r.»./"' .;;,'•;• 'r^-' ■:■■ GORNELE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library PR 4728.G8A1 1885 Poetical works and Tragedy o« G'sippus. 3 1924 013 475 813 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013475813 THE HOME OF GERALD GRIFFIN 'a. JO/ 111,-., sn-n^hi'i-e sphnAii Tha "brxahte^t hanrs that e'er I J;iir^ , NEW YORK RJ KLNEDY THE POETICAL WORKS OP GEEALD GEirrm, ESQ., /^ 0*3 JlSO TRAGEDY OF GISIPPUS. GEEALD GRIFFIN, Author of " The Collegians," " Tales of the Monster Festirals," " The Ajhners of Ballyaylmer, Etc.," " The Hivals," and " Tracy's Ambi- tion," " Tales of the Jury Room," " The Duke of Monmouth," "The Invasion," "Tales of the Five Senies," & "Night at Sea," "Life of Gerald Griffln." t'» \'' 1\- NEW YORK : P. J. KENEDY, EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING HOUSE, 5 BARCLAY STREET. 1896. , A ', ^1 > n f -ku CopTrigrht : ©. & J. SADLIER & Ca 1885. ADVERTISEMENT. The poetical works of the author of " The Collegians" are now for the first time presented to the public collectively. All those minor lyrical pieces which have already appeared, dispersed through his several novels, have been included, for the purpose of making the collection complete. A number of pieces hereto- fore unpublished have also been added, together with the well known and justly prized " Tragedy of Gisippus," which constitutes to render the present volume the most complete and valuable hitherto published. P. J. Kenbdt. CONTENTS riM The Fate of CatUeen, ■ • • The Bridal of Halahide, - . . 80 Bhanid Castle, . ■ 87 Orange and Green, - . 66 The Traveller and the Hoon, - . 73 Anna Blake, ... . > 76 LYRICAL POEMS. My Spirit is gay, - - - The tie ia broke, my Irish girl. When lore in a young heart. Sleep, that like the coached dove. The sally-coop where once I strayed, The Mie-na-mallah now is past. The Wanderer's Betnm, - Old Times 1 Old Times! - A place in thy memory, dearest, Hy Mary of the curling hair, Gilli-marcbree, 84 86 87 89 90 91 93 06 97 99 101 Ti CONTENTS. urn For I am desolate, • • • • • 104 The Bridal Wake, - - - - 108 Once, I had a trae love, . • • 107 Hark 1 hark I the soft bugle, 109 Farewell, . - . - - . 110 The Mother's lament, . . . . . 114 To a Lady, . 116 Let others breathe in glowing words, - 117 Ton never bade me hope, 'tis tme. - 118 A Soldier, a Soldier to-night is our gaest, 119 Dnet (from the Duke of Monmonth), - 120 Though lonely here by Avon's tide, • 128 Monmouth's Address, • ' - - 125 Like the oak by the fountain, - 127 Falta Volla I Falta VoUa I - 128 CeadmilliafaltalElim, • - 129 The Isle of Saints, ... - 181 No I not for the glories of days that are flown, • 1S6 Come to Glengarlflf! come 1 . . . . 188 The Phantom City, ... - 189 While the stars of Heaven are shining, - - 146 Warl War! Horrid war I - . . . • 148 War song of O'DriscoU, - . 149 Fare thee well, my native dell, • - 161 Aileen Aroon, .... - 153 Gone ! gone! for ever gone. • 166 Ancient lullaby, .... - 167 Know ye not that lovely river? - - 158 I love my Love in the morning, . . 159 Merrily whistles the wind on the shore, - - 161 When filled with thoughts of life's young day, • . 164 Hark, Erin 1 the blast is blown, - • 166 The merriest bird on bush or tree. - 167 'Tie, it is the Shannon's stream, . • 16« I am alone 1 1 am alone I - . 171 CONTENTS. vu SONNETS. To fHenda in America, To bis native glens, To a Friend, The fnture, A Fragment, Oil not forever lostl Benevolence, Friendship, Fame, Hitchelstown Caverns, Written in Adare in 1820, 173 174 176 177 178 179 180 181 ib. 183 188 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. On remembering an inadvertent jest on Lord Byron's Poetry, 184 Lines to a departed Friend, ... 186 Sweet Tannton Dene, - - - - - 190 Adieu to London, .----. 192 My spirit is of pensive monld, - - -^ - 195 Lines on a Lady's Seal Box, .... 197 A Portrait, 200 Lines addressed to a young Lady on reading a Poem of here addressed to Death, .... 203 Inscription on a Cup formed of a cocoa-nut, - - 204 Impromptu (on seeing an Iris formed by the spray of the ocean at Miltown, Malbay), - ... - 205 When filled with thoughts of life's young day, - - ib. The Wake without a Corpse, .... 207 To a Toung Friend on his birth-day, ... 209 To a Friend, ..--.• 213 On palling some CampanuUas in a Lady's Garden, - 215 Tm CONTENTS. They Bpeak of Scotland's Heroes old, • • 217 Brazil, the isle of the blest, .... 218 To a Seagull seen off the cliffs of Moher, in the county of Clare, - - - . - - - 220 Past times, ...... 222 The Wreck of the Comet, - . . . .224 The Sister of Charity, . . .226 Nano Nagle, ...... 229 To Memory, ...... 233 To * * • • 236 The Night-walker, - • - . -239 The Danish Invasion, ..... 251 The joy of Honour, ..... 253 Would you cbT>ose a friend, .... 256 When some unblest and lightless eye, ... 258 The Song of the Old Mendicant, - . . -261 Mary-le-bone Lyrics, ..... 263 Mft Graham to Miss Dawson in the clouds, . • ib. To Claude Seurat on leaving London, ... 267 When Dullness, friend of Peers and Kings, - 271 Time and Eternity, ' . . . . . 274 To the Blessed Virgin Mary, .... 276 Arguments for the Lovo of God, derived from Creation, 277 Devotion. — A Vision, ..... 279 Lines, ....... 284 The Choice of Friends, ..... 288 Matt Hyland, . . . . . .289 THE TRAGEDY OF GISIPPUS, - . .408 THE PATE OF CATHLEEN. A WIOKLOW STOBT. In Lu^elaw's deep-wooded vale, The summer eve was dying ; On lake, and cliff, and rock, and dale, A lulling calm was lying ; And virgin saints and holy men The vesper song were singing, And sweetly down the rocky glen The vesper bell was ringing. II. Soft gloom fell from the mountain's breast TJpon the lake declining ; And half in gentle shade was drest, And half like silver shining— And by that shore young Kevin stands, His heart with anguish laden ; And timid there, with wreathed hands, A fair and gentle maiden. to THE FATE OF CATHLEEN. And, "Oh," she said, "I've left for ibM^ My own beloved bowers. The walks I trod in infancy, My father's ancient towers. I've left for thee my natal hall. Where late I lived in splendour, And home and friends and fame and all, I sighed not to snrrender." IV. "Away I" he muttered low ; "in youth A vow to heaven I've spoken, And I will keep my boyish truth To age and death unbroken. Oh, would'st thou bribe my heart to bIb Against that high endeavour. And cast those tempting eyes between 'That heaven and me forever?'" V. The maid looked up in still surprise, Her cheeks with tear-drops streaming, A guileless light was in her eyes, Like childhood's sorrow gleaming " Oh had I here a heaven to give. Thou should'st be blest this hour, Then how should /thine hope bereare Of that eternal dower ? THE FATE OF CATHLEEN. 11 VI. "Ah, no — Cathleen will ask no more, For home and friends forsaken, Than here npon this peacefhl shore To see the mom awaken : Beneath thy holy roof to dwell A lorn and timid stranger ; And watch thee in thy lonely cell In sickness and in danger. VII. "To rouse thee when the cowled train Their matin beads are telling, To hear young Kevin's fervent strain Amid the anthem swelling. To smile whene'er thy smiles I see, ( To sigh when thou art sighing, To live while life is left to thee. And die when thou art dying." VIII. "My prayers," he said, "were little wortl WhDe thou wert kneeling near me ; My hymns were dull as songs of earth, If thou wert by to hear me. Oh, you are young and guiltless still, To sin and shame a stranger. And what to thee seems pure from ill To me looks dark with danger. ISt THE FATE OF CATHLEEN. IX. " There is a Heaven In yon bine sphera Where joy abounds for ever, There may we fondly meet, but here In this cold exile, never. There may we look with loving eyes While happy souls are singing. While angel smiles light all the skies, And the bells of Heaven are ringing. "But here — ^bnt here — ah, fair Cathleen Through all this wide creation. In all that's bright there lurketh sin, In all that's fair, temptation. It tracks the steps of young Delight, When souls are gay and tender ; It walketh in the dark midnight. And in the noonday splendour. XI. "It murmurs in the riising wind That stirs the morning flowers. On Friendship's lap it lies reclined, And sighs in Love's own bowers. It shines o'er all the summer skies, When dews the wild buds cherish ; And worst of all, in woman's eyes, Ah hide them I or I perish." THE FATE OF CATHLEEN XU. The maiden calmly, sadly smiled, She plucked an opening flower. She gazed along the mountain wild, And on the evening bower. "Fve looked," she said, "from east to west^ But sin has never found me ; I cannot feel it in my breast, Nor see it all around me. XIII. "The light that fills those summer skies, The laugh that flows the freest, I've marked with loving ears and eyes, Nor saw the ill thou seest. I always thought that morning air Blew on my bosom purely ; The worst /find in all that's fair Is that it fades too surely. XIV. " If it be sm to love thy name, And tire of loving never, Why am I spared the inward shame liat follows sin for ever? For I can lift my hands and eyes To that bright Heaven above mo ; And gaze upon the cloudless skies And say aloud — I love thee ! 14 TBB FATE OF CATHLBEN. XV. "I had a brother in my home, I loved — I loved him truly ; With him it was my want to roam When mom was breaking newly. With him I've cheered the weary time With emit* soft or story, He never spake of secret crime. Of sin or tainted glory." xn. "But thou,"— "But I," young Kevin said, "Win love thee like that brother ; And wilt thou be content, sweet maid. To find in me another 1 And seek ye but a brother's grace, A brother's calm caresses — " The maiden hid her burning face Within her golden tresses. XVII. " Farewell 1" she sighed, " I plead in vain. My dream of love is ended ; Thy thou^tts of me with thoughts of pais Shall never more be blended. Bnt now the even is falling late. The way is long and lonely. Oh, let m« rest within thy gate Till mom rises, only I" * A small haip. THE FATE OP CATHLEEN. 16 XVIII. Tonng Kevin paused — the dew fell chilt~ The clonds rolled black and swelling ; Ah no — ^he conld not deem it ill To lodge her in his dwelling : For chnrls like Nabal deeply sin And lasting pains inherit, And those who take the stranger in Have patriarchal merit. XIX. But oft he thought, 'mid holy strainfl, Upon that lovely woman ; For, oh, the blood within his veins Was warm, and young, and human. He told his nightly beads in vain, Sleep never came so slowly : And all that night young Kevin's brain Was filled with dreams unholy. The young man rose at dawning hour, To chaunt his first devotion, And, tiptoe, then, to Cathleen's bower He stole, in still'd emotion. Breathless above the maiden's form He hung — and saw her sleeping ; Her brow was damp — ^her cheek was warm, And wore the stains of weeping. 16 THE FATE OF CATHLEEK. XXI. Beside her coached an aged hoond (Her Cevin's sole attendant) One hand his sable neck aronnd, Like Cght in gloom resplendent. The dog sprung up, that hand fell dowi^ As Kevin's sigh came deeper, He crouch'd him at his master's frown And never woke the sleeper. ZXII. And scenes of calm domestic bliss On Kevin's soul came thronging ; Endearments soft and smiling peace, And love, the yonng heart's longing. Why did he swear in youth to live For saintly duties only? And leave those joys that love can gire^ To lead a life so lonely ? XXIII. Ob ! — ^were he now a bridegroom gay I Lord in his natal tower, And were this mom his bridal day, And this his marriage bower : — Where were the wondrous ill, he said. To him, to earth, to Heaven ? Just then, the dreamer turned her head, And murmured deep "My Kevin I" THE FATE OF CATHLEEN. 1) XXIV He started, trembled, burned, his limbs Shook with the sudden passion ; His eye in sudden moisture swims And stirs in maniac fashion. A whirlwind in his brooding soul Arose and tossed it madly ; Then swift away the storm clouds roll. And leave him drooping sadly. XXV. Again, that fond impassion'd moan Upon her warm lip lingers, He stoops and twines within his own Those white and taper fingers. He bends — ah, hark I the convent toll . Another knell ! another 1 They peal a requiem to the soul Of a departed brother I XXVI. Up, and away ! With freezing blood He rushes from the bower. And seeks the beechen solitude, Beside the convent tower. There hooded maids and cowled men The dirge of death were singing, And sullen down the rocky glen The knell of death was ringing. 18 TEX rATE OF CATHLEEIT. XXVII He raised to Heaven his hands and ejes, Lone, in the silent morning, And said, throngh hnmble tears and sighi, " I bless thee for the warning 1 Oft dost thou thns with sounds of awe My slumbering soul awaken : If I forsake thy love and law Oh, let me be forsaken 1 xxviu. "Thou hast a golden crown for those Who leaves earth's raptures hollow. And firmly still through tnles and woes The Kght of virtue follow. Oh, be this weak heart still thy care, Be still my sonl's defender, And grant that crown for me may wear "No soil upon its splendour. XXIX. " If tears, and prayers, and vigils lean, A sin like mine may cover, I'll weep while summer woods are greei^ And watch till time is over. But mighty armour must I weave Against that tempting woman, For, oh, she haunts me mom and eve^ And I am weak and human." THE FATE OF CATHLEKN. 19 XXJt. A comisel woke within his heart, While yet the yoath was kneeling, It whispered to his soul — " Depart, And shnn the war of feeling. Gonrage on battle fields is shewn By fighting'firm and dying, But is the strife with Love alone The glory lies in flying." XXXI. Swift as the sndden wind that sings Across the storm-roused ocean, Swift as the sOent prayer that springs Up, warm, from young Devotion, Swift as the brook, the light, the air. As death, time, thought, or glory, Young Kevin flies that valley fair, That lake and mountain hoary. XXXII. And far away, and far away. O'er heath and hill he speeds him While virtue cheers the desert grey, And light immortal leads him. And far away, and far, and far From his accustomed fountain, Till quench'd in light the morning st» And day was on the mountain. so THE FATE OF CATHLEEN. XXXIII. In Lnggelaw's deep wooded rale The summer dawn was breaking, On lake and cliff and wood and dale Light, life, and joy were waking. The skylark in the ear of mom His shrilly fife was somMing, With speckled side, and mossy horn. The deer were up and bounding. XXXIT. Young Nature now all bustlingly Stirs from her nightly slumber, And puts those misty curtains by Her mighty couch that cumber. And dews hang fresh on leaf and thorn. And o'er each eastern highland Those golden clouds at eve and mom That grace our own green island. XXXV. Light laughed the vale, gay smiled the sun. Earth's welcome glad returning, Like Valour come when wars are done, To Beauty in her mourning. The night calm flies, the rnfSing breeze Sports on the glancing water, And gently waves the tangled trees Above the chieftain's daughter. THE FATE OF OATBLSEN. 81 xxxvr. Like one in pain, athwart her brov, One hand her hair draws tightly, Now falls that glance in tears, and now It glimmers qnick and brightly. For she has missed her votive love Within his lonely bower. Nor is he in the beechen grove, Nor in the convent tower. zxxvn. "I fear" she sighed, and bowed her head " I fear he told me truly. Than sin is in the snnshine bred, And roses springing newly ; For dreary looks this bower to me. Even while those roses wreathe it ; And even that snnshine beaming fi%e Hides something dark beneath it. xxxvui. " That dew—" she paused I What foot has beea IJpon its early brightness 7 And left a track of deepening green Across its silver whiteness 7 She traced it by the ravell'd brake. And by thjB silent fountain. And o'er that iiwn, and by that lake^ AM np that hoary mountain. THE FATE OF CATHLEBN XXZIZ. But there the thirsty mornhig snn Had dewless left the heather, Her eye, o'er all the desert dun No sii^le trace can gather. Yet on she went, for in her breast Deep passion fierce was burning ; Passion, that brooks not pause nor reit And sickens at returning. XL. And far away — and far away — O'er heath and hill she speeds her, While Hope lights up that desert grey, And lore untiring leads her. And far away— and far-^-and far From lake and convent tower, Till, div'd in gloom, day's golden car And night was on the bower. xu. Now thridding lone the tugged Scalp With wounded feet and weary, Now toiling o'er each mhnic Alp Of Wicklow's desert dreary. Oh, lonely Bray, thy basin'd tide She passed at sunset mellow, And Oder's lake, where far and wide Its haunted flame shone yellow THE FATE OF CATHLBEN. XLII. Night fell — day rose — night fell agam, And the dim day-dawn found her On Glendalough's deep bosomed plain, With lake and cliff around her. There, tired with travel long and vain, She sinks beside that water, For toil and woe and wasting pain Have worn the Chieftain's danghter. XLIII. Tall, darkening o'er her high Lngdaff Gathered his lordly forehead. And sheath'd his breast in granite rough. Rent crag and splinter horrid. His helm of rock, beat back the breeze Without a leaf to wreathe it, The vassal waves rolled in to kiss His mailed foot beneath it. xuv. Sudden, with joyons yelp and bound, A dog comes swiftly by her ; She knows — she knows that aged honnd, And he she loves is nigh her I The warden flies — ^she follows swift — The dangerous footway keeping, Till, de^ within the jagged clift, She found her Kevin sleeping. 94 THE FATE Or CATHLEBN. XLT. With hair tossed oat and hands clench'd tight, The rugged granite hugging, Like those who vnth the Hag of Night For Toice and breath are tugging. For oh, he had a horrid dream, And every nerve has felt it ; And ruin was the gloomy theme, And Gathlnen's hand had dealt it XLVI. He dreamed that at the golded gate Of Heaven, flung wide and gleaming. He heard soft music as he sate, And saw bright pinions beaming ; Millions of sainted shapes he saw, In light and fragrance ranging, And calm delight, and holy awe. In speaking looks exchanging. XLVII. He strove to join that angel band. Bat, in the porch before him. With mocking eye and warning hand, Gathleen stood glooming o'er him ; She thrust him from the sainted crowc^ The gates rang clanging after, And on his ear came long and loud A peal of fearful laughter. THE FATE OF CiTHTiERV. Sb XLvm. Again it opes, again he tries To join that gloriona vision, Again with lifted hands, and eyes Deep fixed in keen derision. That minion of the burning deep Stands wrapt in gloom before him, IJp springs he irom his broken sleep, And sees her trembling o'er him I xux. " Vengeance !" he yelled, and backward tosa'd His arms, and muttered wildly : The frightened maid her forehead crossed, And dropped before him mildly. " Oh, slay me not — oh, Kevin, spare The life thy Lord has ^ven 1" He paused, and fixed his barren stara Upon the brightening heaven. " Cathleen," he sighed, " that timely word Has left my hands unbloody ; But see, the early morning bird Sings in the sunshine ruddy. Before that matin strain be o'er Fly far, and hate, and fear me ; For Death is on this gloomy shore. And madness haunting near me." 2 M THK FATE OF CATHLEEN. U. With clenched teeth, and paJnM smile (Love's last despairing token,) She flung her arms around him, while Her heart beat thick and broken. She clasped him as she woold have grown Into his breast for ever : Then fixed her gaze npon his own. And sternly whispered — " Never I" ui Again, again I those madding dreaou Upon his sonl awaken. The fiend athwart his eye-ball swims — Those golden gates are shaken I — Again he hears that ringing mock The vision'd stillness breaking, And hnrls the maiden from the rock Into the black lake, slmeking ! Lni. Down gazed he, phrenzied, on the tide-<« Cathleen ! How comes he lonely 1 Why has she left her Kevin's side That lived for Kevin only ? What mean those circles in the lake When not a wind is breathing f What babbles on the surface break 1 What horrid foam is wreathing f THE FATE OF OATHLEEH. gf LIT. Oh, never more— oh, never more, By lake or convent tower. Shall poor Cathleen come, timid, o'er To hannt his evening bower. Oh, never more shall that young eye Beam on his prayer and break it, And never shall that fond heart's sigh Thrill to his own and wake it. LV. The fiend that mocks at human woes Frowned at that maniac minute. For well the baffled demon knows The hand of Heaven was in it. Oh, tempted at that saintly height, If they to earth sunk lowly, She ne'er had been an angel bright, Nor he a victor holy I LVI. Aye, they are in their bowers of rest, With light immortal round them ; Yet pensive heaves the pitying breast To think how soon it found them. The lark ne'er wakes the ruddy mom Above that gloomy water. Where sudden died, and passion lorn, Cathleen, the Chieftain's daughter. 88 THE FATE OF CATHLEEK. [It is hardly necessary to remind the Reader of tha beantifbl little melody, in which Mr. Moore first brought this legend before the public. By that Lake, whose gloomy ihon Sky-lark never warbles o'er. Where the cliff hangs high and steeps Yoang Saint Kevin stole to sleep. "Here, at least," he calmly said, " Woman ne'er shall find my bed," Ah ! the good Saint little knew What that wily sex can do. Twaii from Kathleen's eyes he flew,— Eyes of most nnholy blue ! She had loved him well and long, Wisb'd him hers, nor thought it wrong Wheresoever the Saint would fly. Still he heard her light foot nigh ; East or West, where'er he tum'd. Still her eyes before him bnm'd. THE FATE OF CATHLBBN. 29 lU. On th« bold oUSs bosom oaat, Tranquil now he sleeps at laat ; Dreams of heav'n nor thinks that e'er Woman's smile oan hamit him then Bnt nor earth nor heaven is firee, From her power, if fond she be i Even now, while calm he sleeps, Kathleen o'er him leans and weepi Fearless she had traok'd his feet, To this rooky, wild retreat ; And when morning met his Tiew, Her mild glances met it too. Ah, your Saints hare cruel hearts ! Sternly from his bed he starts. And with rude, repulsire shock. Hurls her from the beetling loek Glendalough, thy gloomy wave, Soon was gentle Kathleen's grave' Soon the Saint, (yet ah ! too late« Felt her love and moum'd her fate When he said, "Heav'n rest her sonl f Round the Lake light music stole { And her ghost was seen to glide. Smiling o'er the fatal Ude. 80 THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDB. AN IRISH LEOEND. The joy-bells are ringing la gay Malahide, The fresh wind is singing Along the sea-side ; The maids are assembling With garlands of flowers, And the harp-slaings are trembling In all the glad bowers. Swell, swell the gay measnre I Roll trampet and dram I Mid greetings of pleasure In splendour they come I The chancel is ready, The portal stands wide For the lord and the lady, The bridegroom and bride. THK BRIDAL OF MALAHIDI. 81 III. VThat years, ere the latter, Of earthly delight The future shall scatter O'er them in its fl^ht I What blissful caresses Shall Fortune bestow, Ere those dark-flowing tresses Fall white a^; the snow I IV. Before the high altar Young Maud stands airay'd ; With accents that falter Her promise is made — From father and mother For ever to part, For lum and no other To treasure her heart. The words are repeated. The bridal is done. The rite is completed — The two, they are one ; The vow, it is spoken AU pure from the heart, That must not be broken TiU life shall depart. 82 THE BRIDAL OF UALAHIOE. Hark I 'mid the gay clangooi That compass'd their car, Loud accents in anger Come mingling afar 1 The foe's on the border, His weapons resound Where the lines in disorder Unguarded are found. As wakes the good shepherd, The watchful and bold, When the ounce or the leopard Is seen in the fold. So rises already The chief in his mail. While the new-married lady Looks faulting and pale. VIII. " Son, husband, and brother, Arise to the strife, For the sister and mother, For children and wife I O'er hill and o'er hollow. O'er mountain and plain, Up, true men, and follow ! Let dastards remain 1" THE BRIDAL OF MALAHIDB. oi IX. Fan'ah 1 to the battle I They form into line — The shields, how they rattle 1 The spears, how they shine 1 Soon, soon shall the foeman His treachery rae — On, burgher and yeoman, To die or to do ! X. The eve is declining In lone Malahide, The maidens are twining Gay wreaths for the bride ; She marks them unheeding — Her heart is afar, Where the clansmen are bleeding For her ib the war. XI, Hark 1 loud from tne mountain 'Tis Victory's cry I O'er woodland and fountain It rings to the sky 1 The foe has retreated 1 He flies to the shore ; The spoiler's defeated — The combat is o'er 1 S4 THE BKIDAI, OF MALAHtnit XII. With foreheads unrufiSed The conquerors come — Bnt why have they mufiSed The lance and the drum f What form do they carry Aloft on his shield ? And where does he tarry. The lord of the field ? XIII. Ye saw him at morning How gallant and gay I In bridal adorning, The star of the day : Now weep for the lovw^ His triumph is sped, His hope it is over 1 The chieftain is dead I XIV. But O for the maiden Who mourns for that cMc( With heart overladen And rending with grief I She sinks on the meadow In one morning-tide, A wife and a widow, A maid and a bride I THE BRIDAIi OF MALAHin*. XV. Ye maidens attending, Forbear to condole I Tour comfort is rending The depths of her sonl. True — ^true, 'twas a story For ages of pride ; He died in his glory — But, oh, he has died I XTI. rhe war cloak she raises All mournfully now, A.nd steadfastly gazes Upon the cold brow, rhat glance may for eTer Unalter'd remain. But the bridegroom will neT« Return it again. xvi:. The dead-bells are tolling In sad Malahide, The death-wail is rolling Along the sea-side ; The crowds, heavy hearted, Withdraw from the green. For the sun has departed That brighten'd the scene ! t- ^ft THE BRIDAL OF UALAHIDS. XVIII. Ev'n yet in that valley, Though years have roll'd by, When through the wi]<\ sally The sea-breezes sigh, The peasant, with sorrow, Beholds in the shade The tomb where the morrow Saw Hussy convey'd. XIX. How scant was the warning, How briefly reveal'd, Before on :)hat morning Death a chalice was fill'd 1 The hero who drunk it There moulders in gloom, And the form of Maud Plunkot Weeps over his tomb. XX. The stranger who wanders Along the lone vale Still sighs while he ponders On that heavy tale : " Thus passes each pleasure That earth can supply — Thus joy has its measure — We live but to die 1" 37 SHANID CASTLE. On SLanuon side the day is closing fair, The kern sits musing by his shieKng* low, And marks, beyond the lonely hills of Clare, Blue, rimm'd with gold, the clouds of sunset glow. Hush in that sun the wide spread waters flow, Returning warm the day's departing smile ; Along the sunny highland pacing slow. The keyriaghtf lingers with his herd the while. And bells are tolling faint from far Saint Sinon's isle.J *Hut. t The Keyriaght in ancient Ireland was a kind of wandering shepherd, or herdsman. It would appear from their heing prohi- bited bj the Kilkenny General Assembly of Confederate Catholics, that the number of persons who pursued this roving pastoral life BLust have been at one time considerable. / % Few landscapes on a calm and sunny evening present a scenO of sweet and solemn beauty exceeding that of the little Island of Scattery, or Iniscatha, near the mouth of the Shannon, with its lofty round tower and the ruins of its numerous churches, said to have been founded by St. Sinon or Senanus, one of the brightest ornaments of the ancient Irish church. — The peasantry still point out the tomb of the saint about the centre of the islet, and, as may be judged, the place is not without its share >Tf legendary ineodote. 38 SHANID CABTLE. II. Oh, loved shore I with softest memories twined, Sweet fall the summer on thy margin fair ! And peace come whispering, like a morning wind, Dear thoughts of love to every bosom there ! The horrid wreck and driving storm forbear Thy smiling strand — nor oft the accents swell Along thy Mils of grief or heart-wrung care ; But heav'n look dovra upon each lowly dell, And bless thee for the joys I yet remember well ! HI. Upon that spot where Corgrig's* lofty tower, A lengthen'd shadow casts along the green, The lord of Shanid summons all his power ; And knight and galloglas and keru are seen. Marking the targe with arrow barbed keen. And javelin light, and musket ringing loud. Wide flies each shot, and still, throughout the scene, Low smother'd laughter shakes the merry crowd. And on the chieftain's brow, dark looms the angry cloud. * The Castle of Corgrig, one of the many fortresses, along the Shannon side, dependent on the Earls of Desmond, was taken by Ibe troops of the Lord President Carew, in the reign of Elizabeth, ftfter a siege of two days. The fragments of the wall still Tisiblo, •how it to have been onoe a place of considerable strength. 8HANIE CASTLE. 39 A.part from these, upon a rising hill, Where yellow furze and hazel scent the breeze, An aged woman sat in posture still. With tragic forehead bending to her knees. She jobs not in the laughter when she sees By some new hand the harmless musket plied ; Or when some eye unskLU'd the arrow frees, Or whirring sling its burthen scatters wide ; " Alas 1 the times are changed in Desmond now I" she sigh'd. " It was not thus in Desmond's happier day, When young Fitzgerald held these princely bow'rs. Alas, that I should live to weep and say A low-born vassal rules my chieftain's tow'rs. Oh, come again, ye well-remeraber'd hours. When he, loved relic of a kingly line, Review'd on yonder plain his glittering pow'rs. And many a loving glance was bent on thine ; O knight without reproach ! O stainless Geraldi) 3 I"'* * Mooter Stanihurst, one of the quaintest and most loqi acioiu authorities in Holinshed, favours us with thu .ollowing account of the remarlcahle family of the Geraldines or Fitzgeralds, in his *' Description of Ireland." ** This house was of the nohilitie of Florence, came from thence into Normandie, and so with the ancient Earle Strongbow, his kinsman, whose arms he giveth, into Wales, neare of hloud to Ric* ap Griffin, prince of Wales, by Nesta, the mother ot Maurice fitz-Gerald and Robert Fitz- Stephens, with the said Earlo Mauiice Fitz-Gerald removed into Ireland in the yeare, 1169. The corrupt •rtbographie that diversv use in writing this name, doth iaoor> to SHANID . CASTLE VI. " Ann is not he our lord who stands below I" A fi»ir haired stripling ask'ed with accent mild. " Son of my heart," the matron answer'd, " no 1 Shame on the churl ! a wretched harper's child Oh ! never joy on alter'd Desmond smiled, Since he by treason did these towers obtain ; And though they bend before that breast defiled, A spectral loyalty what heart can chain ? Their love is yet with Desmond far beyond the main.'' porate it to houses thereto linked in no kindred, and oonaequentlie blemisheth worthie exploits atchieved as well in England and Ire< land, as in forren countries and dominions. Some write Gerold, sundry Gerald, diTerse verie corruptlie Gerrot, others Gerald. But the true orthographie is Girald, as male appear both by Giral- dua Cambrensis, and the Italian authors that make mention of the familie. As for Gerrot, it differcth flat from Girald ; yet there be some in Ireland that name and write themselres Gerrota, not- withstanding they be Giraldins, whereof diverse gentlemen are in Meeth. But there is a sept of the Gerrots in Ireland, and they seeme, forsooth, by threathening kindnesse and kindred of the true Giraldins, to fetch their petit degrees from their ancestors, but they are so neere of bloud one to the other, that two bushels of bcanes would soantlie count their degrees. Another reason why diverse strange house's have been shuffled ifl among this familie, was, for that sundrie gentlemen at the christening of their children would have them named Giralds, and yet their surnames were of other houses ; and if, after it happened that Girald had issue, Thomas, John, Rober''', or such like, they would then beare the Dame of Girald, 03 Thomas Fitz-Girald, and thus, taking the name of their ancestors for their surname, within two or three descents they shoove themselves among the kindred of the Giraldins. This is a general fault in Ireland and Wales, and a great confusion and extinguishment of houses.'^ The Fitz-Geralds were amongst the earlier settlers in Ireland, John Fitz-Girald was created ]5arl of Kildare, in 1315. Maurief Fitz-Tbomas (a Geraldine), Earl of Desmond, in 1300. SHANID CASTLE. 41 Til. • How lost the Geraldine his tow're and lands ?" " Long time the leaguer closed his castle walls. At length, with proffer'd peace, a knightly band At morning sought lum in his lordly halls. ' Desmond, the queen her menaced wrath recalls, Receive her grace and yield.' With lofty brow. ' Within these tow'rs the Desmond stands or falla A boy,' he said, ' may trust a woman's vow ; But I am old in war — ^my lip is bearded now.' r» VIII. " They part. Again, from each surrounding height, Thunder'd the loud artillery on the tow'r ; And aU that day, and all that fearful night. Thick fell as hail the musket's deadly show'r. Where now the sunbeams hght each peaceful flow'r, Spring daisy sweet, and opening marigold, Thou might'st have seen the horrid war-cloud lour. Tin settling dark, in sulph'rous volume roU'd, It capp'd in sablest gloom the Desmond's lofty hold. IX. >• Thou know'st where high in Shanagolden vale, The hill of Shanid views the plains aroimd ; A solitary cone it meets the gale. Like warrior helm'd, with threat'ning tm-red crown'd t2 SHANID CASTLE. Steep tapering upward from the rushy ground, A stately peak it stands : — a footway, known To few sare Desmond, tow'rd the summit wound, Mid tangled sally, crag, and mossy stone By Desmond form'd for need, by Desmond used alone " It chanced that night, when summer's crescent dim On tow'r and steep a silver paleness cast, I mark'd a figure in the tintless beam Along that secret path descending fast ; It gains the outer ward — the bridge is past, And now that form is lost in vapours dun. And now the warder blew his latest blast, And aU were master'd in the court but one. The same who rules it now — ^the harper's traitor son. XI. " Yet never came suspicion on my mind ; Calm fell as wont on every wearied breast Within th' embattled fortress safe reclined. Night's holy pause of sweet oblivions -est, "War lost awhile his soul-devouring zbirt. Hush'd was the hoarse artillery's angry roar ; The haughty leaguer shared the influence blest There clamour 'woke the peopled tents no more, But stillness sank serene on camp, and tow'r, and shore SHXNID CASTLE. 43 xn. "Shanid-a-bo !* there's treason in the hold I' At midnight rose the cry within our halls. 'Shanid-a-bo ! the Geraldine is sold 1 The English banner scoffs our armed walls 1' Too late — too late the startled warder calls, A host resistless fiU'd the captured tow'r ; Life after life in fruitless contest falls. The Geraldine surrendered land and pow'r — All lost but life and fame in that accursed hour. ' I heard the din upon my darkling bed, And to my lady flew in speechless fear ; While swell'd within the hold the tumult dread Of clattering brand and targe and crackling speai. Ne'er may again such sounds assail mine ear 1 The crash of broken blade, the shout, the moan. Menace and pray'r unheard, came mingling near ; And rallying call and conquest thundering on. And the blasphemer's oath with warrior's partmg groan." XIV. " We had a lady then ?" the stripling said. A moment paused the matron in her tale. And resting on the hand her aged head Burst from her inmost soul the sudden wail • Shanid-a-bo ' the war-ciy of the Earls of Desmond. ti SHANID CASTLE. That question did her very heart assail, For Desmond's countess had to her b(3en kind, When queea-like once she ruled that lovely vale ; And aU her goodness rnsh'd upon her mind Ere her sweet soul had left this weary world behind. XV. Poor soul ! affection was her little world. And natural love the kingdom where she reign'd ; But there had death with ruthless hand unfurl'd His ensign black with many a heart's blood stain'd, Of all she loved this youth alone remain'd. Forbear to ask why, spared such keen distress. Bad hearts rejoiced while hers was inly pain'd. Let sweet religion meet each dubious guess, God still severely tries the hearts he means to bless. " We had a lady then," the matron said, " Go ask the widow shivering at the gate. Or orphan weeping in his lowly shed. How Desmond's countess filled her high estate. Not hers the soul with selfish pride elate, Her tender heart with other's grief was riv'n ; There gi-ace divine and secret virtue sate. Her heart was shared between her lord and heav'n, And surely to her God the larger part was given. SHAN ID CASTLE. 