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 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE 
 WORDSWORTH COLLECTION 
 
The original of tiiis 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/cu31924104001999 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 % 
 
JULIA ALPINULA; 
 
 WITH 
 
 THE CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BY J. H. WIFFEN. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "AONIAN HOURS5&C. 
 
 9> 
 
 " Futurity! 
 We hail thee safely by the name of grief. 
 He who doth paint our untrod pilgrimage 
 In colours darker than e^en fear hath feigned. 
 Shall be no lying prophet. — ^' 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 JOHN WARREN, OLD BOND STREET. 
 
 1820. 
 

 GREEN, PRINTER, 
 
 LEICESTER STREET, LEICESTER SQUARE 
 
 .\> 
 
 1 
 
The stoiy of Julia Alpinula has been so stre- 
 nuously recommended to the pubUc notice by Lord 
 Byron, both in the text and notes to the Third Canto 
 of ^' Childe Harold/' as to obviate the necessity of an 
 apolog-y for my having made it the subject of the prin- 
 cipal poem in this volume. With regard to any objec- 
 tion that may arise in the mind of the reader from the 
 paucity of incident in this little History, it may not 
 be irrelevant to remark, that although the mind may 
 be amused by the vivid and various delineation of 
 fictitious events, the better sympathies of the heart 
 are much more likely to be excited by the simplest 
 narrative, founded on real circumstance, and the 
 play of the sweet and amiable affections, than by the 
 most complicated tissue of situations that have no 
 basis beyond the imagination. To do full justice to 
 so beautiful a character would require, I am aware, 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 the creations of a mind gifted with far greatei powers 
 than any I can lay claim to : I shall consider it a 
 sufficient achievement if I be thought not to have 
 disgraced it. With little light from history beyond 
 a knowledge of the catastrophe and its cause^ the 
 colouring I have given to the timesj and the tracings 
 I have drawn of the events and characters of the 
 piece, will yet, I tiaist, be found to harmonize with 
 the spirit of reality rather than with that of fiction- 
 
 In the other Tale — filled up from the Annal of 
 Gibbon, I have taken such liberty with the name of 
 the principal personage, as well as of the scene of 
 action, as best suited the structure of my verse. 
 
 -**■». 
 
TO ALARIC A. WATTS, ESQ. 
 
 I HEAR a voice in this deep hour 
 Of midnight ; it is true my friend, 
 
 That unsubstantial things have power 
 The settled spirit's strength to bend. 
 And to our aspirations lend 
 
 The mystic key of smiles and tears ; 
 A shaken harp — a gust of wind, 
 Can thus unlock within my mind 
 
 The spells of vanished years. 
 
 I hear the' inhospitable rain 
 
 Against the illumined casement beat, 
 
 With somewhat like a sense of pain. 
 
 That the ripe woodbines, young and sweet. 
 Which over-arch this summer. seat, 
 
 Should on insurgent winds be driven, 
 When June, if only for their sake, 
 Should send her fine stars forth to make 
 
 A blue and brilliant heaven. 
 
viii DEDICATION. 
 
 Perchance it has been ours to view 
 With a like promise, like decay 
 
 Of powers, that freshly as they blew, 
 Were worn by pining griefs away. 
 However it be — whatever the sway 
 
 With which my spirit droops, I cast 
 A mournful eye on figures fled, 
 Those apparitions of the dead, 
 
 The Passions of the Past! 
 
 Mine were rich visions of the bright 
 
 And beautiful ! sweet thoughts that ran 
 
 Through many a change, and made Delight 
 In all — the bounteous bride of man j 
 
 A fascinated eye — whose scan 
 
 Was fixed in overweening quest 
 On angel-forms that go and come 
 With sympathy, that make their home 
 
 The enthusiast's virgin breast. 
 
 The hills — the woods — I trod with awe, 
 I peopled solitude with dreams 
 
 Of Oread, Dryad, Faun, and saw 
 Naiads by brooks and babbling streams', 
 Whilst solemn and romantic themes, 
 
 And antique fables, swarmed around 
 By Greek or Tuscan Prophet poured, 
 From lyric strings, and I adored 
 
 In strong entrancement bound. 
 
DEDICATION. ix 
 
 I gazed within the glass of Hope ; 
 
 I saw her dazzling suns, and laid 
 My hands upon her telescope 
 
 To grasp the images displayed : 
 
 It shivered at my touch — betrayed 
 And baffled, from her world I drew ; 
 
 Each wonted impulse lost its force, 
 
 From sorrow, as a slight resource, 
 To Poesy I flew. — 
 
 She acts no false dissembler's part, 
 
 Her accents, merciful and mild, 
 Fall sweet upon the wounded heart. 
 
 As Beauty's o'er her weaning child. 
 
 Amid her valleys, green and wild, 
 At summer-eves loose loitering. 
 
 With daring hand I sought to strip 
 
 Some flowers that bore a kindredship 
 With day-dreams of my spring. 
 
 When gathered, they were soon thrown by, 
 
 The lightly won are lightly lost, 
 And sorrow has a wayward eye 
 
 That soon forgets what pleased it most. 
 
 Of what remains I ill can boast j 
 In hours of gloom and mental strife. 
 
 Thou cam'st across my solitude, 
 
 (Apollo to a wintry wood) 
 And warmed the leaves to life. 
 
X DEDICATION. 
 
 These reliques thus, with grateful heart. 
 To thee, dear Alaric, I bring", 
 
 To whose fine hand the Nine impart 
 The concords of a sweeter string/ 
 Familiar access to their spring 
 
 Of starry visions thou canst vaunt ; 
 Enough for me if not denied, 
 A chance-brought votary by thy side 
 
 To tread their hallowed haunt. 
 
 Wohurn^ June 23, 1820. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PREFACE V 
 
 DEDICATION vii 
 
 JULIA ALPINCLA 1 
 
 NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA 77 
 
 CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL, CANTO 1 95 
 
 CANTO II 139 
 
 NOTES TO CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL 181 
 
 THE RUSSELL 187 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN A BLANK LEAF OF THE ^' PLEASURES OF HOPE" 208 
 
 WRITTEN BENEATH A MINIATURE • 211 
 
 LEGEND OF THE STATUE . • 216 
 
 ^' I TOOK THE harp'" 220 
 
 TO WITH A SEAL BEARING THE INSCRIPTION " CON TE 
 
 SONO^' 221 
 
 AFTER THE SPANISH 225 
 
 WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM 229 
 
 ^^ THIS SCORN OF ALL THE GLORIOUS stir'" 230 
 
 SONNET TO W, WORDSWORTH, ESQ 233 
 
 TO 234 
 
 TALIESSIN 235 
 
 THE CASCADE ON RAVEN CRAG, NEAR LAKE CONISTON . . . . .^ 236 
 
 NEWSTEAD ABBEY 237 
 
" I know of no human composition so affecting as this, nor a 
 history of deeper interest : these are the names and actions that 
 ought not to perish.**' 
 
 Note on the Epitaph of Julia Alpinula. Childe Harold > 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page line 
 
 G, 3, 
 
 7, 13, 
 
 9, 5, 
 
 13, 9, 
 
 32, 1 1 , 
 
 34, 20, 
 
 37, 3, 
 
 40, 20, 
 
 45, 2, 
 
 54, 20, 
 
 5(3, 3, 
 
 64, 7, & 11, 
 
 66, 20, 
 
 74, 12, 
 
 ^for tyrants' 
 
 iu 
 
 air 
 
 vexing 
 
 read 
 
 sinnews 
 sun's 
 
 misanthropliy 
 heroes 
 
 y 
 Priest God 
 
 shape 
 
 shall 
 
 Content 
 
 view 
 
 tyrant's, 
 
 is. 
 
 hair. 
 
 waxing. 
 
 sinews. 
 
 suns. 
 
 misanthropjr. 
 heroes'. 
 
 • 
 Priest of God, 
 shade* 
 shah. 
 Consent, 
 I view. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 *^ I never heard 
 Of any true affection but 'twas nipt 
 With care, that, like the caterpillar, eats 
 The leaves of the springe's sweetest book, the rose.'* 
 
 Thomas Middleton. 
 
 I. 
 
 With rapid wing, in ceaseless flight. 
 
 Time sweeps along, and leaves in night. 
 
 Each brilliant aim of lifers short span. 
 
 The joys and agonies of man. 
 
 The storied arch that Glory rears. 
 
 He mantles with the moss of years j 
 
 O'er Beauty^s urn in ivy creeps ; 
 
 Shatters the tomb where Valour sleeps ; 
 
 And quenches, ne'er to bum again. 
 
 The fire in Freedom's awful fane. V'^ 
 
2 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 He sends the beating wind and shower 
 Proudly to battle with the tower. 
 And when in ruin they have rent 
 Frieze, portico, and battlement. 
 With scoffing lip he seems to say, 
 
 Weak worm ! thou too shalt be as they j 
 
 Soon passion^s fire, shall leave thine eye ; 
 ^* Ambition fade, and feeling die ; 
 
 Hope faithless find its splendid trust. 
 
 Thy pride claim kindred with the dust, 20 
 
 And nothing more of thee remain, 
 *^ Than what remembrance views with pain, 
 *^ A startling Vision, void and vain.^^ 
 
 
 
 n. 
 
 As fast and forward flies his car,. 
 
 His ministers the Seasons are ; 
 
 If now he sends the Spring with dew 
 
 Earth^s flowery borders to renew. 
 
 Summer, with sunbeam and with song. 
 
 To lead the dance of life along. 
 
 And viny Autumn's horn to call 30 
 
 Guests to his gorgeous festival, — 
 
 It is but with a smile to gild 
 
 The ruui which his wrath has willed. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. ^ 
 
 Soon tyrant Winter's whirlwinds urge 
 The' assault of earthquake, cloud, and surge ; 
 And pestilence and fever^s flame 
 Suck up the breath, or fire the frame. 
 The rich sun of delight goes down 
 In his annihilating frown. 
 
 And we but add — of things destroyed, 40 
 
 One atom to the mighty void. 
 Thus, unregretted, let decay 
 Our mortal rehques roll away. 
 To where the wrecks of ages sleep 
 Unconscious in the' eternal deep ; 
 The glorious Soul its power shall mock : 
 Whirled into whiteness round the rock. 
 That pearl of pearls shall issue bright, 
 A gem of love, a drop of light^ 
 
 By Mercy's smile from its abode 50 
 
 Drawn to instar the throne of God ! 
 Sorrow and trial in all time 
 Assault the spirit to sublime ; 
 Even from our very virtues spring 
 Thoughts which the heart with anguish wring ; 
 Of one so chastened, one whose love 
 Was such as angels feel above ; 
 Of one who, thus by anguish tried. 
 O'er him she could not succour, died,— 
 
 B 2 
 
4 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 My lute in pity would essay 60 
 
 To frame a melancholy lay. 
 For never yet were wept or told 
 Truths sad as those its strings unfold. 
 
 III. 
 
 Time has but touched, not sealed in gloom 
 
 The turrets of almighty Rome ; 
 
 The same deep stream which tossed of yore 
 
 The infants in their ark ashore,* 
 
 Whose power, since deified, has piled 
 
 This seven-hilled city in the wild. 
 
 Yet in its yellow lustre roves 70 
 
 By marble halls and holy groves. 
 
 Yet on its mount, the pillared shrine 
 
 August, of Jove Capitoline, 
 
 Rich vnth the spoils which war translates. 
 
 The plunder of a thousand states. 
 
 Though grey with age or thunder's scars, 
 
 Looks in proud triumph to the stars. 
 
 Its portals passed, its thresholds trod, 
 
 By white-robed Flamens of the God. 
 
 * Romulus and Remus : vide Plutarch, 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 5 
 
 Ascended by its hundred stairs, 80 
 
 The rough Tarpeian yet declares 
 
 His fate who freed its fane too well, 
 
 AMio vainly watched, and sternly fell. 
 
 Structures of piety and prayer. 
 
 Domes, towering over temples, there 
 
 The busy Forum overlook, — 
 
 The scene where Junius Brutus shook 
 
 Fiercely his imprecating sword. 
 
 And smiled on liberty restored. 
 
 And here the Rostrum, at whose foot 90 
 
 Grief rose to rage, and rage grew mute. 
 
 As Pity dropt, or Passion flung 
 
 Honey, or gall from Tully^s tongue. 
 
 There, where the great and glorified 
 
 On marble pedestals abide, 
 
 With Gods that make the skies their home. 
 
 The vast Pantheon^s pillared dome 
 
 Heaves into heaven. With shout and song. 
 
 As rushing cars urge cars along. 
 
 There the live Circus hums, and spreads 100 
 
 Its gladness o'er ten thousand heads, — 
 
 Sons of a race once armed with power 
 
 Omnipotent in danger's day. 
 And siill commanding, though their hour 
 
 Of earlier worth has passed away : 
 
e JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Though wronged Camillus wars not now. 
 
 Nor Cincinnatus leaves his plough, 
 
 Mutius a tyrants^ wrath disarms, 
 
 Fabricius awes, nor Scipio charms. 
 
 Nor Regulus his pangs defies, 1 10 
 
 Looks back on Rome, and grandly dies. 
 
 IV. 
 
 From infancy a child of guilt. 
 
 In blood by evil passions spilt, 
 
 Man lays his own foundations deep. 
 
 And crime and violence must keep 
 
 His stormy height, contested power j — 
 
 His bride Ambition — Strife his dower: 
 
 By fresh gradations he must win 
 
 The apotheosis of sin : 
 
 And Priestcraft comes in slavery's aid' 120 
 
 To deify the wretch they made; 
 
 His evil angel then denies. 
 
 Or grants him as a curse, the prize, 
 
 A happier minion soon shall strip 
 
 That laurelled brow to bind his own. 
 And smile, with satire on his lip. 
 
 To slay the slayer on his throne^ 
 
 *i 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Thence in an hour of darkness hurled. 
 
 His earthquake-exit rocks the world; 
 
 So rose in clouds of crime and war, 130 
 
 The splendour of the Julian star. 
 
 And such the shock, which in thy fall, 
 
 O Galba ! strikes, and startles all. 
 
 An awful gulf was that between ; 
 
 There one red river rolls away 
 To darkness evermore; a scene 
 
 Dreadful to image and pourtray ; 
 As battle, rapine, faction, rage. 
 Revolt and murder shook the age ; 
 Defiled in pure Religion's robe, 140 
 
 And Peace, if Peace yet lingering near. 
 Sends forth her turtle o'er the globe 
 
 In promise of a lovelier year, — 
 With far-averted eye bewails 
 Her vines uprooted in the vales. 
 And her fired towns, whose ashes fly 
 To the four quarters of the sky. 
 Whence, scenting from his northern towers 
 Warm, warm Campania's orange bowers. 
 The future Alaric shall sound 160 
 
 His trumpet to the Goths around. 
 In mirth, through the triumphal slirines 
 Of Trajan and the Antonines. 
 
 ( 
 
8 JULIA ALPINULA, 
 
 Abroad where lioary Ocean smiles. 
 
 Fear fills with fugitives the isles. 
 
 Flight is security no more. 
 
 Blood stains the waters and the shore : 
 
 There is no loved remembrance, none. 
 
 Of valour fled, and virtue gone; 
 
 Senates, once awful and adored, 160 
 
 Are meek and supple to their lord. 
 
 And his worst actions glorify 
 
 With flattering tongue, and quailing eye. 
 
 V. 
 
 All, all is changed ! age, manhood, youth. 
 
 The soul of honour, lip of truth; 
 
 The manners of the ages past. 
 
 Simple, severe, confiding, chaste. 
 
 Are told, if told of, with a sneer^ 
 
 Fit only for a Cato's ear; 
 
 The matron-shade, in which of yore 1 7^^ 
 
 Volumnia charmed, Cornelia grew. 
 Whom Romans loved, who Romans bore. 
 
