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[Title Page]
OR,
Fragments of Poetical Aberration.
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Charlotte Payne
Copyright ©2010, University of California
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November 8, 2010
Charlotte Payne
-- ed.
[Title Page]
BY MRS. M'MULLAN.
London:CIRCUMSTANCES, over which I had no control, have delayed the appearance of this Work far beyond my intention. To the Public this may, perhaps, require no apology; but to my Friends it does, most assuredly.
My idea was extensive when I commenced a Metrical Survey of The British Isles: neither my health, nor spirits, will permit its realization, and I now trespass for the last time on the indulgence of the Reader.
To those savants, who guide the pen of criticism, I continue to bow with the acknowledged limitation of capacity, trusting that in their judgment, they will remember mercy.
M. A. M.
THE heav'n-born Princess of the British Isles
Inspired my theme—and Hope, adorned in smiles
To chase the midnight spectres of Despair,
Came, like a star-beam, on the turbid air:
She whisper'd gladness—Oh! her voice was sweet—
She breathed— and blessings circled my retreat.
I then had hope, and round my fervid lyre
Joy's incense kindled with innocuous fire.
Again I worshipp'd at the tuneful shrine—
Invoked again Parnassus' classic nine—
The artist's pencil, and the poet's lay,
Sketch'd grateful tributes on The Bridal Day—
Vain were the tints, though borrow'd from the morn,
When heav'n's first ray did mountain tops adorn:
Nor could the gifted bard's mellifluous theme,
When rapturous feelings blest the noon-tide dream,
The matchless beauties of Her soul portray,
Or heav'n's angelic excellence display:
Then let not simpler minstrel dare to trace
That beam of vanish'd dignity and grace.
Yes! Winter revell'd in the blight of Spring
And shrouded Claremont with his sable wing—
Winter's stern triumph in the starless night—
Spring's desolation 'neath the whirlwind's blight,
Pale wither'd Joy, lost Hope, and Virtue's grief,
The faded chaplet, and the drooping leaf,
The Muses' anguish, and the Graces' woe,
The pen, and pencil, may presume to show:
But where Expression and Description fail,
I haste to spread the Grecian's sacred veil.(1)
Thy tears suspend, lorn minstrel! and essay
To strike the harp, as on that transient day,
When the bright star of Brunswick's Royal line,
Bade Woe depart, and Hope again be thine.
The Minstrel heart to Gratitude allied,
Possesses too some share of minstrel-pride:
It never flatter'd, fawn'd, nor praised for gain,
It never hail'd the sordid, wooed the vain—
Nor would it hymn unless the lay were truth,
To solace age, or win the ear of youth.
No despot prince, nor unresisting land
That basely bends to his oppressive hand;
No courtly minion, no ignoble peer,
For whom no eye e'er shed one thankful tear;
No strutting vanity of pomp, or pow'r,
—The veriest nothings of their transient hour—
No miser feasting on his hidden gold;
No gilded wand'rer from fair Virtue's fold;
No varnish'd sycophant, no venal tongue,
Have my heart treasured, or my numbers sung.
Among the visions of an active mind,
Unawed by distance, to no sphere confined,
What form'd my dawning wishes? nay, my prayer?
To soar, to sing, to breathe Parnassian air!
Oft in the dream of life's enraptured morn,
Ere sorrow sigh'd, or agony was born,
To emulate the lark's aspiring flight:
I've hail'd Aurora's robe of purple light;
Druids, awake! resound Britannia's name,
By Freedom blest, by Fortitude and Fame;
Circled by Ocean, seated on the wave,
An arm to conquer and an arm to save!
Glory's bright temple, Beauty's native land,
The fate of nations in her sceptred hand;
Imperial Virtue on her helmet traced,
Joy's cornucopiæ on her altars placed:
Hail, happy Britain! these are sons of thine,
These are the gems that make thy sceptre shine;
Where inquisitions forge their horrid chains,
Gross Darkness blinds, foul Superstition reigns
Where Bigotry is mask'd in flaming zeal,
Religion's crest a rack, her arms Bastille;
The book of knowledge clasp'd by iron band,
Which none dare open but the priestly hand,
Man hears the mandate, monks dare not explain,
"Eat on the morrow, but to-day abstain."
On Eden's gate this text engraved so plain,
Makes ev'ry comment, all conjecture vain,
That man created to be blest and free,
Had ears to listen, optics but to see.
The hope of Israel dragg'd to Pilot's hall,
Blasphemed with mock'ry, and refresh'd with gall:
Bearing that cross which gave Him to the skies,
Whilst angels trembled at the sacrifice.
Did He endure all evils man can feel,
And leave no balsam human woes to heal?
Did He unclose the ear, illume the blind,
Yet find no med'cine for defective mind?
Did dove-like smoothness o'er the waters spread,
And did Emanuel's voice awake the dead,
Yet leave the world as wretched as 'twas found,
Gentiles profane, and Jews to mammon bound?
Behold Him rising from sepulchral gloom!
Behold the Sun, that brighten'd o'er the tomb!
Behold Him mounting, while Archangels sing
"Salvation, Glory, Mercy, hail our King!"—
Man was redeem'd—his mind releas'd from all
That stain'd, disgraced, and ruin'd since the fall.
Taught that the purity which God commands
Is not in gesture nor in whiten'd hands:
That active life is man's exalted sphere,
Not counting beads, nor bottling up a tear.
Better instruct the young and clothe the old,
Than dress an image in a vest of gold;
Better employ'd in taking off restraint,
Than stitching petticoat for fav'rite saint.
Time was when Britain hugg'd the priestly chain,
And bought indulgence for the Papal gain—
Gave pence to Peter—loved monastic sloth—
And purchased Heaven by a horse-hair cloth!
The land neglected, saw her flocks decrease,
But Faith could fast, and what was useless fleece
Science discouraged, Commerce scarcely known,
But lazy ignorance a giant grown.
In history's record still we may advance,
And find no ray to cheer the dark expanse:
An ignis fatuus glimmer'd on the marsh,
But Faith was gloomy and her mandates harsh.
In sacred turrets and in humble porch,
The hand of Bigotry display'd a torch—
The stake was driven—consuming flame the test—
Let groaning Martyrdom express the rest.
Truth's half-extinguished spark again revived
Again was crush'd—but like the soul survived.
Yet there are some who love to cry aloud
O'erwhelming floods and death on ev'ry cloud;
Proclaim the nation worse than those of old,
Where Vice was worshipp'd and their gods were gold.
And ever ready with a sacred text,
—No matter how perverted and perplex'd—
Distract the doubtful and confuse the weak,
Pray Pharisaic and dogmatic speak;
Conceal God's mercy and promulgate wrath,
Plant hordes of demons in the narrow path,
Pour commination on the trembling ear,
Torture pale misery with a piercing spear,
Perhaps 'tis more than human effort can,
To raise us to the dignity of man,
Vice to annihilate, extirpate crime,
And teach Profusion to "Redeem the time;"
Yet still 'tis sweet amidst each darksome view,
To seek the balmy, the refreshing dew
Of Gospel Mercy and of heav'nly care—
That true Repentance may at all times share.
Is the Redeemer less disposed to save
Than when His hand the shower of manna gave
Did water issue from the flinty rock,
To meet the craving of a pilgrim flock,
Th' illumined pillar through the desert guide,
And friendly cloud conceal on ev'ry side,
Has He since first the grateful star of morn
Rejoiced that Man was form'd and Mercy born,
Since the completion of that wondrous plan,
Which robed Jehovah in the form of man,
Led Him through scenes of suff'ring, want and woe,
Spurn'd by the high, rejected by the low,
Stretch'd on the cross by those His touch had heal'd,
Ere the stupendous secret was reveal'd—
Has He neglected the repentant voice,
Nor bade the contrite spirit to rejoice?
Does not His mercy every passing hour,
Still shield us from the terrors of His power?
May not yon outcast, shiv'ring and distrest,
By foes unpitied—and by all unblest—
Ashamed to live—and oh! unfit to die,
Breathe to her God the longest, latest sigh?
OF Hope deprived the Muse at random stray'd,
Nor classic lore, nor minstrel skill display'd;
Brought no immortal Grecian to the page,
Nor sought assistance from Athenian sage,
Disturb'd no Spartan shade, no Theban ghost,
Nor sung the ruin of the Roman host;
Nor Ovid's strain, nor Orpheus' lyre was there,
To lighten Sadness, or to solace Care.
Yet bring the harp—if Melody be mine,
The praise, O Nature I shall be solely thine;
Where thy bold rocks, Cornubia, pierce the skies,
And where the Hebrides majestic rise;
Where ceaseless waves in proud succession roll,
And spread Britannia's fame from pole to pole,
My lay was heard—and oft when Cynthia threw
A silver drapery o'er the evening dew,
START not, fair reader! at the rugged line,
That traces metal, mineral and mine;
We will not seek the chymist's hidden land,
Nor give the crucible to female hand:
—'Tis not a feeble rush-light that detects
The secret chain of causes and effects—
Fright no earth-demon from his resting-place,
Nor watch if fairies and the gnomes embrace:
Leave stalactites and the granite mass,
Yet praise the silex in the crystal glass.
I cannot dig materials for a page,
And fear to designate a copper age!
I dare not torture what I cannot form,
And would not mutilate the humblest worm:
Frogs may croak concerts in the stagnant pool,
And dread not gases, nor dissecting tool—
Nor pupil I of the Darwinian school.
Drawn from dark regions to the beaming day,
The pond'rous mundic shines among the clay.