45 XVII. " God help our slothful souls !" the speaker sigh'd, And clasped her hands and shook the aged head ; " She was to us a lesson and a guide, For holiest light in aU her walks was shed, "With counsel sweet she cheered the sufferer's bed ; With gentlest hand she dried the mourner's tear, For all her pow'r relieved — ^her bounty fed. Duly each morn arose her pray'r sincere, And for her Saviour's sake her very foes were dear. xvin. " But she shall bless our earthly eyes no more. Sweet is her sleep in yonder abbey grey. Where 'mid the summer dews descending hoar, The lonely redbreast sings his evening lay. There still our kerne their secret offerings pay. At solemn feast retired or vigil lone ; For there with that same moon's declining ray, The wretched Desmond rear'd her funeral stone, And pour'd above her grave a widow'd husband's moan." XIX. She ceased — and bending low her aged head, With paly brow upon her hand reclined ; While memory woke each thought of rapture fled, With rocking motion soothed her anguish'd mind. 16 SBAMID CASTLE. Say Muse (for thoa canst all the chain unwind Of link'd events by History's finger wore), How sped the Desmond in that tumult blind, Hemm'd in by adverse spears, a bristling grove. Where point with point enlaced in fell discussion gtrcre Pale on the midnight floor the Countess stands, When hark I the Desmond bursts the chamber dooi^ Like warning sprite with wide extended hands. And scared gaze, and armour stained with gore. " Betrayed 1 the tow'r is lost, and all is o'er 1 Fair dreams of independence ruling free ; Thoa hear'st the victor Saxon's gathering roar, Country and home and lands are lost to me. And nothing now remains," he said, " but life and thee." XXI. Short time for speech. One vigorous arm he woond Around the trembling lady's lovely frame ; Lightly he raised her from the stony ground. High flash'd his reeking blade like meteor flame. Resistless on the struggling press he came, Back from his path the weakling commons reel, Some held their swords aloof in generous -shame, Who dared to thwart him rued his ruffian zeal, For stern was the rebuke of that avenging steeL SHANID CASTLE. 41 XXII Right on the hero drove — oh wonirous sight 1 Oh, fearful beauty of the warrior's ire ! Death haunts his downward track and wUd afiright, Shriek, yell, and groan confess'd his presence dire. Inch after inch the 'wilder'd foe retire ; Yet, cool amid the dying and the dead, With stilly rage he wrought and govern'd fire, Unmoved as who the peaceful rinky tread. More like an angel sent to wreak heaven's vengeance dread. XXIH Son of the Geraldine,* renown'd in song 1 To that bold-mettled race, resolved and high, Alone such giant might of arm belong, And purpose undismay'd of nerve and eye. Fly 1 loved son of sires belov'd — fly ! Thy foes are gath'ring close in flank and rear ; Thick press'd the living fence-work circling uigh, With rattling brand and targe and level spear. Hip, knee, and shoulder join'd, and gnashing teeSh austere. • Many amusing anecdotes are related in Holinshed illastrative of vhe character of this distinguished family. " Kildare wa« open and plaine, hardlie able to rule himself when he were moved to anger, not so sharpe as a short, being easily dis- pleased and sooner appeased. Being in a rage with oertaine of his servants for faults they committed, one of his horssemen offomd Master Boice (a. gentleman that retained to "him,) an Irish hobbie, tn oonditione that he would plucke an haire from the Earle hii 48 SHANID CASTLB. XXIV. Onward the hero drove — crash targe and helm ; Crash shield and mail beneath his action fell ; Each blow a subject gained to death's black realm ; Each hollow sounding stroke a hero's knell ; Bach glimmer of the blade a soul's farewell. Right on his gory pathway still he hew'd, Ah ruthless War, thy woes what tongue shall tell ? Three paces from the rampart yet he stood, And those three paces, cost a lake of Christian blood. beard. Boice, taking (he proffer at rebonnd, stept to the Earl* (with Trhoae good nature he was thoronghlj acquainted), parching in the heat of his choler, and said : ' So it is, and if it like jonr good lordship, one of your horssemen promised me a choise horssa if I snip one hair from year beard.' ' Well,' quote the Earl, ' 1 agree thereto ; but if thou pluck anie more than one, I promise thee to bring my fist from thine eare.' " The branch of this good nature hath been derived from him to an Earle of his posteritie, who, being in a chafe, for the wrong saucing of a partridge, arose suddenly from the table, meaning to have reasoned the matter with his cooke. Having entered the kitchen, drowning in oblivion his challenge, he began to commend the building of the roome, wherein he was at no time before, and so leaving the cooke uncontrolled, he returned to his guests merrilie. . . . "In his warres, he (the former Kildare) used for policia a letchlesse kind of diligence or a headie carelessnesse, to the end his souldiers should not faint in their attempts, were the enemie of never so great power. Being generall in the field of Knocktow, one of the Earle his captains presented him a band of kems even as they were ready to joine battele, and withal demanded of the earle in what service he would have them emploied ! Quoth he, ■Let them stand by and give us the gaze.' Such was his courage that, notwithstanding his enemies were two to one, yet would he sek BO good a face on the njatter, as his souldiers should not once suaped that he either needed or longed for anie farther helpe ' ' SHANID CASTLE. 49 ZXT. Dnwearied yet, he sees th' assaUants yield — The rampart's gained. High on the wall he stands A moment gazed upon the distant field, Where Safety seem'd to smile with beck'ning hands Beneath him still he views the struggling bands ; Where death that night a plenteous harvest reap'd. With desperate shout, amid the clattermg brands. Harsh echoing shields and carnage spoil high heap'd. He waved his gory blade and from the ramp'^^t leap'd XXVI. As when, from wave-worn cliff of far KJlkee, Time-loosen'd from its immemorial hold, Some ponderous fragment seeks the boomiog sea, Down the black steep with thundering impulse roll'd. So stern descending came the Desmond bold, So shrunk around, aghast, th' affrighted foes. So fierce recoil'd when from the gory mould. Beneath his burthen bow'd, the chieftain rose. So roaring vengeance wild in mortal combat clos& XXVII. Bo from thy lofty wall, sea-girt Tyre ! In mailed panoply descending bright, Like launched bolt of heaven's electric fire, The son of Ammon left that dizzy height, 50 BHANID C.litTLE. Scattering around dismay and pale affright, Strong in the might of his heroic mind. For glory he, and pow'r ; but for the right, And dear connubial love, did Desmond wind His way that night 'mid many a biting point nnkird XXVIII. Still dark npon his path the foemen swann. With rising anger fierce and wrathful brow. He stirs his giant strength vith combat warm, And shakes h's crest — and, 'ware the Desmond now 1 As parts the surge before some warrior prow. When windward bound 'gainst wave and storm she steers ; Or stubborn bawn before the rending plough : So yield beneath his sway the crashing spears. And down the hQl he drove 'mid yells and fruitless tean Who now shall cross the Desmond ? Calm no more The war-soil stream'd beneath his matted hair : Sullied with clotted dust and mingled gore, Foams the dragg'd lip — ^the starting eye-balls glare. Like maniac roused, he drives the withering share With desperate fury wild — around — ^beneath. Nor measured ire nor govern'd heat were there, At every blow a heart's blood ^tain'd the heath, ' The very wind they cast seemed rife with pain and death. SHANID CASTLE. M XXX. Fight 1 Desmond, Fight I he pants — each qniv'ring limb Instinct with rage high wrought, and breathing doom, Like mower toiling in midsummer beam. Or smith at anvil bow'd with brow of gloom. Out b«rst at once as from volcanic womb. The pent up fury stirr'd by contest dire. So chafes the downward flood with whitening spume, So drives o'er autumn heath the scorching ire. Wind-borne resistless on, of fast consuming Sre. XXXI. Right on the hero drove, liie northern storm. And pass'd the bridge and gain'd the moonlit plain. Still clasp'd with instmct dear that precious form ; But vain his valorous toil, his fondness vain. Thick round his pathway hurl'd as winter rain, Bow, sling, and gun, their murderous death show'r sped. That shriek 1 ah, who shall tell the Desmond's pain! It is, it is her life-stream bubbling red, And "husband, lay me down," the wounded lady said XXXII Soul-piercing sight I with augnish'd heart aghast. Upon a bank beside the lonely wave. Gently he stannch'd the heart's blood, issuing fast, And pray'd high heav'n her gentle soul to save. 52 SHANH) CASTLE. Sigh after sigh the wonnded Countess gave, A year of life with every parting breath, Stretch'd in the nerveless posture of the grave. Bilent she lies upon the gory heath. And sets in those sweet eyes the whitening glare of death. XXXIII. With grief impatient, on the darkling lea. The wretched chieftain cast his useless blade. " Te woman-slaying hinds, why spared ye me ? And why is Desmond here, unhurt ?" he said. " My life I my love I see I Desmond guards thy head 1 Look up and live 1" he sigh'd in accents mild ; Silent she hears — speech, sense, and motion fled. He raised his clenched hands with action wild. And hfted up his voice and wept like infant child XXXIV. Yes, Desmond wept, he who alone had gazed That night unmoved on all that hostile band, Stirr'd by th* unwonted sound, the Countess raised Her dying frame, and pressed his succouring hand ; And " Comfort thee," she sigh'd in whisper bland ; " Comfort thee, Desmond 1 all that valour could. To-night thine arm hath wrought for tow'r and land, He who for us hath shed his saving blood. Felt too the bitter pangs of man's ingratitude." SHANID CASTLE. 53 XXXT. * Curat be the traitor 1" — " Hold, my husband, hold I Nor let the last — last words my soul shall hear From those kind lips before its sense is cold, With vengeful meaning fright my dying ear. Farewell I thou hast to me been true and dear, Be so to heav'n when I am lowly laid ; Let me not need the Christian's wonted bier, Nor narrow tomb within the hallow'd shade, Ajid be above my grave the requiem duly said." XXXVI. She said, and folded her sweet hands m pra/r, While reverent sate apart the sorrowing chief, To resignation changed his heart's despair, Close pent within his breast the stifling grief. Slow came and leaden paced Death's cold relief; Famt in her bosom ebbs the wasting tide, " Receive my stained soul 1" she murmured brief, " Thou who for sinful man in torment died." And forth with that last pray'r her gentle soul she sigh'd. XXXVII With rendmg heart the chieftam saw her die, Awhile he knelt beside the lifeless clay ; Then with the silver wave that murmnr'd by, He wash'd with care the gory soil away, 54 SHANID CASTLE. That dark upon the paly features lay, And rais'd his moarnfdl bnrthen from the ground. And up the stream pursued his weary way, Where buried deep in listening woods profound. Yon aged abbey casts its sacred shade around. xxxthi. Sad bnrthen bow'd the chief! — ^less ponderous far Her living weight, or that which once of yore From the last scene of Ilium's mighty war, The pious prince with filial anguish bore. Far distant, on some safe seqnester'd shore, Ht yet might watch beside his rescued sire ; But she shall grace the Desmond's board no more ; No more shall cheer his lonely evening fire. Nor, with pursuasion soft, disarm his household ire. xxxiz. Slant on his path the westward moonbeams shone, When still beneath his dismal burthen bow'd, He reach'd the abbey, screen'd in woodland lone Of pines and waving yew, a sombre shrond. " Open your gates !" the midnight summons loud Rang mournful through the cloisters' echoing halls. " The harbour to the harbourless allow'd Tour houseless ruler seeks within your walls • Open youi holy gates I— 'tis Desmond's lord that calls." SHANID CASTLE. 51 IVide gaped the convent door, revolving slow, The abbot knows those noble accents well. What words can paint the old man's speechless woe, When on that group his wildering glances fell. " Father I behold the wreck unspeakable Of what was late my bosom's earthly pearl I The poorest monk, within his convent cell, Who shuns the rage of life's tempestuous whirl. Holds more of wealth to-night, than Desmond's mighty earl." XLi. Slow rose the requiem from the midnight choir, By haste eompell'd, the friendly brethren lay, Ere kindled from yon hills the eastern fire, In its low house, that piece of lifeless clay. The widow'd chieftain mark'd the opening day, And turn'd him from the holy solitude. Westward again he held his venturous way. By glen untrod, and swamp and darkling wood, Unconquer'd at the heart — in spirit unsubdued. XLII Twelve years have passed since then, nor if he dwella In life or death his sorrowing vassals know ; They paid the traitor with his tow'rs and dells. But love nor right with strong possession go. 56 SHANID CASTLE. Their hearts are still with Desmond in his woe. Unchanged as when they saw their chieftain stand On yonder shore, at moonlight, lingering slow. " Farewell 1" he cried, and wrung each eager hand, ' Farewell, my faithful friends I farewell, my uatm land !» Twelve years have pass'd — and tyranny since then With iron hand upon the vale hath press'd ; The roofless cot within the fertile glen. The blacken'd scar upon the mountain's breast, The usurper's conscience-haunted reign attest. Ev'n now secure amid his archer train, His eye betrays his bosom's deep unrest. With doubtful scowl he views that peopled plain, And fears a stvret foe in every injured swain. XLIV. See 1 southward borne along the shining tide, Finned with lithe ash a nimble curragh flew ; fTis but a stranger come from Thomond side, To see the southern archers strain the yew ; And near that throng with careless pace he drew, While loud applauding thunders shook the air — For now the chieftain's son, with action true And steady gaze, has aim'd the arrow fair. And sent it to the mark, and left it quivering there. SHANID CASTLB. 57 XLV "What fairer shot" — a flattering vassel cries, " Hath eyer eye beheld on Desmond's plains?" " Sooth, that have mine," the stranger's voice replies, " When old Fitzgerald held these fair domains ; And though my hair be grizzled, and my veins With lessening current beat, and action tame, Enough, even yet, of force and skill remains To bear my answer out, or I would shame To tread the Desmond's soil, and name the Desmond's name." XLVI. He said, and far beyond the target set, Deep in the turf, a carrowe's* ashen spear, Then backward through the silent circle paced, FuU half three hundred paces meted clear. Fixed is each eye, attent is every ear ; * The Carroux was the aDcient Irish horseman. — "These," say an old writer, " when they have no stale of their own, gad and range from hoase to house, like arrant knights of the round table, and they never dismount till they ride into the hall and as farre as the table. There is among them a brotherhoode of CarroUKS that proffer to plaie at cards all the year long, and make it their only occupation. They plaie away mantel and all to the bare skin, and trusse themselves in straw or leaves ; then wait for passengers on the highwaie, and ask no more than companions to make them iport." 3* 58 SHANID CASTLE. The bolt is drawn — the parting impnlse given, Sharp rang' the string, like harp at evening cheer, Swift sped the bolt — the ashen shaft is riv'n, And loader thunders rise and rend the echoing heav'a XLVII. Laughing, the stranger sought the neighb'ring shore, Where the spent waves on quarried granite beat ; A fragment slowly up the slope he bore, Massy and huge, for Druid altar meet. Erect he stands before the chieftain's seat — " Since years have yet not qnench'd the generous raga Of manhood in these limbs, and youthful heat, With all thy band a merry war I wage. In feat of strength or skOl, and thereto cast my gage." XLVIII. He said, and on the sward Ms burden threw, Like meteoric rock it pierced the green ; With wondering eyes the silent circle view The stranger's ponderous bulk and lofty mien — Such forms, in radient majesty serene, Once on the heathen artist's slumber shone — When burning with high thoughts and genius keeu, He caught the fleeting vision's heavily tone, And woke to hew a god from out the Parian stone. SHANID CASTLE. 69 XLIX. Btalwart he stood amid the mountain kerne, Calm gleam'd his eyes in dignity severe ; His shoulders huge, like his the Argive stem. Who, one long day, upheld the heavenly sphere. Sallow his hue as tanned hide of steer. Nor mark he bore of woman's gentle mould. His frame was knit by many a toilsome year, His noble hair in jetty ringlets roll'd. Hong curling down his neck, like British seaman bold. But who the stranger's offer'd gage shall raise ? Some shun abash'd that glance of piercing grey ; Some view the mass inert, with curious gaze, Deep-fix'd within the yawning soil that lay ; Some lent their mightiest force with vain essay, 'Mid many a stifled laugh and whisper'd jest. To lift the fragment from its bed of clay. Forth came, with conscious smile, the stranger guest, And to the giant taak his iron strength address'd. LI. With vigorous ease he raised the rdcky weight, And, wheeling round, upon his centre came, With well-timed action, forceful, yet sedate, Gathering the sum of motion in his frame, 60 SHANID CASTLE. And hurl'd the mass aloft with giant aim, And all his strength into the impulse threw : Like fragment heaved from Etna's throat "J. flame, Or launch'd from ancient catapult, it flew And smote the echoing strand, and dashed the brini to dew. LII. " And who and what art thou ?" the chieftain cries, " With more than human skill and vigour blest V " One of your blood," the stranger calm replies, " Though long an exile in the sunny west. A landless, noteless man, my noblest crest Is now that oft with Geraldine I bled. Unmark'd I roam, the lowly shieling's guest, My mightiest boast that I am island bred. My highest praise to say I love the land I tread." LIII. Now sinks the sun behind the lulls of Clare, The Kerne are scatter'd to their mountain fires, And wake with many a wond'roua legend there, The memory of their old heroic sires — The weary herdsman to his shed retires. And all is lull'd in midnight stUhiess soon, Save where the convent hymn to heaven aspires^ Or patient fisher lifts his merry tune, And plies his weary trade beneath the BmOing mooa SHANID CASTLE. 61 LIV. Within a grove by Shanid's lofty hill, A hermit held his penitential cell, Wild herbs his food, his drink the lucid rill, That bubbled sweetly from a neighbouring weU He in the busy world had ceased to dwell, A passion-wasted heart — a bruised reed ; His science, suffering, and the art to quell Each earthly wish, in hope of heavenly meed, By following to the life the perfect Christian creed LV. And heav'n received his penitence sincere ; For whfen the stroke of Death had closed his race, They said a lustre play'd around his bier, And precioBS fragrance fiU'd the lonely place. The earth upon his tomb had healing grace, And sickness of the mind or frame removed : There oft the pious pilgrim came to trace Where heav'n with many a holy sign approved, The holycaust of praise and purity it loved. LVI. Scarce m the east the ruddy daylight breaks, When down the secret pathway pacing slow, Ihe aged nurse her tottering journey takes ; Where by the hill the lucid waters flow. 62 SHANID CASTLK. Faint down the vale the early sunbeams glow ; When by the crystal fount the matron stands, With wooden cup and pitcher bending low, 8he fills the sparkling lymph with trembling hands, And sighs break forth between, and tears bedew the sands. LVII Sudden, a rustling in the shrubs she hears. That round the well their graceful foUage wore ; That stranger's form upon the brink appears. Half hid by leaves and clustering boughs above, And tears of gentlest tenderness and love, On that stem cheek their softening influence shed, His quiv'ring lips with sweet affections move ; Low o'er the bank he bow'd his noble head, And " dost thou know me, nurse ?" in whisper soft h» said. LVIII. Like one whose quicken'd fancy hears at night Strange spectral voices in the rushing wind, The startled matron cledrs her inward sight, And seeks the lost idea in her mind. Beside her now, in broader light defined, He gazed into her soul and sweetly smiled : Her heart awakened at the greeting kind. Paint from her bosom broke the accents wild, As on his neck she fell, " It is — ^it is my child I" SHANID CASTLE. 6S LIX. " Yes, Desmond treads again his natal land, To find again his castle or a grave. Four weeks have pass'd since on the western strand I came, a home-sick wanderer of the wave ; Me, Longhill's kerns a joyous welcome gave, But ah, my heart is rack'd, where'er it turns. To hear the blood-hounds of the tyrant rave, To see the shieling wreck'd — the roof that bums, Where many an orphan'd child and houseless wide* mourns. LX. " To-night, in Shanagolden's lovely vale, Two thousand kerns at midnight wait my call ; Such force as may with sure success assail The traitor in our own usurped hall : Teth loth I were that child of Desmond fall By kindred weapon struck, in dire array ; More meet it were to gain the lofty wall, By secret skill, than battle's loud essay. And with his own dark art that traitor-slave repay LXI " Where rests the harper ?" " In the eastern keep.* " Oh nurse, to-night, at that unguarded hour. When kern and galloglach are lulled in sleep. Be thou our friend within the embattled tow'r, 64 SHANID CASTLE. When dull of sense from wine's oppressive poVr, That drunken harper seeks our fair alcove, Be thou before him in the window'd bow'r, And place a lamp upon the sill above, And see no other hand than his the light remove." LXII. They part — 'tis night — ^within that lofty hold. Loud rung the merry sounds of festal cheer ; Slow up the east on golden axis roU'd, The peaceful moon reveal'd her smiling sphere ; Close hid, with eye intent and watchful ear, The Desmond stands beside that narrow stream ; Oft gazed he on the castle, frowning near. If haply he may see the tiny beam Of that small lamp from out the chieftain's windovp gleam. Lxin. It shines at length. His practised hands alert Poise the long musket on the ashen rest, The burning match within the lock insert — And all the horrid art of death address'd ; Yet not revenge nor hatred fired his breast, But patriot zeal, and firmest sense of right, And pity for his people long oppress'd — And land betrayed for gold— ha ! see !— the light 1 U stirs — he fires — and all is dark as death and night SHANID OASTLE. 65 LXIV. " Awake 1 arise ! what ho 1 'tis Desmond calls ; Sound the loud trumpet down the echoing vale 1 See — ^fluttering from high Slianid's towering walls— Our ancient banner meets the western gale 1" That weU-linown cry prolong'd from dale to dale, Roused answering wood and shore and peopled hill : " Desmond is come again 1" the rapturous tale Woke in each listener's heart the welcome thrill Of ecstacy retum'd and old devoted zeal. LXV. Shanid a-bo 1 the Desmond's in his hall I Vale answers vale along th' awaken'd shore ; With tears of love the joyous clansmen fall Around his feet, and press the marble floor. And bless the hour that did their lord restore To his old home and plunder'd rights again. But carrion birds the traitor's carcase tore, While smiling Peace retum'd o'er hill and plain. And Desmond in the Keep resumed Ms ancient reiga M ORANGE AND GREEN. Krin, thy silent tear never shall oease — Erin, thy languid smile ne'er shall inoreax ', Till, like the rain-bow's light, Thy variotts tints nnite. And form in heaven's sight One arch of peace ! Thomas Moob The night was falling dreary, In merry Bandon town, When in his cottage weary, An Orangeman lay down. The summer sun in splendour Had set upon the vale, And shouts of " No surrender I* Arose upon the gale. ORANGE AND GBGEN. Vt Beside the waters, laving The feet of aged trees, The Orange banners waving, Flew boldly in the breeze^ In mighty chorus meeting, A hundred voices join. And fife and drum are beating The BaMk of the Boym III. Ha 1 tow'rd his cottage hieing, What form is speeding now, From yonder thicket flying, With blood upon his brow? " ffide— hide me, worthy stranger t Though green my colour be, And m the aay of danger May heaven remember thee ! " In yonder vale contending. Alone against that crew, My life and limbs defending, An Orangeman I slew. Hark I hear that fearM warning, There's death in every tone — Oh, save my life till morning. And heav'n prolong your ovra I* ORANGE AND GKEKN. V. The Orange heart was melted, In pity to the green ; He heard the tale and felt it, His very soul within. " Dread not that angry warning. Though death be in its tone— ^ 111 save your life till morning. Or I will lose my own." VI Now, round his lowly dwelling The angry torrent press'd, A hundred voices swelling, The Orangeman address'd^ " Arise, arise, and follow The chase along the plain I In yonder stony hollow Tour only son is slain I" vn. With rising shouts they gath» TTpon the track amain, And leave the childless father, Aghast with sudden pain. He seeks the righted stranger, In covert where he lay — " Arise I" he said, " all danger Is gone and past away I ORANGE AND GREEN. 69 VIII. " I hiid a son — one only, One loved as my life, Thy hand has left me lonely. In that accursed strife. I pledged my word to save thee^ Until the storm should cease, I keep the pledge I gave thee— Arise, and go in peace 1" IX. The stranger soon departed, From that unhappy vale ; The father, broken-hearted, Lay brooding o'er that tale. Full twenty summers after To silver turned his beard ; And yet the sound of laughter From him was never heard. The night was falling dreary, In merry Wexford town, When in his cabin weary, A peasant laid him down. And many a voice was singing Along the summer vale, And Wexford town was ringing With shouts of ' Granua Uile." fO 0BAN6E AND GBEEIT. XI. Beside the waters, laving The feet of aged trees, The green flag, gaily waving, Was spread against the breeze^ In mighty chorus meeting, Lond voices filled the town, And fife and drum are beating, " Down, Oramgenun, Ue Down f XII. Hark I 'mid the stirring clangour. That woke the echoes there, Loud voices high in anger, Rise on the evening air. Like billows of the ocean. He sees them hurry on — And, 'mid the wild commotion. An Orangeman alone. XIII. " My hair," he said, " is hoary, And feeble is my hand. And I conld tell a story Would shame your cruel band. Full twenty years and over Have changed my heart and brow. And I am grown a lover Of peace and concord now OBAKGE AND 6REEM. H XIV " It was not thus I greeted Your brother of the Green ; When fainting and defeated, I freely took him in. I pledged my word to save lum, From vengeance rushing on, I kept the pledge I gave him, Though he had kill'd my son." That aged peasant heard him, And knew him as he stood, Remembrance kindly stirr'd him. And tender gratitude. With gushing tears of pleasure. He pierced the listening train, " I'm here to pay the measure Of kindness back again 1" XVI. Upon his bosom falling, That old man's tears came down ; Deep memory recalling That cot and fatal town. " The hand that would offend thee, My being first shall end ; I'm living to defend thee. My saviour and my friend I" 7S ORANGE AND CREIM. XVII. He said, and slowly turning, Address'd the wondering crowd. With fervent spirit burning. He told the tale aloud. Now pressed the warm beholders, Their aged foe to greet ; They raised him on their shoulders And chair'd him through the street XVIII. As he had saved that stranger, From peril scowling dim, So in his day of danger Did Heav'n remember him. By joyous crowds attended. The worthy pair were seen. And their flags that day were blended Of Orange and of Green. 18 THF TRAVELLER AND THE MOON. mUTTEN FOR A BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO A lOUNG FRIEND The glurions Snn yet burned on high, His light embracing earth and sky, When like a Spectre seen at noon, On Glenvill rose the early moon. * * i^ * * « " Glory to thee all bounteous sun 1" (A traveller thus his theme begun. Who by Liscannor's sounding bay, To Callan took his lonely way.) " Thou stirrest the heart to love and mirth, Thou gladdenest heaven and quickenest earth ; Thou callest to being ripe and warm, The thousand charms of hue and form. All nature feels thy genial dower. From lordly man to lowly flower. How faint to thine, great lord of day, Yon feeble moon's reflectdd ray I 4 T4 THE TEAVEJJ.EK AND THE MOON. To her we owe no fruitful plains, But swelling seas and frantic brains." in * * * * * He said, and onward gaily press'd Till darkness crept o'er all the west, And he o'er moon and mountain grey, Benighted, sought his trackless way. Far o'er the rous'd Atlantic's wave He hears the coming tempest's rave. The clouds have left their ocean bed ; Flash'd the blue night bolt o'er his head, Chorussed by winds and hissing fire ; The Tempest tnnes his demon lyre. Now chilled by wind, and drench'd with raii^ Our wanderer groped o'er hill and plaii. ; No cottage light, nor human voice. To bid his sinking heart rejoice. When, bursting through the stormy rack, The midnight moon illum'd the track. From heav'n's high arch in state serene ; Pour'd light and beauty o'er the scene ; To silver turned the flying cloud, Hushed in the skies the quarrel loud, And spread afar her radience mild, Till even the check of darkness smiled. ****** Thus, while prosperity is nurs. And pleasure strews our way with flowers, Rejoicing in the glorious day. We scorn Religion's humble ray. ANNA BLAKE. 75 Tis only when the night draws on And all our worldly light is gone ; When black misfortune's clouds arise, And vex with storms life's evening skies, When darkling, lost, and tempest driven. She cheers our path with light from heaven ; We blush to own the thankless slight, And feel her power and bless her might. ANNA BLAKE. A FBA6MENT. Habe 1 heard ye not that stifled groan f A wretched woman's piercing wail ; It echoes through those rnins lone. It died upon the meadow gale I See, see amid the ivied screen That veils the cloister's column'd aisl*; What wasted form is dimly seen. With rapid beck and frantic smile 16 ANNA BLAEX. m. Some creature of abortive brain — Or victim of impassioned breast — Some wreck of bliss, as bright as vain. Or fiend, deluded and possessed. IV. Perchance — for see her garb is dark, And hooded is her curling hair, And girded is her waist — and mark The rosary descending there. — V. Some reason-blasted child of wrath I Some Dathan of the virgin choir, Who trod uncalled the holy path. And tampered with celestial fire. VI. A sunbeam strikes that frenzied brow Through yonder oriel glancing down, Alas I alas I I know her now I — Tis Anna Blake of Galway town ! VIL See, see, with spectral haste she glides, Through broken light and rayless gloom To where the ftineral yew-tree hides, The wild Biscayen's early tomb I ANNA BLAEE. H VIII Poor Anna I once nnknown to woe I A gayer heart, a happier mind, Ne'er lent to worth their social glow, In frame of fairer mould enshrined. IX. Mark, as the quivering sunbeams fall. She turns to shade that hooded brow Where moping Phrenzy in the hall Of banished Reason riots now. Now swift she starts with warning sign, And now with keen heart-straining gaze, Beside the ivy-mantled shrine, The wretched maiden kneels and prays. XI. Oft has she roamed in happier hours. The walks where now she loiters wild, When blest within her natal towers. Her father nursed his darlmg child. SII. While yet their ancient dwelling stood. By Gorrib's wild and gusty lake. And many a western chieftain wooed. The heiress of the high-born Blake. 18 ANNA BLAKE. XIII. And Mary made the moments light, With friendship's soft and tranquil joy. And Emam held her promise plight, The Mayor of Galway's gallant boy. XIV. An autumn's sun had shown the tower, Deep imaged in the waveless lake. When sadly in their secret bower, Yoong Mary questioned Anna Blake. xv. " The mom," she said, " is rosy bright, Ah, why art thou so pale and chill? The flowers look up to meet the light. Ah, why is Anna drooping still ? XVI " Is this my brother's beauteous bride That ere the bridal sinks forlorn ; Is Mary falser than the tide ? Is Eman colder than the morn?" xvn. " Gold I" said the maiden, as she raised Her moistened eyes and sadly smiled : " Net cold — though coldness might be praiaed Before a love so weak and wild. ANNA BLAKE. ' T9 XVIII. " Mary forgive I — I know thou art " His softer self from infancy, " Yet Nature's bond within my heart, " Is less a bond than Love's in me. XIX. " My sister and my friend sincere, " Ah, blame not one confiding sigh I " I breathe my griefs in Mary's ear, " As if the wind alone were nigh. " No, though from youth the fire divine, " Unfading barns in either breast, " I feel a warning sense in mine, " That tells me it shall ne'er be blest. XXI. " To stranger heart, to friend less dear, " I would not own one thought of pain ; " Not Eman's self should know the fear, " That makes this bridal splendour vain. xxn. " Can I not sing a mirthful song, " Or dance, or laugh, by summer stream " But I must hold some thought of wrong, " Some secret slight at heart to him. 80 ' ANNA BLAKB. XXIII. " Oh, never may our Mary prove, " The jealous glance, — the doubt unjust — " The thousand pains that wait on Love, '* When watched by bettle-browed distrust XXIV. " The veiled blame, the tone that stirs " Even Love's own sweetness into gall ; " But ah 1 the thought that he who errs, " Is still the best beloved of all ! XXV. " The eye, whose unconfiding beam, " Ne'er meets thine own with meaning free— " The temper like a maniac's dream ; " The secret step that — ^hush 1 'tis he I" XXVI. A shadow falls across the leaves, That cluster round the arched bower, Where close the sunbright jasmine weaves ; Its shoots through Binges lingering flower. XXVII. Tis Eman's step — ^'tis Eman's form, In nuptial splendour all arrayed, Yet in his greeting fond and warm ; There Imgered still an anxious shade. ANNA BLAKE. $1 XXVIII. " What means that quick distrustful hush, When Bman's form the maidens see ? Why rises Anna's conscious blush ? They have been whispering here of me !" But soon the unworthy darkness passed, At Anna's smile, from that high brow, As hills by transient gloom o'ercast ; ' In light as transient brighten now. XXX. " Joy to my Anna 1 — it is come ! " The morn of long expected bliss, " And Doubt is fled — and Fear is dumb, " And hours are rising bright with peace. XXXI. " And wilt thou now forgive the pain, " That Bman's anxious thoughts have given ? " That never can return again, " Till life's new gilded links are riven 1 XXXII. " Oh wordless joy 1 — the morn-beams break, " For which my lonely heart has uighed— " Since first by Corrib's mighty lake " I saw my young and gifted bride." ANNA BLAKE. zxsin. Oh joy of joys I the blushing ray. That smiling brings the bridal dawn, The sweetly-waliening waves that play, .All bright against the sonny lawn. " The fostering light — ^the genial air, " That breathe in nature's morning bowers, " Brings less of rapturous promise there, " Than this arising day of ours 1" XXXV. Even while he spol^e and Anna smiled, There fell a darkness on the bower, As when on Burrins mountain wild, The west-winds drive the sudden shower. XXXVI. The rising breeze unglassed the lake, The far blue hills grew dark and near, As in the Autumnal blasts that break, The beauty of the closing year. XXXVII. The vapoury pile arising dun, Slow up the altering east is driven, A veil obscures the distant sun, And darkness chills the face of heaven ANNil BLA£E. SS xxxvm. High in liis airy field remote, The skylark ends his duteous strain, And with a long and warning note Drops sudden on the darkening plain. xxzix. The peasant rests his weary spade. And backward views the threatening mom ; The pedlar marks the deepening shade Upon his mountain track forlorn. XL. The boatman spreads his tinted sail. Safe moored beside the windward clif^ Already hears the rushing gale. And closer winds the prudent reef. XLt. Along the shore with rapid stroke, The fisher plies the bending ash. Beneath the broad and darkening oak, The billows break their noisier plash. xui. The curlew seeks the inland moor, • • * * * 84 MY SPIRIT IS GAT. My spirit is gay as the breaking of dawn, As the breeze that sports over the snnlighted lawn, As the song of yon lark from his kingdom of light, Or the harpstring that rings in the chambers at night. For the world and its vapours, though darkly they fold, I have light that can turn them to purple and gold, Till they brighten the Landscape they came to deface, And deformity changes to beauty and grace. n. Yet eay not to selfish delights I must turn, From the grief-laden bosoms around me that mourn ; For 'tis pleasure to share in each sorrow I see. And sweet sympathy's tear is enjoyment to me. Oh 1 blest is the heart when misfortunes assail. That is armed in content as a garment of mail. For the grief of another that treasures its zeal, And remembers no woe but the woe it can heal. LTRICAL POEICS. 