 Is fled — almost forgotten too. 
 To sun themselves in public view. 
 
 Is now the pride of Beauty's daughterSj^ 
 
JULIA ALPINULA- 9 
 
 Or at the tesselated bath. 
 
 To chide in their capricious wrath. 
 
 The slaves who gather from the waters^ 
 And lightly braid with delicate care^ 
 The flow of their redundant air. 180 
 
 In sweeping vestures they depart^ 
 So gently discomposed by art. 
 That it may seem the wind's delight 
 To give the embroidered hues to sight ; 
 And when in summer they forsake 
 Their villas by the Lucrine lake. 
 And seek the blue, delicious sky 
 Of Capri or Puteoli, 
 In galleys, golden at the prows. 
 
 On Syrian couches theyrecline^ 190 
 
 The fan of cedar cools their brows,. 
 
 And roses blush round cups of wine. 
 While instruments of silver sound 
 Make glad the waters, dancing round. 
 Discord dethrones, and household wrath. 
 The chaste Penates of the hearths 
 The charities of kindred fly 
 Like old Astrea to the sky. 
 By home-bred faction, slave or son,. 
 Each high-born Lady is undone ; 200 
 
 B a 
 
IQ JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Those whom their pride has piqued, with hate 
 On them have wreaked a harsher fate. 
 And they whom no accusing foe 
 Impleads, have friends to deal the blow* 
 
 -/\ 
 
 VI. 
 
 Some there are yet who wear, unawed. 
 
 Nor slavery's chain, nor murder's sword j- .. - 
 
 Whose hearts, like harps, have brilliant tones^ 
 
 If feeling touch, or valour waken. 
 The sweetnesses an angel owns. 
 
 In life devoted, death unshaken. 210 
 
 But when beneath a despot lord 
 Crime, like a giant walks abroad. 
 Law's fruitless fences trampling down. 
 To seize on Power's unstable crown. 
 The hearts that truth and freedom send — 
 
 Her failing fortress to defend. 
 Strive against fate a little while, ' 
 
 Then sink with a despairing smile. 
 To ruin with the ruined pile 
 
 Whilst Love — the daughter, or the bride, 220 
 
 Who clung in life to Valour's side. 
 
JULU ALPINULA. H 
 
 Survives, as thought and feeling cast ^^ 
 
 Their lovely blossoms on the past, ^ * 
 
 O^er memories of a former day. 
 
 To bleed a broken heart away. 
 
 Like a young vine, whose tendrils lone 
 
 Embrace some heroes funeral stone: 
 
 Fixed in a fatal soil, it pines. 
 
 Even whilst the season sweetest shines i 
 
 In vain the wind, the sun, the dew, 230 
 
 Its weeping beauty would renew j 
 
 Faithful to death, its leaf defiles 
 
 The light of suns, and balm of skies j 
 
 The lively colours are defaced; 
 
 The boughs run verdantly to waste j 
 
 Every day more faint and frail. 
 
 It wears in the caressing gale; 
 
 Hour by hour the wan leaves strewing. 
 
 Hour by hour it hastes to ruin; 
 
 And soon its little life is spent 240 
 
 Upon the warlike monument. 
 
 VII. 
 
 In far Helvetia's mountain land,— 
 Realm of the torrent and the pine,* 
 
12^ JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Aventicum^s proud turrets stand, 
 
 Wliere lake Moratium's waters shine- 
 Ere Ceesar yet had overrun 
 The climes that front the setting sun. 
 In full defiance of his power. 
 This splendid City sent its flower, — 
 A high, severe, heroic race 260^ 
 
 Who scorned their narrow dwelling place,— 
 Their seats in lovelier lands to fix. 
 Beneath the proud Orgetorix; 
 In dazzling arms that braved the sky". 
 Rushed forth her Alpine chivalry. 
 Led onward by the eagle's screams 
 O'er snowy Jura's sky-bom streams. 
 The sullen Arar groaning, roars 
 Tormented by their thousand oars ; 
 But, swiftly-footed as the wind, 260- 
 
 The deadly Roman hung behind. 
 And, leagued with the tempestuous Gaul, 
 Repelled them from Bibracte's \vallv 
 Her bravest slain, her spirit broke. 
 She bowed her proud neck to the yoke: 
 Then Roman rites, and Roman rods. 
 Scourged from their shrines, her Celtic Gods -y 
 New priests were given, new temples rose> 
 Glittering amid her Alpine snows> 
 
JUUA ALPINULA. X^ 
 
 Those virgin snows Diana loved, 270 
 
 The mountain's misty paths she roved^ 
 
 Rousing with her sonorous horn 
 
 The chamois from its couch at mom i 
 
 To her a splendid fane was raised^ 
 
 The altar smoked, the incense blazed. 
 
 And mystic hymns were framed, of skill 
 
 To charm her from the Aventine hill , 
 
 Then rose in light her vexing planet ; 
 
 Then shook the eternal hills of granite j 
 
 The tutelary Goddess came, 280^' 
 
 And gave the town its Roman name. 
 
 VIII, 
 
 Though thus her ancient pride was quelPd, 
 
 Successive Caesars lightly held 
 
 The golden chains she wore, and Time 
 
 Beheld her spirit still sublime 
 
 Amid her mountains, far apart 
 
 From monarchy, she heard the roar 
 Of storms that shook its mighty heart. 
 
 But felt, herself, the shock no more. 
 When steady Galba planned the doom- 290^ 
 
 Of Nero,, bloody wolf of Rome^ 
 
7' " 
 
 14 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 A native .Chief with just applause _ 
 
 Guarded her liberties and laws : 
 
 Julius Alpinus had bewailed 
 
 The sufferings of the state, and hailed 
 
 Galba who hushed its fierce alarms^ j y. : 
 
 With ready faith and open arms. • i sa^ii. 
 
 Freedom, and fire, and sovereignty. 
 
 Were sphered in his majestic eye; i..^^'. 
 
 Simplicity of soul, the thirst 300. 
 
 That fired the early Romans* veins. 
 
 That stir of thousand hearts which burst 
 With passion at the name of chains ; 
 
 PixA the high worth of better days. 
 
 Which wreathes the head with glory's rays. 
 
 But which in times of evil gloom. 
 
 Herald the hero to the tomb. 
 
 One only daughter charmed away 
 
 His cares from anxious day to day ; 
 
 For Julia was his life of life, < 310 
 
 His star of hope in hours of strife. 
 
 His flower of innocence and love. 
 
 That drew the sunsliine down from Jove. > ^ 
 
 Gazing on her, a smile and sigh 
 
 Would strive with him, she knew not why. 
 
 She knew not why — she could not know 
 
 How bitter thoughts on sweet ones grow,/ 
 
JULU ALPINULA. 15 
 
 When in the daughter's face, we kiss u k. 
 
 The mother's charms, those charms which lighted 
 Our young, romantic hearts with bliss. 320 
 
 The long caressed, the quickly blighted j 
 When that dear love of early years 
 Lies low, and cannot heed our tears ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Pure as the morning's virgin dew 
 
 Falling upon the vines of spring. 
 In blest seclusion Julia grew, 
 
 A fairy shape — a spotless thing. 
 Her home she deemed a little heaven ; 
 
 She had heard nought of crime and sorrow. 
 Save in her father's tales at even, 330 
 
 And their remembrance had no morrow. 
 Till thoughts maturer fixed a trace 
 Of pensiveness on her sweet face. 
 And then, as to his neck she clung. 
 With curious, fond, familiar tongue. 
 Much would she question of the scar 
 
 Wliich his sagacious forehead bore. 
 And of the nodding plumes of war. 
 
 And why those nodding plumes he wore. 
 
Ig JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Then wonder at the acts of men, 340 
 
 And pause, and think, and ask again ; 
 
 But infancy flew lightly on. 
 
 And the mind took another tone ; 
 
 Now gaily gathering vernal flowers. 
 
 Now dancing out the summer hours, 
 
 Naw stripping the autumnal vines,, 
 
 And now as winter eve declines,. 
 
 Passing her fairy hand along 
 
 The lyre, or in Virgilian song. 
 
 Chanting the verse, so sweet and clear, 360 
 
 Wliich thrills her father's soul to hear. 
 
 Where Alpine glaciers, rough and rude. 
 
 Hung in an icy solitude 5 
 
 On lonely hills, beneath the frown 
 
 Of pines, that bending o'er the steep. 
 Sent their prophetic murmurs down. 
 
 In inspiration wild and deep j 
 Where some romantic fountain played. 
 
 Or lake spread out its waters blue^ 
 Or valley flowered, or old cascade 36ft 
 
 Dashed down its waters into dew ; 
 Erewhile she loved to rove, and made 
 
 Her soul familiar with the face 
 Sublime of universal Pan ;^ 
 Nor mountain soarM, nor river ran,, 
 
 But iu her pure eye wore the trace 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 17 
 
 Of Godhead, conversant with man. 
 
 In thunder, night, the wind's wild swells. 
 
 She heard mysterious oracles. 
 
 And strained her spirit to the key 370 
 
 Of their unearthly minstrelsy. 
 
 Thus from her infancy, she was 
 
 A pupil in the school of dreams, 
 A gazer in the magic glass, 
 
 Wlierein the curtained future seems 
 A spectacle, and a survey. 
 Half coloured with the hues of day. 
 
 X. 
 
 And she was beautiful ! her face 
 
 Was flushed with an angelic grace ; 
 
 The amorous sun had wooed it too, 380 
 
 And touched it with a richer hue ; 
 
 But those who gazed might well declare 
 
 They could not wish that face more fair. 
 
 Her locks of hyacinthine brown, 
 
 O^er the wliite brow hung loosely doAvn, 
 
 Contrasting in the shades they tlirow. 
 
 With the blue, loving eyes below. 
 
Ig JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 And in those eyes there shone a ray. 
 
 That like a sweet, consuming fire. 
 
 Thrilled every soul with chaste desire, 390 
 
 Yet kept all evil things away. 
 They who but slightly viewed, had said 
 
 Pride was her intimate, for tall 
 She was — and in her lightest tread 
 
 Moved like a princess, but of all 
 That seeming loftiness, the key 
 Was an inborn nobility ; 
 
 The spirit's fire, the crowning charm ^ 
 
 Of a mind exquisitely warm : 
 
 In whose unsullied leaf was wrought 400 
 
 All that was delicate in thought. 
 And beautiful in deed, with these. 
 She sought all living things to please. 
 But most to act a daughter's part 
 Was the Aurora of her heart. 
 
 So grateful for a kindness ! kind i 
 
 Herself in act, and thought, and mind ; 
 Tis true, the assurance was not loud. 
 
 But those who heard might more than guess 
 The resolution deeply vowed ; 410 
 
 Her fine eyes swam with tenderness. 
 And spoke appeal more eloquent 
 Than words can breathe, or fancy paint. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 19 
 
 Their passionate orbs such brilliance haunted. 
 As soothed by turns, by turns enchanted ; 
 They seemed to chain the gazer^s soul 
 
 As if with an electric link. 
 And most he felt their strong controul. 
 
 When most their timid glance would slu'ink. 
 Like sunshine somewhat spent in shade, 420 
 
 The smile upon her features played ; 
 A glory, bursting half from gloom. 
 
 So vividly, and yet so swift. 
 We cannot fix its transient bloom. 
 
 For pleasure's, or for sorrow's gift. 
 But deem it heaven's own Cherubin, 
 Lighting the lamp of soul within. 
 From little less can rise the trance 
 
 Of spirit glowing to embrace 
 Celestial presences, the glance 430 
 
 Which looks abroad through time and space 
 For one to whom the heart's young glow 
 Of early love may overflow ; 
 Such glance as Julia loved to cast. 
 When childhood's rosy hours were past. 
 
20 JULIA ALPINULA 
 
 XL 
 
 Calm flew those pleasant hours along ; 
 
 And when with dance, and festal song. 
 
 She came in meekness to resign 
 
 Youth's girdle at Diana's shrine. 
 
 For woman's high and sacred Zone, 440 
 
 Whose clasp, thenceforth, of whitest pearl. 
 Should temper with reserve, the tone 
 And fearless frankness of the girl. 
 Much she admired her statue, much 
 The stoiie no mortal's hand might touch ; 
 The horns which cast a lunar glow 
 O'er forehead, chaste as driven snow ; 
 The lips which breathed of bashfulness. 
 
 And that full, uninsculptured eye. 
 By Genius' most divine excess, 460 
 
 Fixed in the Vision of Virginity : 
 And though at times her pulse began 
 With new imaginings to stir. 
 As if a flood of music ran 
 Warm through the enthusiast worshipper^ 
 She there remained before the shrine^. 
 To offer to the Power Divine^ 
 
JULIA ALPINULA, 
 
 21 
 
 Tliat vow which placed her foot within 
 
 The ambrosial pale that shuts out sin. 
 
 And gave Diana so to win, 460 
 
 In her, the loveliest votarist 
 
 That e'er her marble image kissed. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The fillets of the Goddess shading 
 Her tresses of the simplest braiding. 
 The chastest dews which fountains yield 
 
 To sprinkle from the silver urn 
 
 tJpon the marble floor, or burn 
 Sweet odours in the fire ; to gild 
 The victim's horns; and decorate 
 
 With branching palm the sacred gate, 470 
 
 Was long her lot ; and voices sent 
 From vaulted roof and firmament. 
 Upon her ear in whispers stealing. 
 The Numen's tutelage revealing. 
 Would seem to say her life should shine 
 Of the dark Sisters' whitest twine. 
 And heaven upon its favourite child. 
 Could smile not more than now it smiled. 
 But strong were her affections, moved 
 At each appeal of those she loved, 480 
 
22 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 And one so fond, and so beguiling. 
 
 Ne'er from an unkind world went smiling. 
 
 'Twas strange ! she was not seen to reap 
 
 The flowers or weeds of those that weep ; 
 
 But they to whom she was most dear. 
 
 Who viewed, when nought of grief was near. 
 
 The gentle gloom which o'er her cheek 
 
 Flew, dimming there its roses meek. 
 
 Who in that voice, which had a tone 
 
 Of mournful music all its own, 490 
 
 Deep, tuneable, and tender, heard 
 
 The chords of passion early stirred. 
 
 And oft-times marked her violet eye 
 
 Bum bright with sensibility, — 
 
 Saw in those workings less the blow 
 
 Of beauty, than the birth of woe. 
 
 They told, I know not what, of years 
 
 Soon darkened by misfortune's tears ; 
 
 Of late remembrance o'er a scene 
 
 Where joy before had often been j 500 
 
 Of cankers when the heart had blown ; 
 
 And of the lovely mind o'erthrown. 
 
 If e^er one jarring discord wrung 
 
 A soul so delicately strung. 
 
 Tis ever so ! affection feeds 
 
 Sometimes on flowers, how oft on weeds ! 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 23 
 
 The luxury of love, or aught 
 
 That opens Paradise on thought : 
 
 Denied, it sickens ; gained with cost, 
 
 Tis gained too late, or briefly lost. 510 
 
 When at life's fount the golden bowl 
 
 Is broken as the waters roll. 
 
 Though bright without it, sunshine flies. 
 
 Within, an awful shadow lies. 
 
 Around, it bears some sculptured name. 
 
 One frenzied word, engraved in flame. 
 
 Whilst the pure springs in freshness bound 
 
 Upon the fragments scattered round. 
 
 Thro' ruin still exists that token, 
 
 Tho' fate the cup has broken, broken ! 520 
 
 XIII. 
 
 It came at last, a fearful time. 
 
 Dark with despair, and mad with crime ; 
 
 A time of terror and of fate 
 
 To free Helvetia's mountain state. 
 
 When grief no private pang could feel. 
 
