Cornell University Library PR 5056.A3 The Moore gallery; a series o|, ♦"''.jy;;;^.'?*' 3 1924 013 527 100 ..»..«i Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013527100 .-■i-inte d Tt'V Sjz T la-Terj.- Enirar'ei l^y'P^ Sopei V3i' ^' A ■m .'(A. vf^'^: 'm fti '"''y '"'■'^ yy " 'i: 3&JT1 THE MOORE GALLERY: A SERIES OF rOETY-EIGHT HIGHLI FINISHED STEEL ENGRAVINGS PORTRAITS, LANDSCAPES, ETC.. FROM DRAWINGS BY EMINENT MODERN PAINTERS, ILLUSTEATIYE OF MANY OP THE OST BEAUTIFUL PASSAGES OF HIS POEMS. lit]l fjhtaxuKl null €xit'uK\ "^stUn,'. NEW YOEK: MARTIN AND JOHNSON, 9 1 WALKER S T R E 1': T PEEFACE. Of all tlie poets of modern times, Thomas Moore lias proved him- self tlie most eminently qualified to illustrate tlie charms of female grace and beauty : his poems, melodies, and songs, teem with aU that is most rare, impassioned, and refined ; forming a beau-ideal, whereiu, "the angel, yet the woman too," fills up the measure of the soul's content. In presenting, therefore, to the Public, this selection from the poems of Moore, the publisher has acted under the impression that he was not only making an ofiering Worthy of its taste and judg- ment, but also of its patronage and support : for, as one of the highest aims of Art is to refine and chasten the mind, lifting it above the grosser pleasures of sense, and thereby rendering it susceptible of ex- quisite gratification from the contemplation of all that is most true and beautiful in Art and Nature, it must follow as a consequence, that the sublime Sowrce of all Truth and Beauty, cannot fail to be more forcibly acknowledged, and the mind thus rendered wiser, better, and happier. It, however, but too often happens, that in the most celebrated productions both of Literature and Art, there are found, as is fre- quently the case in the most costly blocks of Parian marble, some blemish or vein, which render it as a whole, unfit for the uses of the IV PREFACE. Sculptor, though in parts, it furniihes material for his most precious purposes. In these selections, the latter observation will be fully exempli- fied, as all those passages which in the works of Moore have been considered flaws or shadows on his original brightness, have been carefully excluded. So that the reader is now presented with a series of intellectual gems, worthy of that genius whose name they bear ; a name consecrated, not only by those qualities which form the poet, but also by those virtues which make the man ! These are finely reflected throughout his works ; where love, friendship, patriotism, and devo- tion, are portrayed with all the fervor and beauty of which language is capable, but also, with all that force and fire, which, proceeding from true inspiration, must ever command the admiration of mankind, and place the name of ^oore amongst the sacred few, whose genius has gained for them the meed of Immortality. In the illustrative department, the acknowledged merits of the respective Artists will form sufficient security that no expense has been spared to render this work acceptable, nOt ih.ei'ely to the lovers of Art, as speciitiens of engraving, but to those who in such embel- lishments, desire the subject not only illustrated, but brightened and adorned. In the course of the wotk it is intended to introduce the music of some of his most select melddies, also some personal reminis- cences of Mr. Moore, together with others of a like character, by one of his oldest and most respected friends. THE GEMS OP MOOEE, YOUNG JESSICA. To those wIlo love a moral lesson gracefully conveyed, this little poem cannot fail to give deliglit : it is one of those highly finished gems which leave nothing to be desired. The playful wit and sly humor, which so strongly characterize aU the lighter compositions of Moore, are here displayed to the greatest advantage, and we cannot imagine any thing more elegant or appropriate, in the way of light literature, as a contribution to the boudoir of a fashionable belle. Young Jessica sat all the day, With heart o'er idle love-thoughts pining; Her needle bright beside her lay, So active once I — now idly shining, Ah, Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts That love and mischief are most nimble ; The safest shield against the darts Of Oupid, is Minerva's thimble, II, The child, who with a magnet plays, Well knowing all its arts, so wily. The tempter near a needle lays. And laughing says, " We'll steal it slyly." THE GEMS OE MOOEE. The needle, having nought to do, Is pleased to let the magnet wheedle; Till closer, closer come the two, And — off, at length, elopes the needle. III. Now, had this needle turned its eye To some gay reticule's construction, It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie. Nor felt the magnet's sly seduction. Thus, girls, would you keep quiet hearts. Your snowy fingers must be nimble ; The safest shield against the darts Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble. Beautiful Jessica ! very little iudeed do you appear iucHned to fol- low the advice of tlie poet. Most happily has the painter, iu the dreamy idleness of her aspect, and the luxurious negligence of her position, expressed a nature not only adverse to needles iu particular, but to all other implements of useful employment. But should the exercise of industry and self-denial become not only a moral neces- sity, but an actual one, vv^hat will be her fate ? the answer is but too easily found iu the history, of thousands, who, accustomed from in- fancy to all the elegancies of rank and wealth, have suddenly found themselves deprived of all, and forced to enter the battle of Hfe, without weapons, and without armor. Should these remarks appear tqo grave, the reader must charitably conclude them to be intention- ally so, m order to enhance the gayety of the poem, as a fair jewel shiues all the brighter for being darkly set. THE SUNFLOWER. In all ttat at once deUglits tlie imagination, and affects tte heart, Moore sMnes unparalleled ; a striking instance of this is exemplified in the quotation from the melody, which receives additional force when accompanied, as it is, by a representation of youthful beauty, in whose lineaments are so well expressed, that gentle trust and fond fidelity which knows no wavering; and who, in the language of the poet, having once "truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turn'd when he rose." Here the loveliness depicted by the artist, has made us transpose the object of adoration from the male to the female, but the senti- ment remains intact and beautiful as before ; and it is impossible, whilst reading the enchanting song from which it is taken, to avoid feeling the best and holiest impulses of our nature, roused to the same degree of tender enthusiasm, which, in the moment of inspiration, must have guided those of the poet. This beautifal melody is, and ever must be, one of those, which, living ia the heart for ever, defies all criticism of the head, and reigns supreme. Nevertheless, even in this diamond, an attempt has been made to query, at least, whether there may not be a flaw ; but as it merely relates as to whether the sunflower does turn its head to the great luminary or not, and as 4 THE GEMS OF MOOEE. mucli has "been said on botli sides of tlie question, we shall only- venture to remark, that if it did not so turn before the poem was written, it certainly ought to have done so ever after. I. Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms. Like fairy-gifts fading away. Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art. Let thy loveliness fade as it will And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. II. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheelcs unprofaned by a tear That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known. To which time will but make thee more dear; No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets. But as truly loves on to the close. As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, The same look which she turn'd when he rose. LOVE'S YOUNG DREAM. There are few words tliat awaken more mingled emotions tlian these — -that make us sigh, while we smile — and ponder over the sweet fond follies of our youth, the charm of the song blending with our thoughts and heightening the pleasure or pain of rememhrance. Olil tlie days are gone, when Beauty bright My heart's chain wove'; When my dream of life, from morn till night, Was love, still love. New hope may bloom. And days may come, Of milder, calmer beam, But there's nothing half so sweet in life. As love's young dream: No, there's nothing half so sWeet in life, As love's young dream^ II. Though the bard to purer fame may soar. When wild youth's past; Though he win the wise. Who frown'd before. To smile at last; He'll never meet, A joy so sweet, In all his noon of fame. As when first he sung to woman's ear His soul-felt flame, And at every close, she blush'd to hear The one loved name. THE GEMS OF MOOKE. III. No, — that liallo-w'd form is ne'er forgot Which first love traced; Still it lingering haunts the greenest spot On memory's waste. 'Twas odor fled As soon as shed; 'Twas morning's winged dream ; 'Twas a light that ne'er can shine again On life's dnll stream; Oh I 'twas light that ne'er can shine again On life's dull stream. Look at the yoxing girl in the portrait ! that " morning's winged dream " may perchance e'er night be one that " ne'er can shine again on Life's dull stream." HOLY EYES. Like joyful elves bursting from a chain of flowers, and floating off into the sunny heaven, seem, the words of this most beautiful song, when combined with music. As they roll, every lip wears a gayer smile, every eye a brighter beam, in sympathy with their gladness. But while thus beguiled by the magic of the poet's mirthful min- strelsy, with a touch of his wand he changes their thoughts from earth to heaven, and presents to the mind's eye the holy appealing look of purity and imiocence, ia lieu of those more gay and sportive glances which had just been described as brightening this earth of ours. The artist has illustrated this " look so holy" in a most beautiful manner ; nor can we imagiae a more complete contrast than it affords to those which precede and follow it, accordiug to the song : — I. To Ladies' eyes around, boy, We can't refuse, we can't refuse, ■ Thougli bright eyes so abound, boy, 'Tis hard to choose, 'tis hard to choose. For thick as stars that lighten Yon airy bowers, yon airy bowers. The countless eyes that brighten This earth of ours, this earth of ours. But fill the cup — where'er, boy, Our choice may fall, our choice may fall. We're sure to find Love there, boy. So drink them all! so drink them all I THE GEMS OF MOORE. II. Some looks there are so holy, They seem but given, they seem but given, As shining beacons, solely. To light to heaven, to light to heaven. While some — oh I ne'er believe them-^ With tempting ray, with tempting ray, Would lead us (God forgive them!) The other way, the other wayi But fin the cup — ^where'erj boy^ Our choice may fall, our choice may fallj We're sure to find Love there, boy, So drink them all! so drink them all! Ilii In some, as in a mirror. Love seems portray'd. Love seems portray'd, But shun the flatt'ring error, 'Tis but his shade, 'tis but his shade. Himself has fixed his dwelling In eyes we know, in eyes we know, And lips — but this is telling — So here they go! so here they go! Fill up, fill up — where'er, boy. Our choice may fall, our choice may fall. We're sure to find Love there, boy. So drink them all! so drink them all! EVELEEN'S BOWER. Oh I weep for the hour, When to Eveleen's bower The Lord of the Yalley with false vows came ; The moon hid her light From the heavens that night, And wept behind her clouds o'er the maiden's shame. II. The clouds pass'd soon From the chaste cold moon, And heaven smiled again with her vestal flame; But none will see the day, When the clouds shall pass away, Which that dark hour left upon Eveleen's fame. III. The white snow lay On the narrow pathway, When the Lord of the Yalley oross'd over the moor ; And many a deep print On the white snow's tint Show'd the track of his footstep to Eveleen's door. IV. The next sun's ray Soon melted away Every trace on the path where the fklse Lord came; But there's a light above Which alone can remove That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's fame. 10 THE GEMS OF MOOEE, This is one of those songs •whicli, separated from its appropriate melody, loses much of its grace and expression, unless we aHow our- selves fancifully to suppose the muse had followed with faltering pace ki the track of those fatal footsteps. In this little song, so full of sad meaning, a great sorrow and a great wrong are vividly represented and deplored in few and simple words, while the beauty and aptness of the similes cannot fail to strike every reader. Possibly, too, in some bosoms, deeper thoughts may be awakened, since an important truth will sometimes penetrate the heart as effectually when lanched from the light quiver of song, as when conveyed through the more solemn medium of a sermon. '" ^^ Ji SLUMBEE, OH SLUMBER. The young soutliem girl sleeping in lier summer beauty beneath tbe shadowy bouglis, may well awaken the voice of song, even in hearts less attuned to the delights of the tender passion than that of her young and romantic lover; who, for that he is one of that privileged class, must be allowed to rave or reason as