85 III. Whea the etonn gathers dark o'er the summer's young bloom, And each ray of the noontide is sheathed in gloom, I would be the rainbow high arching in air, Like a gleaming of hope on the brow of despair. When the burst of its fury is spent on the bow'r, And the buds are yet bow'd with the weight of the show'r, I would be the beam that comes warming and bright. And that bids them burst open to fragrance and light I would be the smile that comes breaking serene { O'er the features where lately affliction has been, | Or the heart-speaking scroll after years of alloy, That brings home to the desolate tidings of joy ; Or the life-giving rose odour borne by the breeze To the sense rising keen from the couch of disease, Or the whisper of charity tender and kind. Or the dawning of hope on the penitents mind. Then breathe ye sweet roses your fragrance around, And waken ye wild birds the grove with your sound ; When the soul is unstained and the heart is at ease. There's a rapture in pleasures so simple as these. I rejoice in each sunbeam that gladdens the vale, I rejoice in each odour that sweetens the gale, In the bloom of the spring, in the summers gay voice, With a spirit as gay I rejoice ! I rejoice 1 8« |L THE TIE IS BROKE MY IRISH GIRL The tic is broke my Irish girl I That bound thee here to me, My heart has lost its single pearl, And thine at last is free — Dead as the earth that wraps thy clay, Dead as the stone above thee— Cold as this heart that breaks to say It never more can love thee. n I press thee to my aching breast — — No blush comes o'er thy brow — Those gentle arms that once caress'd Fall round me deadly now — The smiles of Love no longer part Those dead blue lips of thine — I lay my hand upon thy heart, lis cold at last to mine. LYRICAL POEMS. 87 in. Were we beneath our native heaven, Within our native land — A fairer grave to thee were given Than this wild bed of sand — But thou wert single in thy faith And single in thy worth, And thou should'st die a lonely death, And lie in lonely earth. IV. Then lay thee down and take thy rest, My last — ^last look is given — The earth is smooth above tky breast. And mine is yet unriven I No mass — ^no parting rosary — My perished lovs can have — But a hasband's sighs embalm her corse, A husband's tears her grave. WHEN LOVE IN A YOUNG HEART. I. When Love in a young heart his dwelling has taken, < And pines on the white cheek, and bums in the vein^ \ Bay, how can the reign of the tyrant be shaken, By absence? by poverty? sickness? or chains? 88 LTBIC.U. POEMS. n No ! — ^tliese hare been tried and the tempted has come^ Unmoved through the changes of grief and distress^ Bat if you would send him at once to the tomb You must poison his hope with a dose of — success. SLEEP THAT LIKE THE COTJCHED DOVE Sleep, that like the couched Dove, Broods o'er the weary eye, Dreams, that with soft heavings more The heart of memory — Labour's guerdon, golden rest, Wrap thee in its downy vest ; Pall like comfort on thy brain. And sing the hush-song to thy pcun Far from thee be startling fears, And dreams the guilty dream ; No Banshee scare thy drowsy ears, With her ill-omened scream. LYRICAL POKMS. g( But tones of fairy minstrelsy Float like the ghosts of sound o'er thee. Soft as the chapels distant bell, And lull thee to a sweet farewell. III. Ye, for whom the ashy hearth Tte fearfiil housewife clears — Ye, whose tiny sounds of mirth, The nighted carman hears — Ye, whose pigmy hammers make The wonderers of the cottage wake- Noiseless be your airy flight. Silent as the still moonlight. IV. Silent go and harmless come. Fairies of the stream — Ye, who love the winter gloom, Or the gay moonbeam — Hither bring your drowsy store, Gather'd from the bright lusmore, Shake o'er temples — soft and deep, The comfort of the poor man's sleeps M THE SALLY-COOP WHERE ONCE J STRAYED. The sally-coop where once I strayed Is faded now and lonely — The echoes in the leafless glade Wake to the waters only — My early haunts are perished all, My early friends departed — And I sit in my native hall Forlorn and broken-hearted. When last I lay beside that stream I dreamt of fame and splendour, And Dliss was mingled with my dream, Domestic, sweet, and tender — Now I would give that fame and all, Were this soft starlight gleaming On my old friends in their old hall, And I an infant dreaming. 91 THE MIE-WA-MALLAH* NOW IS PAST.- Air<— O/l mrra sthnt. The mie-narmallah* now is past, O wirrarsthra 1 O wirra-sthru ! And I must leave my home at last, wirra-sthru 1 O wirra-sthra I I look into my father's eyes, I hear my mother's parting sighs — Ah 1 fool to pine for other ties — O wirra-sthra I wirrarsthm I n. This evening they must sit alone, O wirra-sthru 1 wirra-sthra ! They'll talk of me when I am gone, O wirrarsthru 1 wirra-sthru 1 * Honeymoon. t^rjCAL POEMS Who now will cheer my weary sire, When toil and care his heart shall tire ; My chair is empty by the fire ; O wirra-sthru ! O wirra-sthru ; III. How sunny looks my pleasant home, O wirra-sthru 1 O wirrarsthrn ! Those flowers for me shall never bloom— O wirra-sthra I O wirrarsthru ; I seek new Mends, and I am told. That they are rich in lands and gold ; Ah ! will they love me like the old ? O wirrarsthru I wirra-sthru ? IV. Farewell dear friends, we meet no morfr— wirra-sthru I O wirra-sthru I My husband's horse is at the door ; wirrarsthru 1 wirra-stliia ; Ah, love 1 ah, love ! be kind to me ; For by this breaking heart you see, How dearly I have purchased thee ! wirra-flthru I O wirra-sthru 1 93 THE WANDERER'S RETURN. I've come unto my home again and find myself alone, The friends I left in quiet there are perished all and gone — My father's house is tenantless, my early love lies low, But one remams of all that made my youthful spirit glow. My love lies in the blushing West, — drest in a robe of green, And pleasant waters sing to her, and know her for their queen : The wild wind fans her face that o'er the distant billows come — She is my last remaining love — my own — my island home. 1 know I've not the cunning got to tell the love I feel, And few give timid truth the faith they yield to seem- ing zeal, The friends who loved me thought me cold, and fell oflf one by one. And left me in my solitude to live and love alone. M LTKICAL POEMS. But each pleasant grove of thine, my love, and gtream, my fervour know — For there is no distrusting glance to meet and check ita glow — To every dell I freely tell my thoughts where'er I roam, How dear thou art to this lorn heart, my own, my island home. ni. And when I lift my voice and sing unto thy silent shades, And echo wakens merrily in all thy drowsy glades, There's not a rill — a vale — a hill — a wild wood or still grove. But gives again the burning strain, and yields mc love for love — Oh, I have seen the maiden of my bosom pine and die — And I have seen my bosom friend look on me doubt- ingly— And long — long — have all my young affections fiAind a tomb — Yet thou art all in all to me, my own, my island home. rv. And now I bring a weary thing — a vrithered heart to thee — To lay me doAvn upon thy breast and die there quietly — I've wandered o'er — O, many a shore, to die this death at last — And my soul is glad — its wish is gained, and all my toils are past. LYRICAL POEMS. 95 Oh, take me to thy bosom then, »ud let the spot of earth Receive the wanderer to his rest, that gave the wan- derer birth — And the stream, beside whose gentle tide a child I loved to roam — Now pour its wave along my grave, my narrow island home? OLD TIMESl OLD TIMESI Old times 1 old times I the gay old times I When I was young and free, And heard the merry Easter chimes Under the sally tree. My Sunday palm beside me placed — My cross upon my hand — A heart at rest within my breast, And sunshine on the land ! Old times 1 Old timet 1 96 LYRICAL POEMa. II. It is not that my fortunes flee, Nor that my cheek is pale — I mourn whene'er I think of thee. My darling native vale ? — A wiser head I have, I know, Than when I loitered there — But in my wisdom there is woe, And in my knowledge, care. Old times I Old timei ! I've lived to know my share of joy, To feel my share of pain — To learn that friendship's self can cloy To love, and love in vain — To feel a pang and wear a smile. To tire of other climes — To Uke my own unhappy isle. And sing the gay old times ! Old times I Old times IV. And sure the land is nothing changed. The birds are singing still ; The flowers are sprmging where we ranged. There's sunshine on the hill I LTBICAL POGHS Qf The sally, waving o'er my head. Still sweetly shades my frame — But ah, those happy days are fled, And I am not the same I Old tunes I Old times 1 V. Oh, come again ye merry tunes I Sweet, sunny, fresh, and calm — And let me hear those Easter chimes. And wear my Sunday pahn. If I could cry away mine eyes My tears would flow in vain — If I could waste my heart in sighs, They'll never come again I Old tunes 1 Old times 1 A PLACE m THY MEMORY DEAREST. A place in thy memory, dearest, Is all that I claim, To i)ause and look back when thou hearest The sound of my name. Another may woo thee, nearer. Another may wm and wear ; I care not though he be dearer, If I am remembered there. 6 98 LTBICAL POEMS. Remember me — not as a lover Whose hope was cross'd, Whose bosom cau never recover The light it hath lost, As the young bride remembers the mother She loves, though she never may see, As a sister remembers a brother, 0, dearest 1 remember me. in. Could I be thy true lover, dearest, Conld'st thou smile on me, I would be the fondest and nearest That ever loved thee 1 But a cloud on my pathway is glooming That never mast burst upon thine ; And Heaven, that made thee all blooming Ne'er made thee to wither on mine. IV. Remember me then ! — 0, remember, My calm, light love ; Though bleak as the blasts of November My life may prove, That life will, though lonely, be sweet, If its brightest enjoyment should be, A smile and kind word when we meet, And a place in thy memory. MY MARY OF THE CURLING HAIR Air. — Shule, agra. Mt Mary of the cnrling hair, The laughmg teeth and bashM air, Onr bridal mom is dawning fair, With blushes in the skies. Shide! Shuk! ShuU! agra, ShvJt, amcwr, agus shide, a/roon* My love I my peari I My own dear girl I My mountain maid arise 1 II. Wake, linnet of the osier grove I Wake, trembling, stainless, virgin dove I Wake, nestling of a parent's love 1 Let Moran see thine eyes. Shule! Shuk! J^ * Come ! come ! eome, my darling — Come, Boftly, and oome, my love I 100 LTKICAL POEMS. m. I am no stranger, prond and gay. To win thee from thy home away, And find thee, for a distant day, A theme for wasting sighs. SAide! Shuk! Sft. rr But we were known from infancy, Thy fathers heart was home to me, No selfish love was mine for thee, Unholy and nnwise. Shuk! Shuk! SfC And yet, (to see what Love can do I) Though calm my hope has burned, and triM^ My cheek is pale and worn for you, And sunken are mine eyes 1 Shade! ShuU! SfC n. But soon my love shall be my bride, And happy by our own fire-side, My veins shall feel the rosy tide. That lingering Hope denies. Shuk! Shuk! Sft. ltbical poems. 101 VII. My Mary of the curling hair, The laughing teeth and bashful air, Our bridal morn is dawning fair, With blushes in the skies. Skvik! SAule! SMe; agra, Skult asucwr, agus skuie, aroon ! My love ! my pearl 1 My own dear girl 1 My mountain maid, arise 1 GILLI-MA-CHREB. tL\T.— Paddy O'Rourke's the bouchal. GiUirmorchree, Sit down by me. We now are joined, and ne'er shall sever j This hearth's our own, Our hearts are one And peace is ours for ever 1 103 LTBICAL POEMS. When I was poor, Yonr father's door Was closed against yonr constant loror j With care and pain, I tried in vain My fortunes to recover. I said, "To other lands 111 roam, ' Where Fate may smile on me, love ; I said, ' Farevrell, my own old home ! And I said, ' Farewell to thee, love 1' Sing GilHrmorcAree, I know a casket, (guess you where ?) Filled with sweet thoughts and feelings rare, A richer and a simpler one For poet's thoughts to dwell upon. A meeter theme For minstrel dream. Upon whose glowing surface yet (Or do I err ?) no seal is set. VII. Oh, bid me name a hand to place On that soft heart the first deep trace, And his it shall be in whose eye A soft and gentle dignity ; A healthful cheek. And smiles that speak ; A voice whose memory haunts the ear, And full deep flashing eyes are dear VIII Let joys that Time may never dim Share like their own kind looks for him Who first the dear unpression makes, And withered be the hand that breaks ; Let life glide by All peacefully. Till on that sinless brow of thine The signet of the Blest shall shine. 200 A PORTRAIT. Merry hours will fleet, Friends that love must seTer, Oft in joy we meet, To part in tears for ever Many a word is said. And changed as soon as spoken ; Many a vow is made, Only to be broken. Life is like a glass O'er whose surface gleaming, Brilliant shadows pass. But vain as childhood's dreaming Could we find the art To fix the flying splendour, One I know my heart Never would surrender. III. Tis a lovely shade 1 Paint it while it lingers, Ere it fail and fade. Ere the wasting fingera MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 201 Of the haggard Time, The blasting and consnming Touch its tender prime, And wither all its blooming. Paint a fitting form In royal halls to wander, With woman's softness warm. With dignity beyond her ; Think a youthful Queen, Tarries while you trace it, Tis a shape and mien. To fill a throne and grace it. V. Paint a blushing cheek Filled with healthful beauty, Beady smiles that speak Of peace and cherished duty. Eyes that shift and shine With a full deep meaning. Clouded curls that twine A sunny forehead screening. Paint a blooming lip With blushing softness sweUing, Where mirth and kindness keep An undivided dweUiug. 802 MSCELLANEOUS F0EH3. The charm is wantmg still That on that soft lip lingers, And the ready skill That hannts those taper fingera, Merry hours will fleet Friends that love must serer, Oft in joy we meet To part in tears for ever. But in absence, warm, Upon this heart reclining ; I will keep that form Of memory's fond designing. VIII. Oft in lonesome eves When the light is dying, And the shivering leaves In all the woods are sighing ; Fancy will restore. Those well remembered honriL That romantic shore. And those forsaken bowers. IX. Fate may frown her worst, I no more will fear it, Let her thunder burst, I will smile to hear it ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 203 If when life shall fleet, A sinless death be given, And a hope to meet Hearts like thine in heaven. LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY ON REAOINO A POEM OF HERS ADDRESSED TO DEATH. Oh, may the burthen of thy song Forbear the gentle minstrel long, But when all joys for which we live, Save those alone which guilt can give, When all thine earthly hopes are won. And Love and Friendship long thine own ; Then with those love-knots softly riven. With all thy virtues ripe for Heaven ; Then looking calm to joys above. And leaving peace with all you love, Pass gently like an evening wind. And leave no broken hearts behind. 204 INSCRIPTION FOR A CUP FORMED OF A COCOA-NUT. It was not dug from charnel deep, It was not hewn from quarried steep, But sweetly fiU'd its covering dun Beneath warm India's burning sun ; That Lydia might the shell receive, In memory of that parted eve. Ah, still when each returning May, Restores sweet friendship's opening day, Remember those descending showers. And lovely Richmond's drooping bowers ; And welcome then to thee and thine The May-day guest of twenty-nine. By lonely Dunloh's echoing lakes. By wild Glengariff's rocky brakes By old Askeyton's cloister still, By sweet Ringmoylan's leafy hill. And by that wild and clifted shore, That hears the roused Atlantic roar. Remember him who gives the shell. And keep it long and guard it well. Devote — ^in Friendships name to thee, And thine — oh, fair Fidelity, 205 IMPROMPTU. OK SEEING AN IRIS FORMED BY THE SPRAY Or TH« OCEAN AT MILLTOWN MALBAY. Oh sun coloured breaker 1 when gazing on thee I think of the Eastern story, How beauty arose from the foam of the sea ; A creature of light and of glory. But bark I a hoarse answer is sent from the wave, " No — ^Venus was never my daughter — " To golden-haired Iris her being I gave, " Behold where she shines o'er the water." WHEN FILLED WITH THOUGHTS OF LIFE'S YOUNG DAY When filled with thoughts of life's young day, Alone in distant climes we roam, And year on year has rolled away, Since last we viewed our own dear home. Oh, then at evening's silent hour. In chamber lone or moonlit bower ; 206 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS How sad on memory's listening ear, Gome long lost voices sounding near, Like the wild chime of village bells Heard far away in mountain dells. II. Bnt, ah ! for him let kind hearts grieve His tune of youth and exile o'er, Who treads on life's declining eve. With altered eyes his native shore, With sinkii^ heart and weary brain. Who treads those lonesome scenes agaiE And backward views those sunny hours When first he knew those ruined bowers, And hears in every passmg gale. Some lost affections dying wail. III. Oh say what spell of power serene. Can cheer that hour of sharpest pain, And turn to gold the anguish keen, That deeplier wounds because in vain. Tis not the thought of glory won. Of hoarded gold or pleasures gone. Bat one bright course from earliest youth, Of changeless faith, unbroken truth — This turns to gold the vapours dun. That close on life's descending son. 20T THE WAKE WITHOUT A CORPSE.* The dismal yew and cypress tall, Wave o'er the church-yard lone, Where rest our friends and fathers all, Beneath the funeral stone. TJnvexed in holy ground they sleep, Oh early lost I o'er thee. No sorrowing Mend shall ever weep, Nor stranger bend the knee. Mo chuma I lorn am I ! Hoarse dashing rolls the salt sea wave, Over our perished darling's grave. The winds, the sullen deep that tore His death song chaunted loud, The weeds that line the clifted shore Were all his burial shroud^ * It is a custom among the peasantiy in some parts of Ireland when any member of a family has been lost at sea (or in any other way which renders the performance of the onstomaiy funeral rite Impossible,) to celebrate the " wake," exactly in the same way, as if the corpse were actually present yS HIBCELLANEOUS FOEHS. For friendly wail and holy dirge And long lament of love, Around him roared the angry surge The curlew screamed above. Mo chuma 1 lorn am I, My grief would turn to rapture now, Might I but touch that pallid brow. III. The stream-bom bubbles soonest burst That earliest left the source Buds earliest blown are faded first, In Nature's wonted course ; With guarded pace her seasons creep. By slow decay expire, The young above the aged weep. The son above the sire ; Mo chuma I lorn am I, That death a backward course should hold To smite the young and spare the old I 209 rO A YOUNG FRIEND ON HIS BIRTHDAY The world has run one chequered round Within its airy ring, Since thou unfolding flower I hast found, The light of life's soft spring. II. Thy parents were my friends in joy, My friends in sadness long. And now to greet their rosy boy, I bring my birth-day song By many a shore and mountain wild, Lone lake and cheerful bower, We wove a tie, beloved child, To bless a distant hour. IV. We staid not on the threshold cold, Of strange and lingering form, But pressed to Friendships iumost hold ' With trusting hearts and warm. 210 UISCELLANEOITR FOEMS. Perhaps — because I wrote of truth, They deem'd I loved her too, And painting forms of generous youth, I was the thing I drew. VI. For soon their hearts were bound to me, In feeling deep and sure, Like old Mends lost in infancy ; And found in Ufe mature. The light of earth's uncertain skies, Not yet its quickening flood. Had sent into those gentle eyes ; Dark unexpanded bud I VIII. When in an hour of joy serene, A kindly promise came ; That now my young and loved Eugene^ Is broken in thy name. IX. Yet ne'er for that unheeding turn. Of friendship's first excess ; More faintly mine to them shall bum, Nor thou be loved the less. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 211 X. Whene'er thine altered name I hear, My heart may mourn 'tis true ; A keen reproach must grieve mine ear, And wholesome warning too XI. For oft I think 'mid lonesome hours, By night and silence stirred — Whene'er I think ou those lost hours, And that forgotten word. That had they found this heart when tried, The heart their fancy dreamed, And had long knowledge justified. What trusting friendship deemed. xin. That pledge might be remembered now, That confidence the same, And, sign of altered feeling thou, Had'st borne another name. XIV. But far let waking reason keep. Each indolent regret ; And while she hoards the lesson deep The useless grief forget. 312 MISGELLANEOUS F0EH3, XT. Now many a month has rolled awaj, Dear boy, for ns and you, And closed are all those scenes so gay, And changed their actors too ! But let me turn from thoughts like these, And change my song to joy. And rhyme for thee a prayer of peace, Oh, sinless, angel boy 1 XVII. Fair Virture guide my young Eugene, With footing firm and true. And keep his breast from sorrow keen ; His feet from wandering too 1 XVIII. Mercy Divine I — if changing fate. Rave in his pathway wild ; Make strong thine arm to shield his state ! Oh save this infant child I 213 ADDRESSED TO A FRIEND. What 1 passed away ! those happy hours When sunny friendship yet was new, When Love's own music filled those bowers And joys bright sun broke dazzling through. Ah, no ! the spirit is not fled That woke that brief, admiring rhyme, Nor feeliug cold — nor memory dead — Though changed, alas 1 are place and tims. Ah, no I if vivid dreams at night. If keen remembrances by day, Can fetter Time's untiring flight. Those moments are not passed away IV. Dear scenes I where oft my spirit quaffed Life's social joy from genial springs ; Sweet time ! when Pleasure round us laughed, And freely waved his golden wings 814 MISCELLANEOUS F0EH3. Ah does this worthless heart forget — Those moments now so sadly sweet, Nor musing on their memory yet, With lonesome feelings wildly beat. I know the thoughts that die nnsnng To many speak a heart mitrue, They think when silence chains the tongm The soni must be forgetfnl too. VII. Yet trust me Memory's warmest sighs Are often breathed in moments lorn'^ And many a feeling thought will rise And in the bosom die unborn. VIII. No — Friendship does not always sleep, Though sometimes she may mourn alone. Nor sympathy less kindly weep, Though oft her tears have fallen unknowa S15 ON PULLING SOME CAMPANULA.S IN A LADY'S GARDEN. Oh, weeds will haunt the loveliest scene The snmmer snn can see, And clouds will sometimes come between The truest Mends that be. And thoughts unkind will come perchtmce, And haply words of blame, For pride is Man's inheritance, And frailty is his name. 11. Yet while I pace this leafy Tale, That nursed thine infancy — And hear in every passing gale A whispered sound of thee. My 'nighted bosom wakes anew. To Peeling's genial ray, And each dark mist on Memory's view Melts into light away. 216 MISCELI ANEOnS POEUB. III. The flowers that grace this shaded spot, Low, lovely and obscure, Are like the joys thy Friendship brought, Unboasted, sweet and pure 'Sow withered is their automn blow, And changed their simple hue, Ah ! — must it e'er be mine to know — Their type is faded too. IV. Yet should those well remembered houn Return to me no more. And — like those culled and faded flowers^ Their day of life be o'er — In Memory's fragrant dirine concealed, A sweeter joy they give, Thau aught the world again can yield Or I again receive 211 THEY SPEAK OF SCOTLAJ^D'S HEROES OLD. They speak of Scotland's heroes old, Struggling to make their country free, And in that hour my heart grows cold, For Erin I then I think of thee ! II They boast their Bruce of Bannockbum, Their noble Knight of EUerslie ; To Erin's sons I proudly turn, My country then I smile for thee. III. They boast tho' joined to England's power, Scotland ne'er bowed to slayery ; An equal league in danger's hour, My country then I weep for thee. IV. And when they point to our fair Isle, And say no patriot hearts have we : That party stains the work defile, My country — ^then I blush for thee. 218 msCELLANEOUS FOEVS. But Hope says, " blnsh or tear shall nerer, Snlly approving Fame's decree." When Freedom's word her bonds shall serer, My country then 111 joy in thee. VI. But oh 1 be Scotland honoured long, Be envy ever far from me, My simple lay meant her no wrong, My Country — ^it was but for thee ! O'BRAZIL, THE ISLE OF THE BLEST. A spectre island, said to be sometimes visible, on the verge of tht western horiion in the Atlantic, from the isles of Arran. On the ocean that hollows the rocks where ye dwell, A shadowy land has appeared as they tell ; Men thought it a region of sunshine and rest, And they called it O'Brazil— the isle of the blest From year unto year, on the ocean's blue rim. The beautiful spectre showed lovely and dim ; The golden clouds curtained the deep where it lay, And it looked like an Eden, away, far away I WSCBIXANBOUS POEMS. 219 II. A peasant who heard of the wonderful tale, In the breeze of the Orent, loosened his sail ; From Ara, the holy, he turned to the west. For though Ara was holy, O'Brazil was blest. He heard not the voices that called from the shore He heard not the rising winds menacing roar ; Home, kindred, and safety, he left on that day, And he sped to O'Brazil, away, far away I ni. Mom rose on the deep, and that shadowy Isle, O'er the faint rim of distance reflected its smile ; Noon bnrned on the wave, and that shadowy shore, Seemed lovelily distant, and faint as before : Lone evening came down, on the wanderer's track. And to Ara again he looked timidly back ; Oh 1 far on the verge of the ocean it lay. Yet the Isle of the blest was away, far away 1 IV. Bash dreamer return I ye winds of the main. Bear him back to his own peaceful Ara again ; Rash fool I for a vision of fanciful bliss. To barter thy calm life of labour and peace. The warning of Reason was spoken in vain, He never re-visited Ara again ; Night fell on the deep, amidst tempest and spray, And he died on the waters, away, far away 1 HISCELLANEOUS F0EU8. To you gentle friends, need I pause to reveal, The lessons of pradence, my verses conceal ; How the phantom of pleasure seen distant in youth, Oft lures a weak heart from the circle of truth. All lovely it seems like that shadowy Isle, And the eye of the wisest is caught by its smfle ; But ah I for the heart, it has tempted to stray, From the sweet home of duty, away, far away I VI. Poor friendless adventurer I vainly might he, Look back to green Ara, along the wild sea ; But the wandering heart has a guardian above, Who, though erring, remembers the child of his love Oh, who at the proffer of safety would spurn When all that he asks, is the will to return ; To follow a phantom, from day unto day, And die in the tempest, away, far away I UNES ADDRESSED TO A SEAGULL, SEEN OFF THE CLIFFS OP MOHEB, IN THE COUNTY OF CLARE. White bird of the tempest I oh beautiful thing. With the bosom of snow, and the motionless wing, Now sweeping the billow, now floating on high. Now bathing thy plumes in the %ht of the sky ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 221 Now poising o'er ocean thy delicate form, Now breasting the surge with thy bosom so warm ; Now darting aloft, with a heavenly scorn, Now shooting along, like a ray of the morn. Now lost in the folds of the cloud-curtained dome, Now floating abroad like a flake of the foam, Now silently poised o'er the war of the main, Like the spirit of Charity, brooding o'er pain. Now gUding with pinion, all silently fui'led, Like an Angel descending to comfort the world I Thou seem'st to my spirit, as upward I gaze, And see thee, now clothed in mellowest rays ; Now lost in the storm driven vapours that fly, , Like hosts that are routed across the broad sky 1 Like a pure spirit true, to its virtue and faith. Mid the tempests of nature, of passion, and death 1 Rise I beautiful emblem of purity rise 1 On the sweet winds of Heaven, to thine own brilliani skies ; Still higher 1 still higher I till lost to our sight, Thou hidest thy wings in a mantle of Jght ; And I think how a pure spirit gazing on thee, Must long for the moment — the joyous and free, When the soul disembodied, from nature shall spring. Unfettered at once to her maker and kmg ; When the bright day of service and suffering past, Shapes, fairer than thine, shall shine round her at last, While, the standard of battle triumphantly furled, She smiles like a victor serene on the world 1 222 PA.ST TIMES. f Es, theru is the dwelling, the warmth of the year Still lives in each blossom that flourishes here ; Yes, there is the dwelling, but lonely it seems, As a land in which Fancy stalks silent in dreams, The door-way that welcomed the gnest to the hall, The creepers that whispered along the white wall ; Each sweet of the snmmer smiles tenderly there. Bat where are the fingers that dress'd them? oh where ? Ah, true to remembrance 1 Ah, true to the thought, Deep hid in my heart, of that love-lighted spot. Aye, there are the flower bordered paths where we walked, And there are the groves where we listened and talked ] All lonesomely blooming I I look, but in vain For a symbol of light in the quiet domain. The lawn, where the children have gamboll'd is there^ But where are the innocent faces ? oh where? UISCELLANGODS POEMS 223 III. Yes, there is the window that looked to the flood, Bat where are the friends by the casement that stood ? And told me how sweet as he sunk to his rest, Was the smile of the sun from the clouds of the west ; How bright on the river his blushing lights falls, How spectral in distance those time-shattered walls, And the hearts that to mine turned fervently there. And the minds that to mine were an echo — oh where ? IV. True ! — Life is but short and possession unsure, BeUgion may teach us that we should endure. But oh ! there are moments when feeling will speak. When nature is mighty and reason is weak ; When selfishly sinking our bosoms will mourn O'er joys that are gone and can never return ; And whisper in ignorance fearful and drear Where now are the days that haye left us ? — oh where ? V. May he in whose keeping are sorrow and joy, The kindly to save, and the just to destroy, Give light to our spirits in moments so dim, For those are the trials that turn us to Him. There may be a time, when the bosoms that here, Yet sigh o'er the wrecks of the vanishing year, May whisper in joy round the foot of his throne, TVas well that our dwelling, looked dreary and lone I 224 THE WRECK OF THE COMET. Darkness is on the wave — The sea heaves sluggishly, The winds are in their cave, Slumbering silently. Diu is the seaman's track, TJncheered by starry glow, And all above is black — And lightless all below. II. Two ships are on the sea — No need of wind have they, To speed them rapidly Forth OD their watery way. Like creatures of the deep, They ply their forward coarse, Breaking old Ocean's sleep With heavy sounds and hoarse. USCGLLANEOUS POEHS. 225 III. Look through the darkling veil Night hangs upon the ware — Deaths own eternal pale — The universal grave 1 Mark yon tall bark — ^the din Of life that is about her — Love, Hope, and Mirth are in, And Ruin is without her. IV Youth is slumbering there, And Age — as beautiful — Hush'd is the heart of Care — Beauty's love looks are dull — Here young Hope's honey breath. The waking lover quaffs — And yonder, see where death Sits on the wave, and laughs I V. The vessels near ! — they ply — They meet — that fate hath caught ner : A sudden crash — a cry 1 — A wail above the water — A hiss of quenching flame — A rush of billows on her — The hungry waves are tame — The sea is smooth upon her. 10* MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. VI. A voice is on the deep — Hoarse is the whirlwind's Inngs — The sea starts from her sleep, And lifts her billowy tongues — " A sorrow for the dead I Friend — countryman — and stranger- And a curse for him who fled, His fellow men in danger ! " THE SISTER OP CHARITY. She once was a lady of honour and wealth, Bright glow'd on her features the roses of health : Her vesture was blended of silk and of gold. And her motion shook perfume from every fold : Joy reveU'd around her — ^love shone at her side. And gay was her smile, as the glance of a bride ; And light was her step, in the mirth-sounding hall. When she heard of the daughters of Vincent de Paul MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 221 II. She felt iu her spirit, the summons of grace, That call'd her to live for the suffering race ; And heedless of pleasure, of comfort, of home. Rose quickly like Mary, and answered, " I come," She put from her person the trappings of pride. And pass'd from her home, with the joy of a bride. Nor wept at the threshold, as onward she moved, — For her heart was on fire, in the cause it approved. in. Lost ever to fashion — to vanity lost. That beauty that once was the song and the toast — No more in the ball-room, that figure we meet, But gliding at dusk to the wretch's retreat. Forgot in the halls is that high-sounding name. For the sister of Charity blushes at fame ; Forgot are the claims of her riches and birth. For she barters for heaven, the glory of earth. IV. Those feet that to music, could gracefully move, Now bear her alone on the mission of love ; Those hands that once dangled the perfume and gem Are tending the helpless, or lifted for them ; That voice that once echo'd the song of the vain, Now whispers relief to the bosom of pain ; And the hair that was shining with diamond and pear^ Is wet with the tears of the penitent girl. HISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Her down-bed a pallet — ^her trinkets a bead, Her Instre — one taper that serves her to read ; Her sculpture — the crucifix nail'd by her bed, Her paintings one print of the thorn-crowned head ; Her cushion — the pavement, that wearies her knees. Her music the psalm, or the sigh of disease ; The delicate lady lives mortified there, And the feast is forsaken for fasting and prayer. Yet not to the service of heart and of mind. Are the cares of that heaven-minded virgin confined, Like him whom she loves, to the mansions of grief, She hastes with the tidings of joy and reUef. She strengthens the weary — she comforts the weak, And soft is her voice in the ear of the sick ; Where want and affliction on mortals attend. The sister of Charity there is a friend. VII. Unshrinking where pestilence scatters his breatb, Like an angel she moves, 'mid the vaponr of death. Where rings the loud musket, and flashes the sword, Unfearing she walks, for she follows the Lord. How sweetly she bends o'er each plague tainted face With looks that are lighted, with holiest grace ; How kindly she dresses each soffering limb. For she sees in the wounded the image of Him. IDSCGLLANEOUS FOEUS, 229 vm. BeLold her, ye worldly 1 behold her, ye vain 1 Who shrink from the pathway of virtue and pain ; Who yield up to pleasure, your nights and your days Forgetful of service, forgetful of praise. Ye lazy philosophers — self-seeking men, — Ye fireside philantrophists, great at the pen, How stands in the balance your eloquence weighed, With the life and the deeds of that high-born maid ? NANO NAGLE. FOUNDRESS OF THE PRESENTATION AND URSULINE ORDERS OP NUNS IN IRELAND, WHICH ARE DEVOTED CHIEFLY TO THE EDUCATION OF THE POOR. TwAS the garden of Christendom, tended with care ; v'ry flow'ret of Eden grew peacefully there ; When the fire of the spoiler on Lombardy blazed. And the Moslemin shout in the desert was raised. And high o'er the wreck of a fear-stricken world. The standard of hell to the winds was unfurled. Faith, bleeding retired to the land of the west. And with Science, her handmaid, sought shelter and rest 230 MISCELLANEOUS FOEUS n. With a wann burst of welcome that shelter was given ; Her breast open'd wide to the envoy of heaven ; In the screen of her bowers was the stranger conceal'd, Till her pantings were hushed and her bruises wereheal'd From the hall of the Righ, to the shieling afar, All echoed her glory, all greeted her star. In the depth of our glen, were her secrets adored, And our mountain shone out in the light of the Lord. III. Ye ivy-clad relics, resounding no more. With the swell of the anthem, from shore unto shore, Ye crags of the ocean, ye caves, in whose gloom. The saint found a home, and the martyr a tomb. Ye arrows of vengeance forgot in the quiver. Ye death-shouts of enmity silenced for ever, Ye roods of the wilderness hoary with years. Ye knew of her triumph — ye know of her tears. IV. Ye speak of that tune when the cells )llection, " Let love like mine own on his spirit attend — " For to me his heart turned with a poet's affection, " Just less than a lover, and more than a friend. 