of MARGUERITE ?"
Which wildly gaz'd upon the sky;
Page 140
The chilling dews began to pace:
For she was lorn, and many a day,
Had, all alone, been doom'd to stray,
And, many a night, her bosom warm,
Had throbb'd, beneath the pelting storm,
And still she cried, "the rain falls sweet,
"It bathes the wounds of MARGUERITE."
And on them hung full many a thorn;
A thistle crown, she mutt'ring twin'd,
Now darted on,--now look'd behind--
And here, and there, her arm was seen
Bleeding the tatter'd folds between;
Yet, on her breast she oft display'd
A faded branch, that breast to shade:
For though her senses were astray,
She felt the burning beams of day:
Page 141
And smil'd to see the morning light,
For then she cried, "I soon shall meet
"The plighted love of MARGUERITE."
All day the NUT-BROWN GIRL would go;
And when the winter moon had shed
Its pale beams on the mountain's head,
She on a broomy pillow lay
Singing the lonely hours away;
While the cold breath of dawnlight flew
Across the fields of glitt'ring dew:--
Swift o'er the frozen lake she past
Unmindful of the driving blast,
And then she cried "the air is sweet--
"It fans the breast of MARGUERITE."
When stars their twinkling lustre shed;
Page 142
The watchful Cur assail'd her not,
Though at the beggar he would fly,
And fright the Trav'ller passing by:
But she, so kind and gentle seem'd,
Such sorrow in her dark eyes beam'd,
That savage fierceness could not greet
With less than love,--POOR MARGUERITE !
And sung her Song to the waving wood;
The waving wood, in murmurs low,
Fill'd up the pause of weary woe;
Oft, to the Forest tripp'd along
And inly humm'd her frantic Song;
Oft danc'd mid shadows Ev'ning spread
Along the whisp'ring willow-bed.
And wild was her groan,
When she climb'd, alone--
The rough rock's side,
While the foaming tide,
Page 143
And the lightning flash'd mid the thunder's roar.
And mock'd the Beetle, humming by;
And then, with loud fantastic tone
She sang her wild strain, sad--alone.
And if a stranger wander'd near
Or paus'd the frantic Song to hear,
The burthen she would soft repeat,
"Who comes to soothe POOR MARGUERITE ?
So wander, and so scorn to rest ?
Why did the NUT-BROWN MAIDEN go
O'er burning plains and wastes of snow ?
What bade her fev'rish bosom sigh,
And dimm'd her large and hazle eye ?
What taught her o'er the hills to stray
Fearless by night, and wild by day ?
Page 144
From the scorch'd brain of MARGUERITE.
She climbs the steep of shaggy thorn--
Now on the jutting cliff she stands,
And clasps her cold,--but snow-white hands.
And now aloud she chaunts her strain
While fiercely roars the troublous main.
Now the white breakers curling shew
The dread abyss that yawns below,
And still she sighs, "the sound is sweet,
"It seems to say, POOR MARGUERITE !"
"And here I'll make my sea-weed bed;
"Here gather, with unwearied hands--
"The orient shells that deck the sands.
"And here will I skim o'er the billows so high,
"And laugh at the moon and the dark frowning sky.
Page 145
"Shall sweep with their pinions, the white bounding plain.--
"And the shivering sail shall the fierce tempest meet,
"Like the storm, in the bosom of POOR MARGUERITE !
"Shall warm my breast, and make me gay.
"The clamours of the roaring Sea
"My midnight serenade shall be !
"The Cliff that like a Tyrant stands
"Exulting o'er the wave lash'd sands,
"With its weedy crown, and its flinty crest,
"Shall, on its hard bosom, rock me
to rest;
"And I'll watch for the Eagle's unfledg'd brood,
"And I'll scatter their nest, and I'll drink their blood;
"And under the crag I will kneel and pray
"And silver my robe, with the moony ray:
"And who shall scorn the lone retreat
"Which Heaven has chose, for MARGUERITE ?
Page 146
"Forc'd from his native land, away;
"Here, here upon a foreign shore,
"His parents, lost, awhile deplore;
"Here find, that pity's holy tear
"Could not an alien wand'rer
chear;
"And now, in fancy, he would view,
"Shouting aloud, the rabble crew--
"The rabble crew, whose impious hands
"Tore asunder nature's bands !--
"I see him still,--He waves me on !
"And now to the dark abyss he's gone--
"He calls--I hear his voice, so sweet,--
"It seems to say--POOR MARGUERITE !"
She saw her long lost HENRY, stand:
Pale was his cheek, and on his breast
His icy hand he, silent, prest;
Page 147
Around the tall cliff's weedy head;
Far o'er the main the moon shone bright,
She mark'd the quiv'ring stream of light--
It danc'd upon the murm'ring wave
It danc'd upon--her HENRY'S Grave !
It mark'd his visage, deathly pale,--
His white shroud floating in the gale;
His speaking eyes--his smile so sweet
That won the love--of MARGUERITE !
The curling moonlight waves among;
No footsteps mark'd the slanting sand
Where she had seen her HENRY stand !
She saw him o'er the billows go--
She heard the rising breezes blow;
She shriek'd aloud ! The echoing steep
Frown'd darkness on the troubled deep;
Page 148
And louder howl'd the night blast keen !--
And when the morn, in splendour dress'd,
Blush'd radiance on the Eagle's nest,
That radiant blush was doom'd to greet--
The lifeless form
--of MARGUERITE !
Page 149
The CONFESSOR,
A SANCTIFIED TALE.
And Priestcraft shackled Reason,
At GODSTOW dwelt a goodly band,
Grey monks they were, and but to say
They were not always giv'n to pray,
Would have been construed Treason.
Yet some did
scoff, and some believ'd
That sinners were themselves deceiv'd;
And taking Monks for more than men
They prov'd themselves, nine out of ten,
Mere dupes of these Old Fathers hoary;
But read--and mark the story.
Page 150
A buxom Dame of twenty three;
And by the neighbours 'twas believ'd
A very Saint was She !
Yet, ev'ry week, for some transgression,
She went to sigh devout confession.
For ev'ry trifle seem'd to make
Her self-reproving Conscience ache;
And Conscience, waken'd, 'tis well known,
Will never let the Soul alone.
Old FATHER PETER held command.
And lusty was the pious man,
As any of his crafty clan:
And rosy was his cheek, and sly
The wand'rings of his keen grey eye;
Yet all the Farmers wives confest
The wond'rous pow'r this Monk possess'd;
Pow'r to rub out the score of sin,
Page 151
To give fresh licence to begin,--
And for new scenes of frolic, rally.
For abstinence was not his way--
He lov'd to live
--as well as pray
;
To prove his gratitude to Heav'n
By taking freely all its favors,--
And keeping his account still even,
Still mark'd his best endeavours:
That is to say, He took pure Ore
For benedictions,--and was known,
While Reason op'd her golden store,--
Not to unlock his own.--