he pleases regarding the perfections of his mistress, unchecked by criticism or remonstrance, which in such a case would be nothing short of treason, or at the best, of grave impertiuence. " Slumber, oli slumber ; if sleeping thou mak'st " My heart beat so wildly, I'm lost if thou wak'st." Thus sung I to a maiden, Who slept one summer's day. And, like a flower o'erladen With too much sunshine, lay. Slumber, oh slumber, &c. II. " Breathe not, oh breathe not, ye winds, o'er her cheeks ; " If mute thus she charm me, I'm lost when she speaks." Thus sing I, while, awaking. She murmurs words that seem As if her lips were taking Farewell of some sweet dream. Breathe not, oh breathe not, &c. 12 THE GEMS OF MOORE. This pretty trifle, like one of Moore's Oashmerian butterflies, must find its appropriate element amongst fields of flowers and sunshine ; or in other words, in lighted halls where youth and beauty meet, and pleasure smiles. In such a scene, where some young rich voice accom- panied by the harp swells deliciously on the ear, giving love's own tenderness and grace of expression to the words, — ^then would the poet, if present, be apt to exclaim : " That is the kind of criticism ! the only kind, which can do justice to my song !" THE FIRE-WOESHIPPEES. In comparing the poems of Moore to a chaplet of precious stones, The Fire-worshippers may fairly "be considered the great Koh-i-noor Diamond, the real mountain of hght. The gorgeous Orientahsm of the whole, the inexhaustible treasures of thought and imagination, lavished with such tropical profusion throughout, seem fully to justify the appellation. Here, the burning thoughts, and fervid aspirations of the poet have found ample scope, and verge enough. Here, that generous scorn against all that is low and base, that noble indignation against oppression and wrong, have found objects vilely great enough whereon to spend their fury; and, on the other hand, characters in whose portraiture the tenderest and noblest qualities are heightened and adorned by aU those refinements and graces, in whose delineation Moore has no equal. In order to give an idea of the poem, an outhne, or even an extract, is much the same as giving a single rose-leaf as a specimen of the whole flower to one who has never seen it : nevertheless, as it is possible the latter may be the case as regards the poem, a few remarks may not be entirely inapplicable. Hereditary hatred of the most fierce and sanguinary character had long existed between Al Hassan, an Arab chief, and the Persian sect of Ghebers, or Fire-worshippers, whose chief, Hafed, accidently beholding Hinda, the daughter of Al Hassan, a deep and romantic attachment takes 14 THEGEMSOFMOOEE. place between them, heighteiied on the part of Hinda by tlie mystery wliicli surrounds lier lover; for she knows not, until informed by himself in one of their stolen interviews, that he is chief of the detested sect whom from childhood she has been accustomed to regard with fear and abhorrence. This startling revelation gives rise to the most thrilhng incidents, and casts over the enchantments of their passion those lurid lights and dark shadows, which give so deep an interest to this unrivalled poem. The mutual love of Hmda and Hafed is the golden thread, on which, like pearls, the beauties of the poem are strung ; and so closely, that it seems impossible to separate a single one without scattering the whole. Take, however, as a first specimen, one of " purest ray," — ^the description of Hinda. And see — wliere, high above those rocks That o'er the deep their shadows fling, Yon turret stands; — where ebon locks, As glossy as a heron's wing Upon the turban of a king, Hang from the lattice, long and wild, — 'Tis she, that Emir's blooming child, All truth, and tenderness, and grace, Though born of such ungentle race ; — An image of Youth's radiant Fountain Springing in a desolate mountain ! Oh what a pure and sacred thing Is Beauty, curtain'd from the sight Of the gross world, illumining One only mansion with her light ! Unseen by man's disturbing eye, — The flower that blooms beneath the sea, Too deep for sunbeams, doth not lie Hid in more chaste obscurity. 1 i i 1 THE FIRE -WOKS II IPPERS. 15 [ So, HiNDA, have tliy face and mind, Like holy myst'ries, lain enshrined. And oh, what transport for a lover To lift the veil that shades them o'er!— Like those who, all at once, discover i i ! i j t In the lone deep some fairy shore. Where mortal never trod before, And sleep and wake in scented airs^ No lip had ever breathed but theirs. Beautiful are the maids that glide. On summer-eves, through Yemen's dales, And bright the glancing looks they hide Behind their litters' roseate veils; — And brides, as delicate and fair As the white jasmine flowers they wear. Hath Yemen in her blissfal chme. Who, luU'd in cool kiosk or bower. Before their mirrors count the time, And grow still lovelier every hour. But never yet hath bride or maid In Aeabt's gay Haram smiled. Whose boasted brightness would not fade Before Al Hassan's blooming child. Light as the angel shapes that bless An infant's dream, yet not the less Eich in all woman's loveliness ; — With eyes so pure, that from their ray Dark Yice would turn abash'd away. Blinded hke serpents, when they gaze Upon the em'rald's virgin blaze; — Yet fiU'd with all youth's sweet desires, Mingling the meek and vestal fires Of other worlds with all the bliss. 1 ^ The fond, weak tenderness of this : 16 THEGEMSOFMOOKE. A soul, too, more than half divine, Where, through some shades of earthly feeling, Eeligion's soften'd glories shine. Like light through summer foliage stealing, Shedding a glow of such mild hue, So warm, and yet so shadowy too. As makes the very darkness there More beautifal than light elsewhere. Tlie description of Hafed forms a strong contrast to this, and, after a recapitulation of the demon powers ascribed to him by his enemies, we are presented with the following masterly picture of the high- souled and fiery-hearted young chief. Such were the tales, that won belief, And such the coloring Fancy gave To a young, warm, and dauntless Chief, — One who, no more than mortal brave, Fought for the land his soul adored, For happy homes and altars free, His only talisman, the sword. His only spell- word. Liberty! One of that ancient hero-line. Along whose glorious current shine Names, that have sanctified their blood' As Lebanon's small mountain-flood Is render'd holy by the ranks Of sainted cedars on its banks. 'Twas not for him to crouch the knee Tamely to Moslem tyranny; 'Twas not for him, whose soul was cast In the bright mould of ages past, Whose melancholy spirit, fed With all the glories of the dead, ■■ ! THE FIEE-WOESHIPPEES. IT Thougli framed for Iran's happiest years, Was born among her chains and tears ! — 'Twas not for him to swell the crowd Of slavish heads, that shrinldng bow'd Before the Moslem, as he pass'd. Like shrubs beneath the poison-blast — No — far he fled — indignant fled The pageant of his country's shame ; While every tear her children shed Pell on his soul like drops of flame ; And, as a lover hails the dawn Of a first smile, so welcomed he The sparkle of the first sword drawn For vengeance and for liberty! Into the character of Hafed, Moore has infused his own patriotic fire ; the wrongs of his country, and aspirations for its liberty burst in spontaneous eloquence from his lips, and were the word Ireland substituted for Iran, it would be easy to perceive what a labor of love the delineation of the heroic Hafed had been to Moore. The scene in Hinda's kiosk, or pavihon, to which the plate affords an apt illustration, thus beautifully opens — " How sweetly," said the trembling maid. Of her own gentle voice afraid, So long had they in silence stood, Looking upon that tranquil flood — " How sweetly does the moonbeam smile " To-night upon yon leafy isle ! " Oft, in my fancy's wanderings, "I've wish'd that little isle had wings, "And we, within its fairy bowers, " Were wafted off to seas unknown, "Where not a pulse should beat but ours, " And we might live, love, die alone ! THE (4 E jAI S OF M O E E . " Far from tlie cruel and the cold, — " Where the bright eyes of angels only " Should come around us, to behold "A paradise so pure and lonely. "Would this be world enough for thee?" — Playful she turn'd, that he might see The passing smile her cheek put on ; But when she mark'd how mournfully His eyes met hers — that smile was gone; And, bursting into heartfelt tears, "Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears, " My dreams have boded all too right — " We part — for ever part — to-night ! " I knew, I knew it could not last — " 'Twas bright, 'twas heavenly, but 'tis past 1 " Oh ! ever thus, from childhood's hour, "I've seen my fondest hopes decay; "I never loved a tree or flower, " But 'twas the first to fade away. "I never nursed a dear gazelle, " To glad me with its soft black eye, " But when it came to know me well, " And love me, it was sure to die ! "Now too — the joy most like divine " Of all I ever dreamt or knew, " To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine, — "Oh misery! mu£t I lose that too? " Yet go — on peril's brink we meet ; — " Those frightful rocks — ^that treach'rous sear— "No, never come again — though sweet, " Though heaven, it may be death to thee. "Farewell — and blessings on thy way, " Where'er thou goest, beloved stranger ! "Better to sit and watch that ray, "And think thee safe, though far away, "Thau have thee near me, and in danger!" THE FIEE-W0R8HIPPEES. 19 In the conclusion of this scene Hafed declares Ms name and rank — and ia the consequent tumult of feeling rushes hastily from her presence, in which he does not agaiu appear, until amidst a storm at sea, when the hark which is hearing her homeward is attacked by his followers. So wholly liad her mind forgot All thoughts but one, she heeded not The rising storm — the wave that cast A moment's midnight, as it pass'd — Nor heard the frequent shout, the tread Of gath'ring tumult o'er her head — Clash'd swords, and tongues that seem'd to vie With the rude riot of the sky. — ■ But, hark ! — ^that war-whoop ou the deck — That crash, as if each engine there, Mast, sails, and. all, were gone to wreck. Mid yells and stampings of despair ! Merciful Heaven ! what can it be ? 'Tis not the storm, though fearfully The ship has shudder'd as she rode O'er mountain-waves — -" Forgive me, God ! "Forgive me" — shriek'd the maid, and knelt, Trembling all over-^-for she felt As if her judgment-hour was near ; While crouching round, half dead with fear, Her handmaids clung, nor breathed, nor stirr'd — When, hark ! — a second crash — a third — And now, as if a bolt of thunder Had riven the laboring planks asunder. The deck falls in — what horrors then ! Blood, waves, and tackle, swords and men Come mix'd together through the chasm, — Some wretches in their dying spasm Still fighting on — and some that call "For God and IbahI" as they fall! 20 THE GEMS OF MOOEE. Whose was the hand that turn'd away The perils of th' infuriate fray, And snatch'd her breathless from beneath This wilderment of wreck and death ? She knew not — for a faintness came Chill o'er her, and her sinking frame Amid the ruins of that hour Lay, like a pale and scorched flower. Beneath the red volcano's shower. But, oh! the sights and sounds of dread That shock'd her ere her senses fled! The yawning deck — the crowd that strove Upon the tott'ring planks above — The sail, whose fragments, shiv'ring o'er The strugglers' heads, all dash'd with gore, Plutter'd like bloody flags — the clash Of sabres, and the lightning's flash Upon their blades, high toss'd about Like meteor brands — as if throughout The elements one fury ran, One gen'ral rage, that left a doubt Which was the fiercer, Heaven or Man] Once too — but no — it could not be — 'Twas fancy all— yet once she thought, While yet her fading eyes could see. High on the ruin'd deck she caught A glimpse of that unearthly form. That glory of her soul, — even then. Amid the whirl of wreck and storm. Shining above his fellow-men. As, on some black and troublous night, The Star of Egypt, whose proud light Never hath beam'd on those who rest In the White Islands of the West, Burns through the storm with looks of flame That put Heaven's cloudier eyes to shame. THE EIKE-WOESHIPPEES. 31 But no — 'twas but the minute's dream- A fantasy — and ere the scream Had half-way pass'd her palhd lips, A death-like swoon, a chill eclipse Of soul and sense its darkness spread Around her, and she sunk, as dead. The ocean after a tempest, as tliiis mirrored, will be fuUy recog- nized by those who have experienced its sublime vicissitudes. How calm, how beautiful comes on The stilly hour, when storms are gone ; "When warring winds have died away, And clouds, beneath the glancing ray, Melt off, and leave the land and sea Sleeping in bright tranquillity, — Fresh as if Day again were born, Again upon the lap of Morn! — "When the light blossoms, rudely torn And scatter'd at the whirlwind's will. Hang floating in the pure air still. Filling it all with precious balm. In gratitude for this sweet calm; — And every drop the thunder-showers Have left upon the grass and flowers Sparkles, as 'twere that lightning-gem "Whose liquid flame is born of them ! "When, 'stead of one unchanging breeze, There blow a thousand gentle airs. And each a diff'rent perfume bears, — As if the loveliest plants and trees Had vassal breezes of their own To watch and wait on them alone. And waft no other breath than theirs : "When the blue waters rise and fall. In sleepy sunshine mantling all ; 4 22 THEGEMSOFMOOEE. And even t]iat swell tlie tempest leaves Is like tlie full and silent heaves Of lovers' hearts, when newly bless'd, Too newly to be quite at rest. The bark is finally moored, a bandage is bound over the eyes of Hinda, and she is borne over steep rocks to a mountain-fortress. But does she dream ? has Fear again Perplex'd the workings of her brain, Or did a voice, all music, then Come from the gloom, low whisp'ring near — "Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here?" She does not dream — all sense, all ear. She drinks the words, "Thy Gheber's here." 