 In sorrow for the public weal ; 
 
 When the bright past appeared a blot 
 
 Which apathy remembered not ; 
 
24 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 When the wild present was the slave 
 
 Of chance, and tears became the brave ; 630 
 
 And all beyond — a deluge dark. 
 
 But O, without Deucalion's ark ! 
 
 With many an omen, passing faith. 
 
 Rushed in the flood of war and death ; 
 
 Bathed in the sweat of agony 
 Were statues seen, and voices ran 
 
 Shrill through the streets, a hollow cry. 
 Unlike the cry of mortal man. 
 
 Victory her brandished arms let fall. 
 
 At noon in the pale Capitol. 540 
 
 From Juno's shrine rose angry forms. 
 
 Striding the winds, arrayed in storms. 
 
 And vanished with a sound more loud 
 Than thunder in a groaning cloud. 
 
 Night's planet wore the dark eclipse. 
 
 Earth shook its towns j the seas their ships; 
 
 Trees fell from hills, whilst on the wood 
 
 A summer calmness seemed to brood. 
 
 Floods swept the streets by day; at night 
 
 Came startling visions of atFright 560 
 
 To priests in their divining cell, 
 
 Wliich they in terror dared not tell. 
 
 As silent thro' the squares they passed. 
 
 Their eyes upon the pavement cast. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 25 
 
 111 could the anxious people brook 
 The ghastly anguish of their look. 
 All faces gathered paleness : Rome 
 Seemed compassed by the day of doom,'^ 
 Since on the foreheads of the just 
 Sate mortal sadness and mistrust, 560 
 
 The oracles no more dissembled. 
 The Priestess on her tripod trembled. 
 Fatal night, and angry morning. 
 She chanted forth her wild forewarning. 
 Evil dreamt and treason dawning ; 
 Beckoning shapes that led to ruin. 
 Armed hand the head pursuing. 
 Deeds, of which there's no undoing. 
 And the red waves of Phlegethon 
 In fire for ever rolling on. 570 
 
 At length when every eye was bent 
 To vision forth the dark event. 
 The awful secret of the fates 
 Burst from their adamantine gates. 
 The bloody dagger struck too well. 
 And Otho rose as Galba fell.^ 
 But long before this deed of fear 
 Could reach the far Helvetian's ear. 
 The sullen legions of the West, 
 
 Had reared the banner and the crest, 580 
 
 c 
 
26 JtJLlA ALPINULA. 
 
 And taught their Eagles to take wing 
 
 Before a Camp-elected King. 
 
 To the first ranks Cecina sprung. 
 
 Savage, though brave j though ruthless, young ; 
 
 Found false by Galba, he had long 
 
 His own abasement deemed a wrong. 
 
 And now beheld in civil change 
 
 A fit arena for revenge. ^' ^f<> 
 
 For this, that murdered Princess fall 
 
 His subtle mind concealed from all ; 590 
 
 Thus he made ignorance their guilt. 
 
 And vengeance soothed by anguish spilt. 
 
 The strength of legions at command. 
 
 And Battlers clarion in his hand. 
 
 His foot on Gaul — ^his lowering eye 
 
 Turned towards sunbright Italy, 
 
 The snows on Jura's soaring crest. 
 
 His terrible regards arrest. 
 
 His busy Demon whispered there 
 
 A glorious victim for his snare ; 600 
 
 He heard, and forward as he flew. 
 
 The loud, rebelling trumpet blew. 
 
 Its barbarous clangor seemed to call 
 
 Bellona from her Thracian hall. 
 
 And rouse Helvetia to the fears — 
 
 The pangs of long forgotten years. 
 
JULIA ALPlNULAo 27 
 
 Young Julia, as the clarion spoke. 
 
 From all her dreams of joy awoke, '^ 
 
 To trace through anguish and alarm, 
 
 A father^s sword — apatriot^s arm. 610 
 
 XIV. 
 
 To him when first the message came, 
 '^ Cecina wraps our roofs in flame ;*' 
 The hearths blood in its deep abode. 
 In boiling eddy ebbed and flowed. 
 But when that ecstacy abates. 
 He calls the Synod of the States ; 
 Thermopylae's sepulchred Greeks 
 Are with his spirit as he speaks. 
 ^^ Princedoms and powers ! from ruined domes. 
 The wind bears ashes to our homes ; 620 
 
 An Anarch comes with fire and sword. 
 By right unchecked, by guilt unawed. 
 And we, his haughty yoke beneath. 
 Must thank him for the bliss to breathe. 
 Not calmly thus in tower and town 
 With ^vrongs your fathers settled down ; 
 They had a blade — once bared, aside 
 Tlie sheath was cast in Arar^s tide. 
 
 c 2 
 
28 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 From this first deed of lawless power, 
 
 I see descend a darker hour : 630 
 
 ^^ The scenes which marked in Gaul his track 
 
 Of cities razed, of valleys black, 
 
 To our dear hills he will transfer — 
 
 Fortress no more, but sepulchre ? 
 
 But if to us high heaven designs 
 
 The fall of towers, and blight of vines. 
 
 These are but wasted, those overthrown. 
 
 When what we dare to do is done ; 
 
 And if we leave the deed unwrought. 
 
 We perish ; not as freemen ought, 640 
 
 In glorious token of the vow 
 
 We took to Galba e^en but now. 
 
 Of policy I will not talk. 
 
 The hollow statesman's crooked walk ; 
 
 But yet, methinks, an emperor crowned 
 
 In Empire's heart, on Glory's ground. 
 
 Is nobler lord than they who clasp 
 
 Our country's treasure in their grasp : ^ 
 
 Spirits tempestuous, fierce, and wild. 
 
 From every brighter hope exiled ; 650 
 
 ^Vho, nourished in intestine strife. 
 
 Bear treason'^ flag, and murder's knife. 
 
 But I, whate'er may be your lot. 
 
 In chains will never, never rot, 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 29 
 
 Nor sink in shame : a noble mass 
 
 Will pour through every Alpine pass 
 
 If but one hero slip the word ; 
 
 There^s brightness on my single sword. 
 
 To keep its keen edge free from rust. 
 
 And light our Fathers from the dust/^ 660 
 
 XV. 
 
 Slowly the voice of freedom rolls 
 
 To quicken life in vulgar souls ; 
 
 The Chief may lead to glory's brink. 
 
 The feeble turn — the timid shrink,— 
 
 And if he dares the leap, and dies. 
 
 The crowd but point to where he lies. 
 
 And to their wondering children tell 
 
 How freedom's martyr did, and fell- 
 
 Alpinus' speech the rest received 
 
 In dumb despair j they heard, and grieved : 670 
 
 The foe was long inured to dare 
 
 The fiercest accidents of war. 
 
 But when, vdth all a patriot's pride. 
 
 He told of them, the glorified. 
 
 In each grey forest, cave and hill. 
 
 By prince and peasant worshipped still. 
 
30 JULIA ALPINULA- 
 
 A sullen hum like waves that roar 
 
 Afar, ere yet they break ashore. 
 
 From lip to lip crept murmuring on. 
 
 In the choaked whirlwind^s under-tone, 680 
 
 Till one loud shout of rapture fills 
 
 The hall, and rolls along their hills. 
 
 Many, to whom the chief was dear. 
 
 Made vow and promise all sincere j 
 
 And some there were, whose envy paid 
 
 Dissembled praises long delayed. 
 
 These were most courtly of the crowd. 
 
 Their praise was long, their flattery loud. 
 
 They gave assurance to his fame. 
 
 In public, smiles ; in private, blame ; 690 
 
 ^^ His was too stoical a brow, 
 
 '' He could not bend, he would not bow." 
 
 They masked beneath the patriot^s name. 
 
 Their hollow faith, and secret aim. 
 
 Till S^verus was given to lead 
 
 The battlers ranks to danger's deed** 
 
 * Tacitus. Hist. Lib 1. cap. 68. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA 31 
 
 XVL 
 
 Like wings through towered Aventicum 
 
 It flies, and all the slumbrous hum 
 
 And idleness of noon, which late ' 
 
 Reigned wide from city gate to gate, 700 
 
 Is changed at once to deep debate j 
 
 To tumult, fierceness, and that strife. 
 
 Whose action is the scorn of life. 
 
 The peasant leaves his steers afield. 
 
 To burnish up the spear and shield ; 
 
 The warrior leads his horse from staU, 
 
 To see how well his fiery hoof 
 The prance of battle can recal. 
 
 In proud expectance of its proof ; 
 The reveller, since the shout is up, 710 
 
 Scorns the loose dalliance of the cup. 
 And, trampling on that rose, HVhose blooni' ' ' ' ^'" ' 
 Furnished his garland — takes the plume. 
 And from the armoury demands 
 A worthier weapon for his hands ; 
 And as the brazen trumpet flings 
 Bright images of future things. 
 
32 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Groves tremble, temples shake aroimd. 
 
 And vacant theatres resound. 
 
 The hum the shout that echoing grew, 720 
 
 Till shore and sky seemed shouting too, — 
 
 The stir of crowds — the beating breath 
 
 Which dark communion claims with death, — 
 
 The change of mighty passions, driven 
 
 By freedom's moon, though dark in heaven, 
 
 Hope, anger, hatred, pride, despair. 
 
 Like billows are conflicting there. 
 
 And tell of nerves and sinnews, screwM 
 
 To every torture of the feud. 
 
 With all Alpinus mixed, — the soul, 730 
 
 The' informing spark which warmed the whole j 
 
 His glance looked lightning, and the throng 
 
 Grew silent as he passed along ; 
 
 The brave as near the patriot came. 
 
 Caught a new ardour from his flame j 
 
 The wondering coward lost his stare. 
 
 Felt not the bristling of his hair. 
 
 And watched not now, with wavering mind. 
 
 The shadow which he cast behind. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 33 
 
 XVIL 
 
 The fiery sun has given at last 740 
 
 His unit to the periods past. 
 
 His glorious orb, beyond the hill 
 
 Of far, blue pines, grew dark, but still 
 
 On the lake's bosom, wave on wave 
 
 Seemed rubies in the light it gave.^ 
 
 Long might you view its rays escape 
 
 The veil descending twilight drew ; 
 
 Long from the heaven's red curtains flew 
 A colour, making bright the shape. 
 And attitude of things ; the grape, 750 
 
 Hanging in delicate festoons 
 Round Western windows of saloons. 
 Looked gem-like, fit to blush or bum 
 In Bacchus' bowl or Hebe's um. 
 But now, O, now I no warrior^s soul 
 May melt that pearl in Beauty's bowl. 
 And laurels, not the ivy now 
 Be snatched to wreathe Alpinus' brow. 
 He marked eve's latest radiant streak 
 Suburban wall and Alpine peak ; 760 
 
 c 3 
 
34 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 He marked with sighs the creeping shade 
 
 From structure on to structure stealing ; 
 But this might be for night delayed. 
 
 Or from that deep and tenderer feeling 
 Which Wisdom to her prophet yields. 
 Who takes her book, and breaks its seals : 
 The thought, how soon may thousands reap 
 The soundness of a soldier^s sleep. 
 And life to them be like the ray 
 He mourned, — a sunbeam passed away, 77 
 
 A glory gathered in decay, — 
 A yesterday without a morrow,— 
 A night that knows no mom of sorrow. 
 Save in some young survivor^s brain 
 Who never more shall smile again. 
 He starts — why should a warrior start ? 
 ^Tis Nature in a father's heart. 
 He saw far off the sacred pine. 
 
 Which, watered by his Julians hands 
 Would grow though sun^s refused to shine,— 780 
 
 There— dark and statue-like it stands. 
 The loveliest tree in all his bowers. 
 Admired by him in calmer hours ; 
 But now he can not, can not brook 
 Thereto to turn, thereon to look. 
 
JULIA ALPIWILAi 3^; 
 
 It spoke of all that*s blest and pure ; 
 
 Of happiness that fcannpt; last ; , 
 Of hope, but hope may not endure ; ??«{]*- 
 
 And peaee, but peace itself is past. . , r . 
 It spoke of a deserted claim, 790 
 
 It seemed to whisper Julians name. . r 
 And must he leave that floor^ where first 
 Her footsteps ran, her charms were nursed ? 
 Leave the sweet tendril which entwined 
 With each emotion of his miad ? 
 How could he see his daughter's face. 
 
 How meet her mournful, mute appeal. 
 And in her long and last embrace. 
 And in her voiceless anguish^ trace 
 
 All that himself must shortly feel, 800 
 
 And in her desolate farewell 
 See the despair she \vill not tell. 
 Oh why should hearts no fears can shake. 
 With softer feelings bend or break ! 
 He wanders wide, — ^he lingers late. 
 
 Pausing, he treads the longest way. 
 
 Then, all impatient of delay. 
 With swift stride intercepts his fate j 
 He stands withiQ the Ionic gate— 
 The ffate — ^the marble hall — alas, 810 
 
 That e^er that hall he must repass ! 
 
36 \ JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 — She sate, her pale cheek on her hand ; 
 Each drooping eyelash wet with grieving ; 
 
 She heard his step — she saw him stand — 
 Nor could resolve her mind's misgiving ; 
 As wilder grew her bosom^s heaving. 
 
 She raised her blue eye from the floor,— 
 In him there was tio sign of strife. 
 And steadfastly her glance he bore : 
 That stoical resolve could tell 820 
 
 To her the dreaded truth too well j 
 She did not rise — she did not speak 
 She uttered voice, nor groan, nor shriek. 
 But low in virgin meekneis bowed. 
 And Nature^s daughter wiept aloud ! 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 Morn on the mountains ! O, how sweet 
 
 To catch the first, romantic flow 
 Of rays that, beautiful and fleet. 
 
 Come down to light this world of woe ! 
 When the mom's whitest, earliest flush 830 
 
 Flew from the morrow^s gates of pearl, 
 Rose Julia ; if she saw the blush 
 
 Of skies, and heard the cataract hurl 
 
JULU ALPINULA 37 
 
 Its clear, glad waves down vallies nigh. 
 
 It was with sorrow's ear and eye j 
 
 That deep misanthrophy of will. 
 
 Serene, but gloomy; stem, though still j 
 
 Which recks not of sweet sound or sight. 
 
 But turns to darkness all delight. 
 
 A melancholy figure came 840 
 
 To her high couch as still she slept. 
 It bore a maiden's faded frame. 
 
 It bore the face of one who wept- 
 By the dim crescent on her crown. 
 Loose, glistening hair, and purple gown. 
 The bow and sandals dripping dew. 
 Her Goddess of the Shades she knew; 
 Who stood her midnight bed before 
 With finger beckoning evermore ; 
 Thrice sighed; presaged a deed of dread; 850 
 
 Then fast, with face averted, fled. 
 Julia awoke: a darkening veil 
 That instant neared her planet pale; 
 The next, that orb io beautiful. 
 Was billowy vapour, grey and dull. 
 And well from that transfiguring sign 
 Could she her future doom divine. 
 But heavenly spirits never slight 1 
 
 Devoted prayer and pious rite. 
 
38 
 
 JULU ALPINULA- 
 
 Nor failed her duteous feet to tread 
 The temple of the Triune maid. 
 With orison and holy hymn. 
 Whilst mom on Jura yet was dim. 
 
 860. 
 
 .•i^ 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The timbrels ring; the doors, unfolding 
 
 In music on the silver hinge, 
 Alpinus comes, not now beholding^ - 
 
 Wrapt in a robe of sablest tinge. 
 Those sculptured walls where Niobe 
 In marble mourns her guilt away. 
 From her lost fate he could not borrow 
 One deeper sentiment of sorrow. 
 He comes with wisely-guarded lips, 'n| 
 Lest inauspicious words eclipse 
 The brightness of the fires divine. 
 Thus onward to the holy shrine. 
 Where, in her robes pontifical. 
 Loose locks — a purple flower in all, : 
 And silver censer in her hands, . , 
 Serene the priestess-daughter stands. 
 Now thrice to east, to west she turns. 
 Then bids her handmaids bring the urns. 
 