Turn not contemptuous! I decline to sing
Of all that Nature to your shrine might bring
From sterile Cornwall, with her gorse-clad hills,
Receiving torrents southern cloud distils. (2)
Yet will I bless her, though the simple heath
Present an only blossom for her wreath;
For though remote from polish'd, courtly air,
Her sons are valiant and her daughters fair.
When war awakes the trumpet's martial tone,
Then, rude Cornubia! is thy genius shown;
Devonia's rustics rally at the sound,
Leave tree half-fell'd, the plough-share on the ground:
Each sister-county deems the cause her own,
Her's the sole glory of the host o'erthrown.
The cities pour, from clouds of dark'ning smoke,
The true-born heroes of the British oak.
The useful artisan, the clerk, the groom,
From engine, wherry, cellar, desk, and loom,
In myriads hasten to the sea-girt strand,
Shouting for Brunswick and their native land!
Sons of the anvil and the broken spade,
Touch'd by the sergeant sport a gay cockade:
Zealous to close when war's loud echoes call,
They live victorious, or triumphant fall.
The ports invite—the sons of Neptune hail—
Peak the sure anchor and prepare to sail; (3)
Summon the landsman from his softer fare,
Their junk,
(4)
their biscuit, and their purse to share:
Instruct to splice, to knot, to reef, to steer,
To beat to quarters when the foe is near,
To pour the broadside, break th' opposing line,
And strew fresh trophies on their Nelson's shrine.
Nor to inferior ranks this zeal confined,
It rouses, stimulates the highest mind:
Burns with a pure, a patriotic flame—
The cause is noble—the effect the same
In peer, in peasant, in the vaulted dome,
In ducal palace and in herdsman's home.
From classic hall, from academic grove
The student rushes, war's rough scenes to prove;
Throws off the tonsor and the flowing gown,
For tented field forsakes the eider-down;
Leaves Grecian lexicon and Roman lore
To scan the famed epitome of Moore. (5)
His only aim to learn the compass now,
And know the larboard from the starboard bow;
His proud dexterity to throw the lead,
And chalk most knots upon the capstan head;
Whilst each exertion has a high reward,
When he can set the royals, square the yard.
The soldier's wish a soldier's toils to share,
The sailor's boast to outsail ev'ry care!
The pride of each that Britain e'er will be
The Island Queen, and Empress of the Sea!
Remembrance glancing to scholastic page,
Reviews the splendid names of ev'ry age;
Till boyish fancy grows confirm'd belief,
He yet may triumph as a British Chief.
And whether field, or deck, receive the youth,
His star is Honor—and his helmet Truth.
Thus went Fitzormond. Life had scarce began
To germ those virtues that adorn the man,
When his young soul inspired by glory's call,
Preferr'd the jav'lin to the jovial hall.
"Brave youth! approach me, for I love thee near,
"My sightless eye salutes thee with a tear.
"The wither'd heart throbs gladly at thy choice,
"The ear expands at thy reviving voice;
"The feeble arm its weakness will forget—
"Till the near crutch restore my vain regret.
"—Cease these ungrateful murmurs from my tongue,
"I ought to know man is not always young—
"Though my worn sinews are too weak for pain,
"Oh! still they brace at battle-sound again.
"When news comes wafted by the joyful bells,
"And post-boy's horn the laurell'd record tells,
"My aged bosom feels its wonted heat,
"I grope my way along the village street,
"Join the huzza! the cheerful cup re-fill,
"To know Old England is victorious still!
"Yes, yes, Fitzormond, I had once a wife,
"The pride, the joy, the day-star of my life!
"And, oh! Fitzormond, I had children too,
"Boys noble, gallant, fondly loved as you.
"A daughter?—yes!—my coward heart forbear—
"Heaven is her home—soon I shall meet her there.
"My country call'd—sent me to clime remote—
"For where does not the British standard float?—
"The sail was spread—I hail'd my native shore—
"But Ellen's voice could bless my ear no more!
"A ceaseless, hopeless sorrow for my fate
"Made brief the period of my Ellen's date.
"At midnight-watch 'twas luxury to think
"Her gentle bosom blest love's sweetest link,
"Welcomed, with feelings of maternal bliss,
"For my loved sake each cherish'd infant's kiss.
"But why thus idly talk of love to thee?
"May'st thou ne'er feel, ne'er sigh, ne'er sink like me.
"Successive years beheld my boys advance
"To climb the mast, or wield the warrior's lance.
Fitzormond wept. "My vet'ran friend, no more—
"Fitzormond feels and can thy woes deplore.
"Call me thy son—employ me at thy will—
"I'll bring thee water from the clearest rill,
"I'll guide thy steps where blossoms are most sweet,
"And try to cheer thee in this lone retreat;
"My artless hand shall tune the plaintive lyre—
"Wait, good old man! I'll mend the slumb'ring fire—
BELLONA'S voice call'd myriads to the field.
Fitzormond heard. Now may he gladly yield
The painted target and the slender bow,
And with the foremost to the combat go?
"Give me to share the honors of my line;
"Let young Fitzormond in the battle shine:
"Give me the sword my valiant grandsire bore,
"Give me the plume my noble father wore;
"Give me, fond mother! thy maternal pray'r,
"Glory with Love should now thy pulses share.—
"Yes! I shall go, my mother's beaming eyes
"Give tears of promise to control her sighs:
"Yes! I shall go, my father's shade will see
"Fitzormond's crest among the brave and free!"
Ye who have watch'd the river's gentle tide
Convulsed by torrents from the mountain-side;
Ye who have seen each bank the moon-beam kiss'd,
By sadness wrapt in solitary mist,
Ye best can picture what the mother felt,
When ardent thus her bosom's darling knelt.
THE full-orb'd moon display'd her silver lamp
To cheer the faithful guardians of the camp:
The British standard, with a host beside,
Waved in the silent majesty of pride.
Fitzormond's name was on the lists enroll'd,
And many a glorious scene his dreams foretold.
"Curst spectres! leave me—shall your with'ring frown
"Shake from my temples the recover'd crown?
"Haste, beams of morning, from your chambers haste,
"And let this arm make earth a dreary waste,
"Rather than have my sov'reign hopes destroy'd,
"My pow'r extinguish'd and my sceptre void.
"Welcome, brave chieftains! now your leader hear—
"This day shall bless, or blast my high career!
"Awake—arise—advance—defeat—destroy—
"Carnage your triumph—Death your sole employ!"
Europe had trembled at his frequent march,
Heav'n saw none like him 'neath its boundless arch.
The fell Destroyer of the human kind,
Whose deeds display'd a more than common mind,
Though deeply thrown had risen from his fall—
Again the eagles rallied at his call.
His fortunes desperate, his resources great,
Too strong to linger, yet too weak to wait.
Imperial pow'r was lost—again restored—
Fate, Fortune, Empire, rested on his sword.
The distant scorn'd, the near compell'd to bend,
A ranc'rous enemy—a faithless friend.
Ambition's climax led him to an height
That veil'd his errors from his subjects' sight.
They fickle, frivolous, by nature vain,
Found in this man a most oppressive chain;
But satisfied to think their nation's fame
Made conquest sure and war a winning game,
That ev'ry hand might share in with success,
And each gain something by a foe's distress—
Torn by invasion—menaced by his band—
What country now against his grasp will stand?
Perhaps Prosperity had bade them hope,
At former times, that each might singly cope,—
Experience taught them to make common cause,
Arm for their rights and struggle for their laws.
—Adversity has link'd whom happier days
Beheld dissever'd by contending rays.—
Great was the stake depending either side,
Both to the Despot and to the Allied,.
If he prevail'd, lost Freedom's tomb were made,
If they succeeded, he became a shade!
His legions moved—he made the first attack—
His guard imperial forced th' opposers back.
Twice had the Sun illumed the mountain-height,
Twice had Aldebaran glitter'd on the night;
The re-appearance of Aurora's car
Beheld the chariots of the god of War
Bounding with fury—driven by the Allies—
Glory the goal—immortal wreaths the prize!
Firmly concentrated, in Justice proud,
They stood the fury of the adverse crowd,
And still unbroken kept the solid square,
—For Scotia's arm and Erin's sons were there!—
The tubes of Death like Heav'n's fierce lightnings flash'd—
On polish'd cuirass shining sabres clash'd.
The mangled steed his bleeding rider threw—
The lancers aim'd—the countless bullets flew—
Where was Fitzormond? Did his high-wrought soul
Thrill at the flash, rise with the thunder's roll?
Fitzormond's service cavalry brigade;
Through closest ranks a way his sabre made—
Attack'd a standard in the Ensign's grasp—
Shook his strong arm and loosed his nervous clasp—
Parried the thrust—return'd the lancer's spear—
Left each opponent bleeding in the rear—
Display'd the Eagle with a Conqueror's smile—
And sunk—exulting—on the slaughter'd pile!(6)
The Allies advanced—the battle fiercer raged—
Column with column—hand with hand engaged—
As when huge masses of embodied snow
Come rolling, rapid, to the vale below,
So pour'd battalions to the despot's call—
He bade them charge—and he beheld them fall!
The Allies rush'd forward—harass'd his retreat—
Victory was theirs—and his a dire defeat.
Dismay assail'd him at the victors' tread—
His soul forsook him!—he inglorious fled
NIGHT'S lonely star declined in mournful gloom,
And wand'ring Hope could find no peaceful home:
Affection struggled with o'erwhelming Care,
Suspense alone contended with Despair.
Report convey'd the glorious tale of Fame—
Alas! no tidings from Fitzormond came.