'Twas his own voice — she could not err-^ — Throughout the breathing world's extent There was but one, such voice for her, So kind, so soft, so eloquent ! Oh, sooner shall the rose of May Mistake her own sweet nightingale, And to some meaner minstrel's lay Open her bosom's glowing veil. Than love shall ever doubt a tone, A breath of the beloved one ! Here Hafed, unconscious that ere night the treachery of one of his band will have betrayed him to Al Hassan, attempts to reassure the mind of Hinda, who then tells him of the intended attack. But soon the painful chill was o'er. And his great soul, herself once more, Look'd from his brow in all the rays Of her best, happiest, grandest days. 71 It TEATH THE FIEE-WOESHIPPEES. 28 Never, in moment most elate, Did that high, spirit loftier rise; — While bright, serene, determinate, His looks are lifted to the skies, As if the signal lights of Fate Were shining in those awful eyes ! 'Tis come — his hour of martyrdom In lEAi^'s sacred cause is come ; And, though his life hath pass'd away, Like lightning on a stormy day, Yet shall his death-hour leave a track Of glory, permanent and bright, To which the brave of after- times. The suff'ring brave, shall long look back With proud regret, — and by its light Watch through the hours of slavery's night For vengeance on th' oppressor's crimes. This rock, his monument aloft. Shall speak the tale to many an age; And hither bards and heroes oft Shall come in secret pilgrimage, And bring their warrior sons, and tell The wond'ring boys where Hafed fell ; And swear them on those lone remains Of their lost country's ancient fanes, Never — while breath of life shall live -Within them — never to forgive ,Th' accursed race,' whose ruthless chain Hath left on Iran's neck a stain Blood, blood alone can cleanse again ! • The parting between Hafed and Hinda is one of tlie most excLuisite parts of the poem. Alas for him, who hears her cries! StUl half-way down the steep he stands, Watching with fix'd and feverish eyes The ghmmer of those burning brands, 24 THEGEMSOF MOORE. That do^Yn the rocks, with mournful ray, Light all he loves on earth away! Hopeless as they who, far at sea. By the cold moon have just consign'd The corse of one, loved tenderly. To the bleak flood they leave behind; And on the deck still hng'ring stay. And long look back, with sad delay. To watch the moonlight on the wave. That ripples o'er that cheerless grave. From tliis mournful reverie, Hafed is aroused by tlie Moslem signal of assault. Maddened by the sound, the infuriate Ghebers pour like a lava-flood down the ravine, and the sanguinary conflict when at its height, in language so glowing and terrible as almost to make the reader share its horrors, is thus described: — What ruin glares! what carnage swims! Heads, blazing turbans, quiv'ring limbs. Lost swords that, dropp'd from many a hand, In that thick pool of slaughter stand; — Wretches who wading, half on fire From the toss'd brands that round them fly, 'Twixt flood and flame in shrieks expire; — And some who, grasp'd by those that die, Sink woundless with them, smother'd o'er In their dead brethren's gushing gore ! This extract may suffice to show the spirit and fire which pervade the whole, and to prepare the mind for what follows — victory over the Moslem — the extermination of the Ghebers — and the death of Hafed, whose latest energies are expended in aiding one of his dying THE FIKE-WOESHIPPEES. 25 warriors to gain the sacred precincts of their temple on whose altar burns the holy fire. Now Hafed sees the Fire divine — When, lo! — ^his weak, worn comrade falls Dead on the threshold of the Shrine. "Alas, brave sonl, too quickly fled! "And must I leave thee with'ring here, "The sport of every ruffian's tread, "The mark for every coward's spear? "ISTo, by yon altar's sacred beams!" He cries, and, with a strength that seems Not of this world, uplifts the frame Of the fall'n Chief, and tow'rds the flame Bears him along; — with death-damp hand The corpse upon the pyre he lays. Then lights the consecrated brand. And fires the pile, whose sudden blaze Like lightning bursts o'er Oman's, Sea. — "Now, Freedom's Grod! I come to Thee," The youth exclaims, and with a smile Of triumph vaulting on the pile. In that last effort, ere the fires Have harm'd one glorious hmb, expires! In the mean time, the situation of Hinda, who withiu hearing of the strife, and almost a spectatress of its appalling details, is presented to the mind's eye in a manner rendered, if possible, more vivid by the force of contrast. The calm beauty of the heavens, the star-lit waves on whose gleaming surface her boat seems spell-bound, the mute agony of her own despairing thoughts, and the ill-repressed eagerness of the veterans to whose charge she has been confided, as the fearful truth dawns on them, that whilst thus condemned to inglorious inactivity, their faithful comrades are strugghng against fearful odds, within their mountain fastnesses — are all described in 26 THE GEMS OF MOOEE. that true maimer whicli makes the heart beat, the cheek buriif and the hand tremble. Then comes the last Act of the Drama — anl over scenes so thrilling and so varied the curtain falls. But see — what moves upon the height? Some signal! — 'tis a torch's light. What bodes its solitary glare? In gasping silence tow'rd the Shrine All eyes are turn'd — thine, Hinda, thine Fix their last fading life -beams there. 'Twas but a moment — fierce and high The death-pile blazed into the sky, And far away, o'er rock and flood Its melancholy radiance sent; While Hafed, like a vision stood Eeveal'd before the burning pyre. Tall, shadowy, like a Spirit of Fire Shrined in its own grand element ! " 'Tis he !" — the shudd'ring maid exclaims, — But, while she speaks, he's seen no more; High burst in air the funeral flames, And Iran's hopes and hers are o'er! One wild, heart-broken shriek she gave; Then sprung, as if to reach that blaze. Where still she fix'd her dying gaze, And, gazing, sunk into the wave, — Deep, deep, — where never care or pain Shall reach her innocent heart again! To Hinda, this brightest creation of the poet's dream, the artist's pencil, and the minstrel's lyre, alike contribute their graceful homage ; and few strains leave more lingering sweetness on the memory, than the ocean requiem of the beautiful Peri, as she sings — "Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter!" PAEADISEAKDTHEPEEI. 21 PAEADISE AND THE PEEI. Deemestg it impossiWe to render full justice to this matcliless poem by mere extracts, it is presented to tlie reader almost entire, accompanied by its appropriate illustrations. Amidst tlie wealth, of Eastern imagery with, which it abounds, it is not a Httle curious to learn from the authority of Moore himself, that to the secluded life he led during the years 1813 and 1816, in a lone cottage among the fields in Derbyshire, that he owed the inspiration of some of the best and most popular portions of Lalla Rookh; and that it was amidst the snows of two or three Derbyshire winters, that he found himself enabled by that concentration of thought which retirement alone gives, to call up around him some of the sunniesii of those Eastern scenes which have since been welcomed in India itself, as almost native to its clime. One morn a Peri at the gate Of Eden stood, disconsolate ; And as she listen'd to the Springs Of Life within, like music flowing, And caught the light upon her wings Through the half-open portal glowing, She wept to think her recreant race Should e'er have lost that glorious place! ****** The glorious Angel, who was keeping The gates of Light, beheld her weeping ; 28 THEGEMSOTMOOEE. And, as he nearer drew and listen'd To lier sad song, a tear-drop glisten' d Within his eyelids, like the spray From Eden's fountain, when it lies On the blue flow'r, which — Bramins say — Blooms nowhere but in Paradise. "Nymph of a fair but erring line!" Gently he said — " One hope is thine. "'Tis written in the Book of Fate, " The Peri yet may he forgiv'n " Who hrings to this Eternal gate "The Gift that is most dear to Heav'n! " Gro, seek it, and redeem thy sin — " 'Tis sweet to let the pardon'd in." The genius of Moore having thus powerfully awakened our sympathies for the forlorn and beautiful Peri, we gaze on her, as represented by the artist, with that pity akin to love, which the sight of beauty in sorrow, so naturally inspires. In this case, the artist has purified the idea, by giving a child-like grace and bashful- ness to the figure : with hair, that o'er her form, and drooping glance, " floats like a stream of gold, and curls in wavy dance." With such a being as this for the heroine of the poem, the object to be attained does not seem so utterly hopeless, and we join in her pilgrimage in search of the redeeming treasure, with all the ardor of a Gumming himself in those delightful expeditions to the resorts where lions "most do congregate," While thus she mused, her pinions fann'd The air of that sweet Indian land, Whose air is balm ; whose ocean spreads O'er coral rocks, and amber beds; PAEADISE AND THE PEEI. 29 Whose mountains, pregnant by the beam Of the warm sun, with diamonds teem ; Whose rivulets are hke rich brides. Lovely, with gold beneath their tides; Whose sandal groves and bow'rs of spice Might be a Peri's Paradise I But crimson now her rivers ran With human blood — the smell of death Came reeking from those spicy bow'rs. And man, the sacrifice of man. Mingled his taint with every breath Upwafted from th' innocent flow'rs. Land of the Sun I what foot invades Thy Pagods and thy pillar'd shades — Thy cavern shrines, and Idol stones. Thy Monarchs and their thousand Thrones ? 'Tis he of GtAZNA — fierce in wrath He comes, and Lstdia's diadems Lie scatter 'd in his ruinous path. — His bloodhounds he adorns with gems, Torn from the violated necks Of many a young and loved Sultana ; Maidens, within their pure Zenana, Priests in the very fane he slaughters, And chokes up with the glitt'ring wrecks Of golden shrines the sacred waters ! Downward the Pebi turns her gaze, And, through the war-field's bloody haze Beholds a youthful warrior stand, Alone beside his native river,— The red blade broken in his hand, And the last arrow in his quiver. "Live," said the Oonqu'ror, "live to share " The trophies and the crowns I bear !" Silent that youthful warrior stood — Silent he pointed to the iiood All crimson with his country's blood, 30 THEaEMSOFMOOEE. ni Then sent his last remaining dart, For answer, to th' Invader's heart. False flew the shaft, though pointed well; The Tyrant lived, the Hero fell!— Yet marked the Peri where he lay, And, when the rush of war was past. Swiftly descending on a ray Of morning light, she caught the last — Last glorious drop his heart had shed, Before its free-born spirit fled! " Be this," she cried, as she wing'd her flight, "^ly welcome gift at the Gates of Light. "Though foul are the drops that oft distil "On the field of warfare, blood like this, "For Liberty shed, so holy is, " It would not stain the purest rill, " That sparkles among the Bowers of Bliss ! "Oh, if there be, on this earthly sphere, "A boon, an offering Heav'n holds dear, "'Tis the last libation Liberty draws "From the heart that bleeds and breaks in her cause!'' "Sweet," said the Angel, as she gave The gift into his radiant hand, "Sweet is the welcome of our Brave "Who die thus for their native Land. — "But see — alas! — the crystal bar " Of Eden moves not — holier far "Than ev'n this drop the boon must be, " That opes the Gates of Heav'n for thee !" Disappointed slie turns to earth again, alighting in an orange grove, wliere dying of the plague lies a beautiful youth, whose only consolation in this fearful moment arises from the thought that his PAEADISE AND THE PEEI. 31 beloved is safe and far away from dangers so deadly and appalling Suddenly, she appears. But see — who yonder comes by stealth, This melancholy bow'r to seek, Like a young envoy, sent by Health, With rosy gifts upon her cheek? 