 ^1 
 
 !*} mh oili yd 
 
 870 
 
 rf 
 
 880 
 
 )0/uU 
 
'W i. "Xl 
 
 JULU ALPINULA. 39 
 
 Ten virgins, the lit slirine around. 
 
 Move, without shadow, without sound. 
 
 Some sprinkle coldest dews abroad; 
 
 One brings the sacrificial sword. 
 
 And in Aventia's guardian name 
 
 Strews salt and incense on the flame. 
 
 Pity and awe all hearts pervade. 
 
 As, kneeling low, the holy maid. 
 
 Her white arms on her heaving breast, 890 
 
 The pure Divinity addressed. 
 
 1: 
 
 Virgin fair ! 
 
 Who under piny shadows rovest. 
 Hearing the tasseled horn in caVes unlock 
 
 The sprightly echo which thou lovestj— 
 If in happy childhood ere 
 I made my haunts the sunless rock. 
 Playing with the springs which well. 
 Whispering forth thine oracle j 
 
 By my dedicated zone. 900 
 
 And a mother^s love imknown; 
 By each vow that did transfer 
 That dear name to thee from herj 
 
40 JUUA ALPINULA- 
 
 By thine own Latona^s love. 
 Listen, Goddess of the grove! 
 
 2- 
 
 Holy Queen ! 
 
 Gladdener of heaven, and earth, and ocean. 
 Whose unveiled face the Egyptian nightly eyes. 
 
 And Syrian, fixt in deep devotion. 
 On his palmy hills serene, 910 
 
 Isis, or Astarte, rise ! 
 By thy sceptre, bow, and flames , 
 Hecate of a hundred names ! 
 Or what other name soever 
 Best may suit thy samtly ear; 
 Thou in whose immortal quest 
 Purest hearts look loveliest; 
 Virgin! to a virgin's cry. 
 Listen, Lady of the sky I 
 
 3. 
 
 Sister twin! ^^0 
 
 Reflex of the God of glory, 
 Whose shield is safety, and whose lyre is life. 
 
 Sounding heroes deeds in story. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 4] 
 
 Lo, thy sanctuary within, ^ 
 
 A father arming for the strife ! v 
 
 Let thine accents blandishing. 
 
 Lady, rule the Lycian string; 
 
 Let round him, in battle's hour, 
 
 Egis blaze, and arrows pourl 
 
 So may fires eternal shine 930 
 
 Round thy consecrated shrine j 
 
 Duly every night and mom. 
 
 Dulcet honey dew thy horn : 
 
 Sacred Sister of the brave! 
 
 In heaven or hell, by grove or wave. 
 
 Virgin Goddess I hear and save. 
 
 XX. 
 
 A beam of glory as she rose. 
 
 Bright as the sunrise upon snows, 
 
 Was seen to light her iris first. 
 
 Then round her lips in brilliance burst. 940 
 
 Near to the altar's fire she drew. 
 
 And in her sweetest incense threw. 
 
 The precious offering slumbered not. 
 
 But in an odorous column shot 
 
 To the high dome aloft, and thence 
 
 Returned in clouds of redolence. 
 
42 JULIA ALPINULA- 
 
 Shook the lit statue ; and a blaze 
 
 Which even celestial eyes might daze. 
 
 In starry coronal adorns 
 
 The awful head, and lunar horns. 950 
 
 One moment burned the unruflBied light, — 
 
 Wavered — and all again vras night. 
 
 With chanted hymn the sacred hind. 
 
 Stainless as snow, and fleet as wind. 
 
 From dallying with the flowers that bound. 
 
 Chain-like, her beauteous frontal round. 
 
 Led to the altar, strives to fly : 
 
 And fills the temple with her cry. 
 
 And as the appointed virgin brings 
 
 The silver sword, aloft was heard 960 
 
 The clangour of resounding wings. 
 
 And lo! v^dthin, the Thunderer's bird 
 Shot, and his broad brown pmions spread 
 Darkly around the victim^s headj io uihja j 
 
 Then, as the crashing ram breaks down ?-; 5>{ft •fr, ;■ 
 The walls of a beleaguered town,^. j^ui ^i-. ' 
 Buried in brains the enormous beak ;r. ; ■ 
 
 Oh! it was terrible to hear 
 The tortured animaPs strong shriek 
 
 Of passion, agony, and feai*^hi:> 970 
 
 Becoming momently more weak.— nuho ai^ u 
 
JULJA ALPINULA. 43 
 
 It strove, but vainly strove, to free 
 Its eyes from the bewildering wing ; 
 
 A struggle yet — it may not be ! 
 It lies a lifeless, bloody thing. 
 And the fierce bird abroad has fled. 
 With eye more wild, and talons red. 
 All stood astonished and aghast! 
 But when its evil plumes were passed. 
 There stole along the pillared fane 980 
 
 An unimaginable stram : 
 At once so musical and holy. 
 So sweet, so sad, so melancholy. 
 The fatal paean touched and stirred 
 To instant sorrow all who heard; 
 That none, when hushed its dirge of grief, 
 But felt in silence some relief 3 
 Yet, though the sound was fraught with pain. 
 Wished for its ravishing voice again. 
 At that prophetic sound and sign, 990 
 
 Fear shook the Priestess of the shrine : 
 She knew the God who rules the sky 
 Had given the fateful bird to fly ; 
 And, with her waving arm forbade. •»?$ f> 
 Renewal of the rites delayed. 
 To the wail of flutes vrith mourning hearts. 
 The long procegsional departs. 
 
44 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Alone, and with a warrior^s pride, 
 
 Alpinus stands by Julia's side. 
 
 Each ornament of sacrifice 1000 
 
 From her disrobed, before her lies : 
 
 When next her lips essayed to speak. 
 
 The voice was tremulous and weak. 
 
 XXL 
 
 '' Oh yet, my father! for thy life 
 
 The coming storm of battle shun. 
 Thou seest that Jove forbids the strife. 
 
 Nor Dian, nor Latona's son. 
 Whatever their favouring power, can move 
 The fixt allmightiness of Jove. 
 Too well I know the blood that runs 
 
 Through thy dear veins but ill can brook 
 A scorn upon our warrior sons : — 
 
 Nay, spare the lightning of thy look. 
 Nor early let thy spirit see 
 The drooping thing I soon shall be ! 
 Sad though the accents of my tongue, 
 I would not do thy glory v^rong. 
 But who that saw such omens rise 
 From the clear depth of shrines and skies. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 43 
 
 E^er shunned the slighted sign and lives, 1020 
 
 Though blest with all that valour gives. 
 To me is given the fearful skill. 
 
 In planetary hours like this. 
 To read in light the secret will 
 
 Of destiny — Oh, spare me this ! 
 For sable are the shapes I see. 
 
 And hurried are the shrieks I hear; 
 And those that charge, and those that flee. 
 
 And those that frown, and those that fear. 
 
 Are gathered, gathered, gathered near. 
 For shivered upon every hill. 
 
 The heroes weapons shall be spread. 
 And loud cascade and gushing rill 
 
 Shall long roll down our darkened dead. 
 As Jura's clouds nor pause nor flag. 
 But sweep alike o'er vale and crag; 
 As from his snows of thousand ages. 
 The loud, blue Rhenus bursts and rages ; 
 A chieftain comes, who overwhelms 
 The strengh of Capitols and realms. 1040 
 
 By the wild waterfe of this eye. 
 
 Which ne'er before has wept to any. 
 Oh, meet not thou his battle cry ! 
 
 Brave not his bands, for they are many. 
 My bliss has ever been thy care. 
 When wert thou deaf to Julia's prayer! 
 
46 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Upon thy knees, thy neck I hang. 
 No mother lives to share my pang. 
 Why is thy brow so sternly bent? 
 Relent, my father, yet relent ! 
 Speak — but one word in tenderness. 
 
 Speak — in thy fond, indulgent tone ; 
 When I am quite companionless. 
 
 Oh, all alone 1 Oh, all alone! 
 When Thou, my sire, liest cold and low. 
 
 No clarion then to break thy sleep. 
 And when the fierce, insulting foe. 
 Passing, points at me as I weep. 
 And cries, ^^this is the warrior's daughter 
 ^^ ^Vho led his country's sons to slaughter,'' 1060 
 
 Oh ! whither then shall Julia rush. 
 To hide the burning tears that gush ! 
 The flowers — the mountams — wood, and wave. 
 
 Thy loved remembrance will recal : 
 I shall but ripen for the grave. 
 
 Thus lonely, scorned, abandoned all! 
 I never could survive to burn 
 Thy ashes for the silent urn. 
 And shrunk to that dark atom, see 
 My hope, my love, my life in thee : — 
 No! no ! I fear, I feel, that first 
 This frame will melt, this heart will burst !*^ 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 47 
 
 Large, brilliant tears her voice impeded. 
 More strongly, tenderly, they pleaded. 
 That sight Alpinus could not brook j 
 He lost the firmness of his lookj 
 And all to tenderness resigned. 
 Shook like a reed before the wind : 
 Groaning, he held his robe to hide 
 
 The gathering anguish as it grew, 1080 
 
 '^ My dear, dear child! though all beside 
 
 Forsake thee, and thy father too, — 
 Thy prayers, thy piety, thy love 
 Will call a saviour from above 
 To guard thy sire, to calm thy fears ; 
 Weep not! I cannot bear thy tears. 
 Our country! in that sacred word 
 A thousand oracles are heard 5 
 Hers — I am hers — but still to thee 
 All that her son should dare to be.'' ( 
 
 Low at the altar, faint and pale 
 As she, whose senses flit or fail. 
 He knelt : '^ this maid in life and death 
 ^^ To thee, Diana, I bequeath:'^ 
 In all the martyrdom of woe 
 He gained the dreaded portico ; 
 Thence flung, with feeling overwrought. 
 One look — of love surpassing thought : 
 
48 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 She smiled — that dreadful smile had more 
 
 Of bitterness than all before. 1 100 
 
 XXII. 
 
 When by some loved one left, we brood 
 
 In sorrow^s peopled solitude. 
 
 On every dear, remembered token. 
 
 The tear last shed, the word last spoken; 
 
 When turning to the far off clime 
 
 He roves, we feel a mood sublime. 
 
 Still, meditative tender, deep. 
 
 Too sad to smile, too blest to weep. 
 
 Passive the intellectual Mind 
 
 As an Eolian harp, inclined 
 
 To be in glorious music kissed 
 
 By heaven's free breezes as they list, — 
 
 Awful as angels from their homes 
 
 The spirit of the Absent comes. 
 
 Bringing its temper and its tone 
 
 To touch, to soothe, or shade our own. 
 
 If gladness warms, we feel the glow ; 
 
 If anguish strikes, we share the blow; 
 
 Should terror reign, or danger lower. 
 
 The dark dominion has its hour. 1 120 
 
JULIA ALPINULA, 49 
 
 We know not why, but yet we grieve, 
 
 It is not fancy's dream we weave. 
 
 For we would willingly forego 
 
 That prescient sense of coming woe. 
 
 That night-mare of a mind awake 
 
 Which aches, and cannot cease to ache. 
 
 Ah no ! we feel 'tis truth that rolls 
 
 Those prophet-shadows o'er our souls; 
 
 And soon, too soon ! does Time unveil 
 
 The fatal proof that turns us pale. 
 
 'Tis the quick sympathy which binds. 
 
 Congenial hearts, commingling minds ; 
 
 Love's second-sight, unsealed to such 
 
 As feel his immaterial touch j 
 
 Link of the chain which shall unite 
 
 The souls of all whose Love is Light, 
 
 When purified by every tear 
 
 Which washed the stains that dimmed us here. 
 
 We speak, we commune, we embrace. 
 
 Not needing sound, unchecked by space. 1 140 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Such prescience of misfortune fell 
 On Julia in her temple cell. 
 
 D 
 
50 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 In every tear, in every sigh. 
 
 She knew the hour of trial nigh. 
 
 Feared, wavered, trembled, hoped, but still 
 
 Terror rose potent over will. 
 
 And hope grew like that burning streak. 
 
 The death-spot on Consumption's cheek ; 
 
 Till certainty of woe delayed 
 
 Threw o'er her heart its icy shade. 
 
 And on her face the marble air 
 
 Of mute, but palpable despair. 
 
 Calm of more terrible potent 
 
 Than Frenzy's loud abandonment. 
 
 The one is as a stomi from heaven 
 
 O'er lake Moratium's waves and pines. 
 When once with them the gust has striven. 
 
 It sinks — the lake in silver shines. 
 And heaven again on wave and grove 
 Looks forth in gentleness and love : 1160 
 
 But that is like the Asphaltine lake, 
 
 The slumber of vhose waveless glass 
 No storm can move, no thunder shake. 
 
 It lies a deep, unsparkling mass. 
 In its eternity of rest. 
 Dark, cheerless, barren, and unblest. 
 Yes ! though a little longer spared 
 The stroke which Destiny prepared. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Yes ! though uncertain of the blow 
 Which wrought her country^s overthrow, 
 Thy heights, Vocetius, witness bore 
 The blow was struck, the struggle o^er.* 
 Upon that mountain's mossy head, 
 A tragic spectacle was spread; 
 In front by stem Cecina pressed. 
 
 The Rhetian phalanx in their rear. 
 They struck, they fell, and many a breast 
 
 Resigned its high ambition here- 
 
 51 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The thunder has its lull from riot. 
 
 The morning storm its evening quiet; 1 180 
 
 The raving and rebellious Ocean, 
 
 Its crystal calm, its rest from motion ; 
 
 The avalanche its silence, when 
 
 That thundering ball has rocked the glen;^ 
 
 The purple Simoom its light tread 
 
 When prostrate Caravans lie dead; 
 
 The earthquake its still under-tone. 
 
 Its whisper of the murders done. 
 
 * Tacitus. Hist. Lib 1 . c. 68. 
 D 2 
 
52 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 And battle — which in the wide fall 
 
 Of nations blends the rage of all. 
 
 Its hush of passions, and the sleep 
 
 Of energies once strong and deep. 
 
 The earthquake-shout which shook yon hill 
 
 Of pines, is over ; all is still ; 
 
 Save the cry of the shrill gale. 
 
 Sad as a shrieking spirit's wail ; 
 
 Save the wild birds' flapping wings. 
 
 Now fluttering over lifeless things ; 
 
 Save the lone gush of mountain springs ; 
 
 And clamour of cascades that leap 1200 
 
 Stainless from their aerial steep. 
 
 But rolling redly from the plain 
 
 Where lie the Proud and Mighty slain: 
 
 Rigid and nerveless every hand. 
 
 That grasped the battle-axe and brand ; 
 
 Pallid each brow; each glazed eye set. 
 
 But scowling fierce defiance yet; 
 
 The fiery heart of former years. 
 
 With all its wishes, hopes, and fears. 
 
 Its pride — ^its pain — its might — its mirth — 
 
 A pulseless ball of wasting earth; 
 
 The plume and scarf by Beauty woven. 
 
 Daggled in blood; the helmet cloven; 
 
 The pennons proud, of yesterday 
 
 Borne by the gallant and the gay, 
 
JULIA ALPINULA^ 53 
 
 In life's last agony resigned. 
 
 Forlornly waving in the wind. — 
 
 Another's harp may bear away 
 
 The blazon of that fierce affray. 
 
 But, Freedom! I will never show 1220 
 
 Thy dread anatomy of woe- 
 
 XXV. 
 