Must then the wretched mother learn to think
Of that pale herald who would break Love's link,
Give to her bosom wild Distraction's flow,
Sever her heart-strings with the scythe of woe?
"A footstep—list!"—'twas but the aspen leaf
Trembling, in tender sympathy, with grief!
The spaniel barks—he scents the passing gale—
"Is that a post-horn in the distant vale?"
"Fitzormond lives!"—"Repeat the blissful sound!"
"He lives—though wounded yet with honor crown'd:
"High spirit prompted and success decreed
"His arm should gain a dear and deathless meed.
"Gallant he broke through an opposing mass,
'"And hew'd a way to let his charger pass,
"Sprung on the Eagle with a Lion's pride,
"And bore the trophy to the British side;
"Severely wounded in the dang'rous fray,
"His life hung doubtful till the close of day.
"Returning morn revived him—and again
"He joins his comrades in the Victor's train."
CERES, indulgent, pour'd her golden store
O'er wide demesne and at the cottage-door:
The forest deck'd in tints of various dye,
Hail'd Autumn smiling in the deep-blue sky.
Again Fitzormond saw the village-green,
The grove, the river, and the spire between;
Again remember'd life's enraptured dawn,—
Beheld his mansion, hail'd the spreading lawn;
Again beheld each spot to Memory dear,
And, rich in feeling, gave a happy tear!
Oh! could he e'er forget the lonely vale,
Where his young heart first throbb'd at Glory's tale?
Rested the vet'ran in earth's narrow bed,
Or wept he yet within the humble shed?
"His wither'd nerve will thrill, his heart rejoice,
"His ear will vibrate at my well-known voice."
"Ay, brave Fitzormond! 'twas a brilliant day
"That saw the lion on the eagle prey.
"I thought my veins were stagnant, but they felt
"The icy torpor in their currents melt;
Soothing as sounds that lull the babe to rest,
On the soft pillow of a mother's breast,
And gentle as the seraph-breathing smile,
That fondly dimples on her cheek the while
She gives her blessing with a balmy kiss,
Then lays her infant on the couch of bliss—
So tranquil can the Christian hero die;
No gloomy murmur in his final sigh:
His soul's repose etherial guardians keep,
And life exhausted sinks in placid sleep.
Now spread the sail—salute the Island-Queen,
Smiling on Plenty in a robe of green;
While Peace and Flora to her altars bring
The blooming olive in the vase of Spring.
Inviting rivers charm on ev'ry side,
Pouring their tribute to the Ocean-tide.
Imperial Thames! the Naiads' darling stream,
Neptune's pavilion, and the Muses' theme.
Gondolas, bridges, palaces, and wealth,
Enjoyment, luxury, delight and health
Assemble here, exceeding proudest thought
That Egypt cherish'd, or that Carthage taught.
O Cleopatra! when thy gilded feet
Spread silk and silver and the ivory seat,
Could the aquatic deities believe,
Or mortal fancies venture to conceive,
That gairish pageantry would yet create
Gayer flotilla, and superior state?
But did Egyptian Princess ever share,
Yachts so resplendent as Lodona's mayor?
Lodona! fairest, brightest, most renown'd,
By Arts encircled and by Science crown'd;
The mart of Industry, Life's fullest tide,
Learning's emporium and Britannia's pride:
Long may'st thou flourish, long deserve to be
Respected, eulogized, revered, and free.
Pass many an islet, many a shelt'ring bay,
Where zephyrs fondly with the blue wave play;
The balmy fragrance of the hills inhale,
And bless the echoes of the breathing vale:
Behold the beacon, and the sparkling shore,
The secret signal, useful semaphore,
The promontory's height, the dazzling cliff,
The anchor'd bulwark, and the floating skiff.
Splendor and wealth are wafted on the breeze,
Whilst Commerce smiles along the peopled seas.
Those who ne'er wander from the busy strand,
Welcome at home the growth of every land;
The gem, the spice, the fruit, and the perfume,
The Persian fabric, Oriental plume.
Far as the eye can stretch 'tis England still,
The verdant meadow, the aspiring hill,
The chalky cliff, the castle and the cot,
The splendid turret, and the silent grot,
The crowded city, and the hamlet, poor
In Fortune's gifts, but rich in Freedom's store!
To thee, loved Albion! now a short adieu,
The course we vary, but the song pursue.
HAIL, Caledonia! though bare hills be thine,
Though round thy temples no soft myrtles twine,
Though at thy feet spread no luxuriant vine—
Yet through thy land the soul of Freedom glows,
Born 'mid the storm and nurtured in the snows.
Oh! in that land where Wallace nobly bled,
Where Valour oft the heart's last drop hath shed;
Where the rough Highlands shelter'd Learning's ghost,
From the last crush of an invading host;
Where Bards, half-veil'd by mist, of Freedom sung,
And clans re-echoed in the mountain-tongue,
Gave the full pibroch to the list'ning vale
And warm'd the ardent spirit of the Gael;—
Still may the minstrel-harp delighted swell,
'Mong Highland mounts and in the lowland dell;
Give the proud cadence to the eaglet's wing,
Or lone Saint Kilda's (7)
downy tribute bring:
Or let a muse the barren Orkneys seek,
In distant loneliness obscure and bleak;
Embrace the silence of the breezy steep,
And wait the shell's wild echoes to the deep.
Hark! a new Minstrel, in a softer tone,
Proclaims this dreary solitude her own.
Clear as the azure of Italian sky,
Pure as the essence of a Vestal's sigh,
Chaste as the echo beard in Eden's grove,
When Eve first listen'd to the voice of love:
The diapason full, the concords blest,
Oh! ne'er was harp by softer fingers prest.
Spontaneous, artless, as the playful light
That throws a radiance on the summer-night
O'er the dark summit of the mountain's brow,
And o'er the scath'd tree's solitary bough,
So sung the Minstrel to the vocal breeze
That woke the silence of the Hebrides.
"On lonely rock, or distant hill,
The Poets woo me, win me still,
Their voices rouse enthusiast-soul,
Above despair—beyond control:
Each chord, each cadence of the lyre
Revives the ling'ring, latent fire.
'Tis strange how Mem'ry finds her power
Aroused by this lone, weeping flow'r—
'Tis strange how Fancy links her chain
Around ideas of the brain,
Lending to simplest stem that wreathes
A tendril where a Minstrel breathes,
A charm so sweet and so refined,
As wakes the melody of mind,
And bids me, on this rock sublime,
Record a tale of olden time.
THE roseate blush with lilies blending,
The golden locks on snow descending,
The eye half closed in ecstasy,
The heart that throbs to Minstrelsy,
Oh! if awoke from dream like this,
Torn from the soul's long-promised bliss,
Expell'd from Paradise alone,
Each hope extinguish'd, rapture flown;
Man wanders, joyless, through the world,
Like rebel-angel downward hurl'd,
The fountain-spring of hope destroy'd,
And life a sunless, starless void.
O'er his wan cheek the bitter tear
Falls on a wilderness so drear,
That, like the desert's sandy show'r,
It helps to scorch the wither'd flow'r.
Can man thus feel the potent dart
Sting through his lacerated heart—
Then how could Anna's bosom bear,
That fair as soft and soft as fair,
Knew not a joy on earth beside
The hope of living Ronald's bride—
How shall her soul conceal its woe,
How shall her heart sustain the blow,
When taught her wedded faith must prove
Not his who won her virgin love.
Though in the closest folds conceal'd,
Love needs not speech to be reveal'd:
The eye that seeks, the cheek that glows,
Like roses 'mid the Lapland snows,(8)
Pure, genuine all from Nature's book
Have ne'er deceived observing look.
'My Anna, do not linger here,
'Trust Ronald's love, trust Ronald's tear;
'Ere the young moon in yonder sky
'Can, full-orbed, hear thy Ronald's sigh,
'In dreary dungeon-keep immured,
'They thought their victim was secured,
'Thought higher rank and richer spouse
'Should have my long-loved Anna's vows.
'But Ronald breaks the prison-gloom,
'That but for thee had been his tomb:
'He comes, beloved! he comes to save—
'And well thou know'st thy Ronald brave.
'Trust to my arm though night be dark,
'Haste, join with me a friendly bark,
'That only waits thy heav'nly form—
'Nay, fear no pirate, dread no storm;
'The sail once spread the fates will smile
'And we shall find some happy isle
The glimm'ring night-star leads them on—
The vessel gained—the lovers gone!
The canvass crowds on ev'ry mast,
The turret fades, the watch-tow'r past:
And now 'tis only sea and sky
That meet the happy sailor's eye.
Day gaily pass'd, the breeze was fair,
And Night put on no robe of care.
Anna felt ev'ry care beguiled
When Ronald sung, when Ronald smiled;
And but to bless her Ronald's hand,
Scarce breath'd a wish to hail the land.
Those balms that only Love can find
To still the throbbings of the mind,
That solace which can sweetly spread
A charm when other chagrins are fled,
Lives that cold being who never knew
How souls can thrill when souls are true?
Is there an eye contemptuous closes
On young Love's blooming wreath of roses?
Is there a nerve that never felt
When Truth has sigh'd and Honor knelt—
When Love was life, when life was Love—
A pure chaste lustre from above,
Not that false phantom, drest like Joy,
First to mislead and then destroy,
To lure the senses, break the heart,
And bid lost Innocence depart—
Oh, no!—Love dies in arms impure,
But lives in Virtue's breast secure.
The curling wave began to rise,
As if to threat the frowning skies;
The Sun declined with alter'd hue,
The eve on stormy darkness flew;
The moon conceal'd her lucid orb,
Dense clouds each cheering ray absorb.