'Tis she — far off, through moonlight dim, He knew his own betrothed bride. She, who would rather die with him, Than live to gain the world beside ! — Her arms are round her lover now. His livid cheek to hers she presses. And dips, to bind his burning brow. In the cool lake her loosen'd tresses. Ah! once, how little did he think An hour would come, when he should shrink With horror from that dear embrace. Those gentle arms that were to him Holy as is the cradling place Of Eden's infant cherubim! And now he yields— now turns away, Shudd'ring as if the venom lay All in those proffer'd lips alone — Those lips that, then so fearless grown, Never until that instant came Near his unask'd or without shame. "Oh! let me only breathe the air, "The blessed air, that's breathed by thee, "And whether on its wings it bear "Healing or death, 'tis sweet to me! " There — drink my tears, while yet they fall — " Would that my bosom's blood were balm, "And, well thou know'st, I'd shed it all, " To give thy brow one minute's calm. "Nay, turn not from me that dear face — "Am I not thine — thy own loved bride — 32 THEGEMSOFMOORE. "The one, the chosen one, whose place "In life or death is by thy side? "Think'st thou that she, whose only light "In this dim world, from thee hath shone, " Could bear the long, the cheerless night, "That must be hers when thou art gone? "That I can live, and let thee go, "Who art my life itself? — No, no — • " When the stem dies, the leaf that grew " Out of its heart must perish too ! "Then turn to me, my own love, turn, "Before, like thee, I fade and burn; "Cling to these yet cool lips, and share " The last pure life that lingers there !" She fails — she sinks — as dies the lamp In charnel airs, or cavern-damp. So quickly do his baleful sighs Quench all the sweet light of her eyes. One struggle — and his pain is past — Her lover is no longer living! One kiss the maiden gives, one last. Long kiss, which she expires in givin ! ****** But morn is blushing in the sky; Again the Peei soars above, Bearing to Heav'n that precious sigh Of pure, self sacrificing love. High throbb'd her heart, with hope elate, Th' Elysian palm she soon shall win. For the bright Spirit at the gate Smiled as she gave that off 'ring in; And she already hears the trees Of Eden, with their crystal bells Einging in that ambrosial breeze That from the throne of Alla swells; And she can see the starry bowls That lie around that lucid lake. PAEADISE AND THE PERI. 33 Upon whose banks admitted Souls Their first sweet draught of glory take 1 Again slie is disappointed and resumes her searcli, — To one, who look'd from upper air O'er all th' enchanted regions there, How beauteous must have been the glow, The life, the sparkling from below ! Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks Of golden melons on their banks. More golden where the sun-hght falls; — Gay lizards, glitt'ring on the walls Of ruin'd shrines, busy and bright As they were all alive with light; And, yet more splendid, numerous flocks Of pigeons, settling on the rocks. With their rich restless wings, that gleam Variously in the crimson beam Of the warm West, — as if inlaid With brilliants from the mine, or made Of tearless rainbows, such as span Th' unclouded skies of Peristan. And then .the mingling sounds that come, Of shepherd's ancient reed, with hum Of the wild bees of Palestine, Banqueting through the flow'ry vales; And, Jordan, those sweet banks of thine. And woods, so full of nightingales. But naught can charm the luckless Pebi; Her soul is sad — her wings are weary- Joyless she sees the Sun look down On that great Temple, once his own, Whose lonely columns stand sublime, Flinging their shadows from on high, Like dials, which the wizard Time, Had raised to count his ages by I 34 THEGEMSOFMOORJt;. Yet haply there may lie conceal'd Beneath those Chambers of the Sun, Some amulet of gems, anneal'd In upper fires, some tablet seal'd "With the great name of Solomon, Which, spell'd by her illumined eyes, May teach her where, beneath the moon, In earth or ocean, lies the boon. The charm, that can restore so soon An erring Spirit to the skies. Cheer'd by this hope she bends her thither; Still laughs the radiant eye of Heaven, Nor have the golden bowers of Even In the rich West begun to wither; When, o'er the vale of Balbec winging Slowly, she sees a child at play. Among the rosy wild-flow'rs singing. As rosy and as wild as they; Chasing, with eager hands and eyes. The beautiful blue damsel-flies, That fliitter'd round the jasmine stems, Like winged flow'rs or flying gems: — And, near the boy, who tired with play Now nestling 'mid the roses lay. She saw a wearied man dismount From his hot steed, and on the brink Of a small imaret's rustic fount Impatient fling him down to drink. T'hen swift his haggard brow he turn'd To the fair child, who fearless sat. Though never yet hath day-beam burn'd Upon a brow more fierce than that, — Sullenly fierce — a mixture dire. Like thunder-clouds, of gloom and fire; In which the Peri's eye could read Dark tales of many a ruthless deed; PARADISE AND THE PERI. 35 The ruin'd maid — tlie shrine profaned — Oaths broken — and the threshold stain'd With blood of guests I — there written, all, Black as the damning drops that fall From the denouncing Angel's pen, Ere Mercy weeps them out again. Yet tranquil now that man of crime (As if the balmy evening time Soften'd his spirit) look'd and lay, Watching the rosy infant's play : — Though still, whene'er his eye by chance Fell on the boy's, its lurid glance Met that unclouded, joyous gaze. As torches, that have burn'd all night Through some impure and godless rite. Encounter morning's glorious rays. But, hark! the vesper call to pray'r. As slow the orb of daylight sets, Is rising sweetly on the air. From Syria's thousand minarets! The boy has started from the bed Of flow'rs, where he had laid his head. And down upon the fragrant sod Kneels with his forehead to the south, Lisping th' eternal name of God From Purity's own cherub mouth, And looking, while his hands and eyes Are lifted to the glowing skies Like a stray babe of Paradise, Just lighted on that flow'ry plain. And seeking for its home again. Oh ! 'twas a sight — that Heav'n — that child- A scene, which might have well beguiled Ev'n haughty Eblis of a sigh For glories lost and peace gone by I 36 THEGEMSOrMOOBB. And ho-w felt Ae, the wretclied Man Reclining there — while memory ran O'er many a year of guilt and strife, Flew o'er the dark flood of his life, Nor found one sunny resting-place, Nor brought him back one branch of grace. "There was a time," he said, in mild. Heart-humbled tones — "thou blessed child! "When, young and haply pure as thou, " I look'd and pray'd like thee — but now — " He hung his head — each nobler aim. And hope, and feeling, which had slept From boyhood's hour, that instant came Fresh o'er him, and he wept — he wept ! ****** And now — behold him kneeling there By the child's side, in humble pray'r. While the same sunbeam shines upon The guilty and the guiltless one, And hymns of joy proclaim through Heav'n The triumph of a Soul Forgiv'n! 'Twas when the golden orb had set, While on their knees they linger'd yet, There fell a light more lovely far Than ever came from sun or star. Upon the tear that warm and meek, Dew'd that repentant sinner's cheek. To mortal eye this light might seem A northern flash or meteor beam — But well th' enraptured Peei knew 'Twas a bright smile the Angel threw From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear Her harbinger of glory near! "Joy, joy for ever! my task is done— "The gates are pass'd, and Heav'n is won!" V • , * ^i. .1' \-J THE VEILED PROPHET OF KHOEASSAN Under tlie pretended sanction of a divine mission to free man- kind from error, and people paradise witli Ms favorites, Mokanna, an impostor, allm*es great numbers to kis standard: it is during tke reception of Azim, a young and noble proselyte, tkat tke most affecting incident of tke poem dawns upon us in tke person of ZeHca, Ckief Sultana of tke Propket, and Higk Priestess of tke Faitk. But tkere was one, among the chosen maids, Who blush'd behind the gallery's silken shades, One, to whose soul the pageant of to-day Has been like death : you saw her pale dismay, Ye wond'ring sisterhood, and heard the burst Of exclamation from her lips, when first She saw that youth, too well, too dearly known, Silently kneeling at the Prophet's throne. Ah Zelica! there was a time, when bliss Shone o'er thy heart from ev'ry look of his ; Once happy pair ! — In proud Bokhara's groves, Who had not heard of their first youthful loves? * * * * -X- * * But war disturb'd this vision, — far away From her fond eyes summon'd to join th' array Of Persia's warriors on the hills of Thrace, ***** 4f- * 6 38 THE GEMS OF MOOEE. Month after month, in widowhood of soul Drooping, the maiden saw two summers roll. at length those sounds of dread Fell with'ring on her soul, "AziM is dead!" ******* Though health and bloom return'd, the delicate chain Of thought, once tangled, never clear'd again. Warm, lively, soft, as in youth's happiest day. The mind was still all there, but turn'd astray. In this mood, slie becomes the victim of tlie Prophet, bound by a fearful oath, never to desert him. Being continually kept in a wild and feverish state, that passes for inspiration, she proves one of his most successful agents in procuring new converts, being installed as the Prophet's chief favorite and Priestess of the Faith. The Haram, whilst in preparation for the reception of Azim, is thus described : — Now, through the Haram chambers, moving lights And busy shapes proclaim the toilet's rites; — From room to room the ready handmaids hie. Some skill'd to wreathe the turban tastefully, Or hang the veil, in negligence of shade, O'er the warm blushes of the youthful maid. Who, if between the folds but one eye shone, Like Seba's Queen could vanquish with that one: — While some bring leaves of Henna, to imbue The fingers' ends with a bright roseate hue, So bright, that in the mirror's depth they seem Like tips of coral branches in the stream : And others mix the Kohol's jetty dye. To give that long, dark languish to the eye. Which makes the maids, whom kings are proud to cull From fair Circassia's vales, so beautiful. THE VEILED PBOPHET OF KHOEASSAIT. 39 All is in motion; rings, and plumes, and pearls Are shining ev'iywliere : — some younger girls Are gone by moonliglit to the garden-beds, To gather fresh, cool chaplets for their heads; — Gay creatures ! sweet, though mournful, 'tis to see How each prefers a garland from that tree Which brings to mind her childhood's innocent day And the dear fields and friendships far away. The maid of India, bless'd again to hold In her full lap the Champac's leaves of gold, Thinks of the time when, by the Ganges' flood. Her little playmates soatter'd many a bud Upon her long black hair, with glossy gleam Just dripping from the consecrated stream ; While the young Arab, haunted by the smell Of her own mountain flow'rs, as by a spell, — The sweet Elcaya, and that courteous tree Which bows to all who seek its canopy. Sees, call'd up round her by these magic scents, The well, the camels, and her father's tents; Sighs for the home she left with little pain, And wishes ev'n its sorrows back again ! Meanwhile, through vast illuminated halls, SUent and bright, where nothing but the falls Of fragrant waters, gushing with cool sound From many a jasper fount, is heard around, Young AziM roams bewilder'd, — nor can guess What means this maze of light and loneliness. Here, the way leads, o'er tesselated floors Or mats of Caieo, through long corridors. Where, ranged in cassolets and silver urns, Sweet wood of aloe or of sandal burns; And spicy rods, such as illume at night The bow'rs of Tibet, send forth odorous light. Like Peris' wands, when pointing out the road For some pure Spirit to its blest abode; — 40 THEGEMSOFMOOEE. And here, at once, the ghttering saloon Bursts on his sight, boundless and bright as noon ; Where, in the midst, reflecting back the rays In broken rainbows, a fresh fountain plays High as th' enamell'd cupola, which tow'rs All rich with Arabesques of gold and flow'rs. And the mosaic floor beneath shines through The sprinkling of that fountain's silv'ry dew, Like the wet, glist'ning shells, of ev'ry dye, That on the margin of the Eed Sea lie. Here too he traces the kind visitings Of woman's love in those fair, living things Of land and wave, whose fate — in bondage thrown For their weak lovehness — is like her own ! On one side gleaming with a sudden grace Through water, brilliant as the crystal vase In which it undulates, small fishes shine, Like golden ingots from a fairy mine! — "While, on the other, latticed lightly in With odoriferous woods of Comoein, Bach brilliant bird that wings the air is seen; — Gay, sparkling loories, such as gleam between The crimson blossoms of the coral tree In the warm isles of India's sunny sea: ji Mecca's blue sacred pigeon, and the thrush ii Of Hindostan, whose holy warblings gush, ; At evening, from the tall pagoda's top ; — l' Those golden birds that, in the spice-time, drop About the gardens, drunk with that sweet food Whose scent hath lured them o'er the summer flood; 1 And those that under Araby's soft sun Build their high nests of budding cinnamon ; ! In short, all rare and beauteous things, that fly ' Through the pure element, here calmly lie Sleeping in light, like the green birds that dwell In Eden's radiant fields of asphodel ! THE VEILED PEOPHET OF KHORASSAN. 