238 laSCELLANEOUS POEItS. XIV. "Was he selfish? not qnite — but his bosom was glowing With thronging affections— unanswered — unknown, He looked all ronnd the world for a heart overflowing, But found not another to love like his own. XV. " Yet how ? — did the worthy avoid or forsake him ? Ah, no — ^for heaven blessed him with many a Mend, But few were so trusting that might not mistake him. Oh 1 none were so dear that he could not offend I XVI. " Yet peace to his clay in its dreary dominion, I know that to me he was good and sincere, And that Virtue ne'er shadowed with tempering pinioi^ An honester friendship than Death covers here." 239 THE NIGHT-WALKEB TwAS in the blooming month of May, When woods and fields are green ; When early, at the dawn of day, The sky-lark sings, unseen ; A gallant brig, with swelling sails, Weigh'd anchor by our strand. With convicts from poor Erin's -valen, Boand for Van Diemen's land. Slow down old Shannon's silent tide By favouring breezes borne, I saw the royal fabric glide, Dim in the twilight morn ; When sadly o'er the shining flood Those accents reached the shore, " Adieu, adieu I my own green wood, I ne'er shall see thee moi'e I 840 MISCELI,ANE<-MS POEMS. " Ye ftnrze-clad hills, anu briery dells, Now waking to the dawn — Ye streams, whose lonesome mmmnr swells Across the silent lawn — Ye snow-white cots, that sweetly smile Along the peaceM shore, Adieo, adieu 1 my own green isle, I ne'er shall see thee more. IV. " 0, had my tongue a trumpet's force, To rouse yon slumbering vale. That I might make the echo hoarse With my unhappy tale ; That I might wake each sleeping friend, To hear my partiug moan, And, weeping o'er my luckless end, Be watchful for his own. " From infancy, a blissful life In yonder vale I led ; There, first I met my faithfiil wife, There, first I woo'd and wed ; Long time v^ith blithesome industry We met each coming dawn, Or closed each eve with gentle glee^ Beside the dark Ovaan. mSCKLLANEOUS POEMS. 241 VT " Oh I give again my humble lot, My garden by the mill, The rose that graced our clay-built cot. The hazel-tufted hill ; The sweets that fiU'd each grateful sense From dawn to dewy night ; And more than these — the innocence That gave the landscape light. VII " For daily there the nesting lark Sang to my spade at morn ; The red-breast there, at fall of dark, Hymn'd lonely from her thorn. Ah 1 must I leave that happy dell, Where all my youth was pass'd, And breathe to each a sad farewell, My fondest, and my last ? " When far Van Diemen's sunbeams soon Upon my head shall fall, How shall I miss at toilsome noon My Mary's cheerful call I When, standing on the distant stile, She pour'd her summons clear, Or met me with that happy smile That made our threshold dear 1 11 S43 MISCELLANEOUS F0EH3 IZ. " What hand shall trim the rashlight now That glads my cabin floor ? Or raise the turf with bended bongh, When wintry tempets roar ? Ah ! never shall that lightsome hearth Again be swept for me ; Nor infant there, with fondling mirth, Come climbing to my knee. X. " Ah, happy days ! what Mary now Along the hedge shall steal, With dark blue cloak and hooded brow, To bring my noontide meal ? The plenteous root of Erin's fields, To toil-worn peasant sweet ; And that fair draught the dairy yields, Not whiter than her feet. XL " Dream on — dream on, my happy friends I Oh I never may you know The hopeless, helpless grief that renda My bosom as I go I But when, at merry dance or fair The sportive moments flee, Let old remembrance waken there One pitying thought on me. MISCELLANEOUS F0EM3 243 XII. " Yet hear my tale — the bursting sigh That leaves the sufferer's heart, The tears that blind each fixed eye When old affections part ; The wail, the shriek, each sound of fear. That scares the peopled glen, Might yet, would they the lesson hear, Teach wisdom unto men. Twas night — the black November blast Howl'd fierce through shrub and briar We heard the demon as he pass'd. And stirr'd our scanty fire ; Our babes, by sweetest slumber Ml'd In rosy silence lay. Like buds to grace a garland cuU'd Upon a summer day. " A knock ! — hark ! — hush ! — 'twas but ths bail, That smote our single pane — Still fiercer beat the ruffian gale- Still heavier drove the rain ; — Again I — ^the latch is raised — the storm Dash'd back the opening door, And light'ning show'd the unknown form That prcss'd our cabin floor 244 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. XV. " O Satan, prince of darkness ! thoa-« Wert thou in presence there, Thou could'st not wear a subtler brow Nor loftier seeming bear ; Dark hung the drenched tresses wild Around his sallow cheek ; Nor e'er did lady, whispering mild With sweeter accent speak. XVI. " It was, it was some friendly pow'r That saw my coming doom. And warned me of that fatal hour, Amid the stormy gloom. When loud I heard the thunders roll Prophetic in mine ear, And something shook my secret soul With sense of danger near 1 XVII. " Now quickly Mary's dext'rous hand The sunple meal prepared ; And soon, by rapid apron fann'd. The ruddy hearth-stone glared ; Soon by its social quick'ning light We talk'd, with bosoms free. And Mary left the long, long night To ruin and to me msCBJLANEOUS POEMS. 245 XVIII. " The sound of waters gushing sweet Upon a summer noon, Of winds that stir the green retreat Or harvest songs in June, Were like the soul-ensnaring words That from the stranger fell. But while they sounded heavenly chorda They had the spleen of hell. xiz. " He spoke of faded martial zeal Before the sun was set, That blood-red hail'd the victor steel Of old Plantagenet. He talked of Erin's injured plains, Of England's galling yoke, And a subtle fire within my veins Was kindling while he spoke. XX. ' He mark'd my heat : — ' And if thou hast ' A pulse for Ireland still — ' If thou canst wind a merry blast ' Upon a moonlight hiU — 'If selfish hopes and craven fears ' Have left thy courage free, 'And thou canst feel thy country's teaiB, ' Arise and follow me !' 846 MISCELLANEOnS POEUS. XXI. " We left the cot. — The stonn had sunk Upon the midnight wild, And bright against each leafless trunk The flitting moon-beam smil'd ; We hurried down by copse and rill, By cliff and mountain gorge, "Till close by Shanid's lonesome hill We reached the village forge. XXII. " Dark, silent, lone the hovel seem'd, And cloak'd each tiny pane. Yet oft from chinks a red ray stream'd Across the gloomy plain ; And smother'd voices heard within Came doubtful on the ear, As when a merry festal din Is hnsh'd in sadden fear xxm. " The stranger paus'd — ' within are those ' The bravest of the land, ' With heart to feel her countless woes, ' And ever ready hand ; ' If thou, for home and manhood's right, ' Can mock at danger too, 'Come, pledge us at our board to-night, 'And join our gallant crew I' MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 247 XXIV. " He knocked, ' Who's there ?' — ' My voice alone ' May answer for my name.' Quick from the op'uing doorway shone A glow of ruddy flame — The wicket closed — the anxious blood Forsook my pallid face, When, like a wild bird snared, I stood Within that hideous place. XXV. " Around a board, whose dingy plane Was stain'd by long carouse. Sat grim Rebellion's horrid train, With fierce, suspicious brows. Crouch'd by the hearth, a wrinkled hag The fading embers blew, Old Vauria of the river crag — The Hebe of the crew. XXVI. "Here Starlight (name of terror I) quaff 'd Unmix'd the liquid fiie — Here Blink-o'-dawn, with milder draught, Inflamed his easy ire ; And Lard-the-baek, and Death's-head gaunl^ Their murderous vigil keep. And many a name whose echoes haunt The village parson's sleep. 848 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS XXVII. " Here Moonshine (name to ontrage dear) Told how at even close He cropp'd the 'nighted proctor's ear, And slit the guager's nose ; And how some hand, at dusk of dawn. Had fired the bishop's hay. And headless by the mountain bawn The base informer lay. XXVIII. " ' Hush 1 hush 1 — 'tis he I' A silence came Upon that guilty band, Like mastiffs roused with glance of flame, The stranger form they scann'd : ' Fear not,' the chieftain said ; ' he bears ' A bosom like your own ; ' A heart to right the orphan's tears ' And soothe the widow's moan. XXIX. " ' Well met, my friends I — glorious night, ' It glads my heart to see ' That you can feel poor Erin's slight, 'And strike for liberty I •Within this hour yon castle walls ' Shall blacken in the flame, 'And Havoc on those painted halls ' Shall bum her ghastly name.' MISCELLANEOUS POGHS. 249 XXX, " And now, beneath the gathering cloud That shadow'd vale and wood, With hasty pace the rebel crowd Their secret track pursued ; They reach'd a hill with waving larch And mingled poplar crown'd. Where, tow'ring o'er one ivied arch, An ancient castle fifown'd. XXXI " All dark ! all silent I not a light Gleams from a window there ; Knew they the councils of the night Less sound their slumber were. "Tis time I — ^the torch I — but where is he Who led the daring band ? Why darts he by that sheltering tree ? Why waits the lighted brand ? XXXII. " ' Fly ccmrades, fly I — see yonder flame ' That rises from the lull — ' Fly 1— heard ye not the wild acclaim * That hail'd that whistle shrill ?' Twas late I — a hundred bayonets gleam'd Around them in the toil — And many a heart's blood hotly streamed Upon that fatal soil. II* S50 laSCELLANEOUS F0EM8. xxxni. " What, snared 1 betrayed 1 — and there he stood, The traitor and the slare. Who purchased with their reeking blood The Ufe his judges gave. Still red with gore, each streaming hilt Against the moonlight glows — Oh I thus shall all who sow in guilt, Beap treason at the close. XXXIV. " 0, you who bless these dawning skies In yon recedmg vales. Take warning from my parting sighs. And from those swelhng sails I To answer crime with crime is worse Than tamely to endure ; And even for black oppression's curse Dark treason is no core. XXXV. " Farewell, farewell I ye distant hilla With many a garden gay I Ye waving groves and gushing rills That hail the rismg day I Ye hills of Clare, with vapours hoar, Ringmoylan's leafy dells ; And thou, oh wild sea-beaten shore. Where many a kinsman dwells 1" MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 251 XXXVI. He sung, while o'er the darkening stream Fresh came the wakening gale, And fading, like a morning dream, I heard his parting wail : — " Farewell, ye cots, that sweetly smile Along the peaceM shore I Farewell, farewell, my own green isle I I ne'er shall see thee more. THE DANISH INVASION Why weepest thon, Erin? Why droop thy green bowers ? Why flows all in purple the wave of CuUain ? Why sink thy yonng maidens like rain-laden flowers 7 Why hush'd are their songs on the desolate plain ? Ruin and sorrow are o'er them spread — Bevel and freedom and mirth are fled. II. Hath the demon of pestilent airs been oat To taint the sweet breath of thy mountain gales 7 To scatter his death-breathing vapours about, And wave his dark wings o'er thy blooming vales 7 Like the wind that mourns in the winter bowers. Blasting the fairest of Health's young flowers. 252 macELiJiNEous poems III. No — poison and pestilence have no share In the ruin that moulders our strength away- Happy are those who breathe that air, And die at the sight of their hopes decay. But the ocean's breezes fan our skies — The plague spirit tastes their breath and dies. IV. But a demon more deadly — ^the Norman has flown From his lonely hills*— so chilling and gray, He has left his rude mountains of heath and stone, For the fairest that bloom in the light of day — And Erin has dropp'd her shield and sword, And wears the yoke of a heathen lord. V. The blood of the royal — ^the blood of the brave — Are blent with the willows of dark CoUain — Our King is a gay aud a gilded slave — And ours are the ruins that blot the plain. The Ravens of Denmark are seen on our walls. And the shout of the spoiler is loud in our halls. Men of the hills : the ancient epithet given to the Danef mSCELLANEOnS POEMS. 253 VI. Weep on then lost island, thy honours have fled Like the light on a lake that is troubled and broken Thy Snake* hath hid his coward head, — The words of thy grief and shame are spoken. Thou hast not left one lingering light, To bless with a promise thy cheerless night. THE JOY OP HONOUR. The tears from these old eyelids crept. When Dennod left his mother-land — And I was one of those that wept Upon his neck, and press'd his hand. He did not grieve to leave us then, He hop'd to see his home again — With honours twin'd in his bright hair He cenili not hope to gather there^ * Harp and snako — the national standard 254 inscEiXANEOus poems. Year after year rolled fleetly on- Lost in the grave of bnried time, And Dennod's name and praise had won Their way into his parent clime ; But all his youthful haunts were changed, The Mrild woods perished where he ranged— And all his friends died one by one, Till the last of Dennod's name was gone in. I sat one eve in Curra's glade, And saw an old man tottering down, Where the first veil of evening's shade Had given the heath a deeper brown. His cheek was pale — ^his long hair now, Pell in white flakes o'er his aged brow. But the same young soul was in his eye. And I knew the friend of my infancy. IV. He gazed npon the silent wood — He parsed his hand across his brow. The hush of utter solitude Slept on each breathless birchen brow. " That lake with flowering islets strewed — That skirts the lawn and breaks yon wood— I knew in youth a valley green, The seat of many a merry scene. MISCELLANEOUS F0EU3. 256 " The youths that graced the village dance, Beneath the turf they trod are sleeping — The maidens in whose gentle glance Their spirits lived, are o'er them weeping — Sorrow, and blight, and age have come Where mirth once reigned, and youth, and bloom And the soft charms of Nature's prime Are blasted by the breath of Time. VI. " And hath the joy that honour gives, No power o'er memories like this ? Ah I witless is the man who Uves To soar at fame and spurn at bliss 1 That hath been mine — tUs might have been, Had I but held the humble mean — And passed upon my parent soil, A life of peace and quiet toil. VII, " And is it thus that aU, who gain The phanlom glory of a name ? That ere it grace thek brow, the pain Of their long search hath quenched the flamo That young ambition lit — and those Whose praise they sought are at repose — And they stand in a world unknown- Admired — revered — unloved — alone ! 256 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Till. " I want my early playmates back, My friends long-lost — ^but ne'er forgot — Are these old men who hannt my track. My school-day friends ? — I know them not I Alas I I grieve and call in vain, Their youth will never come again — But it is sad my heart should feel Its first affections youthful still." WOULD YOU CHOOSE A FRIEND? Would you choose a friend ? Attend ! attend I I'll teach you how to attain your end. He on whose lean and bloodless cheek The red grape leaves no laughing streak, On whose dull white brow and clouded eye Cold thought and care sit heavily. Him you must flee, 'Tween you and me, That man is very bad company MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 251 And he around whose jewelled nose The blood of the red grape freely flows ; Whose pursy frame as he fronts the board Shakes like a wine sack newly stored, In whose half-shut, moist, and sparkUng eye, The wine god revels cloudily, Him yon must flee, 'Tween you and me. That man is very bad company. But he who takes his wine in measure, Mngling wit and sense with pleasure, Who Ukes good wine for the joy it brings, And merrily laughs and gaily sings : With heart and bumper always fill], Never maudlin, never dull. Your friend let him be, 'Tween you and me, That mac '4 excellent company. 258 WHEN SOME UNBLEST AND LIGHTLESS EYE. When some unblest and lightless eye, With lid half droop'd, and moist, and meek. Tells sOent tales of misery, The trembling lip conld never speak WTiat is it wets the listener's cheek. What fills with lore his answering Toice, And bids the suffering heart not break, And bids that trembling eye rejoice ? When the heart wavers in its choice. What is it prompts the generous part 1 Oh I spring of all life's tender joys I Oh, son of yonth I 'tis heart I 'tis heart I When the advancing march of Time, With cheering breath has roll'd away, The mists that dull'd her morning prime. And Beauty steps into her day ; What gives those eyes that conquering play That achmg bosoms long confess ? MISCELLANEOUS F0EH3. 25S And lights those charms with quickening ray ; That else had charmed and conquered less ? A sweet light unto loveliness, A meaning breathing o'er the whole, That else might charm, but could not bless, Win, but not fix — 'tis soul I 'tis soul I When youth and yonthfiil Mends are gone, When disappointment glooms the brow, And early loves leave us alone, To walk in friendless sorrow now, And chilled is young rapture's glow, And hoary grown the raven hair. And age its paly tinge of woe Hangs over all youth fancied fair, What guards our home from chill despair ? And bids joy linger, loth to part ? Oh, balm of grief and pining care I Oh, stay of age I 'tis heart ! 'tis heart I IV. When Beauty feels the touch of years, When the round voice grows faint and small, And that bright eye is dimmed by tears, That once held many a heart in thrall. What makes that voice still musical ? That sunken eye still seeming bright ? 260 MISCELLANEOUS P0EH3. And beauty, even in beauty's fall, As full of witching life and light, As when the hue of young delight Over its blushing spring-time stole I Oh, star of love's approaching night, Oh, shield of faith I 'tis soul 1 'tis soul . Seldom they shine in world's like this, Seldom their favouring light we see, For passion taints earth's purest bliss. With spots of dark mortality ; But once a sweet dream came to me, A vision of a glorious land, When sounds of gentle revelry. Rose on the soft air, making bland And rapturous mnrac to a band Of nymphs that o'er the green path stole. Where Beauty and Youth walked hand in hand Lock'd in love's faith with Heart and Soul. 261 •niE SON«J OP THE OLD MENDICAJfTT A MAN of threescore, with the snow on his brow, And the light of his aged eye dim, Oh, valley of sorrow I what lure hast thou now, In thy changes of promise for him ? Gay Nature may smile but his sight is grown old, Joy sound, but his hearing is dull I And pleasure may feign but his bosom is cold And the cup of his weariness full Once warm with the pulses of young twenty thre», With plenty and ease in thy train. Thy fair visions wore an enchantment for me That never can gild them again. 3^ 862 MISCEL!Li!fEOnS POEMS. For changed are my fortuues, and early and late, From dwelling to dwelling I go : And I knock with my staff at our first mother's gate, And I ask for a lodging below.* III. Farewell to thee, Time I in thy passage with me, One truth thon hast taught me to know, Though loTcly the past and the future may be, The present is little but woe ; For the sum of those joys that we find in life's way, Where thy silent wing still wafts us on ; Is a hope for to-morrow — a want for to-day, And a sigh for the times that are gone. * Thli beantiftd aentiment oeeun in CI 263 MARY-LE-BONB LYRICS. Mr. Graham now handed Miss Dawson into the car, and in a fea ■inutes the goronaut and his accomplished and beaDtiml fellow voyager were lost to the gaze of the admiring multitude. Kendal Paper Here we go up, np, up, — \nd now we go down, down, down, — Now we go backward and forward And heigh, for London town ! Dean Sunft. MB eRAHAU TO HISS DAWSON IK THE CLODDfl. Who says the moon is made of cheese 1 The sky a sheet of paper ? The little stars so many peas — The sun a mere gas* taper ? * It will be recollected that this was actually asserted a ihorl time since by a celebrated professional gentleman. 264 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. That all the clouds are chimney smoke The Sun's attraction draws on ? Tis clear as noon 'tis all a joke To you and me Miss Dawson. The secrets of the sky are ours — The heaven is opening o'er us — The region of the thunder-showere Is spreading wide before us. How pleasant from this fleecy clond, To look on ancient places, And peer upon the pigmy crowd, Of upturn'd gaping faces I III. Oh ! what a place were this for love I Nay, never start, I pray, Suppose our hearts could jointly more And in a lawful way. Like Ixion I should scorn the crowds Of earthly beauties to know, And love a lady in the clouds — And you should be my Juno IV. Speed higher yet— throw out more sand- We're not the last who'll rise. By scattering with lavish hand. Dust in our neighbours' eyes. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. iS65 Away I away I the clouds divide — Hish I what a freeang here 1 — And now we tread the mist-hill side And now the heavens appear. V. " How blest 1" (so Tommy M-iore might sitg^ " Did worldly love not blind ns, " Could we to yon bright cloud v/ut wing, " And leave this earth behind us : " There fed on sunshine — safe from woe— " We'd live and love together I" Ah, you and I, Miss Dawson know, Tis very foggy weather. VI. Suppose some future act made void And lawless Gretna marriages. The snuff-man joiners trade destroy'd And nullified post carriages : What think you if a Gretna here, With post-balloons were given ? Such marriages (we all could swear) At least -were made in Heaven TII. How small, Miss Dawson, from the iky Appears that man below — The triton of the nabbing fry, The saddler-kmg of Bow 1 12 26S MISCELLANEOUS POGUS. A fig for Dogberry, say we I For leathern bench an " watchee I* A fig for law 1 I'd like to see What Bishop here could catch 06? vm. Suppose we smash the stars for fan f Have with the larks a lark ? Or hang a cloak upon the sun And leave the world all dark ? Or upwards still pursue our flight, Leave that dull world at rest. And into Eden peep — and fright The banquet of the blest ? Whiz 1 whiz I the fatal word is spoke— The sprites are round our car — Our gas is spent — our pinion broke, And, like a shooting star, Down, down we glide — the clouds divide They close aboTe our head — Now, safe and sound, we touch the ground, And now we go to bed. 2«1 MAEY LE-BONE LYRICS. to CLAUDE SEUKAT* ON LEAVINO LONDON " Prithee — see there ! behold ! look ! lo ! how say yon 1 If ohamel houses sod our graves most send Those that they bury back — our monuments Shall be the maws of kites," Macbeth. Gaunt symbol of the doom All mortals must inherit, Finger-post of the tomb — Half corse — half shade — half spirit ! Walking bnrlesqne on man I Still wamer I living knell \ Dangler in life's last span, All hail 1 and fare ye well I * A man so wasted that he exhibited as a living skeleton 268 UISCELLANEOUS POEUS. If, as the Spaniard* says, At mankind's day of doom When starting throngh the blaze Of crackling worlds they come— Each spirit to its frame ; All wrangling for the fairest ; What ghost, O Claude I will claim That wither'd tmnk thou wearest ni. Say wilt thoa then arise, A skeleton as now — Scaring the peacefdl skies With that pale ghastly brow ? Oh, ere thou wanderest there, Just step to Curtis' shrine : He's flesh enough to spare, For forty shanks like thine. IV. I're marked that wasted tmnk — Those fleshless bones — and thonght While my sick spirit shrunk, " Is this our common lot ?" — Shall the ripe cheeks — ^bright curi a And eyes that round me shine Must "golden boys and girls" To this at last " consign I " * ^uertdo — Tisions. nSCELLANEOUS POEMS Shall Garcia cease to charm ? Shall Chester pine and dwindle ? A drumstick Fasta's arm ? And Vestris' leg a spindle ? Shall Love's light dimple grow, Into a hideous wrinkle ? Bom's cheek no longer glow ? And Eoote's eye cease to twinkle ? VI Away — the sight that heaven For passing pleasures gave, Was ne'er to mortals given ; To bear beyond the grave. What beauty is — we all Can feel — what it vnll be A. grim memorial ; We find, Seurat, in thee 1 vn. Thy bones are marrowless ! Thy blood is cold ! — thine air. Like his whose gory tress Shook blood on Macbeth's chair : Yet, no I — for wholl deny — When first thou sought'st our nation, 7%tni had'st got in that eye Of thine, " some speculation 1" 210 UISCELLAMEOUS F0K1I8. VIII. Art thou the wretch of old, By mammon pined to death f Or him the shipman bold, We read of it in Macbeth ? By the weird hag consnmed, The slayer of the swine — For thy wife's chesnuts doom'd To dwindle, peak, and pine I Whate'er thou art, Clande 1 When thon — though made of Hast ta'en at last the road, All flesh goes — and has gone— The worm — ^who gluts his maw, On wreck'd humanity. Will make — Claude Senrat^ A meager meal on the* I 271 THE PRAYER OP DULLNESS, Whek dullness, friend of peers and kings, Sworn enemy (alas) iame; Last shook her flagging dingy wings O'er the first island of the sea ; She fixed on London as a place, Where she might find some Mends — or so ; And travelling ap at mud cart pace, She hired a cellar in Soho. But sad reverse since her last visit, A novel rage had seized the nation, " Sacre !" the goddess cried — " how is it V* Genius — ^my foe — grown into fashion. In vain she rail'd — ^her ancient friends, The booksellers had burst her trammels ; And in the new league found their ends, And left her, for the Moore's and CampbeU'i 212 MISCELLANEOUS FOEUS. III. An nnknown lawyer in the north, Shook her Minerva press to splintltrs ; Her favourite children sunk to earth, And hatefiil light profaned her winters. If she took up a rhyme — 'twas Byron's ; If to the stage she turned her sight, Kean scared her from its loved environs, And Fanny K.eUy kill'd her quite. IV. Despairing thus — despis'd — decried. Dullness put np her ardent prayer ; Grant me, O mighty Jove she sighed, Some ally in my hour of care ; Look on my votaries sunken jaws, My ragged file of thin Lampedos, Have mercy on their yearning craws. Send some bad taste on earth to feed ua. Her prayer was heard, the rafters o'er her, Sundered — and through the fissure came, A pale white form — he stood before her, Lanky and gawky, in his frame. Over one bony shoulder hung, A pot of coarse paint, with a brush m't, His front was like white parchment strung ; The devil could'nt have raised a blush ia'i MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 273 VI. A brazen trumpet hung beside him, On which he blew a thrilling blast ; With doubt and hope, the goddess eyed him ; Fat Madam, he exclaimed at last, I am your servant — sent by Jove To bid you never be cast down. By me your reign shall prosperous prove, By me you yet shall sway the town. vn. My name is Puff— the guardian sprite. And patron of the dull and shameless, Things bom in shades, I bring to light. And give a high fame to the nameless. Me, modest merit shuns to meet. His timid footsteps backward tracking. The worthless all my influence greet, From 's books — ^to Turner's blacking. vm. Receive me goddess in thy train, And thou shalt see a change ere long. The stage shall be thine own again. Thine, all the sons of prose and song. shall delight the wenches. Where Richard shook the tragic scene once, Fat Chester, shall draw crowded benches, And Fanny Kelly play to thin ones, 12* 214 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IX. The prophecy was registered, The prophecy has been fulfiU'd, The brazen trumpet's boast is heard, Where once the voice of Genius thrilled Reader, before your hopes are undone, This axiom yon will bear in mind. That puffing has been proved in London. The only way to raise the wind. TIME AND ETERNITY. For, stretch to life's extremest span The brilliant course of earthly pleasnn^ How looks the space assign'd to man, Lost in the vast eternal measure I Bank, fortune, love, earth's highest bliss, All life can yield, of sweet or splendid. Are but a thing that scarcely is. When lo! its mortal date is ended I MISCELLANEOnS F0EM3. 21& III. So swift is time, so briefly lost The fleeting joys of life's creation, What seems the present, is the past. Before the mind can mark its station. IV. On earth we hold the spirit blest, That learns to bear afSiction cheerly And what we call, and fancy rest, Is brief annihilation merely. V. "Tis vain to say in youthfiil ears. Time flees, earth fades, with all its pleasnres ; The ardent heart attentive hears, Bat nanght of transient connsel treasures. VI. "Tis heavenly grace alone, my child. The fruit of prayer attending duly, Can firmly stem the tumult wild. Of earthly passion rising newly. Then shall we for so brief a world, A speck in nature's vast dominion. With hope's high banner basely furl'd, Beturn to earth with slothful pinion ? 276 MISCELLANEOUS P0EM8. VIII. Forbid it truth, forbid it love, The faithless thought untold should perish, Forbid it all we hope above, And all on earth we know and cherish. TO THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY. As the mute nightingale in closest groves Lies hid at noon, but when day's piercing eye Is lock'd in night, with fall heart beating high Poureth her plain song o'er the light she loves ; So, Virgin, ever pure, and ever blest. Moon of religion, from whose radiant face, Reflected streams the light of heavenly grace On broken hearts, by contrite thoughts oppress'd ; So, Mary, they who justly feel the weight Of Heaven's offended Majesty, implore Thy reconciling aid, with suppliant knee : Of sinfal man, sinless Advocate, To thee they turn, nor Him the less adore ; 'TIS still ISs light they love, less dreadful seen in thee vn ARGUMENTS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DERIVED FROM CREATION And ask ye why he claims our love? answer, all ye winds of even, O answer, all ye lights above, That watch in yonder dark'ning heaven ; Thou earth, in vernal radiance gay As when his angels first array'd thee. And thou, O deep-tongued ocean, say Why man shoulc^ love the mind that made thee There's not a flower that decks the vale, There's not a beam that lights the mountain. There's not a shrub that scents the gale. There's not a wind that stirs the fountain, There's not a hue that paints the rose, There's not a leaf around us lying. But in its use or beauty shows True love to us, and love undying. 818 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. in. For in the past, ere time began, Ere first the new-made sun ascended, Or light illumed the world, and man Arose amid the order splendid ; Even then, for thee, that bounteous Mind, TJnask'd, amid the wide creation, In far futurity design'd Thy dwelling fast and lasting station. And seek we arguments of love. And ask we who he is that claims it 7 Mark yonder sun that rolls above. Obedient to the will that aims it ; Go watch, when treads the silent moon Her maiden path o'er earth and ocean, Or see yon host at starry noon Roll onward with majestic motion. Are these not lovely ? Look again. Count every hne that clothes the valley, Each grain that gilds the autumn plain, Each song that wakes the vernal alley, All that in fruit or flower is found To win the taste, or charm the vision ; All — all that sight, or scent, or sound. Or feeling hath of joy elysian ; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 219 VI. That calm that lulls the noontide honr, The mild repose of power appalling, The rain that feeds each op'ning flower, Like mercy's tear-drops sweetly falling ; Those show what our Creator was, While man preserved his early duty, What still to those, his later laws Who keep, in all their stainless beauty DEVOTION.— A VISION. Methousht I roved on shining walks, 'Mid odorous groves and wreathed bowers, Where, trembling on their tender stalks, Fresh opening bloom'd the early flowers ; Thick hung the fruit on ev'ry bough, In ripe profusion clust'ring mellow, While o'er the peak'd horizon's brow The evening ray fell slant and yellow '280 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS Slow pacing through the fragrant shade, With cahn majestic mien advancing, O'erawed, I saw a qaeenlj maid, With piercing eyes divinely glancing ; Deep wonder chain'd my rev'rent tongne. My frame was bent with greeting lowly, While silence o'er the garden hong, As if the ground she trod was holy. m. "And who art thou," with eager tone, I cried aloud, " whose presence thrilling. Though lately seen, and yet unknown, Can reach the inmost springs of feeling ? And oh ! what secluded scene, Here shines in rural beauty splendid ; Where summer bloom and vernal green With ripe autumnal wealth are blended 1' nr. With smiles that broke as sunshine bright. Their lustre to my soul imparting, And tones that sent a pure delight, Delicious through my bosom darting, " Devotion is my name," she said, "And thine axe those delicious bowers, From purest fountams ever fed. And bright with nndecaying flowers. MISCELLANEOUS FOEUS. 281 " In this sweet haunt, thy blissful life Shall glide, like meadow-streamlet flowing, Unreach'd by sounds of demon strife. Unknown to passion and unknowing ; For thee the fragrant airs shall rise, For thee shall bloom those opening roses ; Till far beyond yon trembling skies. Thy heart in endless peace reposes. VI. " Yes — thine shall be this calm retreat Of summer bloom and peaceful beauty, If thou observe, with prudence meet. And watchful care, one easy duty ; Tis but to tend yon golden lamp. With faithful hand and spirit heeding, From wasting airs and vapors damp. Its pointed flame attentive feeding VII. " While heavenward thus attending bright, In holy lustre still increasing ; Thou keep'st that pure unearthly light. With vestal heed and care unceasing ; Sweet peace of heart shall haunt thy bower, And safety watch unceasing near thee ; And happy in thy parting hour, Celestial truth shall stop to cheer thee. 882 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. vni. " But if the faithless thirst of change, Or slow consnming sloth should moTe thee^ Then dread those countless foes that range, Terrific in the air above thee. They cannot pierce this radiant sphere, While faithfol hands that flame shall cherish, Bat woe to thee, if sloinb'ring here, Thoa leave its saving light to perish." tx. TJpward I look'd, with shnddering awe. And in the growing gloom that bound va. Fall many a dismal shape I saw. Slow winging in the air around us : Grim-visaged death, and fierce despair. Hard unbelief, with aspect sneering ; And ruin, with affrighted stare. Disastrous through the mist appearing. Heart-stricken at the direful sight. Awhile I stood appaU'd in spirit, But cheer'd by that celestial light, I took my lonely station near it : Dissolving on the fragrant air. No more I saw that form before me, But by the sweetness breathing there, I felt her influence stUl was o'er me. MSGEIXANEOCS POEMS. 283 XI. Awhile I kept, with watchful heed, M\' task of duty and of pleasure ; Exact, at noon and eve, to feed That holy flame, with ample measure ; Those smiling walks, and various flowers, Each day I hail'd vrith bosom fonder, Nor e'er beyond those happy bowers. Indulged the idle thought to wandw. «I4 LINES. The following lines were written at the request of his sister, b; Gerald Giiffln, for the young ladies who received Crowns by the votes of their school-mates, at a Distribution of Premiums at a Boarding School, situated in the beautiful village of Binxhamton, State of New York I Thk golden crown the monarch wears, Though wrought with splendours vain, Is ponderous with a nation's cares, And girds an anxious brain. And even the leafy garland, twined To grace the poet's claim, Falls, oft alas, how far behind His wild ambition's aim I III. Dear youthful friends, not such the wreath That binds your brows to-day ; It hides no pining thoughts beneath, With hollow triumph gay. MISCELLANEOUS FOEHB. 285 IV. Yours is the sweet unenTied meed, For duteous merit wove, By your own school-mates' hearts decreed, By Justice given to Love. Oh children of a new born land, Whose history, scarce begun. Looks, in its giant childhood, grana As Heaven's arising sun — VI. May this your youthful triumph prove A type of future praise. And be to you to the land you love A crown, in riper days. VII. Yet even beyond the generous thrill To home and country due. And all that wakes of modest zeal. At sage approval too — Oh teach your minds a nobler flight, Your hearts a worthier choice, And hear, amid your young delight, Sweet Wisdom's whispering voice. $186 lasCEIXANEOUS fogus. IX With heavenly eye, and queenly air, And solemn gaze of love, And recollected front severe, And finger raised above ; She bids you view with thoughtful heed, Those summer chaplets gay. As symbols of a brighter meed Than crowns yow care to-day. To-night, before those smiling eyes Are closed in careless sleep. Say, while you view the slender priie With recollection deep ; If such delight my bosom fill This simple toy to wear, In coming time what rapturous thrill Awaits my future care — ZIII. When He, my heavenly Guide, who now Upon his child looks down, Shall place upon my longing brow My own immortal crown. iascEij.ANEOua- POEMS 281 XIV Oh, thoughts like these, beloved friends Whatever shade or light Upon your future path attends. Shall keep your footing right : XV. In joy's intoxicating reign Shall be your guard and stay, And take irom every draught of pain Its bitterness away. XVI. Joy still be yours, in life, in death, Shall be our ardent prayer ; Well have you won the simple wreath^ And happy may yon wear. THE CHOICE OP FRIENDS. League not with him in friendship's tie Whose selfish soul is bent on pleasure ; For he from joy to joy will fly, As changes fancy's fickle measure. Not his the faith, whose bond we see. With lapse of years remaining stronger ; Nor will he then be true to thee, When thou can'st serve his aim no longv. Him, too, avoid whose grov'lling love In earthly end alone is centred, Within whose heart, a thought above Life's common cares, has seldom enter'd. Trust not to him thy bosom's weal, A painted love alone reveaUng ; The show, without the lasting zeal ; The hollow voice, without the feeling. 