 O War ! thou miscreating curse ! 
 Dark Juggler of the universe ! 
 How hast thou marred this glorious globe ! 
 Throwing round thee thy scarlet robe. 
 And masking with the rainbow's blaze 
 Of gemlike beauty thy fierce face j 
 Thou hast deceived from Time's first ages. 
 Its mighty Captains, lords, and sages. 
 Till they and the strong multitude 
 Thy mad, remorseless smiles have wooed ; 
 And, drunk with thy bewildering song 
 From horn, or harp, or cymbalon. 
 Done deeds which might the lion shame. 
 And make the nations pale to name. 
 For Priests, their mitres are thy mirth. 
 Thy panders are the kings of earth : 
 
54 JULIA ALPINULil* 
 
 From their high Pagods dost thou come 
 
 Charioted, with the hideous hum 
 
 Of thousands, who, where'er it reels, 1240 
 
 Perish beneath thy waggon wheels : 
 
 When given the groaning death they ask. 
 
 Thy visage thou dost then unmask. 
 
 Like the Veiled Fiend of Khorrassan, 
 
 And on thy wolfish brow we scan 
 
 Tlie thunder-graven mark of Cain, 
 
 Heaven^s warning impress, stamped in vainj 
 
 Eyeballs that act the Gorgon^s part, 
 
 A liydra^s head, a viper^s heart. 
 
 The penal fire around whose core. 
 
 Shall redly bum for evermore! 
 
 XXVL 
 
 Heaven^s angry Angel pour Mrrath on thee. War ! 
 Ambition and Cruelty harness thy car^ 
 And Ruin, and Rapine, and fell Decay> 
 Herald thee on thy blighting way. 
 Thou cancellest Treaty at thy nod. 
 Crumbiest the robes of the Priest God; 
 On the palace of kings and the peasant^s cot 
 Thou tumest thy visage and they are not ; 
 
JtJLlA ALPINULA. 55 
 
 Where tliy hurricane hurtles, a capitol butns, 1260 
 
 And infancy^s ashes fill innocent urns. 
 
 Wrath on thee. War! thou hast given to the tomb 
 
 Tens of thousands to dread the day of doom; 
 
 Thou hast fixed on the age that is rolling by. 
 
 The terrible charm of the rattle-snake^ s eyej 
 
 They have come to thy altar with fire and spell 
 
 To people the chambers of death and helL 
 
 Yet royalty smiles, and yet Beauty vows. 
 
 They cro^vn thee with laurel and myrtle-boughs j 
 
 And minstrels throng to their hallowed spring, 
 
 Thy sanctioned homicides to sing ; 
 
 Dealing to nations a frenzied fire. 
 
 Sorrow to mercy, and shame to the lyre! 
 
 XXVIL 
 
 Princess of mountain, flood, and fell! 
 
 Helvetia! to thy crown— farewell! 
 
 Weep! for thy patriots hopes are o^er; 
 
 Weep! for thy freedom is no more 3 
 
 For those who live, and those who sleep 
 
 In death^s cold chains of bondage, weep! 
 
 *Tis mom! (how can the mom look gay 1280 
 
 On the lost field of yesterday ?) 
 
56 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 The clouds which form the sun^s pavilion. 
 
 Are 1 oiled in beautiful vermilion. 
 
 Nor one faint shape of sadness wear. 
 
 For all the thousands bleeding there. 
 
 The ibex comes as it was wont 
 
 At sunrise to the crystal font. 
 
 But starts with trembling foot aside 
 
 In horror of the waters dyed. 
 
 No human voice or footstep fills 
 
 The echo of the lonely hills ; 
 
 Nor in the valley's depths, below. 
 
 Is soimd or sight of living foe ; 
 
 But from deep woods the shepherd's eye 
 
 Sees the grey smoke curl loftily. 
 
 And there deserted hearths are mute 
 
 To all but the invader's foot : 
 
 Their household flames which used to shine * 
 
 Brightly upon bright faces, now 
 But light the torch that fires the vine, 1300 
 
 And the loved cottage-roof below. 
 With weeping, and the voice of wail. 
 The peasants leave their native vale. 
 And joining those who yet survive 
 The battle, but have ceased to strive. 
 And bearing forward those who lie 
 Weary and wounded down to die^ 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 57 
 
 Retreat upon the capitol. 
 
 And tell the fatal truth to all. 
 
 By every fierce emotion tossed. 
 
 Their brave hemmed in, abandoned, lost. 
 
 We may forgive if the sad City 
 
 Then sent to move a victor's pity. 
 
 On whom the passions of the camp 
 
 Have fixed Misrule's licentious stamp. 
 
 Whilst many a mother, many a son. 
 
 Widowed or orphaned, all undone. 
 
 Hot tears in gloomy anguish shed. 
 
 Whilst each one shook with grief or dread. 
 
 What pangs of terror and despair, 1320 
 
 Had Dian's holy maid to bear ? 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 That cruel question ask not now. 
 
 But gaze on the faint form reclining 
 Within yon pillared portico. 
 
 Desponding, pale, but unrepining. 
 The virgins round are all in tears. 
 
 And some in loud lament ; but she- 
 Alas ! the keenness of her fears 
 
 Stifles those drops of agony, 
 
 D 3 
 
58 JULU ALPINULA. 
 
 Leaving alone the sense of pain 
 
 Busy about her heart and brain. 
 
 Her mien, though marked by grief intense. 
 
 Betrays no hurried negligence j 
 
 The tangles of her auburn hair 
 
 Are braided with accustomed care j 
 
 And tasters pure fingers have impresrt 
 
 The foldings of her mourning vest ; 
 
 But yet her eye has lost a glow 
 
 Of that sweet fire which gladdened say 
 
 And each long lash which shades the eye 1340 
 
 Falls as a black pall awfully. 
 
 To shut out sunshine from the temple 
 
 "WTiere joy exists not ; her lips tremble 
 
 As if in agonies and fears 
 
 With what in her deep soul she hears. 
 
 Ye guardian Gods ! her father doomed ! 
 
 It was as though a trumpet sounded 
 
 Through the young heart reflection wounded. 
 For quickly then she reassumed 
 
 Her purpose, to aflfection sweet> 
 Too sweet for even dread to shun. 
 
 But all too venturous, all unmeet 
 For her. She, pale afflicted one ! 
 Her veil smoothed from the ruffling wind. 
 The scattered ringlets thrown behind^ 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 59 
 
 By those, lier weeping sisters, tended. 
 
 The templets marble steps descended. 
 
 She passes, in the public path. 
 
 The Circus and columnar bath ; 
 
 The legendary Pillar, grey * 1360 
 
 With growing mosses of decay ; 
 
 The Amphitheatre, the mount 
 
 Of pines above the Claudian fount, 
 
 Then treads the long Moratian way. 
 
 The awed spectators melt, and bless 
 
 Her filial love her loveliness ; 
 
 Each had some grief and the kind tone 
 
 Which pitied hers, relieved Ids own* 
 
 The sullen warrior turned aside. 
 
 The woman in liis eyes to hide ; 
 
 The infant smiled through first alarms. 
 
 And stretched to her its little arms ; 
 
 And beauty sighed as she passed by. 
 
 And felt a charm in every sigh. 
 
 XXIX- 
 
 The armed Imp^rator of Gaul 
 Sate lordly in the judgment hall. 
 Guarded by lictor, axe, and spear. 
 The glorious criminal was near. 
 
60 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Around the crowd, who came to see 
 
 Their conqueror cursed, or chieftain free. 1380 
 
 From their indignant lips was sent 
 
 Nor cry, nor popular lament. 
 
 The astonished look, and the live ear 
 
 Catching each sound, alone were here. 
 
 No lull, no strife ; no rest, no riot ; 
 
 But such a blank and awful quiet. 
 
 As speaks, more strongly than debate. 
 
 Both mighty dread, and mighty hate. 
 
 The volume of a people's rage 
 
 Condensed into one burning page j 
 
 The coil of a convolving snake, 
 
 Unhissing, but with folds awake. 
 
 Then from without was heard to come 
 
 A whispered sound, a fretful hum. 
 
 Within the stir of countless heads. 
 
 And lo I that floor their Priestess treads. 
 
 The crowd fall back, and hoarsely grow 
 
 Their accents of controUess woe. 
 
 Cecina twice essayed to quell 
 
 The sound, but something like a spell 1400 
 
 Was felt upon his heart to draw 
 
 A shade of that remorse and awe 
 
 Which, in the presence of the Good, 
 
 By guilt so well is understood. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 61 
 
 And mucli he wished, but could not flee 
 
 The anguish of a daughter's plea. 
 
 She came — bowed — knelt — yes, even to him !* 
 
 Raising the lovely eyes that swim 
 
 In hope's wild eagerness, to trace 
 
 On his stem brow one ray of grace. 
 
 *^ Mercy ! Oh, mercy !*' word beside 
 
 She uttered not, for the full tide 
 
 Which long in its deep fount had slept 
 
 Rushed forth, and then indeed she wept. 
 
 Oh, how convulsively ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 A thrUl 
 
 Of feeling, sorrowful yet sweet. 
 
 At this pathetic, brief appeal 
 
 Of Beauty prostrate at his feel. 
 
 Was seen to chase Cecina's frown 1420 
 
 And soothe each harsher impulse down : 
 Mute, fascinated as he eyed 
 Affection's triumph over pride, 
 
 * " Julia Alpinula alia se jeter aux pieds de Cecine, et les 
 inonder de ses larmes.'' Mallet. —Histoire des Helvetiens. 
 
€€ 
 
 62 JULIA ALPINULA* 
 
 He sate, and passed his hand across 
 His brow, in pity or remorse, * 
 And strove to spare her added pain. 
 The knowledge that the prayer was vain. 
 *' Arise, '^ he said, ^^ young child of woe ! 
 
 A saviour rise — a daughter go. 
 
 Lictors ! your axes turn away 
 *^ From the freed prisoner :^' — they obey. 
 He waves his arm the signal known. 
 They guard Alpinus from the throne. 
 Julia upraised her silent eye 
 
 And looked the joy she could not speak ; 
 The purple glow which modesty 
 
 Lighted in her transparent cheek. 
 Passed by unfelt, so deep her mood 
 Of extacy and gratitude. 
 She turned to see, as in a glass, 1440 
 
 Her father's face reflect the gladness 
 Of her so happy heart — ^alas. 
 
 It was the very soul of sadness ! 
 Too well he knew that single crime ^^ 
 
 IMiich tyrants never can forgive. 
 And scorning in despair sublime 
 
 The trustless word that bade him live. 
 He paused, and looked as he \vithdrew. 
 The passion of a last adieu. 
 
JULU ALPINULA. 63 
 
 Resumed his firm, liis princely stride. 
 And then, like one all fire and pride 
 Who seeks, not shuns, the approaching doom 
 Which makes his death a martyrdom. 
 He reached the court ; he bared his head ; 
 
 The features of each frowning knight 
 He calmly scanned j '^ and if,^' he said, 
 
 ^^ My country^s weal requires it — smite 1** 
 They smote ; and ere the eager shout 
 Was o^er, which hailed his passing out, 
 Alpinus was a brilliant name, 1460 
 
 The sealed Imp6rator of fame ; 
 A spirit, o'er whose earthly urn 
 It is almost a sin to mourn ; 
 A sire, in whose celestial mind 
 Pain can no answering feeling find. 
 But whose paternal eye yet keeps 
 Its watches o'er a child that weeps. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 But thou, base Consul, Judge unjust. 
 False, smiling Traitor to thy trust ! ^ 
 Thou, who couldst view with eye unwet, 
 A nation's star of glory set. 
 
6i JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Who given by justice to sustain 
 
 The fasces of her awful reign. 
 
 Didst dare her function to pervert. 
 
 And wring the Roman from thy heart,— 
 
 The time shall come, when scorned, belied. 
 
 The fool of perfidy and pride. 
 
 Thou for thine own vile life shall plead. 
 
 With none to pity, none to heed ; 
 
 When, bound thyself in iron thongs, 1480 
 
 And taunted by a thousand tongues. 
 
 Thou too shall feel of all abhorred,. 
 
 The keenness of a victor's SLWord. 
 
 Haste to Bedriacum along I 
 
 Armed vengeance deems thy loitering long , 
 
 Her flaming eye is on thy path. 
 
 To hail the vassal of her wrath. 
 
 Then — when thy robes so richly gay 
 
 By ruflSan hands are rent away ; 
 
 Then — ^when the future cannot bring 
 
 One hope upon its hunying wmg ; 
 
 When drooping, trembling, frenzy-tossed. 
 
 Ambition wrecked, and honour lost ; 
 
 To fling into thy cup of gall 
 
 A drop, the bitterest far of all. 
 
 Shall Memory whisper calm and clear^ 
 
 That word into thy thrilling ear. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 65 
 
 Shall bid tliee of Alpinus think. 
 Seize the dark bowl, and dying, drink ! 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 There is a pang which cannot find 1500 
 
 An answering language in the mind ; 
 
 There is a woe which only awe 
 
 With hallowed hand might dare to draw. 
 
 But feeling all her powers would fail. 
 
 Lets fall the Grecian Painter^ s veil. 
 
 O earth ! that thou shouldst ever nurse 
 
 Thy children to a doom like this I 
 To fear no more, but feel thy curse. 
 
 Poor bankrupts in deserted bliss ! 
 Who cannot yield — though weak and vain 
 All that reflection wrings from pain. 
 One tear, though but of wretchedness. 
 To make despair^s convulsion less. 
 The mariner, by ocean's shock 
 Tossed bleeding on its beaten rock. 
 To gaze for ever as it raves 
 On its green solitude of waves. 
 Though not one plank in sight there be. 
 To bear him o'er that shoreless sea. 
 
QQ JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Has hope ; the guilty criminal 1520 
 
 Led sentenced from the judgment-hall. 
 
 Though in the stupor of his heart. 
 
 Pale as a statue he depart. 
 
 Has hope ; the fainting wretch who stands 
 
 Deserted upon desert sands. 
 
 Where not a single human sound 
 
 Electrifies the silence round. 
 
 Has hope ; the captive in his tower. 
 
 Blind to the light, and stripped of power. 
 
 Has hope j when hope begins to fail. 
 
 Some late reprieve or passing sail 
 
 Bears them again with favouring breeze 
 
 To fortune and to freedom — these 
 
 Have hope j — the mourner left alone 
 
 Last of her kindred race has non6. 
 
 No aim to live, no gentle tone 
 
 To hear, to gain, to give — ^no, none ! 
 
 No shared caress, no sigh to prove 
 
 Content in suflfering or in love ; 
 
 No friend, to whom her tongue can own 1540 
 
 That life was once a joy — no, none ! 
 
 All now is over : passions perish. 
 
 For what has passion left to cherish ? 
 
 The world flows on j suns rise and set 
 
 Without perception or regret. 
 
JUUA ALPINULA. 57 
 
 A little sense of former dread ; 
 
 A little thought of what is dead ; 
 
 A little numbering up the sum 
 
 Of days that darken ere they come 3 
 
 A sudden flash through memory's night 
 
 That all her reasonings are not right j 
 
 A little tracing round and round 
 
 The spot where anguish struck the wound ; 
 
 A trance — a vigil— and a fit-* 
 
 O'er the cold tomb she cannot quit ; 
 
 And all beside is wasting flame. 
 
 The bloodless lip, the sleepless frame. 
 
 So meek, so wan, so passive, death 
 
 Has nought of stillness to bequeath. 
 
 XXXIIL 
 
 Yes, they have come ! mom, noon, and night, 1560 
 
 The starlight rest, the morrow's waking. 
 
 Nor left for Julia of their flight 
 One record, but a young heart breaking. 
 
 She seeks, 'tis true, her own-loved bower. 
 
 And in her ringlets wreathes the flower. 
 
 That only, which decay though slight 
 
 Has just, but just begun to blight j 
 
68 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 And shakes the censer o^er the flame. 
 Pronouncing some half-murmured name. 
 But Oh! the pause when none are nigh. 
 
 Unconscious that the flower is taken. 
 The deep, involuntary sigh. 
 
 With which the holy bowl is shaken. 
 All speak a language to the eye. 
 