41 So on, through scenes past all imagining, More like the luxuries of that impious King, Whom Death's dark Angel, with his lightning torch. Struck down and blasted ev'n in Pleasure's porch, Than the pure dwelling of a Prophet sent, Arm'd with Heaven's sword, for man's enfranchisement — Young AziM wander'd, looking sternly round. His simple garb and war-boots' clanking sound But ill according with the pomp and grace And silent lull of that voluptuous place. Here tlie Odalisques, the sirens of tlie place, exert their fascinations : sparkling through The gently open'd curtains of light blue That veil'd the breezy casement, countless eyes, Peeping like stars through the blue ev'ning skies, Look'd laughing in, as if to mock the pair That sat so still and melancholy there: — And now the curtains fly apart, and in From the cool air, 'mid show'rs of jessamine "Which those without fling after them in play, Two lightsome maidens spring, — -lightsome as they Who live in th' air on odors, — and around The bright saloon, scarce conscious of the ground. Chase one another, in a varying dance Of mirth and languor, coyness and advance. Too eloquently like love's warm pursuit ; — While she who sung so gently to the lute Her dream of home, steals timidly away, Shrinking as violets do in summer's ray, — But takes with her from Azim's heart that sigh. We sometimes give to forms that pass us by In the world's crowd, too lovely to remain. Creatures of light we never see again ! Around the white necks of the nymphs who danced Hung carcanets of orient gems, that glanced 42 THEGEMBOFMOOEE. More brilliant than tlie sea-glass glitt'ring o'er The hills of crystal on the Caspian shore; While from their long, dark tresses, in a fall Of curls descending, bells as musical As those that, on the golden-shafted trees Of Eden, shake in the eternal breeze, Eung round their steps, at ev'ry bound more sweet As 'twere th' ecstatic language of their feet. At length the chase was o'er, and they stood wreathed Within each other's arms; while soft there breathed Through the cool casement, mingled with the sighs Of moonlight flow'rs, music that seem'd to rise From some still lake, so liquidly it rose ; And, as it swell'd again at each faint close. The ear could track through all that maze of chords And young sweet voices, these impassion'd words. Here the unliappy Zelica sinks fainting at his feet — an explanation afterwards ensues, and Azim thenceforth lives only to avenge her wrongs — ui'ging her to fly with him, she replies — • " With thee ! oh bliss 1 " 'Tis worth whole years of torment to hear this. " What ! take the lost one with thee ? — let her rove " By thy dear side, as in those days of love, "When we were both so happy, both so pure — " Too heav'nly dream ! if there's on earth a cure " For the sunk heart, 'tis this — day after day " To be the bless'd companion of thy way ; "To hear thy angel eloquence — to see " Those virtuous eyes for ever turn'd on me ; "And, in their light rechasten'd silently, "Like the stain'd web that whitens in the sun, " Grow pure by being purely shone upon ! "And thou wilt pray for me — I know thou wilt — " At the dim vesper hour, when thoughts of guilt ^^■^ THE VEILED PUOPHET OE KHOEASSAN, 43 "Come heaviest o'er the heart, thou'lt lift thine eyes, " Full of sweet tears, unto the dark'ning skies, "And plead for me with Heav'n, till I can dare " To fix my own weak, sinful glances there ; "Till the good angels, when they see me cling "For ever near thee, pale and sorrowing, "Shall for thy sake pronounce my soul forgiv'n, "And bid thee take thy weeping slave to Heav'n! " Oh yes, I'll fly with thee " Scarce had she said These breathless words, when a voice deep and dread As that of MoNKEE, waking up the dead From their first sleep — so startling 'twas to both- Rung through the casement near, "Thy oath! thy oath!" Oh Heav'n, the ghastliness of that Maid's look!— "'Tis he," faintly she cried, while terror shook Her inmost core, nor durst she lift her eyes, Though through the casement, now, nought but the skies And moonlight fields were seen, calm as before — "'Tis he, and I am his — ^all, all is o'er — " Gro — fly this instant, or thou'rt ruin'd too — "My oath, my oath, oh God! 'tis all too true, "True as the worm in this cold heart it is — " I am Mokanna's bride — ^his, Azim, his— "The Dead stood round us, while I spoke that vow, "Their blue lips echo'd it — -I hear them now! "Their eyes glared on me, while I pledge that bowl, "'Twas burning blood — I feel it in my soul! "And the Veil'd Bridegroom — ^hist! I've seen to-night "What angels know not of — so foul a sight, " So horrible — oh ! never may'st thou see " What there lies hid from all but hell and me ! " But I must hence — -off, off — I am not thine, "Nor Heav'n's, nor Love's, nor aught that is divine — "Hold me not — -ha! think'st thou the fiends that sever "Hearts, cannot sunder hands? — thus, then — for ever!" The Caliph hecoming alarmed at the increasing power of the 44 THEGEMSOF MOORE. Propliet leads an army against him. And after two days' liard fighting is on the point of defeat when Azim appears, and rallying the fugitives turns the tide of battle again in his favor. But vain his speed — though, in that hour of blood, Had all God's seraphs round Mokanna stood, With swords of fire, ready like fate to fall, Mokanna's soul would have defied them all ; Yet now, the rush of fugitives, too strong For human force, hurries ev'n him along: In vain he struggles 'mid the wedged array Of flying thousands — ^he is borne away ; And the sole joy his baffled spirit knows. In this forced flight, is — murd'ring as he goes ! As a grim tiger, whom the torrent's might Surprises in some parch'd ravine at night, Turns, ev'n in drowning, on the wretched flocks. Swept with him in that snow-flood from the rocks, And, to the last, devouring on his way. Bloodies the stream he hath not power to stay. The power of Mokanna being completely annihilated, he shuts himself up with the residue of his followers in a strong fortress, and amidst the, delirious revel of a poisoned banquet, Zelica is summoned to his presence ; the artist has chosen to represent her at the moment when, transfijxed with horror, she pauses on the threshold. She enters — Holy Alla, what a sight Was there before her! By the glimm'ring light Of the pale dawn, mix'd with the flare of brands That round lay burning, dropp'd from lifeless hands. She saw the board, in splendid mockery spread, Eich censers breathing — garlands overhead^ — • The urns, the cups, from which they late had quaff'd AH gold and gems, but — what had been the draught? 1 ■ ■ - --^ ^^-■-■Wi THE VEILED PEOPHET OP KHOBASSAN. 45 Oh ! who need ask, that saw those livid guests, "With their swoll'n heads sunk black'ning on their breasts, Or looking pale to Heav'n with glassy glare. As if they sought but saw no mercy there; As if they felt, though poison rack'd them through, Eemorse the deadlier torment of the two ! The monster having filled up the measure of his crimes by self- destruction, Zelica, whom to the last moment he had jealously retained, then uses the stratagem of assuming his silvery veil in order to procure death from the arrows of the besiegers. "In through the breach," impetuous Azim cries; But the cool Caliph, fearful of some wile In this blank stillness, checks the troops awhile, — Just then, a figure, with slow step, advanced Forth from the ruin'd walls, and, as there glanced A sunbeam over it, all eyes could see The well-known Silver Veil !— " 'Tis He, 'tis He, "MoKANNA, and alone!" they shout around; Young Azim from his steed springs to the ground — "Mine, Holy Caliph! mine," he cries, "the task " To crush yon daring wretch — 'tis all I ask." Eager he darts to meet the demon foe, "Who still across wide heaps of ruin slow And falteringly comes, till they are near; Then, with a bound, rushes on Azim's spear, And, casting off the Veil in falling, shows — Oh! — ^'tis his Zelica's life-blood that flows! 7 LALLA EOOKH. What can be more deliglitfiil than to hear of genius fitly recom- pensed, the generous unworldly spirit relieved jfrom the galling chaiu with which in this working-day world it is so almost universally bound? to see the crippled wings expand, and forgetful of past struggles soar aloft rejoicing in the sunny atmosphere of friendship and prosperity ! Such were the results to Moore on the advent of Lalla Rookh in 1816. Even the dulness of despotic royalty in the court of Russia received a halo from the poet's genius — persons of the most exalted rank undertaking the personation of its principal characters, that of Lalla Rookh beiag sustained by no less a personage than the empress herself, who, at the close of the performance, with a sigh with which those who best know how few are the Q^eal enjoyments of royalty can fully sympathize, exclaimed, "Is it then all over? are we now at the close of what has given us so much pleasure ?" On this, out steps the gallant German baron La Motte Fouque, who, in the costume of a Cachemerian knight, vows to present to the world the poem itself, in the measure of the origiaal ! We are told the empress smUed ! that smile will easily be imagined by the reader. To beguile the tedium of the Princess Lalla Rookh, during her journey from Delhi to Cashmere, to meet her future husband, a young minstrel, named Feramorz, recites in her presence the various WMMWVW^^^-''''''-'^-: LALLAROOKH. 47 poems, wMch, collected together, bear lier name. In reciting the loves of others, he so well advances his own, that, at the end of the journey, the princess is only saved from despair by finding in. Fera- morz, the young prince, her affianced bridegroom, who, in the disguise of a minstrel, has thus won her affections. 'TIS THE LAST ROSE OF SUMMEE. MooEE, in what may be styled Ms musical confessions, says, that he always felt in adapting words to an expressive air, that he was but bestowing upon it the gift of articulation, and thus enabling it to speak to the souls of others all that was conveyed in its wordless eloquence to his own. Accustomed, too, always to con- sider the music as a no less essential part than the poetry, he describes himself as being possessed with a strange feeling of uneasi- ness and regret when beholding his songs divorced from the beautiful airs which had hitherto formed their chief ornament and strength. It is therefore in the sweet union most accordant with the taste of their author that we present some of his most celebrated melodies. 'Tis the last rose of summer Left blooming alone; All her lovely companions Are faded and gone ; No flower of lier kindred, No rosebud is nigh, To reflect back ber blushes, Or give sigh for sigh. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one! To pine on the stem; Since the lovely are sleeping, Go, sleep thou with them. ii i% ■ t 'tis the last rose of summer. 49 Thus kindly I scatter Thy leaves o'er the bed, Where thy mates of the garden Lie scentless and dead. So soon may / follow, When friendships decay, And from Love's shining circle The gems drop away. When true hearts lie wither'd, And fond ones are flown. Oh ! who would inhabit This bleak world alone? Since Poetry thus makes Music eloquent, may it not Tbe added, that from their mingled inspiration Painting and Engraving, with their beautiful colors, and magical illusions of light and shadow, weave spells as attractive and often more durable? RICH AND RARE WERE THE GEMS SHE WORE. The illustration happily presents the youthful and noble heroine of the song pursuing, in rich attire and costly ornament, her pilgrim way o'er moor and mountain, from one end of the Green Isle to the other, without fear of violence or molestation. Hail to the memory of King Brien ! in whose glorious days so adventurous a feat could be accomplished ! Alas ! what a contrast does this shining fable present to the dark tale which would have to be told of a similar experiment repeated in these degenerate days ! Eich and rare were the gems she wore, And a bright gold ring on her wand she bore ; But oh ! her beauty was far beyond Her sparkling gems, or snow-white wand ; " Lady ! dost thou not fear to stray, " So lone and lovely through the bleak way ? " Are Erin's sons so good or so cold " As not be tempted by woman or gold ?" " Sir Knight ! I feel not the least alarm, " No son of Erin will offer me harm ; — "For though they love woman and golden store, " Sir Knight ! they love honor and virtue more I" On she went, and her maiden smile In safety lighted her round the Green Isle; And blest for ever is she who relied Upon Erin's honor and Erin's pride. li i THE LEGEND OF PUCK THE FAIRY. Though the plain sense of a song may very often be confined to a very small space compared to its beautiful amplifications, yet certain philosopbers say that some portion is indispensably neces- sary to give interest and durability to the whole— to such, as a pleasure and punishment, should be consigned the momentous task of breaking this exquisite butterfly on the wheel of their cruel criticisms. We can well fancy that while so doing, the merry Sprite would sing more merrily than ever his mocking chorus — and fly for support, if needful, to the subject of the Illustration. Wouldst know what tricks, by the pale moonlight, / Are play'd by me, the merry little Sprite, Who wing through air from the camp to the court, From king to clown, and of all make sport ; Singing, I am the Sprite Of the merry midnight. Who laugh at weak mortals, and love the moonlight ? To a miser's bed, where he snoring slept And dreamt of his cash, I slyly crept ; Chink, chink o'er his pillow like money I rang. And he waked to catch — but away I sprang, Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. I saw through the leaves, in a damsel's bower. She was waiting her love at that starlight hour : 52 TIIEGEMSOFMOORE. "Hist — ^hist!" quoth I, with an amorous sigh, And she flew to the door, but away flew I, Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. While a bard sat inditing an ode to his