Loud raged the storm—the rocking mast
Felt the rude fury of the blast,
Bent with a shiver'd, fearful crash,
While thunders roll and lightnings flash.
Black boist'rous waves the deck o'erwhelm,
Wash the brave pilot from the helm,
Fiercely besiege the vessel's sides,
That shatter'd on the billow rides.
'No, Ronald, love! I do not fear,
' 'Tis but for thee falls Anna's tear.
'The day that made thy fortunes mine
'Made ev'ry thought of Anna's thine,
'Ye cruel tempests! Oh, abate—
'Let Love's bright star relume our fate.
'Have coral-rocks, the sea-nymphs' grove,
'An altar for the gifts of Love?
'Or may we find in halls of storm,
'His downy wing and fragile form?
'Say, does he live in friendly shell[17]
'To cheer Fidelity's farewell?
'Yes, Ronald, yes! though tempest-gloom
'On shipwreck'd promise rear our tomb,
'Soul of my hopes! thy pallid cheek
'Betrays the dread thou canst not speak.
'To Heav'n's resplendent gate is flown
'That cherub Mercy calls her own.
'But if my pray'r too late ascend
'And Love has found in Heaven no friend,
'Then, then the same absorbing wave
'That rolls round thee is Ronald's grave.'
The bursting clouds in torrents fell,
Black whirlwinds like the demons yell,
Despair sat hideous on the prow
To mock the hopeless Ronald's vow.
Heav'ns what a plunge! 'tis sure the last—
Death's ebon hand is in that blast!
No! Ronald's vesper pray'r had sped—
Despair and all her demons fled.
Day cheer'd the spent and toil-worn band—
The watchman's voice proclaim'd 'the land!'
Which drooping eye-lids rise to meet
With silent joy; in haste to greet
The purple peak, the rising sun—
It seem'd as life had just begun;
As if the nerve, new-strung for joy,
Could feel no future ills annoy—
It were as if redeemed again,
A spirit freed from Eblis' chain,
Had found the throne and join'd the choir
That tune in Heav'n the golden lyre.
As fair an Island (9)
met their view
As e'er the hand of Nature drew
To wake each grateful, high sensation,
That crowns the beauty of Creation.
Attractive landscape, murm'ring rill,
Luxuriant valley, fruit-crown'd hill,
Gay amphitheatres of flow'rs,
Cedar walks and citron bow'rs,
Vines, beyond example, blessing,
Ev'ry blossom worth possessing,
Ev'ry charm in Eden found
Ere Adam learnt to till the ground,
Each bud that scents the ambient air,
And all—but lordly Man was there!
His voice had ne'er been heard to bless
This blooming, beauteous wilderness;
Ne'er had it echoed until now
To female song, or lover's vow.
The birds their grateful notes had chanted
'Mid groves their bounteous Maker planted,
And not less sweet their notes were heard
Now beauty listen'd, Man appear'd.
'Beneath this rich banana tree
'Anna, I give my soul to thee.
'The vows pronounced, the promise made
''Neath cloister'd arch, or sky-roof'd shade,
'Where thousands wait, or none e'er trod,
'Are heard alike by Nature's God.
'Then let our rev'rend follower bind
'The sweetest, fairest of her kind,
'With that mysterious, sacred wreath,
'On which Elysian zephyrs breathe,
'To me, to Ronald. Love and bliss,
'I swear by this soul-breathing kiss,
'Shall for thee, Anna, fondly twine,
'When holy rites have made thee mine.
'To guard thy sylph-like, airy form
'From eve too chill, or morn too warm,
Ye empires afar though your blossoms entwine,
'Though ye gem every wreath with a smile,
'Though the Star of your Glory asbestos-like, shine,
'Ye rival not Ronald's lone isle.
'Let the harp sleep in silence, the song be no more
'That monopolized bliss to your sphere,
'Let the transient leaf fade, let your triumph be o'er,
'For the blossom of Eden is here.
'Ocean welcomed a tribute so pure and so chaste,
'And bade his rough billows be calm;
'Hope, smiling auspicious, across the blue waste,
'Presented a branch from the palm.
'Fidelity nurtured the wandering boy,
'And, then with a soul-cheering smile,
'Sent this bloom everlasting, from regions of Joy,
'To bless the sweet maid of the Isle.'
'Ronald, young Love has never known
'More genial clime, more blissful zone
'Since from Elysian field he stray'd
'To warm the heart of youth, or maid—
'Since he awoke the matin lay
'Of Nature's first-born holiday;
'Or since the Bulbul flew to meet
'The Rose, to make his note more sweet,
'Than here, sequester'd from the throng,
'He breathes in Ronald's welcome song.
'When chapel-bells were gaily ringing,
'And guests the joyful anthems singing;
'And when the stately bridegroom came
'To give the flatter'd girl his name;
'When Pageantry's whole suite attended
'To make the sacrifice more splendid—
'I only saw the rowan-tree,
'Where Love had graved, 'Remember me!'
'When the proud palfrey forth was led,
'With velvet 'neath the saddle spread,
'Throughout this dear and blissful spot,
'Love whispers soft, 'Forget me not!'
'And when I left my father's hall,
'At Love's command, at Ronald's call;
'When shudd'ring on the stormy brink,
'Life's cable seem'd a cobweb link—
'Though Duty sigh'd, and Feeling wept,
'My heart Love's dearest impulse kept.
'This flow'ret on my bosom placed,
'Is such as suits thy Anna's taste,
'In Paradise it learnt to blow,
'There found its everlasting glow,
'And when the erring pair were driven,
'The female lapse by Man forgiven,
'Perhaps this leaf by Eve was taken
'To prove that she was not forsaken,
'While the sole partner of her life
'Kept Heav'n's best gift, a faithful wife!'
'My Ronald should'st thou e'er forget,
'Or teach Remembrance to regret
The blissful hour that first we met—
'Or should the bloom of health decline,
'And youthful charms no more be mine,
'This flow'r a talisman shall prove
'To point the home of wand'ring Love.
'If faithful in that faithless world,
'Where future time may see us hurl'd,
'Though ev'ry breath that fans thy lip
'Be such as bees on Hybla sip,
'Though ev'ry tress of golden hair,
'That curls around thy forehead fair,
If ever ray of perfect bliss
Were found in sphere remote as this,
If ever song or look delighted,
If earth e'er angel-wing invited,
If ever Truth with Joy combined
To bless the best of human-kind,
If ever Love met Virtue's smile
'Twas in this dear and lonely isle.
Can Ronald's hand thus firmly tie
Branches that look'd toward the sky,
Can he who ne'er essay'd to bring
Aught but the hooded falcon's wing,
In hand so delicately fair
That ivory found a rival there,
Now plan and build with such design
And stretch the architectural line,
As if he purposed this retreat
A palace for Minerva's seat?
Has quick contrivance ever thought,
Or labour to perfection brought
A work so rapid and so fair,
When gold alone paid ev'ry care,
As when the sole reward was such
As all might envy, none dared touch?
The sweetest chord in manly heart,
Above the tempting wiles of art,
Beyond the meretricious charms
Found in the base Seductress' arms,
Is when his thought knows that recess
Where female virtue waits to bless
The one who lives for her alone,
Whom he as truly calls his own.
Spirit that never knew to yield
In sweeping storm, or deadly field,
Courage that dared the haughtiest foe,
Valour that laid the boaster low,
Pride that opposed, though want might press
A soul superior to distress,
The balmy eve was so serene
Heav'n's vestibule was almost seen;
The choral angels hymning there
Beheld and bless'd the exiled pair:
Who now from all, but Love, remote,
Welcomed again the coming boat.
The vessel fitted to proceed
O'er distant seas her way must speed,
And Ronald's wish and Anna's pray'r
Would grateful sailor gladly bear.
Iris, adorn'd in every hue,
Ne'er waited on the gazer's view—
The gossamer that flits on air
Is gone—ere voice pronounce it fair—
The ephemeral life of summer-fly,
That lives just long enough to die—
The April promise transient, vain,
When frosts and flow'rs alternate reign—
All these are certain as that minion,
Fluttering on a sportive pinion,
To let deluded mortals guess
Her shape and bloom is Happiness.
'Twas in that soft delicious hour
When Bulbuls all their raptures pour,
Persuaded the attentive moon
Has softer charms than summer-noon;
When flow'rs that shun the gairish ray
Meridian sun-beams lend the day,
Will only let their petals blow
To meet the Twilight's chasten'd glow,
Ronald's firm nerve half-hid its pain;
But Hope for Anna smiled in vain!
Health's lovely tint was hers no more,
And tend'rest zeal could not restore
The magic lustre of her eyes,
That oped in bliss, but closed in sighs!
'Ronald, that life Love held so dear
'Prepares to seek another sphere:
'The cold recesses of a tomb
'Demand her heart, whose only home
'Was Ronald's bosom. Oh! that sigh,
'That tear in Truth's devoted eye,
Would almost teach me to rebel
'At this precipitate farewell.
'To thee my ev'ry thought was giv'n,
'I have anticipated Heav'n.
'If from the radiant porch I steal
'The new found glory to reveal,
'And to my Ronald's visions bring
'A balsam on etherial wing,
'Drawn from the everlasting flower
'Transplanted to an angel's bower,
'Then will thy heart control regret;
'But not, beloved! no!—not forget
'Thy Anna—for her spirit near
'Unseen will bless a thought so dear.
'Thy hand, love, o'er my dewy brow—
'I never felt more blest than now!