 Which cannot, cannot be mistaken* 
 And sometimes she would lean her head 
 
 Upon the virgins who surrounded. 
 And say there was a dream of dread 
 
 Which all her waking thoughts confounded, 
 A flitting form of some one dead; 1580 
 
 She knew not why it so much wounded. 
 But she must gather palm and myrtle. 
 And see her hind, and feed the turtle. 
 Which her dear fathei-'s ear each spring 
 Soothes with perpetual murmuring. 
 ** My father! wherefore did he go? 
 
 ^^ It was unkind! the days were many; 
 ^' He was not wont to leave me so ! 
 
 ^^ Oh, if he e^er be seen by any, 
 '^ I charge you, by my love, make known 
 ^* To him that I am all alone !'^ 
 Then will she gently turn away. 
 And seek the holy shrine to pray. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 69 
 
 And look with an expectant eye. 
 Abrupt to every passer-by. — 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Upon her cheek corroding woe 
 
 No deeper whiteness now can throw ; 
 
 For fever has begun to shed 
 
 A delicate spot of tender red. 
 
 Which as it lessened to the view, 1600 
 
 More strongly set, and brighter grew. 
 
 It was a tinge of that last flame. 
 
 Which burns to dust the mortal frame. 
 
 As sunlight upon mountain-snows 
 
 Flmgs all the beauty of the rose. 
 
 Warm in their whiteness works the ray. 
 
 And melts the beautiful mass away. 
 
 The glassy splendour of her eye 
 
 Already sparkled of the sky ; 
 
 The kindling of a world of bliss. 
 
 For it was not the light of this. 
 
 Their heavenly lustre, strongly shining. 
 
 Sadly contrasted with the chill 
 White lids, which o'er them hung decluiing. 
 
 And droop in nerveless langour still. 
 
70 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 And lightly watch, and deeply close. 
 
 In passion of a long repose. 
 
 Through all, her forehead bears the stamp 
 
 Of a tranquillity sublime. 
 But yet so dewy, cold, and damp, 1620 
 
 It seems that Death her lovely lamp 
 
 Would quench before its time. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The leaf is yellowing on the tree ; 
 
 Glad o^er the blossom hums the bee; 
 
 The sun declining from his height 
 
 Sends down to earth a heaven of light. 
 
 Not sad, though soft — not gay, though glowing ; 
 
 The deep, clear lake has stilled its flowing; 
 
 The boat, within its waters glassed. 
 
 Feels not a breath of air blow past ; 
 
 Not one small bird we hear to tune 
 
 Its bill beneath the mellow noon ; 
 
 But blue-eyed girls of fairy shapes 
 
 With simple hymns to fill the vallies. 
 
 As from the vines they pluck the grapes. 
 
 And press them, purpling Autumn's chalice. 
 
 And earth below, and sky above. 
 
 Are full of quiet, full of love. 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 71 
 
 'Tvvas in the twilight of that eve, 
 
 Julia the last time walked abroad; 1640 
 
 The hue — the hour — the water's heave— 
 
 And splendid sky her spirit awed. 
 Then brought the §weet south wind to soothe. 
 Warm from the blooms she nursed in youth^ 
 A fading breath, a fragrance sere. 
 In funeral of the vdthered year. 
 It came, it played with odorous wings. 
 Upon her lyre's thrice holy strings. 
 Which oft, when day had ceased to roll. 
 She touched to soothe her father's souL 
 That odour of decay, that tone 
 Across her languid senses blown. 
 Whispering divinely of the praise. 
 The endearments of departed days. 
 Unlocked, as with a golden key. 
 The long-sealed springs of memory. 
 The air was bliss, the music balm. 
 Her quick heart fluttered at the charm. 
 And she was soothed; her gentle mind 
 All things renewed, recalled, combined, 1660 
 
 She loved and lived o'er all again. 
 If not with pleasure, not with pain ; 
 For pain she felt had lost its sting. 
 Death had no bitterness to bring; 
 
72 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Refined from passions earthly shade, 
 O, what was life but bliss delayed ! 
 She looked to heaven ; the darkening blue 
 Melted into her heart like dew ; 
 That heart was happy, and though night 
 Was gathering quickly o^er it, bright. 
 She felt her passing hour was come. 
 And pined for her Elysian home. 
 
 XXXVL 
 
 She rose ; she bade her sisters bring 
 
 The purest waters of the spring 
 
 For her lavations : from the chest 
 
 Of cedar took her funeral vest. 
 
 And the dark veil of death ; then crowned 
 
 With palm the household altar round. 
 
 Before the portal whereon lay 
 
 The last rich light of dying day; 1680 
 
 Paid to Diana the last prayer. 
 
 And her unbound, luxuriant hair. 
 
 Severed to virgin Proserpine," 
 
 With oflfered cups of sable wine. 
 
 Worn with the aflfecting toil, the train 
 
 Her footsteps tenderly sustain 
 
JULIA ALPINULA. 73 
 
 To the sad couch, and watch around. 
 Veiled — without motion, without sound. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 The lamp at midnight hung untrimmed. 
 The air was hush, the chamber dimmed ; 
 Just then the moon on Julians face 
 Shed a mild ray of gloom and grace. 
 She felt it — ^half unclosed her eye. 
 
 And smiled ; it was a blissful thing. 
 That her beloved Deity, 
 
 Should watch her spirit taking wing, 
 ^^ I come,^^ she whispered, ^^ where are you, 
 
 ^^ My friends ? O, draw the darkening veil ! 
 ^^ I go — Elysium swims in view, 
 
 *' Farewell ! a dear, a last farewell !^* 1700 
 
 And she is gone : a gentle sigh,' 
 
 A quivering of the hand she pressed. 
 Faint as the kiss of infancy. 
 
 Her fluttering spirit fixed in rest. 
 ^^ Farewell V' O, pure, imsuUied truth. 
 The sage in years, the bloom of youth. 
 Pain, pity, candour, filial duty. 
 Undying love, angelic beauty, 
 
 £ 
 
74 JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 And tenderness in toil untired. 
 In that pathetic word expired ! 
 
 As o'er the lines by others writ. 
 In lettered solitude I sit. 
 Or, turning from their pages, sing 
 Fictitious trifles to the string. 
 Thy tale of truth, to feeling dear. 
 Will rise, and claim her holy tear. 
 I would not thy pure memory stain 
 With aught that breathes of human pain. 
 But in thine o^vn Transalpine clime, 
 I view the fragments strewed by Time ^ 
 His line of ruin stretched o^er all — ^° 
 Arch, column, altar, crumbling wall. 
 The ruined shrine, the sword in rust. 
 The Urn that held thy virgin dust. 
 The simple legend of thy grief, ^^ 
 And dark o^er them the Ivy-leaf. 
 And can I cease, whilst Spring renews 
 Thy turf with her divinest dews, — 
 Oh, can I cease to keep for thee 
 One tear from selfish sorrow free ! 
 No ! let the Ivy hide the spot. 
 Thou art not, shalt not be forgot ! 
 
NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA 
 
 ^ And Priestcraft comes in slavery^ s aid. 
 To deify the icretch they made. 
 
 Without gfoing far into the subject of the deification of the 
 Caesars, it may be sufficient to state in proof of the extent to which 
 it was carried, that the glorified Augustus was worshipped as a 
 God, and had a temple erected to him at Lyons. A magnificent altar 
 was consecrated to him, ornamented with sixty pillars, on each 
 of which was graven the name of some conquered city in comme- 
 moration of the victoi-y. Three hundred Augurs, and sixty 
 Aruspices were invested with the functions of the worship of the 
 Goddess of Rome and the God Augustus. The first of this new 
 order of priests was one of the principal Eduans. This idolatrous 
 worship extended over all Helvetia. 
 
78 NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 * And Otho rose as GalbafelL 
 
 ^^ Under the government of Nero, the discontent of the people, 
 *^ oppressed by taxes, their contempt, their hatred of the 
 " worthless emperor, excited a mighty insurrection in the 
 " Helvetian provinces. Julius Vindex, of an illustrious Gallic 
 ^^ origin, prefect of the province of the Lingones, revolted agains^ 
 " the crowned tyrant, and leagued with Galba, the governor of 
 *^ Hispania, esteemed for his probity and attachment to a strict 
 ^^ discipline. The German legions imitated his example. The 
 " tragical death of Nero, last of the Caesarian princes, laid open 
 " the empire as a prey to the boldest or most fortunate adventurer- 
 ^' Galba was put in possession of it by his soldiery, but them his 
 ^^ economy and severity of discipline displeased. They who dis- 
 ^^ pose of crowns, desire a reward proportioned to the splendid 
 ^^ o'ift. Galba had adopted Piso for his successor: the jealous 
 '^ Otho rose against him, and Galba was assassinated, but the 
 ^^ usurper did not long enjoy his elevation to the imperial purple. 
 ^^ Vitellius, seeing what might be done with the assistance of an 
 ** army devoted to its chief, caused himself to be proclaimed 
 ^* emperor by the German legions which he commanded. He set 
 " out with them to receive the homage of Rome, Aulus or 
 ^^ Alienus Cecina, one of his generals, preceding him with 30,000 
 ^^ men and traversing Helvetia. The Helvetians icere ignorant 
 " of the death of Galba^ whose cause they had embraced, and 
 ^^ refused to recognise Vitellius. Their chief magistrate, Julius 
 
NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. 79 
 
 i6 
 
 Alpinus,^* a faithful friend of Galba, confirmed them in their 
 
 resolution, and eng-ag-ed them to take up arms." Mallet. 
 
 — Histoire des Suisses^ 4 torn, Svo. Geneve y 1803. 
 
 ^ Is noble?* lord than those icho clasp 
 Our country^ s treasure in their grasp. 
 
 The first act of hostility between the army of Vitellius and the 
 Helvetians was perpetrated hy the 21st Leg-ion, surnamed the 
 Rapacious y then stationed at Vindomissa, the modern Windish. 
 They forcibly seized as plunder, the money which the Helvetians 
 were sending* to pay the garrison of a fort, which Caesar, on his 
 conquest of the country, had privileged them to maintain with 
 their own militia. Vide Tacitus^ Hist, Lib 1. cap 67. 
 
 ^ On the lakers hnsoiUy wave on imve. 
 Seemed rubies by the light it gave. 
 
 *^ When the sun descends beyond Mount Jura on a summer- 
 evening-, the Alpine summits long reflect the ruddy splendour, 
 and the lakes for near an hour assume the appearance of burnished 
 
 gold.^' PiNKERTON. — vol 1. p. 405. 
 
 So a friend of mine writes in his Journal : '^ In the course of 
 our ride, we had a view of part of the lake of Neufchatel and 
 Morat, on the latter of which the setting- sun was difliising the 
 most glorious hues of crimson light. The waters of the Morat 
 run very dark, and exhibit a singularly beautiful appearance, 
 when penetrated by the deep rays of a declining sun.'* 
 
 * Or Alpinulus. 
 
80 NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 The country around the lake is said to have been named, at on« 
 period, Galilee. Murat : (Thes. 1102) mentions a circumstance 
 that may perhaps explain a fact so singular. ^^ Vespasian 
 strengthened Aventicum by a colony of veterans.'^ This colony 
 probably consisted of some of the legionaries whom Titus had 
 brought back from Asia, after the overthrow of Jerusalem; and 
 the similiarity of the lakes of Morat and Neufchatel with those of 
 Merom and Genesareth, connected in both instances by a river, 
 might strike their fancy not unpleasingly with the recollection of 
 their toils and triumphs in Judaea. So we find Helenus in the 
 city of Buthrotus perpetuating the melancholy remembrance of 
 subverted Troy. 
 
 " Procedo, et parvam Trojam, simulataque magnis 
 Pergama, et arentem Xanthi cognomine rivum, 
 Agnosco, Scaeoeque amplector limina portae.'' 
 
 Virgil. En. Lib. 3, line 347. 
 
 ^ The avalanche its silence, when 
 That thundering ball has rocked the glen. 
 
 For the following splendid and sublime description of Montblanc 
 and the descent of an avalanche, written amidst the Alpine scenes 
 where it was witnessed, I am indebted to the kindness of the friend, 
 whose name has already graced this volume. The spirited 
 stanzas themselves will be my best apology for their introduction 
 in this place : 
 
 'Tis Night, — and Silence with unmoving wings 
 Broods o^er the sleeping waters;— ^not a sound 
 
NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. gl 
 
 Breaks its most breathless hush; — the sweet moon flings 
 Her pallid lustre on the hills around, 
 Turning- the snows and ices that have crowned — 
 Since Chaos reigned — each vast and searchless height 
 To beryl, pearl, and silver; — whilst profound, 
 In the still waveless lake reflected bright. 
 And girt with arrowy rays, rests her full orb of light. 
 
 The^ eternal mountains momently are peering 
 Through the blue clouds that mantle them, — on high 
 Their glittering crests majestically rearing, 
 More like to children of the infinite sky 
 Than of the doedal earth : — triumphantly,— 
 Prince of the whirlwind — monarch of the scene — 
 Mightiest where all are mighty ; — from the eye 
 Of mortal man half hidden by the screen 
 Of mist that moats his base from Arve's dark, deep ravine, 
 
 Stands the magnifiqent Moutblanc! — his brow 
 Scarred by ten thousand thunders; — most sublime. 
 Even as though risen from the world below 
 To watch the progress of Decay; — ^by clime, — 
 Storm — blight — fire — earthquake injured not; — like Time, 
 Stern chronicler of centuries gone by. 
 Doomed by an awful fiat still to climb, 
 Swell, and increase with years incessantly,* 
 Then yield at length to thee, most dread eternity^. 
 
 ^ The mountain, according to Saussure, continually increases 
 in magnitude . 
 
 E 3 
 
82 NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 Hark ! there are sounds of tumult and commotion 
 Hurtling- in murmurs on the distant air, 
 Like the wild music of a wind-lashed ocean ! — 
 They rage, they gather now; — yon valley fair, 
 Still sleeps in moonbright loveliness; but there, 
 Methinks a form of horror I behold 
 With giant stride descending ! 'Tis Despair 
 Riding the rushing avalanche, now rolled 
 From its tall cliff — by whom ? what mortal may unfold ! 
 
 Perchance a gale from fervid Italy 
 Startled the air-hung thunderer; — or the tone 
 Breathed from some hunter's horn, — or it may be 
 The echoes of the mountain cataract thrown 
 Amid its voiceful snows, have thus called down 
 The overwhelming ruin on the vale; 
 Howbeit a mystery to man unknown, 
 "^Twas but some heaven-sent power that did prevail, 
 For an inscrutable end its slumbers to assail. 
 
 Madly it bursts along, — even as a river 
 That gathers strength in its most fierce career ; 
 The black and lofty pines a moment quiver 
 Before its breath, — but as it draws more near 
 Clash — and are seen no more! — fleet-footed Fear, — 
 Pale as that white-robed minister of wrath, — 
 In silent wilderment her face doth rear. 
 But, having gazed upon its blight and scathe, 
 Flies with the wild Chamois from its death-dooming path 1 
 
NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. §3 
 
 ^ He satCy and passed his hand across 
 His broWy in pity or remorse. 
 
 In representing* Cecina as affected at the supplication of the 
 daughter of his victim, I have perhaps ascribed to him a virtue, 
 which^ young* as he Avas, he never could possess. He stands 
 recorded in History '^ as a man of violence, cruelty, and blood.^** 
 Tacitus has painted his character in a few powerful strokes. 
 *^ Cecina rioted in g-reater spoil and more blood than Valens. 
 ^^ He was naturally tempestuous and fierce ; he longed passion- 
 " ately for war, and proceeded always to take vengeance for 
 '' every offence within his reach, as fast as it was committed, 
 ^^ before the offender had time to claim the merit of repentance 
 " and submission."' Whilst he held the office of quaestor in 
 Boetica, he had revolted to Galba, by whom he was afterwards 
 prosecuted for embezzling the public money. Furiously resenting 
 this, he determined '^ to excite a spirit of universal confusion and 
 *' revolt, and with the miseries of the state to l;»ide his own 
 private wounds."'"^ Hence his industrious concealment of the 
 death of Galba, and the unappeasable hatred which he bore td 
 Alpinus. 
 