love. Like a pair of blue meteors I stared from above, And he swoon'd — for he thought 'twas the ghost, poor man! Of his lady's eyes, while away I ran. Singing, I am the Sprite, &c. The fairies of the Green Isle, as well as those of Merry England, and Scotland, though fairly driven from some of their choicest haunts, still linger lovingly in many a flowery nook, and ancient neighborhood. Indeed, it is difiicult to conceive that in the lands which have produced Shakspeare, Milton, Scott, Moore, and Byron, their race should ever become utterly extinct. Be that as it may, even should they no more "dance lightly on the air, or skim along the ground," their frolic presence will still, as in the instance before us, enhven the poet's page, and be reproduced by the pencil- of the painter ; at once preserving and suggesting a thousand mem- ories of that olden time, whose traditions are fading so fast away. Oh ! that in these wondrous days, when each minute coins a marvel, the existence of a colony of fairies might gain the credence per- petually awarded to fantasies equally wild, and seldom so harmless. /:;' ' THE VESPEE HYMN. 99 By those "wlio have heard the hymn " O Sanctissima,'' after sun- set, along the shores of Sicily, prolonged by the echoes of that romantic region, its effect will long be remembered. By them, too, will more readily be conceived that bright picture presented by the historian, who tells, in the words of an eye-witness, "How one evening when the ship of Columbus was in full sail and all the men on their knees singing 'Salve Regina.'" To such scenes and hours the Vesper Hymn of Moore peculiarly belongs. SUSQUEHANNA. While gazing on this grand and beautiful river, sparkling in tlie sunlight and reflecting on its surface the blue summits and feathery sweeps of the mountain ridges between which it glides, Fancy peoples its winding shores and deep ravines with the pale and distracted fugitives of Wyoming, sees its broad waters stained with the blood of their defenders, and hears amidst the wail and shriek of outraged women and children the brutal voices of an exulting soldiery and the demoniac yell of the pursuing Indians, all rendered more terrible by the wide-spread conflagration of their burning homesteads. Fiction— romance — the wildest stretch of imagination — furnishes not the faintest parallel to the unimaginable horrors of that awful night. Eeader, if you do not wish to have your heart wrung almost to bursting, your eyes fiUed with hot tears, your whole frame trembling with indignation and pity; if, in short, you would avoid having the appalling scene presented with all the vi\ad accuracy of truth as passing before your eyes, do not read Lossing's account of it in his " Field Book of the Eevolution !" If in after life any of the guilty actors in that dreadful scene journeyed thitherward, conscience would more than realize the anathema of the poet. Now the vapor, hot and damp, Shed by day's expiring lamp, STJSQTJEHAKNA, IQl Through the misty ether spreads Every ill the white man dreads; Fiery fever's thirsty thrill, Fitful ague's shivering chill! Hark! I hear the traveller's song, As he winds the woods along; — Christian, 'tis the song of fear ; Wolves are round thee, night is near, And the wild thou darest to roam^ — Think, 'twas once the Indian's home ! Hither, sprites, who love to harm, "Wheresoe'er you work your charm, By the creeks, or by the brakes. Where the pale witch feeds her snakes, And the cayman loves to creep, Torpid, to his wintry sleep: Where the bird of carrion flits, And the shudd'ring murderer sits. Lone beneath a roof of blood ; While upon his poison'd food. From the corpse of him he slew Drops the chill and gory dew. Hither bend ye, turn ye hither, Byes that blast and wings that wither' Cross the wand'ring Christian's way, Lead him, ere the glimpse of day. Many a mile of madd'ning error. Through the maze of night and terror, Till the morn behold him lying On the damp earth, pale and dying Mock him, when his eager sight Seeks the cordial cottage-light; Gleam then, like the lightning-bug, Tempt him to the den that's dug 102 THE GEMS OF MOORE. For the foul and famisli'd brood Of tlie she-wolf, gaunt for blood ; Or, unto the dangerous pass O'er the deep and dark morass. Where the trembling Indian brings Belts of porcelain, pipes, and rings, Tributes, to be hung in air, To the iiend presiding there! Then, when night's long labor past, Wilder'd, faint, he falls at last. Sinking where the causeway's edge Moulders in the slimy sedge. There let every noxious thing Trail its filth and fix its sting; Let the bull-toad taint him over, Bound him let mosquitoes hover, In his ears and eyeballs tingling. With his blood their poison mingling. Till, beneath the solar fires, Eankling all, the wretch expires ! r^H ST. CLOUD. To the pleasure-loving inlial»itants of Paris, St. Cloud offers one of those deligMful places of resort which in the neighbor- hood of a great city seems to transport the beholder hundreds of miles from the capital, and by rendering cheap and innocent pleasures easy of access, does more to ameliorate the condition of the lower orders than can well be imagined. From the noise and dust of manufactories, from the glare and oppressive atmo- sphere of the crowded workroom, and also, but too often, from the deficiencies and discomforts of an ill-regulated home — to the toiling artisan and ever-bending seamstress how enchanting the transition to the shades and verdure of St. Cloud; whose beau- tiful Lanterne, modelled from the "tower of Demosthenes at Athens, finely placed on a lofty eminence, commands a noble prospect of the surrounding country; here, seated beneath the magnificent old trees that wave over them with a thousand gentle influences, the smiling landscape at their feet, whose shining river, spanned by its superb bridges, reflects the palaces on its banks, and the gayly-dressed groups whose many-colored garments are seen amongst the groves, the sparkling fountains, and shadowy walks in all directions, life insensibly assumes a more cheering aspect: its pains and penalties are either forgotten or borne more easily ; and indulging in the harmless luxury of some of those fantastic beverages for which the French are famous, or gayly tripping on 104 THE GEMS OE MO ORE. the greensward to tlie enlivening sound of some popular air, a sense of pleasure and joy animates tlie whole being, and, pleasing and pleased, diffuses itself around in all those little graces and amenities which have made French politeness proverbial through- out the world. Gayly sounds the castanet, Beating time to bounding feet, When, after dayhght's golden set, Maids and youths by moonhght meet. Oh, then, how sweet to move Through all that maze of mirth. Led by light from eyes we love Beyond all eyes on earth. Then, the joyous banquet spread On the cool and fragrant ground, "With heaven's bright sparklers overhead. And still brighter sparkling round. Oh, then, how sweet to say Into some loved one's ear, Thoughts reserved through many a day To be thus whisper'd here. When the dance and feast are done. Arm in arm as home we stray, How sweet to see the dawning sun O'er her cheek's warm blushes play! Then, too, the farewell kiss — The words, whose parting tone Lingers still in dreams of bliss. That haunt young hearts alone. MOUNT AUBURN. Ijst this sacred home, this city of the Dead, how many spirit- voices appeal to the living! In no place is a lesson so humhling taught to the mighty of the earth as in a great Necropolis — the renowned and the lowly, the innocent and the guilty, alike levelled with the flowers of the field ! — the lord of millions and the beggar at his gate, sharers of the same quiet domicile ! Vainly does the gilded marble endeavor to keep up the illusions of life; it only rivets attention as the boundary mark of him whose whole estate is now the few feet of ground he occupies. But if the contempla- tion of such a place as Mount Auburn be humbling to human pride, it is also soothing to its tenderest affections : — a shrine where many of its treasures are garnered in the holy hope of a glorious immortality. Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, lu life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies. Death chill'd the fair fountain, ere sorrow had stain'd it; 'Twas frozen in all the pure light of its course, And but sleeps till the sunshine of Heaven has unchain'd it, To water that Eden where first was its source. Weep not for those whom the veil of the tomb, In life's happy morning, hath hid from our eyes, Ere sin threw a blight o'er the spirit's young bloom, Or earth had profaned what was born for the skies. 106 THE GEMS OF MOOEE. Mourn not for her, the young Bride of the Vale, Our gayest and loveliest, lost to us now, Ere life's early lustre had time to grow pale. And the garland of Love was yet fresh on her brow. Oh, then was her moment, dear spirit, for flying From this gloomy world, while its gloom was unknown — And the wild hymns she warbled so sweetly, in dying, AVere echoed in Heaven by lips like her own. Weep not for her — in her spring-time she flew To that land where the wings of the soul are unfurl'd ; And now, like a star beyond evening's cold dew, Looks radiantly down on the tears of this world. Moore says tlie lovely bride alluded to died of fever a few weeks after her marriage, and that during her last delirium she sang several hymns, in a voice even clearer and sweeter than usual, particularly "There's nothing bright, but Heaven." This world is all a fleeting show. For man's illusion given ; The smiles of Joy, the tears of Woe, Deceitful shine, deceitful flow — There's nothing true, but Heaven! And false the light on Glory's plume. As fading hues of Even ; And Love and Hope, and Beauty's bloom. Are blossoms gather'd for the tomb — ■ There's nothing bright, but Heaven! Poor wand'rers of a stormy day! From wave to wave we're driven. And Fancy's flash, and Eeason's ray. Serve but to light the troubled way — There's nothing calm, but Heaven! MOUNT AUBURN. lOY lu tlie beauty and extent of her cemeteries America stands un- rivalled, and in this, as in a thousand other thuigs, the old world would do well to take a lesson from the new. For though nothing can be more perfect in their way than some of the village church- yards of England and Scotland; yet the greater depositories of the dead in the very heart, and even in the environs, of their large cities, with one or two exceptions, excite remembrances of the most painful and revolting nature. THE COMING STEP. The coming step ! one of life's sweet music notes, listened to, welcomed, and commented on in the little circle made glad by its approach; one of the home-charms especially dear to that golden clasp of many links, the aged and adored mother, in whom unite so many titles and ties of pure and sacred affection. Dear, too, that note of home-returning, to loving wife, fair blushing, bride, or gentle sister, and ah ! perhaps more precious than all, to the conscious maiden, listening with fluttering heart and deepening blush, her lover's well-known footstep, which she, though first to hear is last to meet. Music of the heart ! how enchantingly is the com- ing step of the fond father recognized and responded to by the quick delighted cries of childhood, as with pattering feet and joyful clamor they rush to meet him at the threshold, their lit- tle plump arms outstretched to receive, to cling around, and grasp him anywhere, everywhere ! each little mouth pursed up ready for the first kiss, the very first, whose loss has to be compen- sated to the others by a double share of endearments, while gam- bolling in the midst, bounding, barking, almost speaking his wild joy, the favorite dog, completely one of themselves, gives vent to the exuberance of his joy in a thousand canine extravagances. Step of the beloved ! joy-note of the heart, how many and delight- ful are thy echoes ! THE OOMHiTG STEP. 109 Who has not felt how sadly sweet The dream of home, the dream of home, Steals o'er the heart, too soon to fleet, "When far o'er sea or land we roam? Sunlight more soft may o'er us fall. To greener shores our bark may come ; But far more bright, more dear than all. That dream of home, that dream of home. Ask of the sailor youth when far His light bark bounds o'er ocean's foam, What charms him most, when ev'ning's star Smiles o'er the wave ? to dream of home. Fond thoughts of absent friends and loves At that sweet hour around him come; His heart's best joy where'er he roves. That dream of home, that dream of home. THE MEETING OF THE WATEES. To tlie inspiration produced by the romantic scenery around the confluence of the rivers Avon and Avoca, between Eathdrum and Arklow, in the county of Wicklow, the public are indebted for this celebrated song; one of those jewels, which, how long soever worn, can never lose its lustre. The easy flow of the music, tinged like the words with a tender melancholy, makes the heart of the lis- tener an answering harp which vibrates long after the strain itself has ceased. A song like this, is a leaf of the real Delphic laurel. There is not ia the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale iu whose bosom the bright waters meet; Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green; 'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill, Oh! no, — ^it