'The smile that charm'd my ev'ry sadness
'Yet ling'ring waits to calm my madness!—
'It fades—it yields to Death's decree—
'Inhume beneath yon sacred tree
'The all affection made my own,
'The all that earth of heav'n has known!
'Oh! Father, ere were join'd our hands
'Eternal Truth had woven bands
'That prove too strong for Death's dark art
'To tear from Ronald's riven heart.
'End not the pray'r, close not the book—
'Saw'st thou my Anna's parting look?—
'I watch'd her glance—her fading cheek—
'Heard her last sound of Ronald speak,
'I think yon mourning sea-boy said
Far in the north a sail seem'd spread:
My blissful journey will begin
'Ere day-light shew the voy'ger in.
'Yet, rev'rend Father! ere ye go
'Perpetuate Ronald's tale of woe;
With Anna's make my funeral pile;
'Speak of this much-loved, distant isle.
Let not the spot where Love's entomb'd
'To cold Forgetfulness be doom'd.
'A sacred cross should mark the place
'And on the ever hallow'd space
Phingali*
listen'd from her midnight car,
While dewy tears gemm'd each revolving star.
Ere dawning day the magic harp was gone;
From Faira's (10)
isle the plaintive minstrel flown!
The once-loved rock forsaken, seem'd to mourn,
And crown'd with sea-shells Love's imagined urn.
Deserted, dreary, desolate and rude,
'Tis Nature's monument to Solitude.
The Moon.
RETURN, Eione, Oh! again return,
On this lone altar let thy incense burn:
Thy form reveal, thy heav'nly art disclose,
On kindred bosom let thy harp repose.
String, lorn as mine, can wake not silv'ry sound
To charm like thine, beyond horizon's bound,
Or I would breathe the sweetest strain to call
Thee, vanish'd Minstrel, to an Ossian hall.
Again attune, till thine my lyre resemble;
Or shall I seek thee where the Bards assemble?
One whisper through the empyrean air,
One smile from Beauty so divinely fair,
Would teach my soul the harmony of bliss,
Might lead me on to distant Salamis.
Sing, and I'll follow! though the dark blue wave
Bathe rich Pactolus, or a Mermaid's cave;
Or where the Granicus, now minor font,
Presents a tribute to the Hellespont,
Where Wonder points to Niagara's fall (11)
;
Or Echo answers the Muezzin's (12)
call.
Sing, and I'll follow! though on Zembla's snows;
Or where the torrid beam perpetual glows;
Or where the caravans from rich Khathay (13)
Spread a rude tent upon the sandy way,
Beguiling toil with song, or eastern tale,
Till springs refresh them in Tobolskoi's (14)
vale.
Sing, and I'll follow! though to far Kiosk;
Or where the pilgrim seeks Medina's mosque;
Or where the goddess mourns her Athens dead;
Or weeping gods wail Grecia's spirit fled;
Or where the prowess of immortal Rome
A world subdued—then sunk into the tomb!
Say shall I find thee where Italia's sky
Beams warmly as her gay nymphs' sparkling eye?
Or shall I meet thee, blushing as thou art,
In female sweetness and with vestal heart,
Where Gallia's fair array, attract, invite,
Dance through the day and revel through the night?
Frequent and sweet the magic harp has blest
The green hills smiling in the genial west.
What land has rear'd more famed Parnassian flowers
Than erst have bloom'd in Britain's classic bowers?
Not Greece, nor Athens, Italy nor Rome,
Not Parian cloister, nor the echoing dome,
Not icy palace, Adriatic coast,
Nor Gallia's vineyards, nor Iberia's host,
Nor Alpine mounts, nor Lusitania's plain,
—Where Camoens sung that long-neglected strain,
Which but for Strangford, loved of ev'ry muse,
Had ne'er been gemm'd by Pity's holy dews.—
Was minstrel skill e'er barter'd yet for bribe,
Or sought by Mammon's lucre-loving tribe,
CAR-BORNE on ether, blooming Hope is near!
Smiling, seraphic, from her peaceful sphere,
Conducts from Faira's islet, Cantire's rock,
From Shetland-crag and Orkney's scanty flock.
The inspiring glances of her azure eye
Unrivall'd still beneath the vaulted sky;
She, Fancy's monitress, delights to find
A ready welcome in the human mind;
Spreads fragrant viands to the suff'rer's view
Till the heart cheer'd believes her promise true—
Lays her soft hand upon the sleepless brow
Till Joy inspire the dreamer's grateful vow—
"Weaves a soft vestment for the aching nerve,
And though supreme is yet well-pleased to serve:
In all her aberrations still believed,
And worshipp'd most by those the most deceived.
AGAIN cast anchor—once more clue the sail—
Ye emerald mountains— sea-girt Erin, hail!
Never did Erin greet with aspect cold
A needy wand'rer from the muses' fold;
But in her hut displays the humble store
That marks her spirit, though it speak her poor,
Convivial circles, round her peat-warm'd hearth,
To many a tale and many a song give birth,
Though joys once hallow'd bloom no more,
Though faithless friends forget,
Though Fancy deem her blisses o'er,
Though Hope's bright star were set,
My parting tear shall dew the day,
My heartfelt sigh shall grateful say
Farewell Erin!
More gilded scene, more studied grace
May smile on other coasts,
And Art more polish'd feature trace
Than simple Erin boasts;
But Love adorns, Friends think her sweet,
And weeping Echo will repeat
Farewell Erin!
Love's fragrant incense still may rise
From ev'ry cottage thatch;
Again I hail dear Albion's sandy shore—
How happy those who distant roam no more!
Soft thrilling echoes and the eve were near
Melodious Bulbuls sooth'd the wand'rer's tear.
The zest of meditation's hallow'd love
Is midnight vision in a moonlight grove,
That looks as if Enchantment's wand had been
Employ'd to multiply the tints of green;
For as the vista opes, or branches spread,
Darkness prevails, or thousand rays are shed:
As in those gardens*
where the magic hand
Mah'met's voluptuous Paradise has plann'd,
Where dazzling lamps so artfully are placed
That light by shade and shade by light is graced.
Vauxhall.
Oh! do not, Minstrel, heard on Faira's rock,
Despise my wishes, my inquiries mock—
Oh! hither come and I'll attentive stay,
As Science traversing the milky way,
Retrace the past, review the present scene,
And if Futurity should intervene,
Hope will be near to tinge the shadowy cloud—
No more than that is even Faith allow'd.
The grove, the starry sky, the rising moon,
Have charms for me beyond the brightest noon,
And when Night's mantle wraps the world in sleep,
While winds are cradled on the tranquil deep,
The forest silent, ev'ry mountain breeze,
Hush'd in a balmy canopy of trees,
The list'ning glow-worm in her radiant hue,
Thrown like an em'rald on the pearly dew—
May Thought, on soft-wing'd Silence, dare ascend
To learn which orb is Contemplation's friend?
Yes! Thought may soar above the starry bound,
Yes! Thought can waft beyond the reach of sound,
Enter the temple built by God's own hand,
Adore His name in every distant land,
Come then, Oh, Thought! to me thy pinion lend,
Direct my flight where distant scenes extend;
Illume each vision with that sacred flame
All those who feel would Inspiration name;
Heighten the picture with that charming glow
Each kindred bosom cannot fail to know.
Though fickle Fancy pencil the design,
Though untaught artist tint the devious line,
Though in the splendid page of Nature's book
Untrain'd, untutor'd mortals dare to look,
Yet ere Thought wander to a torrid zone,
Ere British song on foreign land is thrown,
Ere Afric pride, or Asiatic frown
Refuse, contemptuous, the Olympic crown,
And spurn, perchance, the tributary strain,
As artless, tuneless, spiritless, and vain;
Ere distant fountains cool poetic thirst,
The lay to Britain shall be offer'd first.
IF e'er again resumed the artless theme,
On sacred mountain, or by classic stream,
If minstrel-harp to viewless echoes breathe,
If minstrel-hand the fairy chaplets wreathe,
If flatt'ring zephyrs stay the passing wing,
If fertile Fancy seek the buds of Spring,
If soothing murmurs through the cadence swell,
In hermit grotto, or in minstrel-cell,
Ye visions, steal not from your loved recess,
But, like the Prophet*
, turn again to bless.
Come, lovely Concord! from thy lucid sphere,
No martial host, no war-fiend hovers near:
No trumpet's clangor, nor discordant drum,
To waiting ranks proclaim "They come, they come."
But Peace, sweet Seraph! is the darling theme,
Peace, 'neath the banian to the Bramin's dream,
Elisha.
—For when he wakes to bless the poor Hindoo,
We half regret his faith should be untrue,
So mild his aspect, so composed his pray'r,
So unalloy'd by every mortal care,
That Heaven will surely bless the pious man,
And Mercy's star-beam shine on Hindostan.—
Peace to the sable race on Afric's coasts,
Peace to the contest of Columbia's hosts,
Round Europe's shores let Peace her olive strew—
For oh! how wide had spread the baleful yew!
Alas! fair Peace! although thy hallow'd smile,
Found grateful welcome in Britannia's Isle;
And blighted hearts had just began to bless
The light that shone on life's drear wilderness,
And Love restored had broke the fancied urn,
And anxious friendship hail'd the friend's return,
And hopeless sorrow hush'd the plaintive tone,
And sighs were given to Sympathy alone,
Though Hope forsaken still uncherish'd roam,
And dimly wander in Cimmerian gloom,
Though fail'd each source whence Joy her raptures drew,
Though promised bliss with rainbow swiftness flew,
Though matin sighs and vesper tears yet live,
For earthly bliss that earth no more can give—
Yet all who mourn may lift the languid eye,
And seek a solace far beyond the sky;
Joy transient here, perennial blooms above,
For faithful friendship and for sacred love!