 ♦ Tac. nisi. Lib I.e. 53 
 
84 NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 ^ But thou^ base Consul^ judge unjust, 
 False, smiling traitor to thy trust! 
 
 The noble Author of Childe Harold, in his beautiful Stanzas 
 devoted to the fate of Julia in the third Canto of that celebrated 
 Poem, says — 
 
 ** Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would crave 
 The life she lived in — but the judge icasjusty 
 
 With the latter sentiment 1 cannot coincide. We have seen 
 that the motives which urg-cd Cecina to take vengeance upon ihe 
 Helvetians, were founded in private pique — we have seen the 
 folds of his sanguine spirit unveiled to us by the hand of one of 
 the most skilful painters of human character — his concealment of 
 the death of their acknowledged Emperor, has been adverted to — 
 and can we then say that the sentence of him who was at once the 
 accuser, judge, and executioner, was impartial, or avoid perceiving 
 in Alpinus, not the traitor to the majesty of the Roman Law — but 
 the victim to a traitor's guile ? Just it might be considered by the 
 decretals of war, whose fierce prerogative it has ever been to 
 dispose of the conquered according as caprice or evil passion has 
 the humour of the hour. Cecina was a Conqueror, and the 
 justice of conquerors resembles too uniformly, I am afraid, that 
 of the Commissioners of Sparta upon the unfortunate Plataean^ 
 who survived the celebrated siege of their surrendered city. Th^ 
 after history of Cecina furnishes at once a moral to my tale, and 
 
NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. 35 
 
 a striking instance of retributive punishment. He revolted with 
 bis licentious army from Vitellius to Vespasian, when the star of 
 this general was rising in the ascendant, but his army resumed 
 their allegiance, and cast him into irons. They released him, in 
 order to supplicate for them with Antonius. ^'But as soon,^' says 
 Tacitus, " as he approached, arrayed and attended with Lictors, 
 ^' and the robes of state, and passed in the pomp of a Consul, 
 ** rage seized the conquering host. With his pride they bitterly 
 " upbraided him, — with his cruelty 5 nay, such is the abhor- 
 " rence naturally annexed to deeds of villainy, that they even 
 *^ upbraided him for his revolt.'' Antonius furnished him 
 with a guard, and sent him on to Vespasian. In the Senate at 
 Rome, the fatal sentence was passed upon him — the senator* 
 simultaneously declaring their abhorrence ''that he who was 
 ^' Consul should thus have betrayed the Commonwealth j he who 
 '* was general, his emperor ; he, upon whom had been lavished 
 *' riches so vast, and public honours so many, his friend and 
 benefactor y * So perished the judge of Julius Alpinus ! 
 
 ^ And her unbound^ luocuriant haivy 
 Severed to virgin Proserpine. 
 
 Proserpine, or Diana Infema, presided over the death of man- 
 kind, and according' to the opinion of the ancients, no one could 
 die, if the Goddess herself, or Atropos her minister, did not cut 
 off one of the locks of the head. From this belief, it was usual to 
 cut off some of the hair of the dying, and to strew it at the portal 
 
 * Tac. Hist. Lib. 3. c.31- 
 
86 
 
 NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 of the house, as an offering for Proserpine. See the Alcestis of 
 Euripides, The custom was probably derived from the sacrifices, 
 in which it was usual to cut some hairs from the forehead of the 
 victim, and to throw them into the flames : so the dying person 
 was considered as a victim to the infernal powers. 
 
 ' Ayid she is gone! 
 
 Lord Byron, in the stanza already commented on, observe* 
 
 ■" Her heart beneath a claim 
 
 " Nearest to heaven's, hroke o'er afather^s grave. ''\ 
 
 Third Canto^ stanza 66. 
 
 I am not aware of any authority for giving this a literal inter- 
 pretation. But few w riters upon Switzerland have noticed the 
 affecting catastrophe. Briefe uber die Schwitzby Meiner, Berlin, 
 quotes the epitaph, calls Julia a '^ beautiful jonug Priestess,'' and 
 thinks her death '^brought on by excess of grief.'' Genave und 
 unstoendliche beschreibung' Helvitscher Geschichte, Zuric, by 
 Laufter, alludes to the circumstance, and says in addition, that 
 she followed her father to the tomb with voiceless grief— the 
 lamentation of silence, Matthisson's Letters to Bonstetten, the 
 friend of Gray, written in German, inform him that '^ Julia did 
 ^' not long survive the stroke of her father's death, but followed 
 ^^ him to the grave in the earilest bloom of life." He concurs 
 with e/ery one else, as to the touching simplicity of her epitaph. 
 
NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. §7 
 
 10 
 
 His line of ruin stretched o^er ally 
 Arch, column, altar, crumbling wall. 
 
 (( 
 
 The line of confusion and the stones of emptiness'' are 
 indeed stretched over the once splendid city of Aventicum. 
 Occasional remains of the exterior wall, the broken shell of the 
 ancient Amphitheatre, and one isolated turret, are all that now 
 remain, but the relics which at various times have been dis- 
 covered — urns, vases, cornices of columns, altars, inscriptions, 
 baths, ruined aqueducts, bas-reliefs, statues, and tesselated 
 pavements, — all attest its ancient mag-nificence. The foundation 
 of the City is hid in the nig-ht of Time: from the researches of 
 Mons. Wild, Librarian of Berne, it would seem to have been 
 founded 589 years before Christ. It was in the zenith of its 
 splendour during- the reig*n of Vespasian, from 469 to 477. 
 Flavins Sabinus, the father of that prince, came to reside here, 
 bring-ing- with him the riches which he had amassed in Asia. It 
 is probable that the early years of Vespasian were also passed in 
 Aventicum. Tacitus calls it the Capital of Helvetia, and an 
 inscription is yet to be seen in the church of the modern Avenches, 
 whicii makes mention of it in these terms : Colonnia pia^ Flavia 
 const ans emerita Aventicum Helvetiorum, It was dismantled by 
 the Alemanni, and Ammianus Marcellinus writes, at the end of 
 the fourth Century — ^'In the neighbourhood of the Penninian 
 '^ mountain lies Aventicum, now deserted, but whose splendid 
 '' remains point out its former flourishing* state. The circum- 
 '' ference of its walls is still to be seen, a solitary pillar stands in 
 ^' the midst of a meadow, like that of the superb temple of Juno 
 
88 NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. 
 
 ^^ at Sauios: grass grows in the Amphitheatre, and the plough 
 " strikes on statues, altars, tombs, mighty walls, and other traces 
 " of ancient opulence.^' 
 
 Agricola, incurvo terram molitus aratro, 
 Exesa inveniet scabra rubigine pila: 
 Autgravibus rastris galeas pulsabit inanes, 
 Grandiaque effossis mirabitur ossasepulchris. 
 
 ViBG. — Georg 1. 494. 
 
 Attila overthrew it to its foundation during the following cen- 
 tury. Matthisson, who visited it a few years since, observes that 
 the city occupied a large square, the great extent of which \% 
 accurately defined by the town-wall^ distinguishable in many 
 places. In summer, particularly, if the weather be dry, the street« 
 are still discernible in many places, by the long streaks running 
 in parallel lines, and at right angles, where the grass is scattered 
 very thinly, on account of the little depth of earth over the pave- 
 ment. 
 
 ^^ The simple legend of thy griefs 
 And dark o^er them the Ivy-leaf. 
 
 The pathetic Inscription to the memory of Julia Alpinula, wa« 
 discovered at Aventicum two centuries ago. Gruter, in his 
 valuable " Inscriptiones Antiq. totius orbis Roraani,'' has pre- 
 served a fac-simile of the tablet and inscription. The latter 
 differs slightly from the one quoted by Lord Byron : it runs^ 
 thus — 
 
NOTES TO JULIA ALPINULA. §9 
 
 AVENTICI. 
 
 JVLIA. ALPINVLA. HIC. JACEO. 
 
 INFELICIS. PATBIS. INFELIX. PROLES. 
 
 DEM. AVENT. SACERD. 
 
 BXORARE. PATRIS. NECEM. NON. POT VI. 
 
 MALE. MORI. IN. FATIS. ILLI. BRAT. 
 
 VIXI. ANNOS. XXIII. 
 
 The column spoken of by Ammianus Marcellinus is yet 
 standing. It is of the Corinthian order, 37 feet hig-h, and is seen 
 on the left in a garden very nigh the city on the side of Morat. 
 The fragment of an inscription was found near it in 1 536, bearing 
 the name of Vespasian, whence it is probable that the column 
 formed part of a portico erected in honour of that prince. The 
 inhabitants gave it the name of The Storks, from the bird^s having 
 been long accustomed to build her nest there. This accidental 
 circumstance gives a hallowed association to that lonely relique, 
 and affords to the moral fancy a beautiful and significant emblem. 
 The Stork sitting upon that solitary Pillar ! It is as if the spirit of 
 Julia yet haunted the ruin, that she might still speak to the 
 human heart from forth the shadows of deserted empire— 
 of piety and filial love, as of an indestructible principle, 
 outbraving the eloquent epitaphs of man, and surviving the 
 wreck of his most splendid monuments. 
 
THE CAPTIVE OF STAiMBOUL. 
 
** Love, oh Love 
 Thou art the essence of the Universe — 
 Soul of the visible world, — and canst create 
 Hope — joy — pain — passion — madness — or despair, 
 As suiteth thy high will. To some thou hring'st 
 A halm — a lenitive for every wound 
 The unkind world inflicts on them ; to others 
 Thy breath but breathes destruction, and thy smile 
 Scathes like the lig-htning- : — now a star of peace, 
 Heralding" sweet evening to our stormy day. 
 And now a meteor with far-scattering fire, 
 Shedding red ruin on our flowers of life. 
 In all— 
 
 Whether arrayed in hues of deep repose. 
 Or armed with burning vengeance to consume 
 Our yielding hearts — alike omnipotent!'' 
 
 A. A. W. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 Andronicus, the younger brother of John, son of Isaac, and 
 grandson of Alexius Comnenus, is one of the most conspicuous 
 characters of the age ; and his genuine adventures might form 
 
 the subject of a very singular romance. Andronicus was 
 
 arrested, and strictly confined in a tower of the palace of Con- 
 stantinople. — In this prison he was left above twelve years; a 
 most painful restraint, from which the thirst of action and plea- 
 sure perpetually urged him to escape. Alone and pensive, he 
 perceived a hole in a corner of the chamber, and gradually 
 widened the passage, till he had explored a dark and deep recess . 
 Into this hole he conveyed himself, and the remains of his pro- 
 visions, replaced the bricks in their former positions, and erasing 
 with care the footsteps of his retreat. At the hour of the 
 customary visit, his guards were amazed with the silence and 
 solitude of the prison, and reported, with shame and fear, his in- 
 comprehensible flight. The gates of the palace and city were 
 instantly shut ; the strictest orders were dispatched into the pro- 
 vinces, for the recovery of their fugitive j and his wife, on the 
 suspicion of a pious act, was basely imprisoned in the same 
 tower. At the dead of night, she beheld a spectre : she recog- 
 nised her husband 
 
 •ff "fr ^F "W "JF ^r 
 
 Gibbon. — Hist, of the Dec, and F. of the Rom.Emp, 
 
 Chap. XLViii. 
 
THE CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 ^^ Say (and say g-ently), that since we two parted, 
 How little joy — much sorrow I have known : 
 
 Only not hroken-hearted, 
 Because I muse upon bright moments gone, 
 And dream and think of him alone/' 
 
 MARCIAN COLONNA. 
 
 L 
 
 Noon lowers : the winged thunder-cloud 
 
 O^er Stamboul's towers peals long and loud. 
 
 Where one lone captive madly strains. 
 
 In vain, his still-resisting chains. 
 
 And, through his grated window, eyes 
 
 The conflict of the seas and skies. 
 
 Which on the dark horizon meet. 
 
 And listens to the waves that beat 
 
 Deep, deep, below the turret^s base. 
 
 As though some Giant heaved his mace, 1 
 
 And shook, with an eternal sound, 
 
 Tlie dungeon-vaults that tremble round. 
 
96 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 11. 
 
 What form is that, and whose that look 
 In silent trance to Heaven appealing. 
 
 His nervous limbs in tremour shook 
 By some convulsive feeling ? 
 
 That wild regard, that frenzied air. 
 
 Speak long communion with despair I— 
 
 And mark you well his brow I its frown 
 
 Would seem to call the thunder down,— 20 
 
 The fierce avenger of his fate, — 
 
 On objects of his scorn and hate. 
 
 He notes not now the mournful dash 
 
 Of bUlows, or the lightning^s flash ; 
 
 The keener fire is in his eye. 
 
 Of shame, revenge, and agony. 
 
 From which the burning tear would slide 
 
 And flow, if ^twere not checked by pride. 
 
 Which firmly steels him to sustain 
 
 The future, as the past of pain. 30 
 
 From Home, Love, Liberty, long riven. 
 
 He lifts his iron brow to heaven. 
 
 If heaven will yet in pity give 
 
 Those boons, or bid him cease to live ,• 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 97 
 
 Then marks again the mingled mass 
 
 Of cloud and fire, confusedly pass ; 
 
 Sees, poised above the stormy tide. 
 
 The wheeling birds of tempest ride. 
 
 With fixt eye, so intensely bright. 
 
 And hectic flush of lost delight ; 40 
 
 As if his very soul would spring 
 
 To freedom with as mid a wing. 
 
 III. 
 
 A bark^s below with gilded prow. 
 
 Which left in calm and sun her haven ; 
 But many a rent, Euroclydon 
 
 Upon her wings, since then, has graven ; 
 And she, with not a glimpse of sun 
 Her course, to day, has wildly run :— ^ 
 St. Hermo sits upon her sail,^ 
 
 Meteorous, and burnetii dim, 50 
 
 Like Pride upon the forehead pale 
 
 Of thunder-smitten seraphim. 
 With bounding prow and bending pine 
 
 Across the roaring Bosphorus, 
 She yet bears nobly through the brine. 
 
 As if she ever vrrestled thus, 
 
 F 
 
9g THE CAPTIVE 
 
 And ne^er her pendants gave to fly 
 In crystal bay or purple sky. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So near the vessel glided past 
 
 His turret^s oriental wall, 60 
 
 Yon Captive hears the active blast 
 
 Sing in her shrouds, and every call 
 For speed or desultory tack, 
 His hollow chamber echoes back. 
 Two Knights, upon the stern, he sees 
 
 In silk and steel ; their plumes in motion 
 With every breath of every breeze ; 
 
 Their looks are often from the ocean 
 To his hoar rock and grated cell. 
 
 With them, at least, must pity dwell ; 70 
 
 For ne'er did blood in hero's veins 
 Flow coolly at a hero's chains ! 
 
 V. 
 
 The one was past his manhood's bloom : 
 He had a brow of generous sense ; 
 
OF STAMBOUL, 99 
 
 An air of not uiipleasing gloom. 
 
 And lips whose lines spake eloquence ; 
 And if the searching glance looked long, 
 
 Within his full saturnian eye, — 
 Which now was tearless, — scorn of wrong, 
 A flashing fire, a feeling strong, 80 
 
 Was seen to light its apathy 
 With something of a gay relief, — 
 The Evening-Star of guiltless grief. 
 His cheek, which chesnut tresses fringe. 
 Had somewhat of the Asian tinge ; 
 But the short, crooked sword he wore. 
 And crosslet which his shoulder bore. 
 That beam of mind, that nameless grace, 
 Italian-like, which filled his face. 
 Would seem to say, his youth had run 90 
 
 In climes where Taste was proud to be. 
 Where only monks and hermits shun 
 
 The music of a moonlight sea. 
 And brilliant stir of gondolas. 
 By marble halls, o'er tides of glass. > 
 
 The other had a youthful look. 
 