380 MATT HYLAND.* PABT I. Thou nishiDg spirit that oft of old, HaBt thrilled my veins at evening lonely. When musing by some ivied hold, Where dwell the daw and marten only. That oft hast stirred my rising hair. When midnight on the heath has fomid me, And told me potent things of air Where haunting all the waste around me. * This tale is an amplification of a rnde popular ballad on th« aune snbject, called " Young Matt H;land." The aloiy is little altered, and is obviously made use of, as a medium for the ezpres- ■ion of many beautiful poetical refieotions, rather than for any in- terest it contains. The Author himself was so little satisfied with the poem, that he burned the manuscript along with many others, k day or two before he retired to a convent. Fragments of an original copy were, however, found among some untouched papers ; and the restoration of the poem to its present state, was afterwards in a great degree accomplished from the recollections of a very attached friend, who was familiar witli it, and to whose fine taste and judgment, the Author, had he been living would moat willingly bore gommitted iu TS 290 MATT HYLAND. Who sweep'st upon the inland breeze, 67 rock and glen in autumn weather, With fragrance of wild myrtle trees, And yellow furze and mountain heathet. Who searward on the scented gale, To meet the Exile coursest fleetly. When slowly from the ocean Tale, His native land arises sweetly. That oft hast thrilled with creeping fear, My shuddering nerves at ghostly story, Or sweetly drew the pitying tear. At thought of Erin's ruined glory. A fire that bums — a frost that chills. As turns the song to woe or gladness. Now couched by wisdom's fountain rills. And skirting now the wilds of madness. Oh spirit of my island home 1 Oh spirit of my native mountain I Romantic fancy quickly come, Unseal for me thy sparkUng fountain. If e'er by lone Killamey's wave, Or wild Glengariff's evening billow, , . My opening soul a welcome gave. To thee beneath the rustling willow. MATT HYLAND. S9J Or rather who in riper days, In ruined aiales at solemn even, My thoughtful bosom wont to raise, To themes of purity and heaven, And people all the silent shades, With saintly forms of days departed, When holy men and Totive maids Lived humbly there and heavenly-hearted. Oh thou the minstrel's bliss and bane, His feUest foe and highest treasure, That keep'st him from the heedless train. Apart in grief — apart in pleasure That chainless as the wandering wind, Where'er thou wilt unbidden blowest. And o'er the rapt expectant mind. All freely com'st and freely goest. Come breathe along my trembling chords, And mingle in the rising measure. Those burning thoughts and tinted words. That pierce the inmost soul with pleasure. Possess my tongue — ^possess my brain, Through every nerve electric thrilling, That I may pour my ardent strain. With gentle force and fervent feeling. ri KATT HYLAin). Among the groves of sweet Adare, There lived a lord in days departed. And Helen was his daughter fair, The blooming and the gentle hearted. How loved she was in all the vale, The village maids can still remember, When round the fire with many a tale. They cheer the eves of bleak November. A ruin now the castle shows, The ivy clothes its mouldering towers, The wild rose on the hearthstone blows. And roofless stand its secret bowers. Close by its long abandoned hall. The narow tide is idly straying. While ruin saps its tottering wall. Like those who held it, fast decaying. Peaceful it stands, the mighty pile. By many a heart's blood once defended, And silent now as cloistered aisle. Where rung the sounds of )anquet splendid. Age holds his undivided state. Where youth and beauty once were cherished, And leverets pass the wardless gate, YThere heroes once essayed and perished. HATT HYLANO. 29A Oh sweet Adare, oh lovely vale, Oh soft retreat of sylvan splendour, Nor Summer sun nor morning gale 'Ere hailed a scene more softly tender How shall I tell the thousand charms, Within thy verdant bosom dwelling. When lulled in Nature's fostering arms, Soft peace abides and joy excelling. Ye morning airs, how sweet at dawn The slumbering boughs your song awaken. Or linger o'er the silent lawn With odour of the harebell taken. Thou rising sun, how richly gleams. Thy smile from far Knockfiema's mountain, O'er waving woods and bounding streams ; And many a grove and glancing fountain. Ye clouds of noon, how freshly there. When summer heats the open meadows, O'er parched hill and valley fair. All coolly lie your veiling shadows. Ye rolling shades and vapours gray. Slow creeping o'er the golden heaven. How soft ye seal the eye of day. And wreathe the dusky brow of even. C94 UATT HTLAND. Apart among her maidens sate, Fair Helen formed with grace excelling, Though first in wealth, and princely state, The hamblest heart in all the dwelling. If ever trntbfal maiden's breast. For virtue burned with warm affection, In Helen's heart, that influence blest, Had made its fixed, and pnre election. Not as by modem maids profaned. The cross adorned her vesture only, But deep within her heart it reigned, With hidden influence ruling lonely. While that clear brow and tranquil eye, And plain unbraided locks of amber, Told tales of meek humility. And vigils of the midnight chamber. Endued with all the power to please, With wealth at will and amplest leisure^ The boor took more of sensual ease, The outcast slave of sensual pleasure. Perchance even he, whose sword and shield. Bang loud on plain or moated tower, Lived easier in the bannered field, Than Helen in her father's bower. MATT HYLAND. 29£ Oh ye to sure destruction doomed, Whirled in the vortex gulf of fashion, Or more unblest, who lie entombed, Within the living graves of passion, Say could it wake your slumbering fears, Had you beheld that tender maiden. More deeply mourn her blameless years, Than hearts with blackest memories laden. Ne'er through self-love with inmost shame, A weak excuse she seeks to borrow. Nor e'er with superstitious flame, She played the enthusiast's part in sorrow But clear her speech as gliding stream, Each pebble in its depth revealing. While in her soft eyes tender gleam, Lay taintless truth, and childish feeling. Some surely deemed the duteous girl, Would soon within some convent tower. Resign for truth's immortal pearl. The pomp of rank and earthly power. And doubtless had high heaven assigned, As Helen's lot, such high vocation. She then had lived with cheerful mind, Obedient in an altered station. 296 MATT HTLAND. But Heaven decreed the maiden's life, Should pass with constant heart unswerrigiBr Amid the cares of vulgar strife, Her purity of soul preserving. Iilid wealth and splendour — ^poor in will, Though high in rank — ^in spirit lowly ; Amid the world — unworldly stUl, Amid the unbelieving ^holy Not hers the venomed tongue that feels, Small joy in social conversation, Save when its spite destruction deals, On some unhappy reputation. Not hers, the doomed minds nnblest. To mirth devote, and senseless laughter, Who waste the hours in sinful rest. And leave to chance the dread hereafter. Each eve the parting day reviewed, With lowly penitential feeling ; Each mom the maiden's zeal renewed. Fresh grace within her heart instilUng. Each Sabbath eve when the twflight falis, Its lingering light around diffusing. Within the still dim cloistered walls, O'erawed, she knelt herself accusing. MATT HYI^NB. 29^ Yet not to outward sense exposed, Young Helen wore her heart's deTotion, In tone or studied mien disclosed, In serious or affected motion. For joy in all her glances shone, Gay rang her laugh like music flowing, Tks conscious power of duty alone, In all her bright demeanour glowing. And fervent heart she has to feel. Fair Virtue's warmth, when time shall light lt| And' changeless truth and fearless zeal. And hope that scents the winds that blight it For love was Helen's hourly theme. And some undying deep devotion, The promise of her nightly dream. And spirit of her daily motion. Not love like that whose selfish aim. From earthly bliss, to bliss is ranging, But such as burns with generous flame, In hearts devoted and unchanging. That coiwt«r.t wife, and patient bride. Hath oft emoalmed in deathless story— The love for which the Decu died, And mild Camillus lives in glory. 13* 298 MATT HTIiAND. Firmly the pious maid designed, That none should share her heart's affection, Save one whose pnre and stainless mind, Might vindicate such high election. Nor rank, nor fame, nor deeds of arms. Should win her mind to love unheeding, Nor genius high, nor youthftil charms, Of voice, or mien, or grace exceeding. No, He should gain her hand alone, What'er his claim to wealth or station, Whose heart had treasured like her own,' For heaven its warmest aspiration. For well she thought a rustic hind, To love divine, aspiring tender, Far nobler in the heart and mind, Than kings who live for earthly splendonr. And who at sober dusk had seen. This nobly bom and beauteous maiden, Arrayed in garb of ocean green, With gems of purest lustre laden. Or lovelier still upon the lawn. Where morn's awakening %ht had found her. Would marvel that her love had drawn. The first of Erin's sons around her. MATT HTLAND. Full oft the Earl his daughter pressed, That soon in holy bonds united, His aged years might yet be blessed, To hear his children's voice delighted. Lest buried in his own dark tomb, His household name and ancient glory, Like lamps unfed should quench in gloom. Lost ever to the eye of story. But Helen with evasive wile, Unanswered, left the fond suggestion, With playful jest or ready smile. Avoiding still, th' unwelcome question. For who amongst the nobles there. Within her father's hall acquainted, Could reach the ideal standard rare, Her own believing hope had painted. For when the music merriest played. When dancers trod the blithest measure. Her thoughts in calm reflection strayed, Far distant from these scenes of pleasure. Where many a soul was mourning now. That e'er it shared such haunts of danger ? Where many a worn and fevered brow, Slow pining lay, to peace a stranger 300 MATT HTLAND. Such thoughts in still succession brought, 1 Like amulets of holiest power, Sweet safety in her bosom wrought, E'en in enjoyment's echoing bower. Thus holy themes of peace and rest, Even in her buoyant mirth were reigning, The hermitage within her breast, Inviolate still and pure remaining. Where glides the Mague as silver clear, Among the elms so sweetly flowing. There fragrant in the early year, Wild roses on the banks are blowmg. There wild ducks sport on rapid wing, Beneath the Alder's leafy awning. And sweetly there the small birds sing. When daylight on the hill is dawning MATT HYLAND. 801 There mirrored in the shallow tide, Around his trunks so coolly laving, High towers the grove in vernal pride. His solemn boughs majestic waving. And there beside the parting flood, That murmured round a lonely island, Within the sheltering woodland stood ; The humble roof of poor Matt Hyland. Though now, amongst the village swains. Young Hyland tilled the lands surrounding, All regal in his youthful veins ; The blood of Erin's kings was bounding. Yet lowly were his heart and mien. Nor pride he knew, nor nursed ambition. Content upon an hnmble scene. That Heaven had cast his low condition. To keep his mind from sinful stain. In humble hope serene and lowly. To guard his breast from fancies vain, That stir the hearts to thoughts unholy. For this he shunned the thoughtless crowd. The village dance and nightly revel. With frequent laughter echoing loud. And strains that smooth the way to eviL 802 MATT HYUKB. For this before the early lark, His prayers arose to heaven ascending, For this he knelt at twilight dark, Within his lowly cottage bending. For this amid his daOy toil. He ponred his warmest aspirations, And kept his heart from sinful soil, With force of holy meditations. When sonnded in the silent air. The conreiit bell with tnnefhl motion, He tamed with tbooghtitd forehead bare. And stilly bent in low devotion. Like miser heaping gold on gold, He stored his mind with holiest treasnre. For strong he knew must be the hold. That guards the sonl from guilty pleesora He heard in youth the wondrous tale, How man was first created purely. Awhile to walk Earth's flowering vale. Then rest in lasting joys securely. He learned by what accursed art, His race had lost that high vocation, And found within his opening heart, The witness of the revelation. MATT HYLAND. 303 Each evil wish that turned his thoughts, From thirst of pure and heavenly glory, Unholy attestation brought, Of that sublime and awful story. The strife with passion darlj— intense, The erring will that still betrayed him, Aixd plain it seemed unto his sense, That man was not as Heaven had made him Yet strong he walked with guarded mind, A thing of pure unearthly feeling. With reverent eye the village hind. Beheld him in the chancel kneeling. And grateful blessed high heaven above, To see that youth with mind believing, The sacred feast of fire and love. With seraph heart on fire, receiving. Though scant was Hyland's humble store. Yet never wandering child of sorrow, At evening sought his open door, In vain to ask — in vain to borrow. The orphan's sigh — the widow's prayer, To him appealed with mightier power, And found a kindlier welcome there. Than oft within the lordly tower. S04 MATT HYLAND And Hyland had his raptures too, When darkly sunk the silent even, And lone beneath the solemn yew. He lent his soul to dreams of Hearen. Till all the glorious concave seemed, That clime revealed in saintly story. And every winking star that gleamed An angel shining in its glory. Nor frown ye grave, at thoughts like thii^ That lend to virtue lovelier beauty. And sweet imagined sights of bliss. That cheer the toils of sterner duty For holiest hearts with earthly things. Have blended themes of deep devotion. Heard Seraphs in the minstrel's strings, And seen eternity in ocean. One evening rapt in thoughts like these. With tears of heavenly sweetness flowing, He stood beneath the moonlit trees. His fervent heart divinely glowing " Thou Power," he said, " whose kindly hand, " Has fashioned all this. fair creation, " Oh I aid me still secure to stand, " Amid the snares of dark temptation. lUTT HYI.A.ND. SOt*) " StUl sweetly fill my yielding breast, " With boundless hope and love nmueasored, " Still lift my soul to thoughts of rest ; " And lasting joys securely treasured. " OL 1 not for all the senseless glee, " Of worldly souls would I surrender, " The joy my lonely thoughts of thee, " Wake in my bosom purely tender. " I see thee in the winter's snow, " The echoing bolt and roaring thunder, " And waves that foam, and fires that glow, " And sounds of awe, and sights of wonder. " I hear thee in the rustUng woods, " When darkness rests on grove and fountain, " I see thee in the rushing floods, " I read thee in the lonely mountain. " From household love — from fnendship's tie — " Though sweet the transient bliss we borrow, " Soon, soon the frail enchantments fly, " And leave us wrapp'd in lonely sorrow. ' For thee alone our love was made, " In thee alone it centres purely, " There lives in light that ne'er can fade ; " There rests its tired wings securely 306 MATT HYLAND. " Whate'er of sanctioned raptnre chaste, " Whate'er of blameless pure emotion, " Thou will'st my heart in life should taste, " Be thou its first and last devotion I " Like birds that seek a distant home, " O'er ocean's waste and wide dominion, " And only touch the heaving foam I " To rise again with stronger pinion. " Oh thou 1 the wretch's surest friend, " First source of blessing and of beauty, " Be stni my being's aim and end, " Chief mark of worship and of duty. '' Like sailors on a stormy sea, " Like wandering exiles homeward hasting, " So turn my constant thoughts to thee, " Oh unbeginning, everlasting I " Yes, since to thee, aloje our sighs, " Arise with certain hope ascending, " Still keep my heart from guilty ties, " And wandering loves and quickly ending. " Still turn my spirit's eagle gaze, "From joys like marsh lights widely stray'.ng, " To that unchanging crown of rays ; " The boundless aud the undecaying. MATT HYLAND. 301 " Here lone within this sacred grove, " Beside those banks and listening riyer, " To thee I pledge my youthful loye, " My loyalty and faith forever. " Whate'er of earthly bliss be mine, " Of joy fulfilled or blest affection, " Let heavenly hope and love divine, " Be still my spirit's first election I" Dark hovering in the midnight air, A Demon heard the prayer ascending, And saw beneath the moonUght there, The fervent youth devoutly bending. Grimly he smiled to hear that word, With deep confiding ardour spoken. From feeble man so often heard, By faithless man so often broken. Like ocean bird that downward views. His prey within the summer billow, The fiend with baleful wing pursues, Young Hyland to his nightly pillow With many a wile he haunts the cot, And deep suggestion darkly tainted, And now he seems a sinful thought, Or sight-alluring fancy painted. 808 MATT HYLAND But firmly stood the holy youth, By many a guardian bright attended, Unshrinking zeal and spotless truth. In holy rapture calmly blended. Each sacramental rite of love, With reverent heed devout to render. He felt his prayer received above, Far dearer than whole mines of splendonr. Nor when by ills like these oppressed, Turned he his mind to daring question. Nor fed within his simple heart, The demon tempter's dark suggestion. But placed on God his trust aright. Without whose wise according power, Not e'en the tempest's fiercest might. Can rend a leaf Irom slender'st flower. •M PART n. Oh fatal power of human love, The swiflrenthralling — swifter cloying, For earth below and heaven above, The all-confounding — all-destroying. With visions wild it cheats the brain, And steals its peace and leaves it lonelji It whispers hope that must be vain, And joys in hearts ill sorted only. Alas within the youthful breast. When holy thoughts arise sincerest, And when the heart is most at rest, Temptation oft is lurking nearest. Confiding high in purpose pure, To fear and guilt alike a stranger, It steps within the fatal lure, And falls, before it sees the danger. 310 MATT HTLAND. Tis vain to say in yonthfdl ears, Time flies — earth fades with all its pleasures, The ardent heart attentive hears, But nought of transient counsel treasures. "Tis heavenly grace — ^pure, undefiled, The voice of prayer ascending duly, Can firmly stem the tumult wild, Of earthly passion rising newly. Upon a day — a summer's day, When calmly broke the dewy morning, Young Helen sought the woodland gay, With rosy buds her brow adorning. And joyous as the early bird. She sung along the green wood bounding. And rock and cliff the soft notes heard. And answered from the hills surrounding. Her golden hair the rising breeze. Around her laughing face was blowing, While gliding fleet beneath the trees, She seemed a star, through ihin clouds going. What eye that saw her tripping light. Along each laurel-shaded alley, But must have deemed a form so brigit. Some fairy of the leafy valley. MATT HYLAND. Sll Sark, far within the silent wood, What Bounds are those that softly Unger 1 Beneath the stream fair Helen stood, With lips apart and listening finger. They ceased — she leaves the sunny spot, Through brake and covert swiftly hieing, Till stretched beside his lonely cot, She saw the youthful minstrel lying. Fly, Helen, fly that fatal sight. Oh hast thou seen the rose-bud fading, When sudden breathes the eastern bUght, Its tender bloom with death invading. Or wounded bird that turns to pine, And die in some sequestered bower. More woe awaits that heart of thine. Than wounded bkd or blighted flower. Black flowed his hair as moonless night, His eyes like midnight stars imclouded. Of many hues the vesture bright, His peaceful form that lightly shrouded And Genius on his youthful face, And o'er his ample forehead stealing, With strong expression's thonghtftil grace, Habitual, noble thoughts revealing. 812 MATT HYLAND Deep hid within that tangled screen, The lady saw him lone reclining, While reason's light was faint within, And fancy's only round her shining. Oh woe I that e'er a heart so light, Should feel the gloom of early sadness. That cankering sorrow e'er should blight. The healthful glow of blameless gladness One of the lesser sprites, who keep Amongst the blest their radiant station, Saw from the far empyrean steep, The subtle tempter's sly temptation. And upward sought in higher air, Bright hovering o'er the sunny water. That angel whose protecting care. Kept watch around the chieftain's daughter MATT HYLAND. 313 " Terrible Brightness," thus it said, " Seea't thou yon fiend with wings extended, " Malign, above that simple maid, " Dark lowering in the moonbeam splendid " Hast thou thy tender charge resigned, " Dost thou no more her safety cherish, " That thus, with heedless impulse blind, "Thou leav'st her in the snare to perish?" Smiling, the Essence pure replied, "Peace with thee be, blest one I — they only " Who tempt their fate in curious pride, " On their own strength presuming lonely ; " Or strongly tried, who fail to use, " With vigorous wiU their free en4eavour, " Shall in the internal conflict lose, "The banner of their hope for ever. "The fiend who weaves that web malign, " Sees not, with finite vision bounded, " He doth but aid the high design, " In deep unerring wisdom founded. " Thus oft the accursed slaves of ill, " Are instruments of good, unknowing, " And hate, with undesigning will, " Can set the founts of mercy flowing." U S14 MATT EYUKD " Ib this the youth," fair Helen said, " Of whom my maidens have been telling, " A holy life who long has led, " Devote within this humble dwelling. " Oh I if a pure and lofty mind, " And generous thoughts and high endeavour, " Be in such noble form enshrined, " I'd listen to his song forever. " But how comes he a village swain ? " A youth from noble race descended, " Whose sires in Desmond's knightly train, " In field and banquet hall attended. "When far in Shanid's western keep, • "The Desmond trod his leaguered towers, " And saw around the guarded steep " The Butler lead his baffled powers I" MATT HYLAND. 315 " There is a pride in lofty birth, " But honour is the meed of merit, " And nobler is the living worth, " Than aught which thriftless heirs inherit. " The gem may deck the lordly vest, " With wrought adornments richly twining, " But brighter in the lowly breast, " The lamp of goodness purely shming." " Fain would I leave the crowded halls, " Where pride meets pride in fierce emotion, " And place me where the sunlight falls, " On sweet content and meek devotion. " There let me find the only joys, " That leave no griefs to those who share them, " And give 1 oh give these golden toys, " To any maid that cares to wear them." Hush I silent be the breezy plain, Hush 1 silent be the small birds singing, He wakes again, that rustic strain, His gentle cruit* sweetly stringing. He sung of Erin's golden day. Ere native faith and trust were shaken, And pleasant was his simple lay, As when the morning winds awaken. * A small harp. 316 MATT HTLASa. And then with bosom beating strong, And upraised eyes and pale lips quivering, He sadly changed his tuneful tongue, To notes like sounds of soft leaves shivering. So sweet his strains that violets there, Awakening from their odourous slumbers, Looked up, into the stilly air, To catch the spirit of his numbers. He sung of Love serene and high. Though o'er an earthly bosom swaying, That love, that bids all tumult die, The silent and the undecaying. How in a peasant's humble breast. Confined to toil and labour lowly, That noiseless passion deep did rest. The mute, the stainless, and the holy How oft at hoary vestured mom. Or in the hour of fragrant even. The bright mien of the nobly born. Mingled amid his dreams of Heaven. And how when in the whispering woods, At Sabbath noon he wandered lonely. The brightest leaves and stateliest buds Were types of her, and of her only ; MATT HYLAND. 311 And how upon the fruitful plain. Low bending o'er the sweeping sickle He started when the golden grain, Shook rustling in the breezes fickle. Hoping in vain, 'twas her loved step. Her silken scarf the winds caressing, Or murmur of her balmy breath. That poured npon his toil a blessing. Fondly forgetting that in vain. The spirit speUs of love were spoken. For maiden high, to lowly swain. Ne'er bent e'en though a heart were brokea What though he came of noble birth. Of high born race, long famed in story, His lot was now to till the earth. Forgotten, all that ancient glory. " Alas," he said, " while frequent sighs, Rose from his young heart's depths of feeling; And sad tears dimmed his gentle eyes, His strong emotion all revealing. " Alas," he said, " it must be so, " The high-born may not leave their station " Though lowlier hearts be rent with woe, " And worn with helpless adoration. 818 MATT HYLAND. " Yes it must ever, ever be " In this frail world of abject mcrtals, " The iron hand of poverty, " Closeth for aye, the golden portals 1 " But Thou — great watcher of the mind, "Though sad and dark thoughts there an swelling, " Bid it in meekness be resigned, " Through sorrow's dim and clouded dwelling 1 Like winds that fall on perfumed flowers, Wearied of wandering o'er the meadows, So died the lay, and those green bowers. Were left in silence to their shadows. Fair Helen stood with beating heart. And spirit wakening from its slumbers, While through her soul strange passions dart, Respondent to the breathing numbers. Within her heart a hidden sense, Told her that his was that aflfection, The high, the holy, the intense. And she was that pure heart's election. Tears, burning tears of joy and pain. Upon her cheek were wildly gleaming, He rose — her spirit woke again, And swift dispelled itv^ wayward dreaming MATT HYLAND, 319 She looked along the sanny vale, She heard the joyous lark ascending, She felt the soft persuasive gale, She heard the stream its murmur blending. She marked the cot — the smiling tide. She gazed upon the lonely island. She trembling turned, and wept aside. For oh 1 she loved the young Matt Hyland Like one beside a fountain clear. His fever thirst impatient slacking. She stands with fixed eye and ear. At every sense the rapture taking. He stirs — oh pleasure — quickly o'er. Ah 1 dream of bliss how briefly ended, She sees him pass that cottage door. And gloom upon the scene descended. With drooping head and downcast eyes. And hands entwined in thoughtful seeming, Young Helen through the greenwood hies. No more with infant rapture beaming. Unlike, alas the laughing child, That left those halls at dawning early, With sportive action bounding wild. And voice that woke the echoes cheerly. 330 MATT HYLAND. A dew-drop from the daisy brushed, A happy fancy dashed with sorrow, A woodland song untimely hushed, A sunny eve and clouded morrow ; A gilded barge that sinks at sea, Upon a summer noon o'erladen, A falling star — a blighted tree, Are types of thee, oh, wounded maiden 1 " Thou sister of my reason's choice. In heart as young, in counsel older ; Oh let me hear thy friendly voice. And lay my head upon thy shoulder. Thy counsel quick ! — for in my heart, A shaft is sped — a fire is lighted. And thou, and I in death i^hall part. For fast I sink, and fancy-blighted l" MATT HYLAND. 821 " Unhappy day, — at break of dawn, I left my room when thou wert sleeping, I passed the wood — the bridge — the lawn ; Through tangled copse and thicket creepmg. And joyful in the glowing morn, I onward roved with thoughts unheeding, Nor watching 'neath the perfume thorn. The tunid rabbit swiftly speeding. " Or seeking for the sky-lark's nest. Within the dewy-scented meadow, Or tracing o'er its waving breast, The morn-cloud's dark and fitful shadow. Sudden upon the breezy air, Sach thrilling strains of song awaken, Entranced I stood, attentive there, My very bosom's breathing taken. " Beside the quiet stream I stood, And fondly gazed and eager hstened, While all the roused and quivering wood, With rosy morning's dew-drop gUstened. And there, where winds and wavelets played, Harmonious round the lonely island, Beneath the cool embowering shade. Reclining lay the young Matt Hyland. MATT HYLAND. " With thrilling notes ascending slow, Like tnneftil sound of falling water, He sung how simple peasant low, Had dared to love a chieftain's daughter Oh ! Nora in my bosom's core, A voice, a spell, a breath of Eteaven, Told me he was that peasant poor. And I for whom that heart was riven ; " Yes, he's a simple village swain. Yet claims descent from bold O'Connor And though content to till the plain, His soul is high and foil of honour. And I am come of high degree, From Desmond's noble race descended. But oh ! a village maid I'd be, If vrith his lot, my fate were blended. " Hushed was the song — within the shad^ He sat in pensive mood reclining, His silent cruet near him laid. His tranquil eye divinely shining Deep silence o'er the garden hung, His modest brow was bending lowly, When now the morning hymn he sung, His strains ascending soft and holy. MATT UrLANS. S23 " I gazed upoa his hunible cot, I gazed upon nis lonely island, ^nd rank, and state, were all forgot, While I beheld the young Matt Hylaad I Oh 1 Nora, ease my bosom's pain. Oh I Nora, soothe this bitter anguish. Which fires my heart, and heats my braiik> Oh I give me comfort or I languish. With startled horror Nora hears, The story of the noble maiden. Her heart too deeply wrung for tears, Her soul with bitter memories laden. For since when first in early prime. She trod the sunny path of childhood, She loved with strength increased by time, The dweller in the lonely wild-wood. No words escape her faltering tongue. Her pale hands press her beating bosom, The dirge of all her hopes is rung. The bolt hath fallen — and she must lose him. "For this," she thought, "he scorned my lore, For this alone my heart he slighted. But time may be he'll dearly prove, The feelings of a bosom slighted I" 324 MATT HTLAND. She started — oq her arm upraised, Helen had laid her finger gently, And np into her eyes had gazed, With eager questioning glance intently. " Alas, I see thou deem'st me wrong. All sudden fallen, and lowly-hearted I With reckless passion borne along. With pride and shame and honour parted !" Soft gleams the light in Nora's eye, A gentle smile her pale lip flashing, While evil thoughts are brooding nigh, And vengeance o'er her spirit rushing. " Have I not. Lady, watched by thee. In festal hall, or wild-wood bower. Prom earliest years of infancy, Companion of each passing hour ? " Then wonder not, I now should shrink, To see the boding storm of anguish. To see thy gentle spirit sink. All rudely pressed, and droop and languish, like dew upon the wild wind's path. Like slender leaves by tempests shaken, Thoult fall before a father's wrath, By Mends and fame, and pride forsaken. Hire HYLAND. 32C "Thy sire is Lord of all this land, And thou'rt his loved, and only daughter. And many a suitor seeks thy hand. From far Ciar to Corrib water. Think not the Desmond's pride will bow, For even his loved and fondly cherished : Rather than see her bending low. He'd mourn above her, fallen and perished." Young Helen's cheek hath brightly flushed, Affection's fire her eye hath lighted, " Oh 1 rather let my heart be crushed. Its hopes denied — its wishes blighted I Oh rather let my head be laid. Silent beneath the grave's cold shadow. While sunshine glads the flowery glade. And fragrant winds o'ersweep the meadow. " Than, that one ingrate thought should bring, A sorrow o'er his age declining. Or disobedience taint the spring, Where holiest love was ever shining. No 1 — Peace shall hallow Desmond's years, Unknown hLs daughter's hapless story. Till Hyland's name in Desmond's ears, Sound sweet as songs of knightly glory. B26 MATT HTLANT. " Yet Nora, yet I fain would test, His famed worth and stainless merit, And should they fail — why peace and rest^ May soothe again my troubled spirit. My soul perhaps in fancy vain, Is worshipping a vision only. Which lures me on through grief and pain, At last to leave me dark and lonely *' I'd know if that which tempts my heart, Be worthless of the pain 'tis bringing, And burning thoughts might then depart ; Now round my inmost feelings clin^ng. Tis wooing fate — ^yet Nora go, And seek him in his lonely iskud. When dewy winds are whispering low. Say I would speak with young Matt Hyland." 321 PART in. Oh, spotless Parity of mind I Majestic grace of youthful beauty I "Who lov'st within the heart refined, To house with Peace and simple duty. Pure as the gale whose viewless wings. The wind harp sweeps with mournful fleetness j Oh, come and tearh the eager strings, To blend their files with heavenly sweetness First grace of virgin souls 1 to thee — To thee I pour my minstrel story ; Oil I let the descant rising free, Prom thee receive its saving glory. Few, few for thee awake the strain. Few tune for thee the pleasing measure, For first amongst the slothful train, The Poet haunts the gates of pleasure. S28 MATT EYLAND. Then quickly come, oh angel maid ! In robe of purest white descending I Who loves to haont the sacred shade Where sounds of choral praise are blending. The banquet late and grossly stored, And tipsy dance who flies afirighted, But lorest the spare and simple board. By sweet Religion calmly lighted. Without thee, life were all a waste ; Without thee, vile were rank and power ; Without thee, science sinks debased, And beauty lies a soiled flower. The Monarch's crown — the conqueror's arms,— The Poet's artful strains enchanting — The Sage's love — ^the maiden's charms, Are shorn of praise when thou art wanting. How wide they err who deem thee chill, And hard of heart to human feeling, Because thou loath'st the hateful thrill, In Passion's bosom darkly stealing. They know who filled with heavenly zest, All earthly love, for thee surrender. How pure within the lonely breast. Thy spirit burns divinely tender. V.Arr HYLAND. No more — no more, ye feeble minds Who early cross'd in young affection, Lie bare to Passion's stormy winds, Make bleak despair your fell election. The suicidal draught refrain, And learn your Nature's loftier tending, Nor change an hour of fancied pain. For grief unknown, and never ending Gome down with more than wonted fires, And burst my Spirit's sensual slumbers, And light my heart to high desires. And kindle in my rising numbers. For mighty is the theme I sing, Though by a feeble voice repeated, And strong should be the sounding string, That tells a tale of Love defeated. 330 MATT HTLAND. In sweet Adare, o'er hill and plain, The summer moon is softly gleaming, What finger taps the cottage pane, And breaks the youthfnl peasant's dreaming 1 He hears in. accents murmuring sweet, " Matt Hyland wake 1 and rise and follow ;" He leaves the cot and courses fleet, A flying form o'er hill and hollow. They enter at a garden gate ; " Hush, soft I my Lady's in her bower," Above them flapped in gloomy state, The flag from each embattled tower. Still thridding soft in caatious guise, Through grassy walk and covert shady, With wonder in his heart and eyes. He stands before that beauteous Iiady. MATT HYLAND 331 " Oh I scorn me not 1" she said and sighed, And trembling paused, and deeply blushing, For e'en the midnight could not hide, The shame o'er all her forehead rushing. " Oh 1 blame me not 1 — but kindly hear, And kindlier feel my wretched story ; And lend at least a pitying ear. For state despised and hated glory I "My sire is Lord of all this land, And I his loved and only daughter, Apd many a lord has sought my hand. From far Ciar to Corrib water. Oh ! vain is now their suit to me, I've marked the worth that shines about thee j And I had rather toil with thee. Than live and reign a Queen without thee I " Oh ! take me from a rank I hate. Oh I take me from this joyless splendour. And let me share thy lonely state, A dowerless bride — ^but true and tender. The Kernes are hushed — my father sleeps— My steed is on the 'nighted heather, And drowsy watch the warder keeps. And safe will be our flight together 1" 832 MATT HYLAND. Matt Hyland was a village Ewain, Nor tower, nor land may he inherit, Yet honour fired ea«h bounding vein, And princely worth and regal spirit • He knelt before the lady's feet, Her sandall'd shoes with tears bedewing, Like doomed serf with action meet, To Northern Empress lowly sueing. "Oh grief 1" he said, "for hun who knows And feels the force of worth and beauty, Whose heart with youthful ardour glows, Yet owns the tie of loyal duty 1 — Oh do not say my heart is cold, But mingle pity while thou blamest, Though not for mines of hoarded gold. Would I become the wretch thou namest " Thy sire is Lord of all Adare ; From Desmond's noble chiefs descended. And true to them my father's were. In battle stem and banquet splendid What kinder chief can peasant hail, From far Ciar to Corrib water, And how would sound the thankless tale, If I should steal his only daughter. MATT HYIJIND. 