was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, "Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear, And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, ' When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Sweet vale of Avoca ! how calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best, Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease, And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. I THE MEETING OF THE WATEES. Ill The applause of tlie world must be doubly sweet to an author when bestowed on such emanations of his mind as are confirmed by his own character and conduct, when the man does not disgrace the poet — and the reader, after revelling in beautiful descriptions and noble sentiments, lays down the volume with the delightful conviction, that he has been sharing, not only the brilliant genius, but the sincere heart and soul of the author — this integrity of pur- pose belongs to Moore, it breathes and burns throughout his works, and constitutes their most vital charm. ,1 THE MAGIC MIREOK. The story of the gallant Earl of Surrey and tlie fair Geraldine, though often presented in various aspects, has not yet, we think, been accompanied by a moral, that while apparently given in all innocence and simplicity, creates, by its sly humor, that secret in- tellectual smile which the readers of "Washington Irving so often enjoy. Amidst the superstitions of the East, the belief in magic mir- rors still prevails: a most amusing account of them is given by Lane in his "Modern Egyptians." " Come, if thy magic Glass have power " To call up forms we sigh to see ; "Show me my love, in that rosy bower, "Where last she pledged her truth to me." The Wizard show'd him his Lady bright, Where lone and pale in her bower she lay; " True-hearted maid," said the happy Knight, " She's thinking of one, who is far away." But, lo ! a page, with looks of joy. Brings tidings to the Lady's ear; " 'Tis," said the Knight, " the same bright boy, "Who used to guide me to my dear." The Lady now, from her fav'rite tree, Hath, smiling, pluck'd a rosy flower; "Such," he exclaimed, "was the gift that she "Each morning sent me from that bower!" THE MAGIC MIRROR. 113 She gives her page the blooming rose, With looks that say, " Like lightning, fly !" "Thus," thought the Knight, "she soothes her woes, "By fancying, still, her true-love nigh." But the page returns, and — oh, what a sight, For trusting lover's eyes to see! — Leads to that bower another Knight, As young and, alas, as loved as he! "Such," quoth the Youth, "is Woman's love!" Then, darting forth, with furious bound, Dash'd at the Mirror his iron glove. And strew'd it all in fragments round. MORAL. Such ills would never have come to pass. Had he ne'er sought that fatal view ; The Wizard would still have kept his Glass, And the Knight still thought his Lady true. THE CASKET. Nell Gwynne's first peep in the mirror, wKen newly arrayed in her court finery, would, according to the descriptions given of that artless creature, have produced all the delighted effect visible in the countenance of the portrait, the freaks of fashion only making more odd and piquant her winning and whimsical ways. Pepys would certainly have said : " I did see in a book a limning of Mistress Nelly, mighty pretty, and did make me thiuk of the time she came to my wife and I, in the gallery at Whitehall showing us her jewels, when I did steal a kiss, she laughing like mad, and my wife stand- ing by, in her new satin gown, looking, poor wretch, mighty vexed withal." The poetic effusion may easily pass for that of her royal lover, well deserved by the humble and guileless Nelly, who, amidst the splendor and vice of that most corrupt court, retained the native goodness of heart and simplicity of character, which drew from Charles, on his death-bed, the well-known speech, "Do not let poor Nelly starve." Array thee, love, array thee, love, In all thy best array thee; The sun's below— the moon's above — And Night and Bliss obey thee. Put on thee all that's bright and rare, The zone, the wreath, the gem, Not so much gracing charms so fair, As borrowing grace from them. THE CASKET. 115 Array thee, love, array thee, love, In all that's bright array thee ; The sun's below — the moon's above — And Night and Bliss obey thee. Put on the plumes thy lover gave, The plumes, that, proudly dancing, Proclaim to all, where'er they wave. Victorious eyes advancing. Bring forth the robe, whose hue of heaven From thee derives such light. That Iris would give all her seven To boast but one so bright. Array thee, love, array thee, love, &c. &c. &c. Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love, Through Pleasure's circles hie thee. And hearts, where'er thy footsteps move. Will beat, when they come nigh thee. Thy every word shall be a spell. Thy every look a ray, And tracks of wond'ring eyes shall tell The glory of thy way ! Now hie thee, love, now hie thee, love. Through Pleasure's circles hie thee. And hearts, where'er thy footsteps move. Shall beat when they come nigh thee. THE DISMISSAL OF HAGAR. Though words alone may be inadequate to do justice to the merits of a fine picture, yet, when aided by an engraving in which the principal idea of the painter is faithfully conveyed to the mind, there will be little difficulty in participating largely in the feelings which the original was intended to call forth; this has been verified in Guercino's Agar, in which the main incidents of that touching story are comprehended at a glance. Guercino's Agar — where the bond-maid hears From Abram's Hps that he and she m.ust part ; And looks at him with eyes all full of tears, That seem the very last drops from her heart. Exquisite picture ! — let me not be told Of minor faults, of coloring tame and cold — If thus to conjure up a face so fair. So full of sorrow; with the story there Of all that woman suffers, when the stay Her trusting heart hath lean'd on falls away — If thus to touch the bosom's tend'rest spring. By calling into life such eyes, as bring Back to our sad remembrance some of those We've smiled and wept with, in their joys and woes. Thus filling them with tears, like tears we've known, Till all the pictured grief becomes our own — ■ If this be deem'd the victory of Art — If thus, by pen or pencil, to lay bare The deep, fresh, living fountains of the heart Before all eyes, be Genius — it is there! = =1 THE DISMISSAL OF HAGAR. 117 This picture, tlie Agar of Guercino, and the Apostles of Guido, (the two latter of which are now, the chief ornaments of the Brera,) were formerly in the Palazzo Zampieri, at Bologna. -that fair field Of Enna, where Proserpine, gathering flowers, Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis was gather'd. It is probable that this fine head is a portrait, • as we find it repeated in a picture by Guercino, which is in the possession of Signor Camuccini, the brother of the celebrated painter at Rome. THE TWO MAKYS. No joyous countenances, beautiful coloring, or angelical airs here represent the Magdalen of Guido, the sinner in the bloom of her sin; but in their stead, a twofold representation of the same character at' later periods, when the still small voice and ever- gnawing worm silently, but surely, are fulfilling their relentless mission. No wonder, Mary, that thy story Touches all hearts — for there we see The soul's corruption, and its glory, Its death and life combined in thee. From the first moment, when we find Thy spirit haunted by a swarm Of dark desires, — like demons shrined Unholily in that fair form, — Till when, by touch of Heaven set free, Thou camest, with those bright locks of gold, (So oft the gaze of Bethany,) And, cov'ring in their precious fold Thy Saviour's feet, didst shed such tears As paid, each drop, the sins of years ! Thence on, through all thy course of love To Him, thy Heavenly Master, — Him, Whose bitter death-cup from above Had yet this cordial round the brim, That woman's faith and love stood fast And fearless by Him to the last: — \4f THE T\yO MARYS. 119 Till, oh, blest boon for trutli like thine! Thou wert, of all, the chosen one, Before whose eyes that Face Divine, "When risen from the dead, first shone; That thou might'st see how, like a cloud, Had pass'd away its mortal shroud. And make that bright revealment known To hearts, less trusting than thy own. All is affecting, cheering, grand ; The kindliest record ever given. Even under God's own kindly hand, Of what Eepentance wins from Heaven ! No wonder, Mart, that thy face. In all its touching light of tears. Should meet us in each holy place, * Where Man before his God appears, Hopeless — were he not taught to see All hope in Him, who pardon'd thee ! No wonder that the painter's skill Should oft have triumph'd in the power Of keeping thee all lovely still Even in thy sorrow's bitt'rest hour; That soft GoEREGGio should diffuse His melting shadows round thy form; That GuiDo's pale, unearthly hues Should, in portraying thee, grow warm; That all — from the ideal, grand. Inimitable Roman hand, Down to the small, enamelling touch Of smooth Gaelino — should delight In pict'ring her, who "loved so much," And was, in spite of sin, so bright ! In tlie Dresden Gallery, inclosed in a silver frame, ornamented with jewels, is the celebrated Magdalen of Correggio, who, extended 120 THE GEMS OF MOOBE, on tlie ground, folded in her dark blue mantle, reads the Scripture in silence and solitude. Her head supported by her band, ber rounded arm, pearly bosom, and fair falling curls, tbe only lights visible in the picture, and they, reflected upwards from the sacred volume before her. This fine idea of Correggio is greatly enhanced by the gloom of the landscape, amidst which, with perfect repose of figure and meek tranquillity of countenance, reclines a Magdalen from whom every sensuous spirit has fled, leaving the voluptuous outline filled only with serenity and peace. THE EXILE. The name of Miss Curran, the betrothed of the younger Em- met, has acquired a celebrity equal to that of the melancholy event in which her lover bore so distinguished a part, and which forms one of the tragic pages of Ireland's gloomy history. Among those who have perished in vain for that unhappy country, there are none who more irresistibly claim our sympathies, than the unfortunate pair whose memory is preserved from oblivion in the following beautiful song ; nor over whose graves the " Implora Pace" might more fitly be inscribed. She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps, And lovers are round her, sighing: But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps, For her heart in his grave is lying. She sings the wild song of her dear native plains. Every note which he loved awaking; — - Ah! little they think who delight in her strains, How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking. He had lived for his love, for his country he died, They were all that to life had entwined him; Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried, Nor long will his love stay behind him. 122 THE GEMS OF MOoEE. Oil! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest, When they promise a glorious morrow; They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the West, From her own loved island of sorrow. The harp of Ireland is never heard to more advantage than when it thrills to love or sorrow: in this touching strain both are mingled; while distant echoings of sterner words, mental glimpses of scenes replete with strife and agony, fill the mind with images but too well corresponding with that ominous and fatal word, Rebellion. THE WKEATH. This juvenile production expresses all the enamored sentiment a school-boy may be supposed to feel for some belle of far maturer years than his own, and whose rejoinder would be in a mood infi- nitely less serious. The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove Is fair — but oh, how fair. If Pity's hand had stolen from Love One leaf to mingle there! If every rose with gold were tied. Did gems for dew-drops fall, One faded leaf where Love had sigh'd "Were sweetly worth them all. The wreath you wove, the wreath you wove Our emblem well may be; Its bloom is yours, but hopeless Love Must keep its tears for me. As- a specimen of Moore's boyish poetry this song cannot fail to be regarded with interest, as evidencing the precocity and fertility of genius which distinguished him from his infancy ; his OAvn words being, "So far back in childhood lies the epoch, that I am really unable to say at what age I first began to act, sing, and rhyme." ANNA. To many most excellent persons the very name of "Poetry" sug- gests sometMng too romantic and refined for this matter-of-fact age and work-a-day world, and who, when told how through the medium of verse the power of genius can lend both grace and dignity to truth, will smile incredulously, and remain skeptical as before; yet, in the following Juvenile Poem of our author, they will see at once how much a simple and pure sentiment gains, if not in value, at least both in force and beauty, from the charm of numbers: — Ta see thee every day that came, And find thee still each day the same ; In pleasure's smile, or sorrow's tear, To me still ever kind and dear ; — To meet thee early, leave thee late, Has been so long my bliss, my fate, That life, without this cheering ray, Which came, like sunshine, every day, And all my pain, my sorrow chased. Is now a lone and loveless waste. Where are the chords she used to touch? The airs, the songs she loved so much ? Those