Life's rugged path that placid thought can smooth,
The last smile animate, the last care sooth.
CLOSED now the song, and ceased the minstrel-voice,
Nor e'er again the sylvan harp her choice:
Nor strain shall breathe, nor whisp'ring echo tell
To silent shades the Muses' sad farewell.
If 'mid the flow'rets strew'd around the vase,
Remembrance seek and find a grateful pause
To joys that were—or woe but half reveal'd,
Or Love dissever'd, faithless, or conceal'd,
Or faded friendship, or that fond regret
O'er which Love weeps, but never can forget—
My task's perform'd—I will not wait to bind
The scatter'd buds my care, perchance, might find,
But lay them wild and artless as they grew, .
Scarce cheer'd by sunshine, or refresh'd with dew,
On that dear shrine where Faith and Duty kneel,
Where warm hearts languish, and where cold ones feel,—
—The shrine of Virtue, Beauty, Love, and Youth;
The tomb of Hope, of Royalty, and Truth.—
The Grecian painter who portrayed the sacrifice of Iphigenia, drew a veil over the agonized countenance of the father; such grief being beyond the power of the pencil to express.
(1) The Grecian painter who portrayed the sacrifice of Iphigenia, drew a veil over the agonized countenance of the father; such grief being beyond the power of the pencil to express.
"As the situation of Cornwall approaches so near to that of an island, it must be subject to all the disadvantages as well as reap the benefits of an island-situation. No air is absolutely pure, or free from exhalations; heat, whether it proceed from the elemental fire of all bodies, or from the power of the sun and stars, is perpetually raising into the atmosphere steams of earth and water; and, in proportion as either of those elements prevail, the adjoining air will be suitably replete with vapours; consequently in small islands, and upon the sea-coast, where the area of water is superior to that of land, the air must be moister (other circumstances being equal) than in great tracts of land, and the weather in general more subject to rain. And so we find it indeed in Cornwall, where a dry summer is a rare thing; and when other parts of England suffer by drought, Cornwall has seldom reason to complain. 'Tis true no rule with regard to weather shall always obtain in any one place, and in the year 1752, which we may reckon among some of our moistest summers throughout England, more rain fell at London than at Plymouth, according to an estimate made at both places; and in the winter 1756, there were greater complaints of the excessive rains in Essex and the parts about London, than in Cornwall: however, in general it is otherwise: but our rains in Cornwall, are rather frequent than heavy and excessive; and we have very seldom a day so thoroughly wet but that there is some intermission, nor so cloudy but that the sun will find a time to shine; the cause of which, I apprehend, is the hilly, narrow, ridge-like form of our county, over which the winds make a quick, because they have a short passage, and leave not the clouds to hang long in one place, as they do where the ground is more champaign, and full of various hollows, and trees to intercept and detain them. Another reason why we have in Cornwall more rain than in other parts of England, is, because for three parts in four of the year, the wind blows from the intermediate points of the west and the south, which wind coming over a large tract of the Atlantic ocean, and consequently fraught with much wet, discharges its moisture as soon as the current of air, which supported the clouds is diminished and broke by the cliffs and hills. It was an observation made by our Saviour that the western winds brought rain in Judea; and it could not be otherwise, because of their passing over so large a tract of the Mediterranean. The south wind, coming from the coast of Africa, had the same effect on the Adriatic, and upon the coasts of Italy and Greece:
Madides Notus evolat alis,
Terribilem picea tectus caligine vultmn;
Barba, gravis nimbis, canis fluit unda capillis,
Fronte sedent nebulæ, rorant pennæque sinusque.
(2) "As the situation of Cornwall approaches so near to that of an island, it must be subject to all the disadvantages as well as reap the benefits of an island-situation. No air is absolutely pure, or free from exhalations; heat, whether it proceed from the elemental fire of all bodies, or from the power of the sun and stars, is perpetually raising into the atmosphere steams of earth and water; and, in proportion as either of those elements prevail, the adjoining air will be suitably replete with vapours; consequently in small islands, and upon the sea-coast, where the area of water is superior to that of land, the air must be moister (other circumstances being equal) than in great tracts of land, and the weather in general more subject to rain. And so we find it indeed in Cornwall, where a dry summer is a rare thing; and when other parts of England suffer by drought, Cornwall has seldom reason to complain. 'Tis true no rule with regard to weather shall always obtain in any one place, and in the year 1752, which we may reckon among some of our moistest summers throughout England, more rain fell at London than at Plymouth, according to an estimate made at both places; and in the winter 1756, there were greater complaints of the excessive rains in Essex and the parts about London, than in Cornwall: however, in general it is otherwise: but our rains in Cornwall, are rather frequent than heavy and excessive; and we have very seldom a day so thoroughly wet but that there is some
Madides Notus evolat alis,
Terribilem picea tectus caligine vultmn;
Barba, gravis nimbis, canis fluit unda capillis,
Fronte sedent nebulæ, rorant pennæque sinusque.
'Tis very probable that my seamanship may subject me to the criticism of nautical readers. Reviewers, by profession, are not, I presume, among that number; consequently the comments of the latter, on sea-phrases, will not alarm me. It may not be superfluous to add that my circum-navigation has been confined to a coasting voyage I once had the pleasure to make in a sloop of war, commanded by an highly-respected officer, Captain Hire, whose lady I accompanied, and who, with her husband, I am still happy to enumerate among my most valued friends. I am also glad to find this opportunity of bearing testimony to the gentlemanlike attention of the officers then serving under Captain Hire's command. Their politeness excused my troublesome inquisitiveness, and assisted my desire to obtain information on subjects connected with the naval service.
(3) 'Tis very probable that my seamanship may subject me to the criticism of nautical readers. Reviewers, by profession, are not, I presume, among that number; consequently the comments of the latter, on sea-phrases, will not alarm me. It may not be superfluous to add that my circum-navigation has been confined to a coasting voyage I once had the pleasure to make in a sloop of war, commanded by an highly-respected officer, Captain Hire, whose lady I accompanied, and who, with her husband, I am still happy to enumerate among my most valued friends. I am also glad to find this opportunity of bearing testimony to the gentlemanlike attention of the officers then serving under Captain Hire's command. Their politeness excused my troublesome inquisitiveness, and assisted my desire to obtain information on subjects connected with the naval service.
To those who are unacquainted with nautical phraseology it may not be improper to explain that junk is the seaman's appellation for the salt beef that forms a prominent dish in sea-luxuries. The term was borrowed, I believe, from that given to cables when condemned and cut into short pieces, to be re-manufactured into oakum.
Though the fare be coarse, hard, and uninviting, yet a midshipman's mess-table is proverbial for the happiness by which it is surrounded: indeed, cheerful contentment under privation forms a distinguishing trait in the naval character.
(4) To those who are unacquainted with nautical phraseology it may not be improper to explain that junk is the seaman's appellation for the salt beef that forms a prominent dish in sea-luxuries. The term was borrowed, I believe, from that given to cables when condemned and cut into short pieces, to be re-manufactured into oakum.
Though the fare be coarse, hard, and uninviting, yet a midshipman's mess-table is proverbial for the happiness by which it is surrounded: indeed, cheerful contentment under privation forms a distinguishing trait in the naval character.
Hamilton Moore's Epitome of Navigation is considered so essentially useful that it is generally included in the list of a young officer's sea-stock; and hence it has been denominated (less profanely than thoughtlessly, I would hope,) "a midshipman's bible."
(5) Hamilton Moore's Epitome of Navigation is considered so essentially useful that it is generally included in the list of a young officer's sea-stock; and hence it has been denominated (less profanely than thoughtlessly, I would hope,) "a midshipman's bible."
Sir John Sinclair's account of the Battle of Waterloo furnishes an instance of personal valour very similar to that which I have attempted to describe. The principal difference is that the hero mentioned by the Baronet was a sergeant (Ewart) in the Scotch Greys. Availing myself of poetical privilege, I have given Fitzormond higher rank.
(6) Sir John Sinclair's account of the Battle of Waterloo furnishes an instance of personal valour very similar to that which I have attempted to describe. The principal difference is that the hero mentioned by the Baronet was a sergeant (Ewart) in the Scotch Greys. Availing myself of poetical privilege, I have given Fitzormond higher rank.
Saint Kilda is one of the Hebrides. The vast number of birds that resort thither afford a useful, and certainly a very comfortable article in the catalogue of traffic, namely, feathers.
(7) Saint Kilda is one of the Hebrides. The vast number of birds that resort thither afford a useful, and certainly a very comfortable article in the catalogue of traffic, namely, feathers.
"And fringed with roses Tenglio rolls his stream."
(8)
"And fringed with roses Tenglio rolls his stream."
The less modern geographical publications give the subjoined romantic account of the discovery of the Island of Madeira, on which the reader will have perceived is founded a part of these fragments; which must have been excluded had the work preserved a regular form.
The variation I have presumed to make in the situation of the parties, will not, I trust, be disapproved, elopements in married life having quite survived their novelty.
"In the reign of Edward the Third, a young gentleman, named Robert Machin, conceived a violent passion for Ann D'Arfet, a beautiful and accomplished lady of a noble family. Machin, with respect to birth and fortune, was inferior to the lady; but his personal qualifications overcame every scruple on that account, and she rewarded his attachment with a reciprocal affection. Their friends, however, beheld the young gentleman in a different light; they fancied their blood would be contaminated by an alliance with one of a lower rank, and therefore determined to sacrifice the happiness of the young lady, to the hereditary pride of blood, and their own mercenary and interested motives.