339 ** Ajid wonid'st thou be Matt Hyland's bride 1— A-nd wonld'st. tdou share his lowly station I — Tnough wooea oy aii the wealth and pride. That lives in Erin's regal nation. Oh Lady, nursed in fortune's arms, Life's flowers around thee ever bloominer. Thou little knowest the conntless harms, Ihat o'er the peasant's cot are glooming. " The scanty meal — the raiment thin — XJncertain health and certain labour — The sick ted lone — ^where rarely's seen, And fearful comes the timid neighbour. When fierce and sudden tempests burst, Beside a cheerless hearth he freezes, For him the winter blows its worst, And fever taints the summer breezes. " Yet I were blest — the tempest hoarse. On me might waste its lungs for ever. On me the winter bend its force. And ruin wreak its worst endeavour. But oh to think young blushing one I Thy tender cherished frame should bear it, Full bitter is the draught alone. But oh I 'twere death with thee to share it t 134 UATT HYLANO " And ah I for Love — ^its golden veil, Fall's ooick at dark Misfortone'B greeting, All earthly love is earthly frail, All earthly passion donbly fleeting. The hope to Fancy only bright, Would nearer lose its witching power, And thoa wonld'et monm the hapless nigbt. That led thee from thy father's tower. • " Yet take a peasant's hnmble thanks. For tmst, for love so kindly rendered. And still amid the shining ranks, Of Erin's daughter's highly tendered 1 Remember him to whom thy peace. Was dearer than the love within thee, Who held it &r the nobler bliss, To live without, than basely win thee r* " Farewell," she sighed, " thoa faultless yontn. Mine art has wrought mine own nndoing, 1 did but try thy loyal truth. And find it stainless — ^to my ruin. Here wear for me this clasp of gold, Farewell, for see the dawn is breaking f* Matt Hyland leaves that lordly hold, Like one from blissful d'eams awaking. MATT HYLAND. 336 She passed her father at the gate, Why changed is Helen's mirthful greeting? Why shun each mark of wealth or state, Throngh hall and chamber sadly fleeting ? " Woe 1 woe for me I though in these dells The summer sun is brightly shming, Black midnight in my bosom dwells. My peace is gone — my heart is pining I " Ye woods and lawns of sweet Adare, Ye rained aisles and shinmg river, Ye dreams of childhood falsely fair, And faded now farewell for ever. Take, take away this gorgeous train, Whose splendour mocks my sadness only, For oh I how sad I for oh how rain Is grfindeur, when the heart is lonely 1 " Oh I had I been a village lass, In yonder lowly cottage dwelling. At vesper late or early mass. My humble beads devoutly telling. Then blameless might young Helen share, His cot beside that murmuring water, The happiest heart in all Adare, Though reared a lowly peasant's daughter V MATT EnXAND. " Now merry harp and song adiea ! And dance at eve and mnsic sonndingi I'll roam in groves of dismal yew, And funeral cypress all surrounding Soon, soon an early tomb shall hide. This frame abeady faint and dying ; Some Tillage maid shall be his bride, When I am in the churchyard lying. " Yet blessed be they ! and safe from ill, When day for me no more is shining, Let better thoughts my bosom fill. Than fruitless sighs and vain repining Since duty mars life's only bliss. With higher hopes my sighs I'll smother And oh ! for all we lose in this, May heaven reward us in another 1" Now slow amid the closed buds, Soft hung with dew-drops pale and qairering^ Matt Hyland treads the silent woods, 'Neath gleaming moon-beams coldly shivering " How comes it thus 1 what dream is this I And have I stood in Helen's bower? Oh 1 let me dwell upon the bliss . No more, of that enchanting hour. MATT HYLAND. 337 " No more, of each angelic tone, That like unearthly music flowing, Still fell upon my ear alone, 'Midst sounds of leayea and night winds bkwing But follow truth's unerring line. My bark with holy prudence steering, Nor even for Helen's love resign. The hope that waits the perievering. " Oh I stretch to life's extremest span, The brilliant course of earthly pleasure How looks the space assigned to man. Lost in the Tast eternal measure. Rank, fortune, lore, earth's highest bliss, All life can yield of sweet or splendid Are but a thing that scarcely is. When lo 1 its mortal date is ended. " So swift is time— so briefly lost, The fleeting joys of life's creation, What seems the present is the past. Before the mind can mark its station On earth we hold the spirit blest. That learns to bear affliction cheerly. And what we call and fancy rest, Is brief annihilation merely 15 SS8 VATT HTLAMK There's demon spite in fonns that seem. As fair as angels just descended, There's demon spite in eyes that gleam. With softness and devotion blended. That trusted friend who knew alone, The secret of their midnight meeting. Revealed the whole with serpent tone, To Helen's sire the tale repeating. One summer eve returning late, From vespers in the convent tower. With weary feet young Helen sate. Reclining in her garden bower. Now long forgot that earthly light. Now vanquished long each wild emotHn^ As stars in sunshine fading quite, So love was lost in pure devotion. UATT HYLAND. 339 True, blanched was the rosy cheek. And wasted now the taper finger, And faintly kind and sweetly weak, The sounds that on those thin lips linger. But 'mid the wreck a hope prevailed. Of bliss that duteous souls inherit. And still the more the body failed, The stronger grew the heavenly spirit. Hark 1 voices at the garden gate I With startled ear young Helen listens. Where in the dewy sunshine late, The bowering laurel brightly glistens. Forgive the act ^nor harm, nor blame. Her thoughts perceived, — nor wrong intended, But she has heard Matt Hyland's name. With words of menace darkly blended. " I thank thee for the duteous tale, "To-night within his lonely island, " A sailor band shall cross the vale, " And bind the heels of young Matt Hyland. " A seaman on the heaving deck, " Then let him plough the crooless water, " In battle stern or hideous wreck, " He'll learn to woo his chieftain's daughter I* 840 MATT HTLAND. What now shall wretched Ellen do, By all betrayed — by all forsaken ? What foot to seek his cot, and who. With warning voice his sonl to waken ? She clasped her hands, she raised her eyes, Then swift through copse and thicket gliding;, To Hyland's cot the lady hies. In heaven herself and him confiding. Alone she sought the evening wood, Alone she reached his silent dwelling, And on his threshold bright she stood, Her tale of warning, quickly telling. With wonder wild, Matt Hyland heard, His grateful eyes delighted raising. Like sinner to repentance stirred, Upon his guardian angel gazing. " And is it mine to bid thee fly 1 And see thy native valley never — To tell thee hope ma it surely die, To nay farewell ! — farewell for ^ver 1 To hear thy guiltless doom alone. Prom her whose reason most approved thee^ Thy only fault — that thou hast none ! Thy only crime that Helen loved thee I MATT HYLAND. 341 " Reserve farewell 1 since thus we part, And lasting exile dai-ken's o'er thee, Here let me pour my opening heart, In all its fervent truth before thee. Yes, here beneath the solemn night, 'Mong listening woods and waters lonely, Receive my troth — and promise pUght, I love thee all — I love thee only ! " If it be blameless bliss to know. In danger wild, or pleasure thrilling. One bosom shares thy joy or woe. One heart divides each varying feeling. That balm, my parting boon, receive. For home, and rank, and state, and spleodonr, All, all for thee my heart would leave. All, all, but Heaven, for thee surrender. " And said'st thou poverty would chill. The truth that in my heart is burning. That pinched with want and scared with ill, My thoughts would falter — home returning. Thou little know'st what woman's heart, Can dare when love and woe are nearest, The torture thus with thee to part. Is keener far than aught thou fearest I" 342 UATT HYLANC. Pensive his air, and few his words, Like those who secret woe dissembl* And monrnfdl as the varions chords. That in the rising breezes tremble. Humble his state, but high his mind, With unaffected force discerning. And feelings pure, and thoughts refined, The simple bosom's noblest learning. " Farewell 1" he said, with brimming eyes And clasped hands devoutly kneeling, Delighted awe and wild surprise. And grief within his bosom swelling. " Farewell I I had no hope — and yet, Twas sweet to hear the soft wind sighing And watch the sun arise and set, Upon the towers where thou wer't lying. " The summer's heat — the winter's snow, The wild birds in the woodland singing. And streams that glide, and flowers that blow, Sweet thoughts of love, and thee were bringing Farewell I my freedom thus preserved. At risk of all thy soul can tender From Hyland's heart has more deserved. Than one like him can ever render." MATT HTLaND. 843 " Farewell I"— she shrieked— her father's form, Upon the threshold stood before her, And dark as automu's eathering storm. His gloomy brows were lowering o'er her. " Remove your lady to the hold I And bind that slave in heaviest fetters, How came he by that clasp of gold ? The hind must mate among his betters. " Thon loitering knave, why wait'st thou ? hence t Be still and do thy chieftain's bidding I" Bereft of hue, and life, and sense, They bear her from the cot unheeding. Nine moons had slowly rolled away, (Long lapse of undiscovered treason, ) Ere ever from that dreadful day. Had Helen known the li(!ht ol reason. Ui PART IT. Oh ! war thoa necessary ill I What lingering curse shall he inherit^ Who stirred by fell Ambition's zeal, Presumes to rouse thy wasting spirit. Dark foe to human weal who draws, His sword the bands of peace to sever, Without the plea of righteous cause, Woe 1 woe 1 shall rend his soul for ever I The heart when perilled deep in fight. That warmest glows with warlike spirit. Is not in thy all piercing sight. The highest in the ranks of merit. For oft it turns with selfish aim, ■Untouched by nobler thoughts of duty. In greedy quest of idle fame. Or idler smile of passing beauty. MATT HYLAND. 845 Such virtue claims the beast of prey, In equinoctial desert lonely, Who dare's the chance of battle fray, For passion or dominion only. But man illumed with heavenly light, Should join the din of mortal clangour, A.lone for justice and the right. And then with slow reluctant anger We scorn the wretch with coward hand. When danger toward his home is bending, Who shuns to aid the patriot band, For helpless age and youth contending. In reason's eye not less abhorred. Is he with hardened soul unsparing. Who reckless grasps the desperate sword, For cause or consequence uncaring. With steady eye the truly brave. Behold that fatal term appalling. Not scared like passion's conscious slave. With outstretched arms the world recalling. Nor callous to eternal cares, In heaven deserted, calm, unshaken. For Charity alike forswears, The self-devotee and sel^forsakeu. 15* 346 MATT HTLAND. For oh ! in this onr fallen state, So frail are even the best and pnrest, Their sum of conscions ill is great Who seem in truth to stand securest. He deepliest feels the yoke of sin, Who firm in Virtue's mail hath bound him. And he whose eye is turned within. Will Ughtly heed the flattery ronnd him. Conld we with understanding gaze. But cafanly yiew this transient being, Our souls would shun the sound of praise, As from the hiss of serpent's fleeing. By Meditation's tranquU beam, Our minds would read existence clearly, And see how false— how mere a dream, Is all the world esteems so dearly. There is a pride that outward shows, In haughty port and diction swelling, While lip and eye and brow disclose, The monster in the bosom swelling. Such pride to open sense revealed, Like outward wounds with slight e^deaTonr, Is often by reflection healed, And banished from the heart for ever MATT HTLAND. 341 And oh 1 there is a stubborn sprite, Within the inmost soul abiding, That shifting flies the gaze of light, In bright disguises ever hiding. Self diffidence with downward glance. And timid speech it oft resembles. Even while with secret arrogance, Each pulse within the bosom tremblei. Wild wonder spread through all the Tale, And many a friendly eye was clouded. When Rumour told the mournful tale. In cottage lone and hamlet crowded. How Hyland from her father's home, Had sought to lure his chieftain's daughter ; Now doomed in exile wide to roam, A seaman on the western water. 348 MATT HTLAND. " And who," they said, " will now confide, In ontside fair, and seeming blameless, If forms like his at heart can hide. Deceit and ingrate treason shameless ? For soul in nobler shape enshrined. Yet never lived in Erin's island, And where can truth a shelter find. If falsehood dwell with yoang Matt Hyland T" The boat is launched — the dripping oars, Glance in the fitfuU moonbeams holy. The youth has left Mague's gloomy shores, His forest paths and dwelling lowly, With forehead gloomed with silent grief. And dreaming eye and heaving bosom. His glances catch each passing leaf. And drooping bough, and closing blossom. MATT HTLAND. 349 While pale upon the furrowed wake, The moonlit waters brightly bubbled, Then settling calm as summer lake, Slept in the gentle light untroubled And frighted in her covert high, The curlew rose on whirring pinion, And startled with her lonely cry Hushed silence in her lone dominion And far away by ruined wall, And shieling low and hold of power. By lofty Court's embattled hall, And BallycuUen's guarded tower. Where eastward from the Candle Rock, The death-light flung its tiny lustre. Before uptorn by sulphurous shock, Bold warriors round Fitzgerald cluster All purple shone the morning's beam, When from Hague's bosom gently gliding They reached old Shannon's mighty stream, O'er swell and breaker gaily riding. Full many an isle and headland grey, And wooded cliff behind them leaving. E'er moored in Labasheeda's bay. They reach the ship at anchor heaving. 850 HATT HYLANK Broad looming 'gainst the snrly South, From her black hull, robust and swelling. Full many a grim and muzzled month, Of ordnance fenced the Ocean dwelling. Above, old England's banner flew, From high top-gallant gaily streaming. The gilded stem in many a hue. With dread Eliza's name was gleaming. Wild wonder Hyland's heart enthralled, His bosom heaved, his accents faltered, For merry England's wooden walls, What eye can see and rest unaltered. Her hearts of oak and armed array, What heart can mark that knows her story. Nor long to join their wild huzza, Nor burn to share their patriot glory ? Enrolled amongst that gallant crew, Soon Hyland lost his rustic bearing, Robust in limb and brown in hue, A manlier form and gesture wearing. Well pleased to serve his native land, He treads the deck a seaman steady. And plies his art with dextrous hand, And apprehension apt and ready. lUTT HYLAND, 351 Oh youth I in thy exulting prime, Those earthly woes but lightly shake it, That known and felt in after time, Sink deep into the heart and break it "With friends or native land to part, Then famtly shades life's morning splendour, Hope holds the world within her heart, And Time and Space like slaves attend her. To coil the rope — to climb the yard. Nor heed the billows swinging motion. To watch alone when, driving hard. The night wind tore the wintry ocean. Mildly to bear each varied ill, Bach labour of his new condition, And more than all, to bear his will. In meek, unquestioning submission. Such now was Hyland's altered life. But well he bore the ills that pained him ; Say ye who read the bosom's strife. What power amid these toils sustained him ? What kept his youthful mind at rest ? — His brow without a cloud to shade it? — What treasure of the blameless breast 1 A heart at peace with Him who made it. 852 MATT HYLAND His mates who marked his bearing mild. With scorn beheld the pious stranger, They deemed his mother's precious child, Unfit to stand the shock of danger. But ne'er to question or resent, Did Hyland turn when anger pleaded, His mind was all on duty bent, And left the idle scoff unheeded. He was not of the fickle school. Who launched on life in boyhood's season, Find argument in ridicule. And in a sneer convincing reason. The star that from the shore of youth His eye beheld with pure devotion, That cynosure of heavenly truth, Now led him o'er the world's wide ocean. "Twas morn, and o'er the western main. With favouring gales the ship was steering, When lo ! — the hostile flag of Spain, Far o'er the distant wave appearing. A sail ! a sail ! each gladdening face Is bright with mingling joy and wonder, And soon the level guns of chase, Sent o'er the deep their echoing thonder MATT HYLAND. 853 But nought the gallant foe declined The strife, with coward sail retreating, But hove against the freshening wind, And calmly waits the menaced meeting. Soon side to side in stern array. With ready decks they ride the water, And wait beneath the rosy day. The signal of the opening slaughter As high o'er cliff or seething main. By lone Kilkee or heathy Callan, The bustard eyes the soaring crane, With eager beak and ready talon. So hove the hardy British sloop, Against that ponderous hulk stupendous Though towered the Spaniard's armed poop, Above her mizen peak tremendous. "Ye British tars, behold your prey 1" The Captain's voice was heard no longer, Lost in the brief and stern hurra. From deck and yard arising stronger. " Those maids of Spain in times to come. This day shall oft recall with sorrow ; Go 1 — send your iron greeting home, Up ports I — and give the foe good morrow !• S54 MATT HTLAND The hulls that on the snnny brine, AH sullen lay and slowly heaving, Gave answer to the battle sign, With sndden din and stillness cleaving. Hurra ! above the foaming main, They join in combat close and gory, For Philip and the hills of Spain I For England ana Eliza's glory I Hurra I the shot is thickening fast, As hail against the roof in winter, Crash, bolt, and yard, and shrieking mast, Each scattering wide the mortal splinter. Loud rings each hull as frequent sweeps, The ponderous ball with sightless motion, While echo from her lowest deeps. Answers around the listening ocean I In volumes rolled the sulphurous smoke. That did the dreadful scene environ, While deep at heart the groaning oak, Full oft received the rending iron. Staunch by his gun each seaman stood, Unmoved amid the uproar stunning, Though oft he saw the seamed wood, All ruddy with the carnage running UATT HTLAND. 355 " Their range of metal trebles ours," The Captain cries, " and fast is telling, Haste gallant lads I while darkly lowers The favouring cloud between us swelling !' With brief " hurra !" the tars replied. And settled ardour, firm and steady, A.nd hurry down the vessel's side. With boarding pike and hanger ready. Soon bursting from that gloomy shroud, Their eager blades are seen advancing. Bright glittering from the murky cloud. Like lightning flash at midnight glancing. Huzza I behold that hardy band. Upon the Spanish deck engaging. With sword and pistol — ^hand to hand. The fight for death or conquest waging. Struck lifeless by a random shot. The first lieutenant died unshrinking. When prompt at need Matt Hyland caughl^ The ensign from his grasp in sinking. And up the shroud he hastens quick, With naked hanger nimbly hieing. Though fatal drove and gathering quick, The leaden shower around him flying. 856 MATT HYLAND. Thrust follows thrust, and blow on blow, And many a cheek in death is paler, Oh I nobly fought the gallant foe, But who can check the British saOor 1 Ere long the upper deck they gain, And rushed beneath with ardour glowing, Where raged the thickening fight amain, And many a hero's blood was flowing. Oh ! who that saw that piteous strife. But must have felt his bosom rending, To see so many a gallant life. In clamour and in carnage ending. Thus unarraigned of fault or crime, To see so many a son of glory, Cut off in life's exulting prime. Oh 1 young in years 1 in valour hoary I Ha I while the strife prolonged in vain. Still raved amid the dead and dying. What daring hand the flag of Spain, Sends o'er the wave, dissevered flying ? See I fluttering in the gale instead. The banner of the western island. And high upon the topmast head. The gallant form of young Matt HyUnd. V MATT HYLAND. 351 Now gradual o'er the distant wave, The smoky veil aside was flying. And to the pitying vision gave, The scene of strife, all stUly lying. There locked in death's unyielding grasp, Full many a valiant hand was sleeping, That now no more returned the clasp. Of sorrowing messmates o'er it weeping. Loud shouts of conquest rend the skies, " She strikes 1 Hurra 1 the Queen for ever I" " And yield I" the British Captain cries, " Since vain is now each wild endeavour ? Ye fought like men, like men give o'er 1 Tour sword ! — if life be precious, save it 1" " En Hora buena — si, Senor," The Spaniard said, and smiling gave it. " Since I have lost the gallant ship. King Philip to my care entrusted, Why should I vainly wish to keep. This bauble in its scabbard rusted ? By cartel freed some happier day, I yet may dare the wave and weather. And it may be our lot to play, The gallant game again together." 858 MATT HYLIND " Now who was he ?" the Captain cries, Who first with fearless heart undannted, Out spoke that tar, with forehead bare, Who erst on Magae's sweet winding border, Received the youth in far Adare, A seaman pressed by Desmond's order. ""Ks he 1 the simple rustic swam, We brought from Erin's lovely island, They turned and saw amid the train, The modest form, of young Matt Hyland. "Receive," the Captain said, "thy meed Of praise, since thou hast won it nobly, FaU soon the Queen shaU hear thy deed, ' Who seldom thanks a servant coldly. Right nobly hast thou played thy part, And loudly shall thy zeal be spoken,' For sure thou bearest as staunch a heirt, As ever kept its faith unbroken." MATT HYLAND. Load murmers rose from all the crowd, In kind accordance warmly glowing, While lowly young Matt Hyland bowed, His cheek with modest fervour glowing. For England, ho I they man the prize, With British hands alert and ready. With swelling sails and favouring skies, Their homeward course directing steady. But while each tar with joyous heart, Indulged at will the burst of pleasure, Matt Hyland on the deck apart, Out-poured his soul's o'erflowing measoro. When o'er the deep arising dun, The eastern shades he saw advancing, And westward far, the sinking sun, From ocean's bosom, upward glancing. 35» " Thee I late, when woe was gathering nigh, I called with suppliant aspiration I Thee I now, in triumph warm and high, I hail with grateful invocation ! Thou saw'st me torn by lot severe. Far from mine own beloved dwelling, And kindly heard'st with favouring ear. The grief within my bosom swelling 3<50 MATT HYLAND. " That hand in all his varied conrse, That Israel's banished child defended, It hath not lost its saving force, Its task of mercy is not ended. That eye in many a trymg hoar, That watched for him, each coming danger, It hath not lost its guardian power. But still regards the friendless stranger. " Thy precious boon — this mortal life, Important term of man's probation, He must not risk in mortal strife, • For sake of erring reputation. They truly hold the righteous mean, Who like a sacred trust receiTC it, Not clinging to life's changing scene. Nor rashly prompt, uncalled to leave ii " Our thanks we owe, for life preserved, For victory gained and danger ended. For many a blessing undeserved. To struggling mortals oft extended. In triumph or defeat we own. Thy power alike with meek devotion. For battle is the Lord's alone, On gory field or foaming ocean I MATT HYLAND. 361 For England, ho ! the westward sun, Is hid beneath his ocean pillow. Away, away, o'er waters dun, O'er roaring surge and swelling billow. Soon anchored in the moonlit Downs, They pause till morn's returning glory, Shall spread throughout the island towns, The tidings of their joyous story. The second morn returning bright, Had roused the crew to life and duty, And smiling in the grateful light. The world awoke to joy and beauty ; When lo 1 what dazzling pomp is seen. What pageant gilds the sunny water ? 'Tis England's mighty Island Queen, 'Tis hapless Boleyn's royal daughter. Loud thundering from the batteried shore, Where bright the sunny wave was beating, The salvos gun's awakening roar, Out-bursting gave its mighty greeting Wide echoing o'er the glassy wave. That in the aer al tumult trembled. Three cheers the gallant seamen gave, On deck and yard ia files assembled Id 363 HATT BTLANS. Loose o'er the sea, the standards droop Around the Queen in regal splendour, Majestic on the lofty poop,' Where England's courtliest dames attend her And oft with kindling smile she spoke, And lofty brow and bearing royal, Of England's gallant "hearts of oak," And "wooden walls," and " subjects loyal " Well pleased the crafty monarch learns, That foremost in the fight engaging, Was one of Desmond's hardy kernes. Less grateful war full often waging. " The Desmond is at last our Mend," She said, " and well the name he merits, Who to his Sovereign's aid can lend. Such frames robust and faithful spirits. " But let not commg ages see. In history's page the talc recorded, That e'er such generous deed should be, For England wrought and unrewarded." She said and from the scabbard drew, A blade in polished splendour shining, While low before the wondering crew, Young Hyland kneels with head decliniiig, HATT HYLAND. 363 " Thus still," resumed the royal maid, " By all who rule our properous nation, Be merit with its meed repaid, Let worth hare place of birth and station, A servant staunch on sea or shore. As e'er drew blade for Albion's Island, A ship-boy, and a hind no more. Arise a knight. Sir Matthew Hylaud 1'' W^ith spirit calm and anelate, In meek self-knowledge still protected^ Young Hyland bore his altered state, In bearing mild and unaffected. Nor arrogance or vicious shame. Revealed an inward pride unholy, But stiU he was to all the same, At heart the lowliest of the lowly. 864 MAIT HTLAND. Three years on stormy waters wide, Young Hyland roamed with zeal unceasing, While each revolving season viewed, His merit and his praise encreasing. And still the less his spirit prized The fame his faithful service won him, The more neglected and despised. Did honour shower her smiles upon him. Though oft he cheered the gallant crew, Against their country's foes, in danger, For private wrong he never drew. His sword on countryman or stranger. Nor mindful of the early truth. That warned him 'gainst each rising passion, Did vice allure his constant youth. Though glittering in the name of fashion. But tossed upon the ocean foam. Or shining in the ranks of splendour, His constant heart still turned to home, With faithful glance reverting tender. When calm at eve, the autumn sun. Beyond the crimson wave descended, And o'er the eastern waters dun. The solemn moon was rising splendid. MATT HYLAND. 865 " Though long a sorrowing exile grown, With homeward thoughts in vain returning, And sad at heart, and inly lone, With wishes vain my soul is burning. Still round each cherished haunt of youth, My ardent mmd is fondly clinging, Still memory turns with changeless truth, To scenes of past emotion winging. " Oh dear in every change to mo. Sweet lady of the western ocean, ^y longing heart looks back to thee, With all an exile's deep devotion I Fresh bloom each smiling garden there, Each fertile vale and sunny highland 1 Heaven bless my own, beloved Adare, Heaven guard my dear, my native Island I* S«8 PART V. Htimility 1 oh loved of heaven, Triumphant in thy holy terror, By self confiding impulse driven, Thou dost not tempt the brink of error. But homeward borne and shuddering BtiD, Thou keep'st afar thy faithful station, Thou shnnn'st the coming shade of ill. And fli'st as guilt, remote occasion. The warrior trusts his mailed might. His practised skill and valour solely, But he who arm's for virtue's fight, Must shield his soul in prudence lowly. In human wars he wins the plume. Who boldliest writes his name in story, But here, the souls who least presume, Are highest in the ranks of glory. MATT HYLAND. The wreath iu mad ambition's raoe Is his, whose speed can first obtain it, But in the quest of heavenly grace. Who lowliest seeks will surest gain it. Alone in this celestial fight, When countless foes unseen assemble. There's valour high in timorous flight, 'Tis heroic zeal to fear and tremble. Nor mind the strong and searching strife That ever haunts youth's opening season. For lasting safety and for life Trust thou thine own unaided reason. But upward borne on fervent wings. With filial hope divinely burning, Go seek at mercy's fountain springs For strength renewed and love returning. Three years had slowly rolled away, (Long lapse of undetected treason,) Yet never from that fatal day Had Helen known a joyous season. With merry speech and radiant smUe No more she joined the banquet splendid, But frequent toward that solemn aisle. With secret pace devoutly wended. 361 868 MATT HYLAND. Yet though each bnd of young delight Within her gentle heart had perished, Though changed by sorrows early blight Each wreath of bliss her youth had cherished. Though fallen within her altered mind, Unpractised fancy's air-built towers, Hope still around the ruin twined, And wove her nndecaying flowers. Still in her gentle eye serene And on her brow angelic, beaming, A clear seraphic light was seen. Like morning twilight sweetly gleaming Less oft perchance within her breast Wild joy arose, tumultuous swelling. But there, in calm unchanging rest Celestial Peace had made her dwelling Oft when beside their evening fire. With cheerful faggot brightly shining, She sat before her noble sire With paly cheek and brow declining; With secret pang his heart was rent. And oft upon his midnight pQlow He grieved that e'er in wrath he sent Matt Hyland o'er the western billow UATT HTI.AND. 369 But most his pitying thought it stirred, That while her heart was inly monming, Nor moistened eye, nor look, nor word, Recalled the woe within it burning ; That still with fond confiding smile She met her father's kind affection, And strove with many a gentle wUe, To hide her spirit's deep dejection. " Oh I would gire the fairest hall That stands in Desmond's wide dominion. Could I that fatal doom recall, Or he his chieftain's lost opinion 1 For what alas is lordly power If peace withhold her light enchanting ? And what the gain of land or tower Where sweet domestic bliss is wanting 7 " But let him roam in exile lone. Forsworn in heart and base in spirit. For favour to the traitor shown Is wrong to virtue and to merit. For rank may cover low degree, And worth may rise as worth has risen. But oh 1 what grace of dignity Can veil the hideous brow of treason t" 16* 870 MATT HTLAND. Not thus with Her whose vengefnl tongno That dark calnmmons tale had spok.'^s, With fell remorse her sonl was wrung, By fearful dreams her sleep was brokeB. To her the toll of conrent bell, Seemed like a fatal omen falling, And every stroke a gloomy knell, That warned her heart of woe appalling. She started when the sudden wind Along the boughs came swiftly fleeting, She started when the village hind Her pathway crossed with lowly greeting. The warder's blast the funeral wail Of tidings new or unexpected To her sick spirit told a tale Of coming ill and guilt detected. When dark across the evening heath The shades of night were slowly creeping. Disastrous thoughts of woe and death Came o'er her bosom wildly sweeping. Life's vanished ease in vain she seeks, From scene to scene unquiet flying. Her haggard eyes and wasted cheeks Revealed the inward worm undying. MATT HTLAND. 311 Even scenes of old, in summer bloom, And summer fragrance sweetly springing, Seemed altered by the boding gloom That round her conscious heart was clinging. When turned her cowering glance on high, Her spirit shrunk, her bosom trembled, For every cloud that crossed the sky Fantastic forms of woe resembled. The morning mists in volumes rolled. The shades that wrapped the wooded valley, The secret haunt beloved of old. In glen apart or moonlight alley, The measureless abyss that gleamed, Reflected in the watery mirror, To her disordered fancy teemed With mystic shapes of gloom and terror. For conscience, thy unsparing asp Keen watch within her soul was keeping, There firmly clung with fearful grasp, And venomed fang and eye unsleeping. Till in her spirits altered mood Fair Nature lost her wonted graces. And earth and air, and fire and flood, Seemed peopled with avenging faces. 372 MATT HYLAND Nor rest she finds at midnight deep, Nor respite fifom her fears in slnmber, Dark fancies scare her broken sleep And spectral dreams her soul encumber. Then buried friends uncalled arise In gloomy throngs, her fancy daunting, With warning hands and dreamy eyes Around her silent chamber haunting. Then on her soul with vind force. In hues distinct and deeply tinted. Fear's ghastly limner, stern Remorf>e, Full many a boding sight imprinted. Earth's mouldering dust to life restored, Uprnshing at the trumpet's clangour, And gleaming high the dreadful sword Of Justice waking in her anger. But most she feared the solemn gloom Around the church-yard gathering lonely, While darkling lay each voiceless tomb By yew or cypress sheltered only. Then deep within her shuddering breast The fears of childhood found admission, For souls by secret guilt oppressed Are still the prey of superstition. MATT HYI^iND. 313 Thns restless on from day to day She dragged along a wretched being, To every random fear a prey, From her own thoughts affrighted fleeing. Though Desmond's gold her treachery paid Small joy received the conscious maiden^ For heavily her bosom weighed With unatoned injustice laden. She knew not when with artfid smile And hypocritic zeal affected, She strove to hide the secret guile That all her guilty course directed. How plainly through that shallow goiw Her lady saw the lurking danger, But read in Helen's peaceful eyes, A mind to all her guilt a stranger. Twafl dawn — upon the leafless vale The winter sky was darkly scowling, With fitful force the southern gale. Along the frozen sward was howling. Slow swung the lonely convent bell. Amid the stormy twilight breaking, Where watchful in each narrow cell The penitential train were waking. 8t4 MATT HTLAND. Ha 1 see — ^beneath the misty ray, Through sleet and snow-drift swiftly hieing. What footstep marks the devious way Toward that high porch afii-ighted flying ? With backward glance and floating hair, Upon the driving gust dishevelled, As in her bosom blank despair Or haunted phrenzy wildly revelled. " Quick — quick — receive the broken words Upon my struggling breath that gather, A moment hold — ^ye rending chords I A moment hear oh, holy father I Oh death reserve thine angry dart, Thus o'er my shuddering soul suspended. Nor pierce this sick and sinking heart, Till all my hideous tale is ended. " Oh once to me the morning %ht Arose in sweet and peaceful splendour ; Oh once to me the falling night Brought still repose and visions tender. For once within my youthful breast, Religious peace had made her dwelling, And lulled in bright and holy rest Each pulse of passion wildly swelling. UATT HYLANU. 375 " Ah, happy days when calm at heart, In conscious innocence reposing. Content I filled my lowly part. From breaking dawn to daylight closing. When that pure light which shone within Gave all without its tranquil beauty. And lovely looked each rural scene, Lit by the heavenly light of duty. " Ah, happy scenes for ever changed, Ah, hours of sunny peace departed, When through each woodland haunt I ranged An infant free and careless hearted. When hushed beside the whispering Mague 'Twas eztacy to sit and ponder. Or by its waters winding vague At close of summer eve to wander. " Then sweet at dawn that convent toll. Slow mingling with the choral number, Upon my tranquil spirit stole And softly broke my morning slumber. But altered now, that solemn choir Overwhelms my soul with boding sadness, And in my bosom wakes a fire That turns each rising thought to madness. 8T6 MATT HYLAND. " Yet not by sudden impulse changed In that pure course my spirit faltered, From fervent love at once estranged, Like Tales by rushing tempests altered. No, seldom thus Devotion's flame Hath in one gust of passion perished, Nor bosoms stooped to guilt and shame Where piety and peace were cherished. " One night : my shuddering fancy still Recalls that dread prophetic vision. When, nnoppressed by conscioas ill. My heart was lulled in thoughts elysian. One night I had a fearful dream. While yet a child I lived sincerely, But vainly scanned its mystic theme Till time revealed the sense too clearly. "Methonght I roved on shining walks 'Mid odorous groves and wreathed bowers^ Where trembling on their slender stalks Fresh opening bloomed the early flowers. Thick hung the iruit on every bough, In ripe profusion clustering mellow. While o'er the peaked horizon's brow The evening ray fell slant and yellow MATT HTLAND. 