songs are hush'd, those chords are still, And so, perhaps, will every thrill Of feeling soon be lull'd to rest, Which late I waked in Anna's breast. Yet, no — the simple notes I play'd From memory's tablet soon may fade; 126 THE GEMS OF 31 O R E . The songs, which Anna loved to hear, May vanish from her heart and ear ; Bnt friendship's voice shall ever find An echo in that gentle mind, Nor memory lose nor time impair The sympathies that tremble there. To constitute the perfections of sucli a character as that of the gentle Anna, would require something more than the quintessence of a whole legion of modern heroines. In her, the meek and gentle woman shines forth in all the touching grace and modesty of her sex, presenting to the mind's eye the embodiment of all the sweet influences which soften the asperities of daily life, and cheer and reward amidst its toils. In the season of youth the heart is apt to speak most spontaneously and truly, and if its effusions are less polished and varied than those of a later period, their sincerity may well atone for the more sounding strain. Associating the "Anna" of the painter's fancy with the theme of the poet's song, it is impossible to avoid remembering the lovely and beloved Miss Linley — afterwards Mrs. Sheridan — immortalized by some of the most celebrated characters of her time, and who is charmingly described in one of Moore's most interesting works. y ^ . :^i VENICE. Though " St. Mark is fallen, and Venice no more !" yet still doth the beautiful Queen of tlie Adriatic hold empery over the hearts and imaginations of mankind, presenting, even in degradation and decay, images and associations unequalled by those of any other city in the world. Though no more an " envy," yet is she wonderful and " passing strange !" A city of towers, of domes, and monuments, with canals for streets and gondolas for carriages; a fleet of pal- aces becalmed, amongst which you may glide for a summer's day, and night also, without fancying yourself any where else than in dreamland. How soft the air ! how imperceptible the motion of the luxuriously-appointed gondola ! What dazzling reflections on the glimmering water from many-tinted awnings and palace archi- tecture ! from picturesque groups in busy motion or laziest leisure ! Here a fruit-boat, laden to the brim with grapes and peaches, be- neath whose white awning a couple of bronzed and ruddy peasant girls send forth their long musical cry, half said, half sung, pleasantly sound- ing over the waters ; their flashing black eyes and rich complexions glowing beneath the scarlet fazzioli or kerchiefs, which, picturesquely fastened to their jetty locks by long silver bodkins, float gaily over the white sleeves and quaintly-laced boddices, that gleam in the bright sunlight like bits of painted glass in some old cathedral win- dow. Here gliding slowly, reclined on her silken cushions, amidst which she is almost invisible, the high-born Dama, quiet and demure, with sober-visaged duenna and all the appurtenances of wealth and 128 THE GEMS OP MOORE. rank. Next comes a band of gay revellers merry fingers strike tie guitar, and glad voices mingle in careless minstrelsy. These are suc- ceeded by others, met, and overtaken in ceaseless change, till day turns to night, and St. Mark's Place becomes the vortex whereto all tend ; and the fleet of becalmed palaces, churches, bridges, towers, and monuments, shining beneath the solemn moon and mystic star- light in all their unfathomable depth of light and shadow distinctly mirrored in the glassy waters, becomes more and more like a be- wildering enchantment ; while the spectator feels, by the quickened beating of his heart, that there is but one place in the world which can furnish such a scene, and that is Venice. Over the desolate city Moore pours a truly Cromwellian strain. Mourn not for Venice — let her rest In ruin, 'mong ttiose States unblest, Beneath whose gilded hoofs of pride, Where'er they trampled, Freedom died. No — let us keep our tears for them, Where'er they pine, whose fall hath been Not from a blood-stain'd diadem, Like that which deck'd this ocean-queen, But from high daring in the cause Of human Eights — the only good And blessed strife, in which man draws His mighty sword on land or flood. Mourn not for Venice ; though her fall Be awful, as if Ocean's wave Swept o'er her, she deserves it all, And Justice triumphs o'er her grave. Thus perish ev'ry King and State, That run the guilty race she ran, Strong but in ill, and only great By outrage against God and man ! VENICE. 129 True, her high spirit is at rest, And all those days of glory gone. When the world's waters, east and west. Beneath her white-wing'd commerce shone; When, with her countless barks, she went To meet the Orient Empire's might. And her Giustinianis sent Their hundred heroes to that fight. Vanish'd are all her pomps, 'tis true. But mourn them not — for vanish'd, too, (Thanks to that Pow'r, who, soon or late, Hurls to the dust the guilty Great,) Are all the outrage, falsehood, fraud. The chains, the rapine, and the blood, That fill'd each spot, at home, abroad. Where the Eepublic's standard stood. Desolate Venice! when I track Thy haughty course through cent'ries back ; Thy ruthless pow'r, obey'd but curst — The stern machinery of thy State, Which hatred would, like steam, have burst, Had stronger fear not chill'd ev'n hate; — Thy perfidy, still worse than aught Thy own unblushing Saepi taught; — Thy friendship, which, o'er all beneath Its shadow, rain'd down dews of death ; — Thy Oligarchy's Book of Gold, Closed against humble Virtue's name. But open'd wide for slaves who sold Their native land to thee and shame; — Thy all-pervading host of spies. Watching o'er ev'ry glance and breath, Till men look'd in each others' eyes. To read their chance of life or death ; — Thy laws, that made a mart of blood. And legalized th' assassin's knife; — Thy sunless cells beneath the flood, And racks, and Leads, that burnt out life;- 130 THE aEMS OF MOOKE. When I review all this, and see The doom that now hath fall'n on thee ; Thy nobles, tow'ring once so proud, Themselves beneath the yoke now bow'd, — A yoke, by no one grace redeem'd, Such as, of old, around thee beam'd, But mean and base, as e'er yet gall'd. Earth's tyrants, when, themselves, enthrall'd, — I fe|l the moral vengeance sweet. And, smiling o'er the wreck, repeat, " Thus perish ev'ry King and State, " That tread the steps which Venice trod, " Strong but in ill, and only great, " By outrage against man and God !" WMlst admitting the strict justice of all this, yet still the down- fall of a republic once so proud and glorious cannot fail to awaken that feeling of sadness and regret which the sight of fallen great- ness so naturally inspires, or of arousing that indignation which must ever belong to those miscreant betrayers of their country, who, though boasting themselves Venetians, the descendants of Dandolo and Morosini, were yet base enough to surrender without a struggle the rank, the privileges, the glories, and the independence of a thou- sand years ! standing tamely by while the tri-color floated proudly over the winged Lion in the Place of St. Mark, where a foreign stand- ard had not been seen for fifteen hundred years, and beholding, amidst the execration and contempt of all mankind, the spoliation of their ancient city, and the removal of its most cherished antiquities and costly treasures, by their great but rapacious conqueror. m / ' V ■i-iii OH, COULD WE DO WITH THIS WORLD OF OUES. To what may tMs most ethereal and fanciful little song be com- pared ? Surely to nothing heavier nor less bright than bubble blown by Peri and floating away amidst sunbeams. Nothing can be more exquisitely playful and beautiful than the last verse. It is in such brilliant fancies, such sparks and freaks of imagination, that Moore has ever been unapproachable. Oh, for the same power of fancy to transfer to the illustration a little of that sylph-like beauty which must have belonged to her of whose shadow the poet speaks. Oil, could we do witli this world of ours As thou dost with thy garden bowers, Eeject the weeds and keep the flowers, What a heaven on earth we'd make it! So bright a dwelling should be our own, So warranted free from sigh or frown, That angels soon would be coming down, By the week or month to take it. Like those gay flies that wing through air, And in themselves a lustre bear, A stock of light, still ready there, "Whenever they wish to use it ; So, in this world I'd make for thee, Our hearts should all like fire-flies be, And the flash of wit or poesy Break forth whenever we choose it. While ev'ry joy that glads our sphere Hath still some shadow hov'ring near. 132 OH, COULD "WE DO "WITH THIS "WOKLD OF OUKS. In this new world of ours, my dear, Suck shadows will all be omitted: — Unless they're like that graceful one, Which, when thou'rt dancing in the sun, Still near thee, leaves a charm upon Each spot where it hath flitted ! Thougli tlie poet's plan for remodelling " tMs earth of ours" miglit be liable to the grave objection of rendering half our -nrtues useless, yet -where is the philosopher -who would not exchange part of his ■wisdom for the beauty-haunted imagination -which enables its pos- sessor, amidst the clouds and storms of life, often -whilst suffering beneath its -worst and keenest ills, to create new realms, peopled -with beings, in depicting -whose thoughts and passions, joys and sorro-ws. Self— that most ignoble cause of disquiet— is for the time merged and forgotten ? Such, doubtless, must frequently have been the case -with Moore, who, brilliant and t^alented as he was, oft smarted be- neath " the stings and arrows of outrageous fortune," to whose darkest hour, perchance, this chai-ming song owes its existence, light and lovely as one of the rose-winged nautilii of a summer sea. 2F.«^Sg^St««a-Si^'>^*^«45^-^J?^ ; - ''-" ' THE lEISH GIKL. To the females of every country has been accorded some crown- ing excellence peculiar to their nation and themselves ; thus, while the proud beauty of Spain charms by her air, the Frenchwoman by her manner, the Italian by her glances, the American by her classic and delicate features, the English and Scottish by that bloom which has made the expression " As fresh as a rose" one of the most common modes of describing them, the fair daughters of Erin have ever been distinguished by an arch simplicity and winning tender- ness, which, springing from a noble, constant nature, that knows no wrong and fears none, render the spells of Nora or Kathleen more potent than any Armida ever wove. We may roam through this world, like a child at a feast, Who but sips of a sweet, and then flies to the rest ; And, when pleasure begins to grow dull in the east, We may order our wings, and be off to the west; But if hearts that feel, and eyes that smile, Are the dearest gifts that heaven supplies, We never need leave our own green isle, For sensitive hearts, and for sun-bright eyes. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown' d, Through this world, whether eastward or westward you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round. Oh ! remember the smile which adorns her at home. In England, the garden of Beauty is kept By a dragon of prudery placed within call ; 134 THEIBISHGIEL, But SO oft this unamiable dragon has slept, That the garden's but carelessly watch'd after all. Oh! they want the wild sweet-briery fence, Which round the flowers of Erin dwells; Which warns the touch, while winning the sense, Nor charms us least when it most repels. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd. Through this world, whether eastward or westward you roam, When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round. Oh! remember the smile that adorns her at home. In France, when the heart of a woman sets sail, On the ocean of wedlock its fortune to try, Love seldom goes far in a vessel so frail, But just pilots her off, and then bids her good-bye. While the daughters of Erin keep the boy, Ever smiling beside his faithful oar. Through billows of woe, and beams of joy. The same as he look'd when he left the shore. Then remember, wherever your goblet is crown'd, Through this world, whether eastward or westward you roam. When a cup to the smile of dear woman goes round, Oh 1 remember the smile that adorns her at home. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 1. PORTBAIT OF MOOUE, TO FACE VjQNETTE. piUB 2. Young Jessica 1 3. sunflowek 3 4. Love's Young Deeam 5 5. Holt Eyes, or Pbatee "7 6. Laughing Eyes 9 1. Bteleen 8 8. Sleeping Beauty 11 9. Hafed and Hinda 13 10. Depaktore of Hafed 23 11. Hinda 25 12. Death of Hinda 26 13. Peri 27 14. Love's Last Sigh 30 15. The Penitent "Warbiok, 35 16. Zelioa 37 17. Azm and Zelioa 43 18. Mokanna's Feast 44 19. Lalla Rookh 45 20. The Last Rose of Summer 48 21. Rich and Rare 50 22. Mountain Sprite 51 23. Love's Summer Cloud 53 24. Nouemahal 55 25. Lea VI 26. Grecian Maid 89 27. Rapids near the Village of Leda 92 28. Niagara 93 29. View from Battle Hill 94 30. Lesbia 96 31 . Vesper Hymn .- 98 32. Susquehanna 100 33. Park of St. Cloud 101 34. Mount Auburn 106 35. The Coming Step 108 36. Meeting of the Waters HO 37. The Magic Mirror 112 38. The Casket H* 39. The Departure of Hagar 116 40. The Two Maeys 118 41. The Exile 121 42. The Weeath 12? 43. Sail on, Sail on 12* 44. Anna ^^^ 45. Venice ^^^ 46. The Garden Flower 131 47. Irish Girl 1 33