"In consequence of these ideas a warrant was procured from the king, under the sanction of which Machin was apprehended, and kept in close confinement, till the object of his affections was married to a nobleman, whose chief merit lay in his honorary title and large possessions; and, immediately after the nuptial ceremony was over, the peer took his beautiful bride with him to a strong castle, which he had in the neighbourhood of Bristol, and then the unfortunate lover was set at liberty.
"After being released from his cruel confinement, Machin was acquainted that his mistress had been compelled to give her hand to another. This rendered him almost frantic, and he vowed to revenge the violence done to the lady, and the injury which he had himself sustained. With this view he imparted his design to some of his friends and companions, who engaged to accompany him to Bristol, and assist him in whatever enterprise he undertook.
"Accordingly one of his comrades contrived to get himself hired by the nobleman as a servant, and being by that means introduced into the family, he soon found an opportunity to let the lady know the sentiments and intentions of her lover; when she fully entered into all his projects, and promised to comply with whatever he should propose.
"In order to facilitate the design, the lady appeared more cheerful than usual, which lulled every suspicion that her lord might have. otherwise entertained: she also entreated permission to ride out daily to take the air for the benefit of her health, which request her consort easily granted. This point being gained, she did not fail to take advantage of it, by riding out every morning accompanied by one servant only, who was her lover's companion, he having been previously appointed always to attend her.
"Matters being thus prepared, she one day rode out as usual, when her attendant conducted her to his friend, who waited at the sea-side to receive her. They all three immediately entered a boat and soon reached a ship, that lay at some distance ready to receive them on board, and Machin having attained the object of his wishes, immediately, with the assistance of his associates, set sail, intending to proceed to France; but, all the ship's crew being ignorant of maritime affairs, and the wind blowing a hard gale, they missed their port, and the next morning, to their astonishment, found themselves driven into the main ocean. In this miserable condition they abandoned themselves to despair, and committed their fates to the mercy of the waves.
"Without a pilot, almost destitute of provisions, and quite devoid of hope, they were tossed about for the space of thirteen days. At length, when the morning of the fourteenth day began to dawn, they fancied they could distinguish the appearance of land; and when the sun rose, to their great joy, they could distinctly perceive it was such. Their pleasure, however, was in some measure lessened by the reflection that it was a strange country; for they plainly perceived that it was covered with a variety of trees, of whose nature and appearance they had not the least knowledge.
"Soon after this some of them landed, in order to make their observations on the country; when returning soon after to the vessel, they highly commended the place, but, at the same time, believed there were no inhabitants in it.
"The lovers, with some of their friends, then landed, leaving the rest to take care of the ship. The country appeared beautifully diversified with hills and dales, shaded with various trees, and watered by many clear, meandering streams. The most beautiful birds of different species perched upon their heads, arms and hands, unapprehensive of danger; and several kinds of wild beasts approached, without offering any violence to them.
"After having penetrated through several woody recesses, they entered a fine meadow admirably encircled with a border of laurels, finely enamelled with various flowers, and happily watered with a crystal rivulet. Upon an eminence in the midst of this meadow, they saw a lofty spreading tree, the beauty of which invited them to repose under its shade and partake of the shelter it would afford them from the piercing rays of the sun. They at length attempted to make a temporary residence beneath this tree; and providing themselves boughs from the neighbouring woods, they built several small huts or arbours. They passed their time very agreeably in this place, whence they made frequent excursions into the neighbouring country admiring its strange productions and various beauties. Their happiness, however, was of no long continuance; for one night a terrible storm arose from the north-east, which tore the ship from her anchors, and drove her to sea. The crew were obliged to submit to the mercy of the elements, when they were driven to the coast of Morocco, where the ship being stranded, the whole crew was made captive by the Moors.
"Machin and his companions having missed the ship the next morning, concluded she had foundered. This new calamity plunged them into the deepest melancholy, and so greatly affected the lady, that she could no longer support herself. She had before continually nourished her grief by sad presages of the enterprise ending in some fatal catastrophe to all concerned; but the shock of the recent disaster struck her dumb, and she expired three days afterwards.
"The death of the lady affected Machin to such a degree that he survived her but four days, notwithstanding the utmost endeavours of his companions to afford him consolation. Previous to his death he begged them to place his body in the same grave with hers which they had made at the foot of an altar, erected under the beautiful, lofty tree before mentioned. They afterwards placed upon it a large wooden cross, and near them an inscription, drawn up by Machin himself, containing a succinct account of the whole adventure: and concluded with a request, that if any Christians should come thither to settle, that they would build and dedicate a church to Jesus Christ upon that spot.
"Juan Gonsalvo commenced his second voyage in May 1421, and arriving at Madeira, he cast anchor in the road, till then called the English Port; but Gonsalvo, in honour of the first discoverer, then called it Puerto de Machino, from which name it was corrupted to Machico, which it now bears. He then ordered the spreading, beautiful tree (under which Machin and his companion had made their residence) to be cut down, and a small church to be erected with the timber, which, in conformity to Machin's request, he dedicated to Jesus Christ, and intersected the pavement of the choir with the bones of the two unfortunate lovers."
(9) The less modern geographical publications give the subjoined romantic account of the discovery of the Island of Madeira, on which the reader will have perceived is founded a part of these fragments; which must have been excluded had the work preserved a regular form.
The variation I have presumed to make in the situation of the parties, will not, I trust, be disapproved, elopements in married life having quite survived their novelty.
"In the reign of Edward the Third, a young gentleman, named Robert Machin, conceived a violent passion for Ann D'Arfet, a beautiful and accomplished lady of a noble family. Machin, with respect to birth and fortune, was inferior to the lady; but his personal qualifications overcame every scruple on that account, and she rewarded his attachment with a reciprocal affection. Their friends, however, beheld the young gentleman in a different light; they fancied their blood would be contaminated by an alliance with one of a lower rank, and therefore determined to sacrifice the happiness of the young lady, to the hereditary pride of blood, and their own mercenary and interested motives.
"In consequence of these ideas a warrant was procured from the king, under the sanction of which Machin was apprehended, and kept in close confinement, till the object of his affections was married to a nobleman, whose chief merit lay in his honorary title and large possessions; and, immediately after the nuptial ceremony was over, the peer took his beautiful bride with him to a strong castle, which he had in the neighbourhood of Bristol, and then the unfortunate lover was set at liberty.
"After being released from his cruel confinement, Machin was acquainted that his mistress had been compelled to give her hand to another. This rendered him almost frantic, and he vowed to revenge the violence done to the lady, and the injury which he had himself sustained. With this view he imparted his design to some of his friends and companions, who engaged to accompany him to Bristol, and assist him in whatever enterprise he undertook.
"Accordingly one of his comrades contrived to get himself hired by the nobleman as a servant, and being by that means introduced into the family, he soon found an opportunity to let the lady know the sentiments and intentions of her lover; when she fully entered into all his projects, and promised to comply with whatever he should propose.
"In order to facilitate the design, the lady appeared more
"Matters being thus prepared, she one day rode out as usual, when her attendant conducted her to his friend, who waited at the sea-side to receive her. They all three immediately entered a boat and soon reached a ship, that lay at some distance ready to receive them on board, and Machin having attained the object of his wishes, immediately, with the assistance of his associates, set sail, intending to proceed to France; but, all the ship's crew being ignorant of maritime affairs, and the wind blowing a hard gale, they missed their port, and the next morning, to their astonishment, found themselves driven into the main ocean. In this miserable condition they abandoned themselves to despair, and committed their fates to the mercy of the waves.
"Without a pilot, almost destitute of provisions, and quite devoid of hope, they were tossed about for the space of thirteen days. At length, when the morning of the fourteenth day began to dawn, they fancied they could distinguish the appearance of land; and when the sun rose, to their great joy, they could distinctly perceive it was such. Their pleasure, however, was in some measure lessened by the reflection that it was a strange country; for they plainly perceived that it was covered with a variety of trees, of whose nature and appearance they had not the least knowledge.
"Soon after this some of them landed, in order to make their observations on the country; when returning soon after to the vessel, they highly commended the place, but, at the same time, believed there were no inhabitants in it.
"The lovers, with some of their friends, then landed, leaving the rest to take care of the ship. The country appeared beautifully diversified with hills and dales, shaded with various trees, and watered by many clear, meandering streams. The most beautiful birds of different species perched upon their heads, arms and hands, unapprehensive of danger; and several kinds of wild beasts approached, without offering any violence to them.
"After having penetrated through several woody recesses, they entered a fine meadow admirably encircled with a border of laurels, finely enamelled with various flowers, and happily watered with a crystal rivulet. Upon an eminence in the midst of this meadow, they saw a lofty spreading tree, the beauty of which invited them to repose under its shade and partake of the shelter it would afford them from the piercing rays of the sun. They at length attempted to make a temporary residence beneath this tree; and providing themselves boughs from the neighbouring woods, they built several small huts or arbours. They passed their time very agreeably in this place, whence they made frequent excursions into the neighbouring country admiring its strange productions and various beauties. Their happiness, however, was of no long continuance; for one night a terrible storm arose from the north-east, which tore the ship from her anchors, and drove her to sea. The crew were obliged to submit to the mercy of the elements, when they were driven to the coast of Morocco, where the ship being stranded, the whole crew was made captive by the Moors.