311 * Slow pacing through the fragrant shades With calm majestic mien advancing, O'erawed I saw a queenly maid With piercing eyes divinely glancing. Deep wonder chained my reverent tongue, My form was bent with greeting lowly, While silence o'er the garden hung As if the ground she trod was holy. " And who art thou ?" with eager tone, I cried aloud, " whose presence thrilling. Though lately seen and yet unknown. Can reach the utmost springs of feeling. And oh 1 what sweet secluded scene Here shines in rural beauty splendid. Where summer bloom and vernal green With ripe autumnal wealth are blended T i» " With smiles that broke as sunshine bright, Their lustre to my soul imparting. And tones that sent a pure delight, Delicious through my bosom darting." " Devotion is my name," she said, " And mine are these dehcious bowers, From purest fountains ever fed. And bright with undecaying flowers. 8T8 MATT HYLAND. " In this sweet haunt thy blissful life, Shall glide like meadow streamlets flowing, Unreached by sonnds of demon strife, Unknown to passion and unknowing. For thee, these fragrant airs shall rise, For thee, shall blow these opening roses, Till far beyond yon twilight skies Thy heart in endless peace reposes. " Yes, thine shall be this calm retreat Of summer bloom and peaceful beauty, If thou observe with prudence meet. And watchful care, one easy duty. Tis but to tend one golden lamp. With faithful hand and spirit heeding, From wasting airs and vapours damp, His pointed flame attentive feeding. " While heavenward thus ascending bright. In holy lustre still encreasing, Thou keep'st thy pure unearthly light With vestal heed and care unceasing. Sweet peace of heart shall haunt thy bower, And safety watch unsleeping near thee, And happy in thy parting hour Celestial hope shall stoop to cheer thee. MATT HTLAND. 379 " But if the faithless thirst of change, Or slow ( onsoming sloth should move thee, Then dread those countless foes that range Terrific in the air above thee. They cannot pierce thy radiant sphere While faithful hands that flame shall cherish, But woe to thee if slumbering near, Thou leav'st its saving light to perish I" " Upward I looked with shuddering awe. And iu the growing gloom that bound as, Full many a dismal shape I saw, Slow winging in the air aronnd us. Orim-visaged death and fierce despair. And unbelief with aspect sneering, And ruin with affrighted stare. Disastrous through the mist appearing. " Heart-stricken at the direful sight Awhile I stood appalled in spuit. But cheered by that celestial light, I took my lonely station near it. Dissolving on the fragrant air 2fo more I saw that form before me, But by the sweetness breathing there I felt her influence still was o'er dob. 880 MATT HSTLAND. " Awhile I kept with watchful heed, My task of duty and of pleasnre, Exact at eve and mom to feed That holy flame with ample measnre. Those smiling walks and various flowers Each day I hailed with bosom tender, Nor e'er beyond those happy bowers Indulged the idle wish to wander. " But soon the scene familiar grew, Of peace unchanged my heart was weary, Till in the thirst of pleasures new Even that sweet scene looked blank and dreary. Oppressive seemed that task unchanged, That light had lost its radiant beauty. For when the will is once estranged Oh 1 heavy weighs the yoke of duty. " Why need the fearful end to tell ? One eve beside the lamp reposing, Deep slumber on my spirit fell, My lips in gradual darkness closing. Terrific sounds my slumber broke, That lamp had quenched in darkness lonely I And shivering in the gloom I woke To see the coming ruin only. ' MATT HYLAND. 381 " So passed my dream and it hath proved The symbol of my waking story, My youthfal hours thus swiftly moved In thoughts of peace and heavenly glory. So gradual, while with lessening zeal Devotion's ardent flame I cherished. Did sloth upon its fervour steal, Tin in my darkening soul it perished. " Oh if there be a healing force In sacred rite or counsel holy. To quench the fire of dread remorse, Relieve its victim bending lowly ! 'Twas I who wrought with lying tale Woe undeserved for young Matt Hyland, Ifow wandering in the western gale. An exile from his native island 1 " The Desmond held my words for sooth, And paid them with his golden treasure, But conscience with avenging tooth To anguish turned the short lived pleasure. My waking thoughts are filled with gloom, And when the veil of sleep is o'er me, Dark scenes of woe beyond the tomb In gloomy force arise before me. 882 lUTT BTLANB. " Last night when scarce a straggling beam Of moonlight on the vale was shining, Oppressed by many a boding dream, I lay upon my couch reclining. While in the midnight solitnde Hoarse murmuring broke the wintry billow, The sheeted ghost of Melcha stood Terrific by my lonely pillow 1 "With Toice whose piercing tones conveyed Through all my soul a speechless terror," "Where is my son ?" exclaimed the shade, " My child unknown to blame o» error ? Perhaps 'mid whitening breakers cast On some wild coast relentless scowling. Even now for him that wintry blast His stormy song of death is howling. " But happier in his ocean tomb In blameless death he sleeps securely. Than thou, to that appalling doom The traitor reaps, devoted surely. Ah, tremble for that dreadful hour When man shall rise to judgment waking For pain shall be thy lasting dower When light and joy for hun are breaking I" MATT HTLANB. 383 "Delirious with prophetic fear At dawn I left the silent dwelling, When distant on my watchful ear The matin hymn came faintly swelling. Ah now, even now, within my heart Again I feel that boding sadness. Save 1 save me from that demon guest I Oh save me from those thoughts of madness T " Quick I quick I receive the broken words, Upon my struggling breath that gather, A moment hold I ye rending chords ! A moment hear 1 holy father 1 Grim conscience free that iron clasp. Since now the dreadful tale is spoken. Pale fear relax thy frozen grasp, And leave my wretched heart unbroken I" " Vainly to me," with drooping head And pitying accents whispered slowly, " Vainly to me," the father said, " Thou showest thy hidden deed unhoiy Vainly to heaven for peace and rest. Thy prayer shall rise rejected ever, While yet the wrong is unredressed Even to the wronger's last endeavour. S84 MATT HYLAND. " Go seek the Desmond in his hall, Where lone he wastes each joyous season, That foundless tale of guilt recal Around that tangled skein of treason I" Deep shuddering shrank the timid maid, Her face within her hands concealing, And silent long and pondering staid. With sudden fear and anguish thrilling. " Oh I how," she said, " can mortal brook. In shameless confidence reposing, The piercing light of Desmond's look, Such tale of infamy disclosing ? Oh father in the Desmond's ear Breathe thou that fearful revelation, For howsoe'er the tale he hear Alike shall be the reparation {" " Alike for him bat not for thee," The father answered calmly speaking, " More peacefiil far thy heart shall be Thyself that guilty silence breaking. The Desmond's glance thou could'st abide With that unholy falsehood swelling. Thou well could'st bow thy bosom's pride To do the ill thou shunnest in telling. KATT BYUNS. SSti " Such difference may'st thon ever need Between remorse and true repentance^ One mourns at heart, the guilty deed, One fears alone the coming sentence. Cast thou thy happy part with those Who share, my child, the purer feeling. And what thou did'st for Virtue's foes. Blush not for Virtue's self revealing. " How many doomed In cureless woe To feel the inward worm for ever. Could they that lingering pain forego Would gladly use such light endeavour I Then still resist that evil shame That limed holds thy struggling reason, And meekly take that transient blame, Light penalty for heaviest treason." He said and left the holy aisle. The arched cloister slowly seeking, Tor now with cold and cheerless smile The winter day was broadly breaking. Thy strains, Sednlius bursting free. Arose in solemn sweetness blending, A. solio ortus cardine, Harmonious with the sun ascending. 17 386 MATT HTLAND. Before that lonely altar now, Her fervent hands devoutly 'vrreathing^ The maiden bows her reverent brow, A prayer for peace and mercy breathing. Like that fau: light, out-bursting clear. On scenes in wintry gloom benighted, Hope stole upon her bosom's fear And peace its morning star-beam lighted. " Yes — frown the chieftain as he may, Howe'er oppressed by shame and terror, I will retrace that tangled way, Unfolding all the maze of error. I will unsay that treacherous tale And clear the fame of young Matt Hyland, And he shall see his native vale, And tread a^ain his native island I* 881 PART Vt Not always in this vale of tears Hath fair desert his meed awarded. Nor earthly good nor ill appears By measured rule of right accorded. For justice holds her final doom Still o'er the reckless world suspended. Till that appointed hour of gloom When man's elective power is ended. Then if by gathering woes oppressed Thou see'st fair virtue here encumbered. Or vice upborne with haughty crest Amid the son's of glory numbered. Oh never lend impatient lips To question or complaint unholy, But wait that great Apocalypse With humble hope and reverence lowlj 388 MATT HYLAND. Dread day of rindication I Then Te strong in self-snfficient reason, Who walk amid the sons of men, Triumphant in your transient season. Te scoffers of the lowly few Who tread the paths of meek devotion, How idly in your altered view Will then appear each stunted notion. Ye who have made your gods of gold, Te dabblers in the slime of pleasure. Who for a pottage mess have sold Tour birth-right of 'celestial treasure. Oh dread that long abiding time. When, in the general wreck assembling, Each son of unrepented crime Shall drink the menaced cup of trembling Yet sometimes heaven in mercy here Will lift the yoke from struggling merit, Lest, bowed beneath the weight severe. Despair should crush the feeble spirit. They best may hope such influence kind Oppressed by fortune's frown distressing, Like Hyland with discerning mind, Who least regard the dangerous blessing, MATT HYLAND. 380 Slow pacing in the day-beam cold, Along the woodland vale returning, Young Nora seeks the Desmond's hold. New hope within her bosom burning. Oh ! sweet the earliest glimpse of light, To those who track a stormy ocean, But sweeter far the dawning bright. Of peace on terror's wild emotion That ba£3ed fiend whose bootless guile To dark unmingled hate was changing, Beheld her leave that holy aisle, Along the wintry woodland ranging. And strove to shake her purpose new With startling doubt and inward question, And 'mid her altering counsels threw Full many a deep and dread suggestion. *' Hath Reason o'er thy wandering thought Her saving empire lost for ever, Hast thou the Desmond's mood forgot. From justice stern departing never f And wilt thou trust the influence mild Of mercy on the soul attending. Of him who from his only child. Can turn with icon heart unbending T 890 MATT HYLAND. " Hast thon so soon the hope resigned Of fatnre gain from Desmond's favour, Hath fortune for thy palled mind So quickly lost its witching savour, That thus a few accustomed words. Habitual in thine ear repeated, Have all untuned hope's ready chords And all her brilliant aim defeated. " Tpt if on bright ambition's path No fragrant leaf hath power to cliarm thee, Let thoughts of Desmond's coming wrath Resistless in its might alarm thee. Perchance ere long thy lot may be To hang a corpse on yonder island. Triumphant sight for all to see We mourn the doom of young Matt Hyland." Again, again in Nora's brain. Confused, her slumbering fears awaken, Again by thoughts of coming pain And earthly shame her soul is shaken. All trembling through the postern way She passed into that lordly tower, And long in musing anguish lay Concealed within her secret bower. Xk MATT HTLAND, 891 Hark at the door with whispering call, Who breaks her mood of anxious feeling ? Tis he who in the banquet hall, To Desmond holds the wine cup kneeling. " Haste, Nora, haste 1 since break of dawn, I've sought thee at the chieftain's order, Nor found thee on the misty lawn, Nor on the river's darkening border. Some matter sure of import high The chieftain's noble mind encumbers. That ere the morn beam crossed the sky So early broke his wonted slumbers. Since midnight in the eastern hall He wakes by one cold rushlight only ; There slow his thoughtful footsteps fall. Like one who keeps some vigil lonely With sinking heart and trembling frame Young Nora leaves her secret bower, Oppressed by fear of instant shame, And Desmond's swift avenghig power. Within his chamber pacing lone With paly brow serene she found him, While, from the deep embrasure thrown, The mommg light fell cold around him. t92 UATT HTLANS LoDg time with brow inclined he stood And arms athwart his bosom folded, In deep deliberative mood, Like form by artful sculptor moulded. Then glancing toward the panelled oak, Lest listening ears his speech should gather. Thus joy-bereaved and sorrowing spoke In mournful tones the anxious father. " When first this wretched tale," he said, " Thou breathed'st with faithful tongue reTealing I know thy honest heart was led By duteous care and loyal feeling. Yet not the less its import wild For me has wrought unmeasured sorrow, While thus I see my only child, Slow sii.king, droop from day to morrow " I thought the still effacing power Of time might cure her spirit's sadness. And gradual, like a bruised flower, Her heart might ope to light and gladness. But vain my hope, from day to day She sinks in silent anguish pining. In health-consuming slow decay With sweet submissive heart declining. lUTT HTLIMD. 393 " If right I read mj daughter's thought, Not inward disappointment only, Nor passion in her breast haa wrought This secret grief abiding lonely ; For cheerful seems her voice and eye, With watchful heed unmurmuring ever. And oft she checks the rising sigh With spirit touching sweet endeavour. " But self-accusing stern remorse For Hyland still in exile mourning, Hath set with deep and branding force Its stamp within her spirit burning. That traitorous youth too lately known In all his dark deception shameless, His blackening guilt she makes her own, And holds the wily ingrate blameless. " Soon childless in my natal hall, By every earthly hope forsaken, In woe for me each night shall fall. In woe each weary morn awaken. Strange feet, when Desmond sleeps in earth Shall tread his old familiar bowers. And aliens to his blood and birth Shall rule the Desmond's lordly towers. 17* 394 MATT HTLANB. " Bat still let trath and right prevail, Let justice hold her place anmoTing, Nor yield with wavering impulse fraU, Snch base presnmptaoas gnilt approving. For better live and die bereaved Of every ardent aspiration My bosom once with joy received, Than gild deceit with rank and station I " Meanwhile in penitential deeds I'll seek some potent influence healing To staunch the festering wound that bleeds Within my bosom keenly thiilling. I'll seek beyond the eastern sea Some saintly shrine, a pilgrim lowly. Nor vainly linger here to see My daughter's life-beam fading slowly. " Perchance some taint of secret pride, Or early unatoned error. Or passion still unmortified Hath wrought for me this doom of terror. In meditation's purged sight Has Heaven the searching power accorded, To bring such hidden stain to light Within the bosom lurking sordid. UATT HYLAND. 391 "E'en now I hear in Shannon's mouth Matt Hyland's ship again is heaving, Yictorioas from the hostile south With conquering prow the waters cleaving. Perhaps in this awakening light He views each creek and well known island And soon in Desmond's high despite May tread again his native Island. " But let him share that triumph brief, By sure, though late, remorse attended, For me, engnlphed in whelming grief. Resentment in my breast is ended. Enough that he shall see no more. While lasts for me life's mournful season, These smiling lawns and winding shore Made lonely by his thankless treason. " For oh 1 throughout this loved vale Each scene the breaking morn discloses. When sweetest breathes the vernal gale, When liveliest spring the summer roses ; The tender bower, the woodland wild. Yon stream that flows in murmuring sadness But mind me of my pining child. And all her vanished hoars of gladness. i96 MATT HTLAND. " Oh Helen, Helen 1 thns forlorn, While yet thy lamp of life is shining, If sick at heart I sigh and mourn To see thy gentle frame declining ; How lone will seem this echoing hall. How deep shall be my daily sighing. When dark beneath her fdneral pall My child in Death's cold arms is lying. " Ah me, ah me ! I dread the day. Ah me, I dread that honr of monming, When barefoot throngh yon arched way From distant pilgrimage returning, The warder at my voice shall bpnd And hail his lord with monrnfnl greeting, And tell of Helen's saintly end, Sweet Helen's dying words repeating. " For oh I to me the merriest song By Zephyr sung at hush of even. On odorons pinions borne along, Melodious in the vaulted Heaven, Could never fill my charmed ear With such delicious joy abounding. As Helen's well known accents dear Like falling silver sweetly sounding. MATT HYUiND. 391 Bat blessed be the conncils high Of him who roles this wide creation, For how can man's presumptuous eye Fore-know the eternal dispensation ? Perhaps e'en while with hope grown cold And hearts in careless anguish bending, We mourn throughout the altered hold, Bright joy is at the gate attending. " For thee, to whom our thanks we owe For Desmond's ancient fame defended. What can thy grateful Lord bestow Co-equal with thy service splendid ? In distant regions wandering far, 'Mid barren wilds or breakers hoary. Be still a bright propituous star To old Fitz-Gerald's name and story." While thus the sorrowing chieftain spoke, Around her frime convulsive bending, Toung Nora drew hei: hooded cloak. With stifled sobs her bosom rending. But when she heard his kind "farewell I" Biesistless grew the struggling feeling, And shrieking at his feet she fell For mercy to the Earl appealiufc- 898 MATT HTLAIfD. " Oh best of masters and of friends, Forgive — ^forgive a wretch unholy, Who envions wove for basest ends This web of crime and melancholy. Not Hyland's are the gnilt and blame, Not Hyland's is that blackening treason. On me should fall the weight of shame With juster cause and fairer reason. " Oh hide awhile that glance severe 'Till all my hideous taJe is ended. Lest lost I sink with conscious fear Ere yet the wrong be half amended. Like him who man's Redeemer sold. By horrors of the night affirighted, I bring again that guilty gold For which my bosom's peace was blighted. " Twas I who framed that foundless tale Whose influence wrought for young Matt Hyland Long exile from his native vale. His natal cot and lonely island." She said, and all her guilt confessed ; She told him how he wronged his daughter ; And blameless poor Matt Hyland pressed. And sent him o'er the western water. MA IT HTLAND. 398 Long time the Earl with look amazed, Like one from mid-day sleep awaking, Upon the prostrate maiden gazed With troubled bosom inly aching. Till all the dark conviction broke Resistless on his breast descending. And trembling throngh his frame he spoke With grief and wonder mildly blending. " A falsehood 1 — ha ! — and thine the word I What, murderess 1 — thine the guilty story Whose import keen as traitor's sword Lies rankling in my breast and gory. And thou for Desmond's hand hast filled That chalice of exceeding angoish. Beneath whose withering influence chilled I've given my daughter's life to languish I " And blameless was my saintly child 1 And guiltless too my faithful Hyland I By Desmond's causeless rage exiled, An outcast from his native Island ! Oh web of mischief darkly wrought I Oh rashness, rashness, past the telling, What cloud obscured my darkling thought^ What phrenzy in my heart was swelling I 400 MATT HYLAND. " Not thine, not thine this hideous blames With me shonid rest the guilt, the tettor, Who jealous of our ancient name Too soon received that slanderous error. For Hyland's wrong, for Helen's peace Too late, alas, too late discovered. And manj a vanished hope of bliss That t-onnd my dotiug fancy hovelred I " But go 1 the task were idle now Thy motive of design to question, Had any told this tale but thou My mind had scorned the wild snggestiAn. The morn that now in tumult breaks Should end for thee life's guilty season, But that thy free confession takes Some shadow from the hue of treason." He said, and from the hall withdrew While trembling rose the wretched maidea And shuns each menial's envious vie* With heart confused and sortow-laden. Alone in speechless shame she lay Concealed Within her secret botver, Till cheerless closed the wintry day And darkness sunk on vale and tower. MATT HTLAND. ^QJ Not sudden in his daughter's ear The Earl revealed these words of gladness, Lest bowed beneath the shock severe Even joy might aid the work of sadness. Bat gradual as with altered mind He mildly spoke of young Matt Hyland, And owned the hasty doom unkind That sent him from his native Island. Thus slowly as the summer dawn With ray on ray successive breaking, Each shade of lingering gloom withdrawn, Delight in Helen's heart was waking. Delight at Hyland's fame redeemed, At Desmond's old regard returning. Once more in Helen's glances beamed, Within her ardent spirit burning. Again the ruddy freshening blood In Helen's joyous veins was rushing, Again with early health renewed Young Helen's brightening cheek was blushing For now the only earthly care Despite her bosom's pure endeavour. That held its rankling influence there Was banished from her heart for ever. 1^2 ^^'^ BTLAliD. In sweet Adare the jocund spring His notes of odorous joy is breathing, The wild birds in the woodland sing, The wild flowers in the rale are breathing There winds the Mague, as silver clear, Among the elms so sweetly flowing. There fragrant in the early year Wild roses on the banks are blowing. The wild duck seeks the sedgy bank Or dives beneath the glistening billow. Where graceful droop and clustering dank The osier bright and rustling willow. The hawthorn scents the leafy dale, In thicket lone the stag is belling. And sweet along the echoing vale The sonnd of vernal joy is swelling. MATT H^LAND. 403 All hnsh and still the breezes slept On flowery lawn and murmnring water, When Desmond to the chamber crept Where slumbering lay his beauteous danghter. He softly kissed her brow of pearl, And gently pressed her golden tresses, And said, " Arise, my darling girl 1" And woke her with his fond caresses. " Arise," he said, " my daughter dear, I did not know you loved so truly. There's lasting bliss for duteous fear. And thanks for service rendered duly. I've sent my Baiights to Shannon's side To bring thy exile to our bowers. And thou shalt be Matt Hyland's bride, And he shall rule thy father's towers. " Arise 1 arise ! in sweet Adare, The village maids and youths assemble, Already in the sunny air The sounds of sylvan music tremble. Throughout the town the tale is told. That Desmond longs again to greet him. Expectant in the festal hold With open arms and heart to meet him. 104 MATT HTLASD. " M>r fear I for our ancient name, In snch nnwonted anion blending, Lest Desmond reap his country's blame, From dignity of place descending. For he hath come of high degree. From regal blood of old O'Connor, And won upon the stormy sea His gallant way to rank and honour. " Oh, once again from Helen's smile Shall Desmond's heart contentment gather. Once more shall Helen's mirth beguile The sadness of her aged father. When by our hearth at evening close Thou hear'st in sweet domestic leisure. How first this wondrous change arose That turned our household gloom to pleasure [■ First low to Hearen with grateful heart The maiden bent in speechless feeling, That Heaven had ta'en the injured part. Young Hyland's stainless truth revealing. Nor ceased her infelt thanks to pay For joy restored and vanished mourning, Till boisterous menials ran to say That Hylaud was in sight retnrm'ng MATT HTLAND. ^05 Ah, sweet Adare 1 ah, lovely vale ! Ah, pleasant haunt of sylvan splendour, Nor summer sun, nor moonlight pale E'er saw a scene more softly tender. There through the wild woods echoing arms Triumphant notes of joy were swelling, When safe returned from war's alarms Young Hyland reached his native dwelling. With joy she wept to hear the tale, Around her father's bosom clinging. While shouts arose in all the vale. And bells in gay Adare were ringing. With kerchiefs gay and wreathed flowers Bright shone the festal scene surrounding, And blithe from all the woodland bowers The harp and rustic pipe were sounding. Prepare, prepare the festal board With rushen torches brightly burning. Make welcome meet for joy restored. And Peace renewed and Hope returning. For now along the crowded way They hail him to his native island. And there they held a wedding day, And made a Lord of poor Matt Hyland I 106 HATT HYLAND Oh ever thus let worth be found Triumphant in each varying danger, Be merit still vrith conquest crowned To suffering as to guilt a stranger. Here oft as in the promised land Where joy shall reign unchanged for ever, May mercy aid with succouring hand Unfriended Virtue's high endeavonr. Ye wanderers in the narrow path To bright Perfection's portal leading, Though chilled by storms of worldly wrath Forlorn ye toil and inly bleeding. Still firmly hold with faithful zeal. Far, far beyond all earthly pleasure. Integrity through woe or weal. And Hope, who builds in Heaven her treasnra So may your well-tried patience find The cup of anguish meekly tasting. In this bleak world a peaceful mind. And there, a welcome bright and lasting. So may even here your bosoms share The transient good that life can render. And in afSiction learn to bear The sharper test of worldly splendour GISIPPUS; OB, THE POBGOTTBN FRIEND. COSTUMES. Gisarva^— First dress : Blae shirt, and Red Greolui toga, riohl; embroidered with gold, wreath of pink roses round the head, flesh leggins, and sandals. Second dress : Long white shirt, and blue toga, trimmed with gold, white ribbon round the head. 7%ird dress : Old brown shirt, slate-colored toga, old sandals, fleshings, and sword. Titus Qcintus Fultius. — First dress: Greoian toga Second dress : Roman toga. Medon. — ^Rich Grecian shirt and mantle. Pheaz. — ^Ditto. Chremes.— Ditto. Lycias.— Plain white shirt, trowsen, and robe. Decius. — Roman shirt, breastplate, and helmet. Macbo. — Ditto. Centueiow. — Ditto. Davtjs. — Good Grecian dress. MuTins. — Plain Grecian dress. Sicilian Mebchaht. — ^Ditto. SoFHRoniA. — ^White mnslin Grecian inm, trimmed with rilver, anl ribbon round the head. Hero. — Plain Grecian dress. EXITS AND ENTRANCES. R. means Right ; L. Left j R. D. Right Boor ; L. D. Left Door i B. E. Second Entrance ; U. E. Upper Entrance ; M. D. JUiddk Door : F. the Flat ; D. F. Door in Flat RELATIVE POSITIONS. R., means Right ; L, Left ; C, Centre ,-11.0, Right o^ Cttitn, L. 0., Left of Centre. Passages marked teith Inverted Commas, are usuaUy omitted in the Representation, GISIPPUS. ACT I Scene I. — A Street in Atiens. Enter Chbbhes, Fheax, amd Medon, l. M^. (c.) The sweetest, fairest, loTsliest maid ia Athens, Although I be her brother, that do say it. Chre. (l.) Sum all perfection in one little word, And say — the wealthiest maid in Athens. Med. Nay. Gisippos does not care for that I He loves Too deeply, and too fervently, for that. And yet, I think not the less traly for it I The shafts of the boy-God ne'er would less surely For being tipped with gold 1 PAeax. (b.) But prithee, Meden, When goes the wedding forward ? 18 419 GISIFPU3. f Act L Med. Why, he hath waited The changing of her humour these three years, In patient fondness ; and it seems not like, Now he hath bent at last her stubborn will Unto the fashion of his own, and weaned Her memory from that phantom-love that haunted it, He'll stay the consummation of his joy O'erlong. — But look you yonder. IPtmting u Fhmx. 'Tis Fnlvius I Chrt. Returned so soon from Corinth ? Mtd. How 1— what, Fulvius 1 Chrt. You should have heard Gisippus speak of him He is the other self — ^his Pylades — The youRg Roman student I Mti. As I know him not, And have some matters that command me hence, I'll leave you to accost him. Fare you well. \Extii Mci and Phe. b. Elder FuLvins, l. Chre. So early from your studies, Fulvius ? Fnlv. A smile I I've searched half Athens for a smile. And never found it. What a heavy tune I spend here with you Greeks ! I soon shall quit Your Academic groves, and I am glad on't. Chre. Of all men, you should not complain of dullness^ Yourself a very cynic, you have not The capability of pleasantry ; Our maids of Athens find you cold and harsh. And given to thmking SobnrI.J eisippus. ill Fulv. I'll be so no longer I — (Musing.) Tis true, I had a cause. Ckre. Crossing r.) And do ye still Dream of this fair Corinthian vision 1 Oh I How passing a sigh was there I Futv. (r.) Peace 1 Peace I Chre. To pine for years upon a boyish fancy. And let the thousand bright and real beauties That court your praise, flit by you all unheeded Shame I shame 1 You ne'er again will meet your old love, (And tho' you should, you've found her most un- worthy ;) TheH cast that memory to the winds I Look round ye I There are bright eyes and fairer forms in Greece, And hearts less false, believe me. I have seen ye, Before this fair Corinthian fancy seized you. Platter a graceful robe with such a spirit. And make such furious protestations ? Oh I But now, your manhood is forgotten. Fulv. No I Give me your hand — you have well counselled me, And thou shalt see me changed to what I was. From this time forth. " No 1 my lost love shall find " I can be free and generous as she was." — The first fair form I meet, I bend the knee to ; I'll be no pining fool, to die forsaken. And have my name and fortune chronicled Among the tales of true love-victims. Hark thee I 111 think of her no more. 412 Gisippus. [Act L Chrt. Bravely resolved I Fulv. I say, I'll think of her no more I Chrt And -wisely, And gallantly 'tis said. Fviv. No — by the Gods, I never will 1 Chrt. Well, you have said enough on't. — Here comes Gisippus, with his wedding face on. Fvlv. Gisippus 1 Chrt. There's a smile I — you longed to see one — The smile successful love wears. Are ye bid Unto the bridal ? JW». Aye ; but know not yet The lady of the feast nor sought to learn Ere this. — ^What 1 Gisippus ! Enter Gisippus ami a Slave, r. Gis. You are well met I'm glad to see yon wear so gay a brow To honour our espousal. — ( To sla/ve.) To your mistress : Bid her expect me earlier than she looked for. [Exit I've sought you, Fulvins. Slave, r FiUv. I shall now, at length. Behold this paragon your bride, and know her ? Do you find her still a paragon ? Gis. And think you, Love can be led by circumstance so easily ? Chre. Ay. Passion hath its change of seasons, sir ; And 'twere as vain to hope eternal Summer, As an eternal faith. This is with you SoBNK I.] OISIPFUS. 41S The Spring of courtship, which calls up the flo^vers, The fairest flowers of love — ^your blooming fancies — Tour fragrant love-thoughts, murmuring sighs and pray'rs. But even as Nature's spring, Love's too must roll Away ; and then comes your adored honey-moon, Love's summer of enjoyment ; next, his Autumn Of lukewarm liking, verging to indifference. The time of shrugs and yawns, and absent thoughts And then his Wmter comes — fi'osty and dry, Sharp, biting, bitter ; cunning in cold taunts ; Making the evening hearth, so late a paradise, A place of harsh uncomfort. — Then, Love I How suddenly thy changeful votaries Find thy Elysium void 1 From the pale poet. Who wooed the groves in song-lorn melancholy. To him the blustering terror of the field. Who sighed like Boreas, and who made love Kke war — All, weary grown of the ignoble bondAge, Look back with scorn upon the yoke tliey've spurned, And wonder how the silly toy had pover To make them sin so palpably 'gainst w'«dom. Gis. Peace, scoffer. Chre. True — that speech was for a married man Not for a mateless turtle like myself. I'll leave you with a proselyte I've made Within this hour — no very worthless votary - You will confirm the change I have begun. '^Eir* B Gis. Come to my bridal, Fulvius. You shall see 414 cisippDS. [Act 1 Some beauties worth the wooing, though they lack The ea^e spirit of your Roman maids. Fidv. And I shall deem them lovely in that want. Those eagle spirits are too grand for me : Such forms may grace a painter's canvas well, Grouped in a legend of the Commonwealth, But by an evening fire are cold companions. Woman was made for love, and not for wonder. Give me the pliant, soft, and human fair — But Heaven defend me from your soaring beauties 1 Your love is none of these ? Gis. (r.) Come with me, sir : Let your own judgment answer you, Fubo. (l.) And tell me — You are indeed the happy one you seem ? Gis. Happy ! Ah, thou cold Western, thou dull scholar. Made up of all crabbed systems, I'll not talk With thee of that thou can'st not comprehend. And yet, if thou hadst seen her, Fnlvius, Although thy breast were frigid as the stream That curdles through the usurper's withered veins, Thou still wonldst own my happiness. — But yet — Fvlv. Nay, if your fortune may admit that clause, I shall not envy you. Gis. One thing troubles me — Fulv. Ay, I should wonder else. Did you then look To rest your happiness on a woman's will, And find it unalloyed ? What is this seasoner Of yours ? SOENK I. OISIPPUS. 415 Gis. Why, nothing. It hath taken birth In thought alone — a doubt of love, too sensitive To give e'en rapture's self free entertainment. Some old affection combated my love. That still is made a mystery. Faith stands On unsure grounds where confidence is wanting, And hers I lack. But let doubt find out me I'll not seek it, nor do. She's mine ; and I Could trace no lingering of the hesitation That chilled my earlier wooing, in the deed That made her mine at length. Bat fare ye well : [Crosses l. I'll meet you straight and bring you to her house : Fulv. There's something more than beauty to con- tent ye ? Gis. There are, as you will see, some fair posses- sions ; Yet, Fnlvius, by the honour of my love, I had no thought of these when I became Her suitor. FtUv. I believe yon. Gis. And it was not My fortunes placed my need beyond them, neither. Had not this chanced, I were a ruin every way : Two thousand sesterces were all I owned. And those I was a debtor for — I staked My villa to command them. Do you wonder That I should thus send my last ventures forth, On the frail prospect of a woman's kindness ? Fidv. 1 rather wonder that hath not deceived you. i 16 Gisippns. Act L But frankly, I am glad to see ye happy, And like yourself again. Gis. Oh, I have but now Begun to live I Until this morn, my soul Ran its career in darkness ; and the world — Fair unto those who live in Fortune's smiles — Was unto me a weariness ; bnt this Hath poured a flood of light into my soul. That no succeeding night can chill or darken. [Exewnf severally, Gridjgnis, l., Fidvius, b: Scene II. — ThtGa/rdjms of SopAronia, loith Grottoes, ^-e , Music Enter Sophkonia and Hebo, l. Hero. (l. c.) Sophronia I Not a word 1 Is it to hide A blush or tear, that veil's so closely drawn ? Dear Mend, speak to me I on my heart, your silence Falls like an augury of ill, least fitting Of any to a day like this. Soph. (r. c.) Oh, Hero I Crossing, i,, Do not question me. I have not known (too late I find it,) all ray spirit's weakness. — Oh I What an inconstant thing is woman's will I On what a trifle may the happiness' Of whole existence hang 1 A summer wind, That is but air — nothing — may turn an argosy ; And the poor word in weakness uttered, Hath power to bind, beyond release or hope, A life's whole destiny. SOKNE II, GISIPPHS 411 Hero. The Gods have made Thine their especial care. Soph. Ah ! yes ! Hero. Sophronia, some grief is at your heart ; may I not share it? [Sophrmia avoids her. This is not like yourself, Sophronia — friend \_Sophronia returns, amd they retire conversing. Enter Fulvius and Chkemes, r. c. e. Chre. (e.) Why, Fortune must have ta'en her ban- dage off. To shower such graces on you. You must dedicate A temple to the goddess. — From the Emperor ? Sent for to Rome already ? Fidv. (r. c.) I have here The letters which command my presence there. I am promised honours. If you be not bound Too closely to your native city, Chremes, Let not this change divide us. — Share my fortunes, And be to me a memory of what Gisippus was, till love made friendship light. Chre. (l.) We'll speak of this again ere you leave Athens. Did you not say he should have met you here ? Fulv. A little further on — [^Fulvius fixes his eye on Sophronia, toko is taOdng toith Hero. Chre. 