"Machin and his companions having missed the ship the next morning, concluded she had foundered. This new calamity plunged them into the deepest melancholy, and so greatly affected the lady, that she could no longer support herself. She had before continually nourished her grief by sad presages of the enterprise ending in some fatal catastrophe to all concerned; but the
"The death of the lady affected Machin to such a degree that he survived her but four days, notwithstanding the utmost endeavours of his companions to afford him consolation. Previous to his death he begged them to place his body in the same grave with hers which they had made at the foot of an altar, erected under the beautiful, lofty tree before mentioned. They afterwards placed upon it a large wooden cross, and near them an inscription, drawn up by Machin himself, containing a succinct account of the whole adventure: and concluded with a request, that if any Christians should come thither to settle, that they would build and dedicate a church to Jesus Christ upon that spot.
"Juan Gonsalvo commenced his second voyage in May 1421, and arriving at Madeira, he cast anchor in the road, till then called the English Port; but Gonsalvo, in honour of the first discoverer, then called it Puerto de Machino, from which name it was corrupted to Machico, which it now bears. He then ordered the spreading, beautiful tree (under which Machin and his companion had made their residence) to be cut down, and a small church to be erected with the timber, which, in conformity to Machin's request, he dedicated to Jesus Christ, and intersected the pavement of the choir with the bones of the two unfortunate lovers."
I possess no learning, and am obliged, consequently, to borrow illustration from my more enviable precursors. The elegant translator of Anacreon will, I hope, pardon the liberty I have taken in not only adopting his idea, but adapting it to the expression of another. I allude to "The Genius of Harmony" which tells us
"There lies a shell beneath the waves,
In many a hollow winding wreath'd,
Such as of old,
Echoed the breath that warbling sea-maids breath'd;
This magic shell
From the white bosom of a syren fell,
As once she wander'd by the tide that laves
Sicilia's sands of gold."
I possess no learning, and am obliged, consequently, to borrow illustration from my more enviable precursors. The elegant translator of Anacreon will, I hope, pardon the liberty I have taken in not only adopting his idea, but adapting it to the expres-
"There lies a shell beneath the waves,
In many a hollow winding wreath'd,
Such as of old,
Echoed the breath that warbling sea-maids breath'd;
This magic shell
From the white bosom of a syren fell,
As once she wander'd by the tide that laves
Sicilia's sands of gold."
Faira, or Fair Isle, a small island between the Shetland and Orkneys, from both which its prodigiously high rocks are visible.
(10) Faira, or Fair Isle, a small island between the Shetland and Orkneys, from both which its prodigiously high rocks are visible.
An astonishing cataract in North America, on which Mr. Moore observes, "The first glimpse which I caught of those wonderful Falls, gave me a feeling which nothing in this world can ever excite again."
(11) An astonishing cataract in North America, on which Mr. Moore observes, "The first glimpse which I caught of those wonderful Falls, gave me a feeling which nothing in this world can ever excite again."
On a still evening, when the Muezzin has a fine voice,
which is frequently the case, the effect is solemn and beautiful
beyond all the bells in Christendom"
LORD BYRON.
(12) On a still evening, when the Muezzin has a fine voice,
which is frequently the case, the effect is solemn and beautiful
beyond all the bells in Christendom"
LORD BYRON.
Tobolskoi is the capital of Siberia, through which the caravans annually travel in conducting the commercial intercourse between Russia and China.
"Cheerless towns, far distant, never bless'd,
Save when its annual course the caravan
Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay,
With news of human kind."
(14) Tobolskoi is the capital of Siberia, through which the caravans annually travel in conducting the commercial intercourse between Russia and China.
"Cheerless towns, far distant, never bless'd,
Save when its annual course the caravan
Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay,
With news of human kind."
There are some who believe that the votaries of Parnassus have not, in proportion to their numbers, contributed a larger quota to the Lyceums of Immorality than the disciples of Euclid, or Lycurgus. There are others who will not allow that stability of moral excellence may be the possible associate of great talent; and whose tender mercy for the race of rhymers would be very similar to the vaticide King Edward's love for the Welsh bards. The advantages of illustrious birth, or high rank, generally present an admissible apology for human error; except the possessor be, unfortunately, a poet—a class which the prosaic drawler over a page of black letter, and the overgrown dunce, from whom neither ferula, nor foolscap, could ever extract a conjugation in any declension, have agreed to accuse of fiery brain and frozen heart. Craniology may, perhaps, hereafter decide the difference respecting heads: it does not appear that Anatomy has marked any difference directly visible in the natural conformation of hearts in human subjects.
(15) There are some who believe that the votaries of Parnassus have not, in proportion to their numbers, contributed a larger quota to the Lyceums of Immorality than the disciples of Euclid, or Lycurgus. There are others who will not allow that stability of moral excellence may be the possible associate of great talent; and whose tender mercy for the race of rhymers would be very similar to the vaticide King Edward's love for the Welsh bards. The advantages of illustrious birth, or high rank, generally present an admissible apology for human error; except the possessor be, unfortunately, a poet—a class which the prosaic drawler over a page of black letter, and the overgrown dunce, from whom neither ferula, nor foolscap, could ever extract a conjugation in any declension, have agreed to accuse of fiery brain and frozen heart. Craniology may, perhaps, hereafter decide the difference respecting heads: it does not appear that Anatomy has marked any difference directly visible in the natural conformation of hearts in human subjects.
This note might, probably, be spared; since who does not know that the inimitably beautiful poem of Lalla Rookh was composed by the author of The Irish Melodies.
(16) This note might, probably, be spared; since who does not know that the inimitably beautiful poem of Lalla Rookh was composed by the author of The Irish Melodies.
I HAVE not vanity enough to publish the flattering encomiums that have been given to the following effusions, which have appeared in the public prints. But a natural desire to display the satisfaction such encouraging critiques elicit, will, doubtless apologize for this appendage. The trivial alterations are such as a second reading generally suggests.
WAS the decree, dark Atropos! divine,
That bade thee sever Brunswick's Royal Line?
Would nothing satiate thy direful hand,
But the best blessing of our weeping land?
Where misery pines, where woe implores thine aid,
Where sickness sees each hope—save death—display'd;
Where age would hail thee in its wither'd joy;
Could not such marks thy fatal skill employ?
Weep on, Britannia, humbled in the dust,
Lament thy loss—but deem not Heaven unjust:
The hand that lent a blessing to thy throne,
Resumes the gift, and claims it for his own!
Too pure, too virtuous for a sphere like this,
Too dear a treasure in domestic bliss,
She but descended from her native sky,
To teach us how to live—and how to die!
Rejoin'd the host around the throne of God,
A star of light in ev'ry path she trod.
The sacred halo of her blessed name,
Sheds a soft lustre o'er the trump of Fame;
Youths, maids, and matrons, with a virtuous pride,
Will trace the date of England's Royal Bride:
The sigh, the tear of ages yet unborn,
Will mourn the scion thus so rudely torn,
Yes! bind the cypress round Britannia's brow.
She ne'er sought pity, sympathy, till now:
Cool and collected in a world's alarms,
Braved hosts of foes, nor shunn'd the din of arms;
Saw her bold sons pursue the vanquish'd foe,
And lay the boasted pride of despots low;
Heard her fair daughters string Apollo's lyre,
Till list'ning Minstrels caught Promethean fire;
Saw Peace and Plenty smiling in the vale,
Whilst beauty leant to hear the hero's tale.
One flower alone was wanting to complete
The vase of joy, pure, innocent and sweet:
The bud was form'd, and angels seem'd to smile
On the dear hope of Britain's favor'd isle:
Yet ere the flow'ret hail'd the blissful light,
A dread eclipse involved her sun in night—
Not long, blest Hope! since my untutor'd voice,
Echoed the blessing of thy youthful choice—
Hail'd thee, my gracious Patroness! my all
That Heaven could grant, and only Heaven recall.
In smiles so flatt'ring I forgot my woes—
Alas! 'tis past— have no more to lose!
THOU art not drest in Spring's reviving hue,
Nor Summer-drapery of etherial blue,
Autumn's rich mantle folds not round thy form,
But Winter hails thee from the hails of storm.
War's sounding bugle wakes no martial strain,
But Peace salutes thee on the whiten'd plain!
In soothing carols breathes her grateful vow,
And weaves an olive chaplet for thy brow.
Hail, gentle Spirit of the new-born year—
Dispel the sigh and dry Affection's tear;
Give Hope's fair visions to the anxious breast,
Bring present joy, and be in future blest.
Let not the traces of thy rapid flight,
Stain Britain's day-star with the gloom of night;
Thy predecessor mark'd his dreary reign
With deepest anguish and with hopeless pain;
Reft from Britannia's crown the brightest gem,
And pluck'd the sole leaf from the parent-stem,
Veil'd Hope's warm wishes in a murky cloud,
Till to Despair each sweet expectance bow'd.
Oh! come, though cradled on a mount of snow,
Though ice-wrought arrows and a frozen bow
Proclaim thy birth, yet may thy softer wing
Heal wintry sadness with the touch of Spring;
Blest by the rich, and welcome to the poor,
Wilt thou a smile to Britain's land restore?
Let not young Love, nor ripen'd Friendship think,
Thy hand dissolves each dear and sacred link:
If in the heart one seraph-form is kept,
If o'er one hallow'd name true love has wept,
Time! swift ambassador 'tween God and man,
Design's great parent, soul of every plan,
Thy periods from the birth-day to the grave
Successive follow, as the ceaseless wave
Breaks into liquid fragments on the shore;
Then mingles with the ocean as before.