'Twill be no grateful tidings for his ear, Those news of your return to Rome. Fulv. That form 1— ♦18 Gisippus. [Aot 1 Chre. You do not think of leaving till the festival Be past ? Fulv. How dim and wavering is the recollection That stirs within me ? There's some faint similitode To an old memory, I cannot now Disdnctly summon up. Chre. What's this ? Why gaze you so? Fidv. It is the loveliest form I've looked upon Since I have entered Athens I Chre. It is, indeed, A bust for Dian's self ! Fidv. If she had left Her wild wood for the portal of her temple, To give her votaries a visible audit, She could not move my admiration more. I'll speak to her I Chre. You cannot thmK it, sure 7 This is some lady of high estimation I You are changed, indeed ! What plea have you to offer I Fvlv. I care not. Let chance, which gives th« occasion. Be kinder yet, and furnish me with matter. Chre. You are a madman I [Stopping him Fulv. " You are a coward 1 OflF ! " A pitiful, dull trembler. Hark yon, sir . " Go you and marvel yonder, at her state, " And see it bend to me. — Twill do so 1 Hush I" Be dumb — she speaks ! — Chre. Yon will not be advised ? ScKNK Il.j Gisirras. 419 Fidv. Psha I No — away ! — [Exit Chremes, b. n. b, Now, by Cytherea, Here is no ccmmon beauty 1 Would she but lift That veil 1 There Is a sadness in her air And motion. Oh 1 it that Tell hide beneath it A sorrowing brow, when shall a smile be worshipped ? Soph. [_To Hero arnmig a lUtlt forward, L.J But, trust me, sinne that fatal " yes" was wmng from me, I have not rested. You must come more frequently, Else I grow serious as the fate that waits me. Farewell 1 I wait Gisippus here. [^Exit Hero, l. FiAv. (Aside.) Gisippus I Some fair friend of the bride — ISophronia, coming forwa/rd, c, suddenly rneets Fid- vius, and starts back. , Soph. Ah, heaven ! — Fidv. Your pardon, lady : Do ye start from as it were a spectre That crossed your daylight path? — "You shake and tremble 1 " These groves are silent, but not desolate, " And many ears are waMng near you. Say, " What is there m an honest face to terrify you ? " As sure mine seems no other." Soph. {Aside.) It is Fulvius 1 'Tis the same gallant air — the noble form That caught my first affection — Years have made But little change upon him Fidv. {Aside.) How she regards me f 420 GISIPPUS. ACT 1 Soph. He knows me not 1 \ Seeming to go Fulv. Lady, you will not go, Leaving lae thus unsatisfied ? Soph. I know ye not, sir ! Fidv. I am a Roman, and a friend of Gisippus I A scholar, too, just weaned from the harsh studies Of Your Athenian schools, and turning now To and a gentler lesson in the fair And varied volume Nature lays before me ! A diligent and most untiring learner, Could I but hope That most excellent pattern of her skill This morning shows me, might continue ever My study and my inspiration " Soph. You " Are pleasant, sir 1 " Fvlv. I have a failing that way, — oh, "Oh I " Could you but feel the wrong you do that brow, " When you would make it minister to scorn, " No heart would mourn the absence of its light. " Soph. Vain men 1 And do ye seek to cozen us " With flattery so palpable as this ? ■' You know it fair, and yet have never seen it 1 " Fvlv. But shall ? — [Approaching her " Soph. No 1 — Named you not Gisippus, Roman ?— • " Fidv. He is known to you ? " Soph. He is. " Fulv. His promised bride, too ? " Soph. Should be my near friend SCKNIE II.] 6ISIPFUS. 421 " Fulv. And we thus stand at distance I — Now, by Nemesis, " I thouglit we should be friends. I know not why, " But though we sure have never met before, " That form already grows upon my soul " Familiar as memory of its childhood. " Our sages teach, (and now I find them reasonable,) " There is between the destinies of mortals " A secret and mysterious coincidence, " Drawn from one mighty principle of Nature ; " A fixed necessity, a potent ' must,' " That sways mortality through all its harmonies I " That souls are mingled and hearts wedded, ere " Those souls have felt the dawning of a thought ; " Before those hearts have formed a pulse, or yet " Begun to beat with consciousness of being ! " My heart is governed by a fate like this, "And drawn to thee, unknown — unseen. " Soph. Beware ! " I am your friend, and warn you. Trust me not < " Earth never formed a being half so false. " To him who shuns me, I can be more just ; " To him who woos like thee, with heart on lip, ' A very icicle. " Fulv. I will believe you 1 — " 'TIS beautiful, and so art thou — 'tis fragile, " And false — so ye would have me think ye — Bright, " So is thy beauty —sparkling as thy wit 1 •"Tis radiant as thy form ; and it is cold — ■ " And so art thou." 422 GISIPFU8. [Act. L Soph. I am a dall diviner, If that speech were not meant for one, a foolish friend Of mine, at Corinth once, who threw her heart Away, thinking it given to a Roman yonth. Fvdv. At Corinth, lady — Bpoke you of Sophronia ? Soph. Why, I named her not ! — ^you've known her, then ? Fvlv. I have. I pray you, hear. There is a friend of mine — A poor weak youth — On I hear me — for my life Is wrapped in his, and that is failing fast. He loved her — and she wronged him. — " Knew ye this 7 " Soph. No, truly. — And yet I might say I knew her, " (Her very heart) even as mine own. " Fvh. She was " The fairest, yet the falsest thing that e'er " Made light of confidence. — Her eyes looked brightest " When they were silent perjurers ; — ^her voice " Sweetest, when turned to deep deceit ; — her smile, " Pleasant as health, yet death's worst messenger I " This is my memory of her." Tears, alas. Have passed since I beheld her ! Lives she ? Soph. Yes, And for a new love. She has lived to learn The wisdom of forgetfabess. 'Twill be, Some comfort to your false friend, to hear this 1 Fvlv. Oh ! I was never false — Proud I might be, 1 am — but though in very stubbornness, I steeled my heart against the scorn that pained it ; Scene II.] gisippus 423 And like the slave, whose strugghug in his chains Makes them hang heavier and corrode more deeply, The influence that I sought to smile away, But clung more sensibly about my heart, Binding it down unto its first affections More firmly, while my laughing lip denied *fhe dear allegiance — Would Sophronia knew thi>' ' Soph. Ay, if she had but known this 1 Fidv. Ay, idle sorrow now ; For had I sought her and bowed down my heart Yet lower than its boyish pride could stoop, It were in vain, for she esteemed the fancied wrong Her own and would have spumed the suit and me. Soph. Oh, women have forgiving tempers, Fulvins : You should have made the trial. Fidv. Ha 1 — that tone 1 I stand as one in mist — Am I deceived ? — Soph. But now, indeed, 'tis late. Sophronia is In Athens — -and forgiveness past her power. Fulv. {Approaching her.) The veil I In mercy I Oh, my anxious heart And throbbing brain 1 The veil 1 Nay, raise it, lady— And snatch me from the agonizing dream — " Say, do I err ? " Or does my heart deceive me, when it claims " That voice, for one familiar with its oldest " And best remembrances ?" It grows upon me More rapidly and surely — My Sophronia, {Kiieds.) Oh, my love 1 life I happiness ? r She throws back tht veil. 424 GisippDS, f Act I Soph. Hold, there 1 Fvlv. No, no ! By thine own nnchanged beauty, I do swear I am as innocent of wrong to ye, 4.S aught in virtae or in truth 1 Soph. It is too late : . am no more mine own to meet thy faith, Although I should believe it. Fidv. Say thou dost ; [Biiing And where is he who dares dispute the consequence ? " I do remember somewhat, lightly spoken " And hastily, (which thou wilt sure recall, love,) " That chills my breast to think on. Nay, put off " That distant air. — Wave not your hand thus coldly, " As you would scatter sorrow with the action " Upon the heart that loves you." Register My pardon, even by a look, and say Unkindness sleeps between us, and love wakes again. Soph. It is too late, now. Fvlv. Wherefore ? Are you not The same free Grecian maiden ? I can see No mark of bondage on you. Soph. But there is A heavy bondage — I am bound. Fvlv To me 1 [Eagerly taking her hamd Think yon I conld forget that vow, Sophronia ? Truth, love, and justice are my witnesses, (And surely you will honour them,) the heart That stilled its beating to record the pledge, Scene II.] gisippus 425 Tenders it yet — among its living pulses, The dearest memory there 1 Soph. This must be ended. Fnlvius — I am indeed — Fulv. (Iniermpting her.) Although my lips, Which are the beauteous ministers of truth, While virgin Truth herself, had sworn that, lady, I still must disbelieve ye. Soph. Then fare ye well — The time must undeceive you. [^Gcnvg, i» Pulv. Hold, Sophronia I If any fearful, creeping, heartless slave. Have made a base advantage — Oh, my blindness 1 That I should leave to such a venomed slanderer The opportunity he dared not vindicate I — But name him — and I will redeem thy pledge. Though I should tear it from his heart, and give thoe A reeking witness with it. Soph. 'Tis a name Will lay a quieter and heavier influence Upon your spirit, Fulvius. You are sensitive In friendship, as in love ? — \Mvsic, Piamo Fidv. {Starting hack.) Hal Soph. I am here The mistress of the revel. — Hark I Oh, heaven I My lord approaches — Oh, forgive and leave me 1 Fidv. Your lord ? Soph. My husband — Gisippus ! Your Mend 1 Oh 1 fly ! Fulv. My friend ? [^Abstractedly i26 6I3IPFCS. [Act L Soph. I fear your meeting. Fulv. Oh I Avenging Nemesis I — Oh, traitor, Hope ! What was there in the little store of peace That I till now had laid onto my heart. Thine eye should covet thus ? SojA. (Amiousiy.) He comes I FiUv. ( Sta/rtivg rawnd.) I am glad of it I Soph. Mercy 1 you would not — Fulv. In his very teeth I'll fling my charge — ^there let it stick, and blacken I [Crosses, u Ye bards, whose tales of Grecian faith are cherished In strains that credulous fancy dotes upon, Tour ashes shall no more be hallowed now. It was a lying spirit moved ye I — Hence I Thon art become a plague unto my sight, A blot and stain upon the virgin air. [Music is hea/rd wiihrn, louder; Sophroma, erossts, & and sinks on her knee. Oh, arise, my lore ! How swift a shame runs burning through my veins 1 You should not kneel — What, though you are heart less, love. Yon still are queen in this — Beautiful falsehood : Ye have spells about ye — and I would curse, Yet can but gaze into thine eyes, and bless thee. What would ye I should do 1 Soph. I've been to blame, But now repentance is in vain. I fear SCKNE II.J GISIFPUS. 421 The anger of my lord — for I am now Bound to obedience. — Seem not to know me, Ful- vius ! The fate that's on us passion cannot alter, But may confirm. Fulv. Fear not. — I will be governed. Enter Gisippus, Medon, Chremes, Ladies, Guests, 4^., B. u. E. — Music plays while seats are arramged — Gisifpus leads Sophronia to a seat, l. — Fulvius re- mains vmobserved, leaning against a side-seme up tut Stage. Gis. Here in these silent groves we will attend The lighting of the Hymeneal torch. How pure, how holy is the sacrifice. That waits on virtuous love ! How sacred is The very levity we wake to honour it 1 The fiery zeal that passion knows, is there Tempered by mild esteem and holiest reverence Into a still, unwasting, vestal flame, That wanders nor decays. All soft affections, Calm hopes and quiet blessings, hover round. And soft Peace shed her virtuous dews upon it. No conscious memories haunt the path of pleasure But happiness is made a virtue. Fulv. (r.) Ay 1 An universal one — for truth and justice. Honour and faith may be cast off to gain it, tVithout one conscious shame Gis. How's this ? 128 GISIPP0S. [Act 1 Soph. {Lays her hcmd on Ms arm.) Gisippns I Gin. My love 1 What would you ? Vvlv. (r.) Oh 1 must I endure this ? The action hath struck fire from out mine eyes — I cannot hold — \^Commg forward Gris. (c.) Ha I Fulvius ! Oh, dear friend 1 My happiness fell short of its completion, Till you had given me joy. Fultt. (r.) Why should it need ? The joy that conscious truth gives will wait on ye, For surely you deserve it. Gfis. Friend and brother, I thank you. Fidv. Does the bride ? Gis. Nay ! ye should spare her. Fulv. Prudent friend 1 Wise lover I Now I see the spring of your half confidences. Gfis. What doubt is this I Fulv. Doubt I Oh I I know tnee just ; I know thy tongue was honest — but I know, too. The silent tales a glance may tell — the lies That may be acted. [Th^ all rise. Gis- Ha 1 [Sopkronia throws herself betwem, Soph. Oh heed him not : There is some error — Fulv. All the nods — the looks. By which the absent fool is safely damned — Ye would not slander me in words, I know it ; But there are ways. Gis. (l. c.) (Aside.) What sudden, horrible fear, POENE II.J 6ISIPPUS 429 Creeps o'er my frame 7 There is no likelihood in that. FiUv. Farewell ! Honest Gisippus, fare ye well 1 Sophronia, I will not, for the last time, take your hand With an ill word. [Sissei her Aemd Gisippns, this is all Your friend claims from your bride — oh, she was worth A double pequry I Oh, virtuous pair, The happiness ye merit dwell about ye. Till ye have learned to laugh at conscience. How I Am I a wonder, that ye throng and gaze Upon me I Have I marred the bridal ? Oh I Let it proceed and pardon me. Hearts worthier Marriage ne'er blest ; " take a friend's word for that — " An undone friend, it may be, but that's little." My last advice is — ye may ne'er remember The name or fortunes of your ancient friend. For there's a cause why that should breed ill thinking. Farewell, Sophronia I Oh, true friend, Gisippns — Farewell 1 farewell I [EtcU, b. Medon. (Aside.) What is the cause of this ? Pheax. Whate'er it be, Gisippus hata it now. His looks betray it. Mark him I Gis. (l. c.) Hold, my heart I Bush not too quickly on a divination So full of fear for thee. Sophronia ? Soph. (b. c.) I am here, Gisippus. Gi». Medon will attend you *30 Gisippus. ["Act 1 To yonr chamber. I would speak with you alone — 111 follow yon. Soph, (l.) My lord shall be obeyed. {Exit with Medon, u Gis. (c.) Kind friends, your pardon for this inter rnption, Which should not mar the festival — One hour, While you attend a measure in the house I would bespeak your patience. Then I come to ye I [Music plays whilt Chrmes cmd tht rest go out, ka/v> itig Gisippus alom upon the Stage, l. Gis. Corinth? The mystery of Pulvius- -and Sophronia's old affection ? You great Gods, I see my fate ! — The sacrifice you ask Is great and bitter.— Ton, who lay upon me This heavy test, lift up my sonl to meet And wrestle with its potency : The hour Is come at length, when the young votary, Virtue, Must prove his worship real — when the spirit Shall soar above all natural affections, A wonder and a tale for days unborn. Or sink, degraded, into self. My love ? My friend ? How suddenly the word unmans me 1 My heart is weak,— and I but pant and struggle At the greatness I would master. Yet it shall be so. \_Comes down Sophronia shaU be tried— and should she falter. It must be done, although my strings of life Crack in the doing. Oh I for one brief moment, Lie stiU and cold, ye whispering ministers Scene I] oisippus. 43 That Ftir my blood with selfish doubts and wishes ; Dig memory, sense, and feeling from my brain And heart, and make it steel to all but that Which makes yielding painful 1 iJBxit, i> END OP ACT I. ACT II. Scene I. — A Street in Athens. Enter Fulvius and Chremes, followed by Ltcias and Servants, l. Fulv. (c.) Friends let our train expect me on the hiU, Beside the villa of Gisippus. [ExeuM Lycias, SfC., K Chre. Nay 1 Why should you droop thus, Fulvius 1 Fidv. (b.) I would We had left Athens yesterday. I grieve To think upon the wrong I did Gisippus, And would return and see him once again, To take a friendlier leave. Chre. You should say, rather, To see Sophronia once again, and make Your parting yet more painful. Fuiv. No I have wronged 432 uisippus. L-^*" ''' My friend I The friend that would have died, ere injured Me, or cast one moment's shadow o'er my heart. He shall yet think better of me. [Crosses, u Chre. Well, I seek not To cross your wishes. But I pray you, tell me — That gloomy-looking knave ye sent before Just now : is he your slave ? Fidv. My freedman, Lycias. Chre. It is impossible that there can be, An nglier man 1 FiUv. Or a truer. Chre. Pish for his truth 1 I would not keep such a face about my household For all the truth in Greece. I have conceived A strange antipathy against him. What A dark and scowling glance the sulky slave Shoots from beneath his shaggy brows 1 Fidv. Beware 1 Eeep such thoughts in your breast, and live in peace : He's a Phcenecian ; faithful — ^but revengefoL Chre. Fsha I he shall know my mind a dozen timet In the hour. I'll whip him from his cut-throat looks. He talks too little for an honest man ; I'll teach him more civilized obedience. Than that he showed you now when you spoke to him : ' Lycias, go bid our trains expect me.' — ' Ugh 1' Ha I ha 1 ha 1 [Exat, B. Fidv. I'll see her : once again will see Sophronia 1 Why should I doubt my resolution ? — ^Yet, SOKBI II.] GISIPFUS. 433 If she should smile — and heaven is in that smile- May she not win me back To the delusions of my wooing hours, And blind iny vision to the onward path That honour points to ? No, no, it must not Grieve Gisippus to think upon our friendship. He shall yet deem nobly of me. £xit, u Scene II. — 7%e House of SopAronia. Enter Medon avd Sophronia, r. 3d. e. Med. (l.) Away — tell me no more. Soph, (c.) I have heavy reasons. Med. They should be such, indeed, to o'erweigh that You now have urged. Delay the bridal 1 Bid Our friends disperse, and keep their mirth unwasted For another morn ? Fie 1 fie 1 Have you a name To care for ? What a scandal will it bring Upon our fame 1 A man, brave, learned, honoured, Worthy the noble lineage he sprung from. Worthy as fair a fate as thou couldst give him. Were it made doubly prosperous. What think you. Made you thus absolute ? I'll know the cause From which this fancy springs, or hear no more. Soph, (l.) Then you shall hear no more, for while 1 live The cause shall sleep within my lips, though none But the ear of solitude should hear it spoken. 19 434 Gisippns. [Act II. Med. (k.) Sopbronia, I know veil 'tis some device To break this contract. Sapk. No, my brother. Med. But My heart is set upon it. His noble birth, His eloquence, his influence in the city, Are wanting to support our growing name. My plans, hopes, all, are based on this aUiance. Soph. But to defer — Mtd. Defer I Why did you promise ? Why did you mock us then, with your consent ? What shall be your next humour ? We'll attend it. Soph. Why should you be so quick to speak na kindness ? It was to please you, Medon, I consented ; I did not then look for a life of happiness, But now I feel content shall scarce be mine. Yet, as I hope for that, I swear to thee I do but seek to meet the pledge I've given, Aod with a firmer fortitude redeem it. Erder Gisippus, r. 3ai a tonib, l. Gis. This is death's court ; Here does he hold his reign of stirless fear, Silence his throne — his robe of majesty The hue of gathering darkness. " Here his minister, The night-bird screams, and the hoarse raven iteratea " His warning from the left." Diseases flit Like spectres through the gloom, clothed in damp mist And tainted night-air — yet the grim slayer Will send no kindly shaft to me. [Goa to a, Will the dead Afford me what the living have denied— «84 Gisippcs. [Act IV Eest for my weary limbs, and shelter ? Here At least I shall find quiet, if not ease, And host who do not grudge their entertaining, Etba though the guest be misery. Colder hearts Thau those which rest within this sepulchre, I've Kfl all in the health of lusty life, Informing bosoms harder than its marble. Then I will be your guest, ye silent dead, Would I could say, your fellow slmuberer ! [/A enters the tomb. Z/ydas comes from behind tomb, loiyks off, R., them again conceals hknsdf. Chrema wrmpped in his mantle, passes over the stage dogged if Lyeiai. A dashing of swords is heard withmtt, l.u.b. Chrt. {Within.') What hoi help! murder! Tillaia! iye. ( Within.) Do you feel me now ? Chre. ( Within. Too deeply ! Li/e. ( Wiihin.) There's a quittance for ye. [Gfisijapus re-enters from the tomb, draws and rushes off, Chnmes staggers in, womuded, l. u. e. Ht faMs nea/r the tomb. Chre. Ah ! villain ! He has cut me to the veins, Eerengeful rillain I Oh ! Rtenier Gisippus, l* u. b., his sword drawn Gis. The ruffian has escaped. What luckless wretch Has thus been made his victim ? You great Gods ! Chremes ! ChrCi Whoe'er thou M!t, I pray you give These scrolls to — ^to — [Sia. Oit. This i» thy justice^ Death I Boairx III.] gisifpus. 486 I, who would greet thee with a lover's welcome, And kiss thy shaft, have wooed its point in vain ; This -wretch, whose hope was green, thou seekest uncalled Relentless destinies 1 Am I become Such an abomination in your sight. To love me is perdition ? Where — oh, where Is my offence ? But there may yet be hope. — Breathless and cold 1 My last friend, fare ye well 1 [ Voices within, l. it. e. " This way ! this way f They come. Is it not now within my reach ? I have it 1 It shall be so ! [fie stains his hands and sword vnth the blood of Chremes, and leans forward, kneeling over the body. 1st Cit. {With^mt, l. u. e.) This way the sounds proceeded. Did you send To warn the Praetor's guard ? 2d Cit. Yonder they are. Omens. {Withovi.) This way 1 this way 1 EnUr CrnzENS, Medon and Guabds, some with torches, from li. u. E. Med. (l. 0.) 'Tis as I feared. Chremes 1 unhappy countryman ! Who has done this ? lit Cit. (l.) Do you not mark that man. With bloody hands, who kneels beside the body f He is the murderer. Med. Speak I if thou art he. Confess — it will be useless to deny it, Coufess — 186 Gisipptrs. [Act ▼. dis. Why, what confession do you need ? I am here before yon, in my hand a sword Unsheathed, his blood upon that sword — ^yet wann From the divided breast. What would ye more ? Can words declare more ? Med. Gaards, away with him ! Omens. Away with him 1 Med. Away with him to the Praetor 1 Tetonewoid; What moved ye to this act ? Gfis. I had my reasons. Med. Take him away. Cfis. Now I have made it sure. Med. What dost thoa say ? Gfis. I say that I rejoice Tn that which I have done. Do as yon list 1 Med Sf Omens A.wa,j with him ! [Exemit, l. u. K END OF ACT IT. ACT Y. Scene I. — 77te Palaa of Fidmus. Enter Fdlvius amd Sophkonu. Fide. (l. c.) Ay, I have heard enough. Why shonld I tax ronr brother with this base and coward act, Scene I.J gisippos. 481 Than am myself more base in my neglect Than he in his revenge. Poor Glsippus I Banished from Athens, sold to slavery I And now a wanderer without home or name ! Perhaps the tool of some low task-mastor, Or the cold inmate of a nameless grave. Soph. (r. c.) Yet, Fulvius — Fulv. Ha 1 how say you ? SopA. Do not turn Thus sullenly away, nor yet look on me With that regard of cold reproach. I knew, No more than thou of this unhappy chance, And mourn it full as deeply. Fvh. They were all Your friends who did this. SopA. And is that my crune ? Fuiv. I would give all again that I have gained— My present joy — the memory of my past, And all my hope of foture happiness, To stand beneath the roof that shelters him, And know my gratitude not ?'holly fruitless. Oh I I am torn up with va'n regrets 1 ""J' ---V', ji Soph. For my sake. Speak not of this to Medon What is past, His ruin could not better. If you 'ove me, Yon will not — Fulv. If I love ye I Do you make A doubt of that now — If I loved you not, I had been now at peace with my own hearty " I had not brought a stain upon my soul 488 oiaippus. L-A-C V- " That no repentaut sorrowing can whiten." Had I not loved thee better than fair virtue, I might be now an honourable friend ; " And those quick rushing memories that crowd " CTpon my heart in thick and painful throbbings, " Might shadow it with that calm, peaceful influence " Of Gratitude discharged, and friendship cherished, " Which makes remembrance sweeter than enjoTment.* I've loved ye but too well ! Enter Norban and two Servants, l. Nor. My lord — the murderer Of Chremes bade me give these scrolls unto yon • The dying man had placed them in his hands. Fidv. Have you spoke with him, then f Nor. By your command, I went into his dungeon at the sunrise, I found him waking then. His wasted form Lengthened out in the dust — one shrivelled hand Beneath his head, the other with lank fingers Parting the matted hair upon his brow. To take the greeting of the early light Upon its sickly swarth — his eyes were fixed On nothing visible ; a dead, dull light Was in them, the cold lowering of despair, His whitened lips were parted, and his teeth Set fast, in fear or agony. I spoke — My words dropped harmless on his ear. I soaght By kindness to attract his note, and placed Before him food and wine — he pushed them from him, SCBNK I.] OISIPPTS. 48S Then looked into my face, shrunk back — and hid His own within the foldings of his garment. [ Crosses, r. Fulv. ( Thirmng aver the scrolls.) Ay, here is Varro's answer. He had come .A. few hoars sooner, I had saved a friend by't. And here — ha ! Nor. (r. c.) Madam, mark my lord ! Soph. What, Fulvins ! Fidv. Ha I ha 1 ha 1 Joy 1 triumph I rapture ! He's in Rome — Away I Fly I seek him — all 1 The man who finds him first Soph. Whom ? Fulv. (c.) Gisippus I My old friend is in Rome. Oh, ye kind Gods, My heart is gushing towards ye I Med. {WitAaut, 1..) Fulvius ! What, Fulvius 1 Enter Medon, rapi/Uy, l., a sword drawn and Uoody w his hand. He is innocent ? Fulv. Who ? Med. The Greek. Fulv. How say ye ? Are you waking sensealiars f What weapon's that ? Med. The sword of the innocent man, Whom even now they lead to execution. It came thus stained iu his defence of Chreraes, Not in his murder — Lycias, your freedman, He has confessed the deed. J90 Pl.flPPUS [AC!T "V Fvlv. ( Taldt^ the sword as he crosses, l.) Ha ! Gods 1 Med. Away ! Will yon see a second murder ? They are slaying Mm I It is an hour since he was taken forth. Fulv. {Giving him a ring.) Fly, Medon, with my warrant, and release him. Haste 1 haste I lExit Medon amd the two Aitendamts, L. 'Tis strange I Some poor, life-weary wretch, Who hoped unwisely in his youth — and droops To find his dreams but dreams. Nor. I fear, my lord, They will be too late. Fulv. I would not have it so For more — [lAJoks on the sword, examitus it dosdy, and rapidly recognizes it, amd retains fined in horror. Soph. Mj lord ! You terrify me, Fulvios 1 Speak — Speak I Fnter Macro, l. Macro. The murderer of Chremes — Fulv. ( Turning and raising his sword.) Liar I Ho ! smite him dumb, some one 1 My hand is powerlesiL My limbs are cold and numb I Soph. My lord I my love 1 Moioro. His last request. Fvlv. Tis in thine eye and lip 1 Thou comest to tell me I'm a murderer, The murderer ot my friend — and if thou dost, The word shall choke thy life. (iSb2« Iwai.) Croak unt thy news ! Scene II.] oisifpus. 401 Raven 1 if they must tell of death — or peace ! Give't not in words. — Look me a hope ! He lives 7 He does ! he does 1 You've looked me into strength again 1 Gisippus I Gisippus ! Gisippus ! {^Rushes out, l. — Sophrovia, ^c, follow Scene II. — 7%e Place of Exemtion. Gisippus standing in chains. — Decics, Guards, ^ Dee. [v..) Remove his chains, lldctor takes off eAatnt Gis. (c.) Let it be ever thus — The generous still be poor — the niggard thrive — Fortune shall pave the ingrate's path with gold, Death dog the innocent still — and surely those Who now uplift their streaming eyes, and murmur Against oppressive fate, will own its justice Invisible ruler I should man meet thy trials With silent and lethargic sufferance, Or lift his hands and ask heaven for a reason ? Our hearts must speak — ^the sting, the whip is on them j We rush in madness forth to tear away The veil that blinds us to the cause. In vain I The hand of that Eternal Providence Still holds it there, unmoved, impenetrable I We can but pause, and turn away again To mourn — to wonder — and endure. Bee. {Advamees, e.) My duty Compels mo to disturb ye, prisoner. 492 Gisippcs. [Act Y Crii. I am glad you do so, for my thoughts were growing Somewhat unfriendly to me.- —World, farewell ; And thou whose image never left this heart, Sweet vision of my memory, fare thee well ! Pray yon, walk this way. [ Gomes down, c. — To Deaiu. This Fulvins, your young Praetor, by whose sentence My life stands forfeit, has the reputation Of a good man amongst ye ? Dec. Better breathes not. Gis. A just man, and a grateful. One who thinks Upon his friends, sometimes ; a liberal man, " Whose wealth is not for his own use ;" a kind man, To his clients and his household ? Dee. He is all this. Gis. A gallant soldier, too? Dec. I've witnessed that In many a desperate fight. Gis. In short, there lives not A man of fairer fame in Rome ? Dec. Nor out of it. Gis. Good. Look one me, now, look upon my faoe: I am a villain, am I not ? — nay, speak I Dec. Tou are found a murderer. Gis. A coward murderer : A secret, sudden stabber. 'Tis not possible That you can find a blacker, fouler character, Than this of mine ? Deo. The Gods must judge your guilt ; But it is such as man should shudder «t. .jobnk II.] 6ISIPPUS. 493 Gis. This is a wise world, too, friend, is it not ? Men have eyes, ears, and (sometimes) judgment. Have they not ? Dec. They are not all fools. Gis. Ha I ha I [TVnw wp,-L.,hut stops short Dec. You laugh 1 Gis. ( Walks on to scaffold.) A thought Not worth your notice, sir. You have those scrolls I bade you give the Praetor ? Was't not you 7 Dec. I think they are now within the Praetor's handa His page it was to whom ye gave them^ Gis. Ha! Lead me on quickly, then. Did I not say He should not see them till my death was past 7 Not while a quivering pulse beat in my frame. That could awake one hope of restoration 7 What I shall he say I q^ailed and sought his mercy 7 A wavering suicide 7 — and drag me back To life and shame 7 Fool 1 Idiot 1 But haste on, I will not be prevented. [^Going to platform. Ftdvius. ( WitMn, b.) Give way I Way 1 way I— hold 1 hold ! Gis. Shall I be cheated 7 [Goes on pkiform. Your duty, officers 7 Dec. Peace 1 'tis the Praetor. Gis. Let me not be disturbed in my last moments — The law of Rome is merciful in that. IFuimiu rushes in, b., and remains on one side of the ttage, greatly agitated, his toga elevated in one hand to as to shut out all the other charaders from, his view. «»4 Gisippus. i^Acr V Fulv. (c.) I dare not look I All silent I This ia terrible I I dare not ask I The hne of death is round me. In mercy, speak I Is't over ? Am I late ? Gis. {Advamdng, c.) I would ye were. Fulv. {Clasping his hands.) I thank ye, Gods, my soul Is bloodless yet 1 I am no murderer I Friend I Gisippus I Gis. Oh, no, you are in error, sir. Fidv. By all the Gods — [ApproacMng kim, Gis. Hold back 1 or I will spurn ye 1 By all the Gods, proud Roman, it is false I I'll not be mocked again. Fulv. Is this a mockery ? Look, Romans, on this man — Oh, Gisippus ? Look on him— Oh, that pale, that wasted face ! [Kmik To him I owe all that you know me master of I Life, public honour, and domestic happiness 1 Here in this thronged area FuMus kneels Before his benefactor — ^in that attitude Prouder than when he took his place among The judges of your capitol. Gil. A Praetor Kneels at my feet ! — Look I look upon him, Romans 1 " Hear this, ye purpled ones, and hide your heads I" Behold, how mean the gilded ingrate shows Beside the honest poverty he scorned — Start from the earth, man, and be more yourself, Arch the sharp brow, curl the hard lip, and look BOKNB n.J GISIPPUS. 495 The heartless thing ye are ! Court not opinion. By this mean moclcery. Dec. {Advancing to Fulv.) Rise, my lord ! [Fulviua rises dejectedly, and motions loith hit hand — aH but Gis. and Fulv. turn their back* to audience, up Stage. Fulv. (b. 0.) Gisippus, Are you content yet ? I have knelt to you ; Not in the meanness of a crouching spirit, But dragged down by the deadening self-reproadi That wintered it within my soul. But now I've borne an insult in the sight of Rome, Which is unto the honourable mind What death is to the coward. Now I stand Erect, and challenge ye to name the sin Which this endurance may not satisfy. GUs. {Pausing in surprise.) You speak thk well — sir — faith, 'tis very well, Certain, I am wrong. You have done naught yov have done ; Nor is this air I breathe air — nor this soil Firm earth on which we stand. Nor is my heait A throbbing fire within me now — ^no— no, Nor this hot head an jEtna — Ha ! Farewell ! Nothing of this is so. I am very wrong. [Going out,*, Fulv. Yet hold— Gis. {Bursting into fury.) What, haughty in- grate ! Feel I not The fasces of your satellites yet on me ? Hold back! crjss — touch me, stay me, speak agiua, 496 eisippus. f Act V And by the eternal light that saw my ehame, I'll gripe that lying throat nntil I choke The blackening peijnry withm 1 Oh, sin 1 Ohj shame 1 oh, world ! I'm now a weak, poor wretch- Smote down to Tery manhood. " Judgment lost, " I've flung the reins loose to my human spirit, " And that's a wild one 1 Rouse it, and ye pluck " The beard of the lion. Gisippus, that was " The lord of his most fiery impulses, " Is now a child to trial." High philosophy. With its fine influences) has fled his nature ; And all the mastery of mind is lost. Fvlv. Yet, would you hear — Gis. Gould I chain up my heart, That bounds unbridled now — and force my sense To drink your words, it were in rain. My heart has grown incapable of all gentleness, And hard to every natural affection : Ye may as well go talk the warm, red blood Out of that column. Begone— ye vex me I [" Gwng ml, u. " Fulv. Yon shall not go I Curse me, — but speak not thus I " Will nothing " Move ye to hear me ? " Gis. Nothing. Could you conjur& " The memory of my wrongs away, and leave me " No other cause for being what I am, " Than that I am so, nothing yet could thange me. "PshaP Death! Why do I dally thus !— Awny I SCENB II.] OISIFPUS. 491 See me no more I Away I Farewell! No more? [Tkrmng cmd bwtU ing away, he looks off the Stage, b., sit^ts, and re- mains vwtionkss. Fulv. Ha 1 Sophronia comes 1 It stirs him. Gis. My dreams have been of this 1 My sleep h& been Fear hamited, till this vision came to quiet it, And then my soul knew peace 1 Oh, ye hare been My memory's nightly visitant. Fidv. {^Eleoatwg Ms hand to Sophronia vnthin.) " Hush I softly 1" " Gis." Beautiful phantom of my faded hope 1 How many thousand, thousand scenes of joy, Not rudely dragged from rest^ But quietly awakened into light By the soft magic of that wizard glance. Rise on my soul, as from the dead 1 Fulv. (k.) Sophronia ! Enter Sopheonia, b. Soph. I am here to seek ye. They hare told me^ Fulvius — Ha I Gisippus 1 IReaeAing Aim her hamd Gis. Hush 1 peace, sweet woman ! All Is softening o'er my wounded heart again. Sophronia, I am glad you do not scorn me ; There is a reconciling influence About ye, in your eyes, air, speech, a stilling spell, The wronged heart cannot strive against. W8 sisippcs. 1 Act Y Fvlv. Gisippns, Would yon prove that ? Gis. ( With his eyts stUl fixed on Soph yma.) 'THa not impossible, rnlvins. Soph. {Drawing Mm to Fvivius.) Then for my eikia, GisippuB — hear Fnlvius, Gis. AU for thee 1* Fidv. Not for pardoD, but for troth And justice's sake, I urge thy hearing now : For innocence investigating seeks. As broad and searching as the vrinds of Heaven ; While conscious guilt its safety finds in dark Ooncealment and in flight. — Now hear aiid judge : Commanded by the Emperor to join The army instantly, I quitted you And Athens I — Chremes (hapless youth I) a scroll J>id bear, informing you of this intent, And praying you to follow straight, and share My fortune and my love. Gis. That scroll— that scroll 1 I well remember now I did receive, But ne'er perused ; for, blind with rage and grie^ And wounded pride, I tore — Oh, fatal haste ! Thy friendship's proof, and scattered to the windi The love I sought Fviv. To others oft I wrote. But ne'er received reply ; unknowing, then, * Aceording to the original text, the pieoe tenninatea here; bat ■ the play ia lunally acted in this oountiy, the linea folIowiDx ue i» liodaced. Scene IL] oisipfub. 499 Your hapless fate, I deemed yon had forgot Yonr friend, and ceased to write you more. Gis. Alas 1 Fidv. My country's wars on foreign shores hart claimed 5Iy sword and presence ever since ! But now Returned, — within this very hour, the dreadful tale So long concealed from me — Soph. Was told I — and now — Gisippus — Cfis. Sophronia I — Soph. Ton hear 7 — and you forgive ? — Gw. All I aU 1 for thee 1 [^Gisippui joins the hands of Fulmus and Sophronia, who kned — Gisippus raises his hands above their heads as in the ad of blessing them, and the Cwrtain faUs to slow music of Hymn as played in first and second Acts. DISPOSITION OP THE CHARACTERS AT THE FALL OF THE CURTAIN. GiaiPPDS. SOPHBONIA. IVlVIUB. THE BM D. PUBllCilN!! OF r, J. KENEDY, Catholic Publishing House, 6 BARCLAY ST., Near Broadway, Opposite the Astor House, NEW YORK. All for the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Dedicated to asso- ciates of League of Sacred Heart Net 60 Adelmar the Templar, a Tale of the Crusades 40 Adventures and Daring Deeds of Michael Dwyer. 1.00 All about Knock. 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