 And lively ; in his iris blue 
 His deepest spirit, as a book. 
 
 The merest gazer might look through. 
 
 F 2 
 
100 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 And see a temper, which if aught 100 
 
 Of tenderness came o'er his thought. 
 
 Would pass to such delicious mood. 
 
 As in his own Proven9al wood, 
 
 Wlien wine, and wit, and woman^s praise. 
 
 Had made his soul an orb of rays. 
 
 Inspired the Troubadour to sing — 
 
 A flower on each romantic string. 
 
 VL 
 
 '^Tis a wild hour," the elder said, 
 
 ^^ But rough as was our ocean-path 
 ^^ From Ascutari's craggy head, 110 
 
 ^^ And bright as was the lightning's scathe, 
 ^^ On scorched sheet and shrivelled shroud, 
 
 ^' There is a head had joyed to brave 
 '^ The reinless Thunder rolling loud, 
 
 ^^ The ghastly whiteness of the wave ! 
 '^Look up and mark the features well 
 ^^ Of him who sitteth in that cell ! 
 ^^ And since I see that eye of blue 
 ^^ Is ready with a tear or two, 
 
 ^^ And since I see your wish would speak 120 
 
 ^' In question of that captive Greek, 
 
OF STAMBOUL. IQl 
 
 '^ List, for I have a tale of crime, 
 '^ And of a being fallen from bliss, 
 
 '* Which should be told at such a time, 
 '' Ti3 fit for such an hour as this." 
 
 VII. 
 
 '^ 'Tis twelve years since, upon this shore, 
 ^^ The midnight moon was shining mildly, 
 
 ^^ A female's shriek, amid the roar 
 
 '' Of dashing waves, rang loudly, — wildly 
 
 '* O'er the blue neptune, and oppressed 130 
 
 '^ A fisher in his* dreams of rest, 
 
 '^ Who, startmg, saw from yonder cove, 
 
 ^' Dark forms in hurried action move ; 
 
 '^ It seemed, that, in severest strife, 
 
 ^^ They struck for liberty or life, 
 
 ^^ For many a helm in light was flashing, 
 
 *^ And many a sword with sword was clashing, 
 
 '^ And frequent cry for aid arose, 
 
 '^ From warrior compassed by his foes ; 
 
 *' And long, and longer as they strove, 140 
 
 ** It seemed the Lady of his Love 
 
 '^ Rushed in amidst the desperate fray ! 
 
 ^' Then they were quickly borne away. 
 
102 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 ^' And sound and sight were none, beside 
 '' The screaming gull and ebbing tide. 
 
 '^ At dawning of the day 
 '' He sought the spot : a vest, blood-red, 
 *' Upon the yellow sands lay spread, 
 '^ Rent fearfully 3 a scarf, a mask, 
 '^ A jewelled ring, a cloven casque ; 150 
 
 '' And none who viewed but must declare, 
 ^^ Some dark departure had been there /^ 
 
 VIII. 
 
 '' Those tokens soon the rising seas 
 
 '' In visitation swept away j 
 ** But there was witness sure as these, 
 
 '' Which could not thus decay : 
 '' Winter and summer, night and day, 
 
 *' That shriek pealed in the fisher^s ears, 
 '' And with a spirit's haunting sway, 
 
 *' Made dark his gliding years : 160 
 
 " He told to none the tale ; the many 
 
 '^ Had deemed it idle and untrue, 
 ^^ Or if believed and mourned, could any 
 
 ** The irrevocable deed undo ? 
 ^' Alone in hope that time thereby 
 '' Might clear that web of mystery. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 103 
 
 ** He hid within his cottage home, 
 
 '^ The embroidered scarf, the mask, and ring j — 
 *' That, might a Princess well become, 
 
 *^ And this, the finger of a King, 170 
 
 '' So rich the lustrous gems, which bound 
 *' Its figured golden rim around/' 
 
 IX. 
 
 *' At times when summer^s sun had set 
 
 ^^ Behind far Pindus^ purple peak, 
 *' Whilst burned his glorious radiance yet 
 
 ^^ Abroad, o'er Ocean's cheek, 
 ** He cast aside his dripping nets, 
 
 '^ And winged his boat with sail and oar 
 " To where in smoother current frets 
 
 '' The surge against this shore ; 180 
 
 '' For from those battlements which now 
 '* The cypress hides with its dark bough, 
 '^ Shedding mild mournfulness around, 
 
 *' He heard, — much marvelling, — much divining, — 
 '^ A lone harp's melancholy soimd 
 
 '^ Steal o'er the waves, repining ; 
 *' And once, when Manuel's hand afar 
 '* In Hungary lanced the shaft of war. 
 
104 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 ^' He heard in yon pomegranate grove, 
 
 *^ A woman's accents, sweetly blend, 190 
 
 ^* Saying a thousand things of love, 
 
 '^ That could not have an end. 
 " That evening the lone captive sate 
 ^^ Like statue, by his iron grate, 
 '' But at the instant that his ear 
 '' Caught the fond tones to him so dear, 
 '* His spirit melted, and he wept ; 
 '' The thoughts which long had chilly slept, 
 ^^ Of home's enchantment, beauty, bliss, 
 ^^ Rushed o'er him — all again seemed his ! 200 
 
 ^^ But when advancing from the shade, 
 '^ The figure of a Grecian maid, 
 '' In griePs wild luxury of charms, 
 '^ Invoked him with beseeching arms, 
 ^^ Heavens ! o'er the features of the man, 
 '^ A tide of fire and fury ran ! 
 '"He fiercely stamped,— he fiercely shook 
 '^ The adamantine bars ; — ^his look 
 '' Forgot its softness, and again 
 
 ^^ Assumed despair, and woe, and pain ; 210 
 
 '^ And threats of rage, revenge, and pride, 
 '^ The twilight breezes wafted wide. 
 '' He saw no more : — an armed band 
 '' Beneath the turret took their standi 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 105 
 
 '' Whose measured pace at distance fell^ 
 '' With voice from the set centineL 
 ** With silent oar^ resumed in haste, 
 '^His vessel's pathway he retraced. 
 ^^ As on it glided far and fast, 
 
 '^ Their brokenness of heart recalling, 220 
 
 '^ He could but brood upon the past, 
 
 '' Not check the tear from falling.^' 
 
 X. 
 
 '' It chanced, one eve, when autumn's blast 
 '^ With cold breath shook the cypress-pine, 
 
 '' From sunny Florence as I passed, 
 ^^ In pilgrimage, to Palestine, 
 
 '' A sail I sought to waft me o'er 
 
 '' These rushing tides to Asia's shore ; 
 
 '' But save the fisher, none would brave 
 
 '' The stormy strait and tossing wave, 230 
 
 ^' And we who ventured, well could feel 
 
 '' The firm boat quiver to its keel. 
 
 '' Driven by the wind from creek and bay, 
 
 '' All night upon our oars we lay ; — 
 
 '' But when the bells of IstambouP 
 
 '' The morn's grey hours began to toll, 
 
 F 3 
 
106 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 '^ With easy impulse we held on 
 
 ** Our cerule way to Chalcedon ; 
 
 " And I, in that light mood begot 
 
 '' By mutuality of lot, 240 
 
 '' In that wide solitude of ours, 
 
 *' Much questioned of the Imperial powers, 
 
 '' If sought the indignant Turk to wreak 
 
 '' Reprisal on the fiery Greek? 
 
 '' And who led on the Christian ranks 
 
 '' To Taurus^ hills and Irmak^s banks ? 
 
 ^* Since Andron, martial prince, was gone 
 
 ^^ Whither or wherefore known to none • 
 
 '' And years had flown and darker came 
 
 '' Suspicion, whispering Andron^s name. 260 
 
 '' Had jealous Manuel fixed his doom 
 
 " By poisonous bowl, or dungeon^s gloom? 
 
 '' Or roved that Leopard of the war 
 
 "Wild seas and scorching climes afar? 
 
 '^ It seemed my random question brought 
 
 *^ Across his brow a sudden thought j — 
 
 '^ A sense of something scarce defined; — 
 
 '' A torturing twilight of the mind! 
 
 '^ For now the absorbing secret pressed 
 
 " Like guilt's dark nightmare, at his breast, 260 
 
 '' And would not, could not be suppressed, ^ 
 
 '' I had so shadowed forth to view 
 
 '' The fears he felt, the truths he knew! 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 107 
 
 ^' I marked and touched the string of grief 
 
 '^ With pity, lenient of relief; 
 
 '' His brow grew brighter j and, more bold, 
 
 ^' He left no circmnstance untold 
 
 ^' Of that wild night which Stamboul^s chief 
 
 '^ Had deemed unknown or far forgot, 
 '' But which from heaven^s recording leaf 270 
 
 '' No time might blight or blot/' 
 
 XI. 
 
 '' I heard; and cherished in my breast 
 
 ^' A secret hope, however vain, 
 '' That I might aid a prince opprest, 
 
 '' And burst his grate, and break his chain. 
 '^ At morn the fisher moored liis skiff 
 '' Beneath the shelter of a cliff, 
 '' Whose far projecting shadow lay 
 ^' On weedy shelf and brightening bay; — 
 '' And there we parted: — lightly shot 280 
 
 ^^ His homeward pinnace o^er the brine, 
 '' And Avith a warrior^s zeal, I sought 
 
 '^The bannered host of Palestme. 
 '^ I traced on that romantic shore, 
 
 '' Each spot renowned in song and story; 
 
108 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 ^^ On high the Red-cross pennon bore, 
 
 ^^ And reaped, in tears, the due to glory 
 ^^ But never in my heart forgot 
 '' The prisoned spirit of this spot. 
 '^ Years have rolled over years, to me 290 
 
 '' Of many passions, hopes, and fears ; 
 ^^ But to thy cell. Captivity, 
 
 ^^ Those keen and cankering years 
 '* Have come unwished, unwelcomed gone, -^ 
 
 '' Blighted and past, and left but oney — 
 '^ The' absorbing thought, — the restless aim * 
 
 ^* Of Liberty's reluming flame. — 
 " To view with an unshackled eye, 
 ^^ This azure amplitude of sky ^ 
 
 '' O'er ocean's heaving waters bound, 300 
 
 '' Track with his own Thessalian hound, 
 ^^ The wild-wolf 's haunt, with heart as gay 
 ^^ As in youth's seeming yesterday: — 
 '' This is a hope that can illume 
 '^ Long years, — his dungeon's darkest gloom.'^ 
 
 XIL 
 
 ^' His Lady, fair Eudora, sought 
 
 '' To share his prison, but in vain: — 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 109 
 
 '^ The kind, considerate Emperor, thought 
 
 '^ It would add Jieenness to his chain/^ 
 ^' She heard, and never would become 310 
 
 '^ The flatterer of his pride, nor hear 
 ^' Within his court the barbarous driun 
 '^ Repeat stern vigils to the ear 
 '^ Of one so fierce, o^er one so dear 3 
 '' And though endeared by time and truth, 
 '^ And all the memories of her youth, 
 ^^ Those thousand sweetnesses which grow, 
 ^* Wlien exiled, into weeds of woe : — 
 ^^ She left the Palace, left the stir 
 
 ^^Of prmces, and of princes' slaves. 320 
 
 ^' What was a hollow smile to her? 
 
 ^^ Away then to the woods and waves ! 
 '' The woods and waves could not impart 
 '' Their quiet to her mind and heart ; 
 '' All beautiful, and stilly sweet, 
 
 ^^ As are the lines of nature's scrolls : — 
 '' They are but so to hearts that beat 
 
 '^ In unison J to stormy souls 
 '' The bright and still are passionless! 
 
 '^ The mil's vain thirst they cannot slake 330 
 
 '^ With grasped-at fruit; — their smilingness 
 
 '' But merely adds another ache, — 
 " The sight, without the hope of rest, 
 '' To the already-tortured breast. 
 
110 THE CAPTIVE • 
 
 '' O say, were birtli and beauty born 
 
 '' For tyrant wrong and traitorous scorn? 
 
 '^ Were all the generous passions lent 
 
 '^ To be our pride and punishment? 
 
 " Must one so fond and one so brave 
 
 *' Be that a martyr, this a slave?" 340 
 
 XIII 
 
 *' O heaven forbid P^ the Youth replied, 
 
 '^ And freedom's voice, and knighthood's call ! 
 '' Cosmo, I left a plighted bride, 
 
 ^^ Her tears will stain her father's hall, 
 '* If fortune cross, or aught delay 
 '^ Her warrior in his homeward way! 
 '' And dear the cause must be, to buy 
 '' From me those diamonds of the eye ! 
 '^ At price then of those drops, whose dew 
 '^ Will wring another's bosom too, 360 
 
 ^^ I am thine own, by crag or wave, 
 '^ To watch or win, to strike or save. 
 '^ I could not dare to see again 
 
 *^ Her Portico of purple vines, 
 " If ])ut dishonour's thought should stain 
 
 *^ The star which on my bosom shines ; 
 
OF STAMBOUL. m 
 
 '' But doom the arm that perils not 
 
 ^* In beauty^s quarrel, every vein 
 *^ That runs with ruddy drops, to rot 
 
 '^ Beneath a taunting chain, 360 
 
 '' And that ignobiest hands should rase 
 ^^ The crest and spur from one so base/^ 
 
 *^ Well speaks thy warm and gallant lip: 
 
 '^ For this through scorching climes remote 
 
 '' I stemmed the main : — but see our ship 
 '^ Has anchored, and my Cypriote 
 ^' For us has launched the tossing boat/^ 
 
 * 
 
 XIV. 
 
 '^ Thrice have I circuited these towers 
 ^^ With curious ken, and found at length 
 
 ^' A point where time or wmtry showers 370 
 
 '' Have tamed its marble strength, 
 
 '' Where fragments from the weedy wall 
 
 '^ Above seem nodding to their fall. 
 
 '^ See you not high, in middle air, 
 
 '' Some semblance of a dizzy stair, 
 
 '^ Which, sweepmg round, is mantled now 
 
 *^By the green alder^s clustering bough. 
 
112 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 *^ And by the ivy^s shade, which shoots 
 
 *^ Fearlessly down its wreathed roots ? 
 
 ^* Thence might we not atteropt to scale, 380 
 
 '^Though high, the' overawing battlements, 
 '^ What time the dark-plumed nightingale 
 
 ^' Pours forth its loud laments ? 
 *^ As desperate heights, as steep ascents, 
 
 '^Ere this, have wit and courage won ! 
 *' Witness that fortress, the defence 
 
 ^^ Of king Micipsa's Moorish son — 
 '^ Which rooted on its crag to mock 
 ^^ The thundering ram and tortoise-shock 
 ^' So high, — it was a dreadful thing 390 
 
 *' To see the swallow thence take wing ! — 
 ^^ Was in an hour of prowess scaled ^ 
 ^' The keen Ligurian's craft prevailed : — ^ 
 " That lofty precipice he won, 
 ^' Looked wide o^er tower and pavement lone, 
 ^' One trumpet blast, the s^hout, the roar 
 '^ Of thousands, and its hour was o'er. 
 '^ When barred the use of spear, and shield, 
 ^^ Her other arms will Wisdom wield; 
 *^ And us that subtle Serf may teach 400 
 
 '' What mocks our arm to win by breach ; — 
 '' Such will we, Guiscard, do and dare. 
 
 *^ Here meet we when at set of sun 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 113 
 
 '' The bearded's Imaum's chaunt in air/ 
 
 ^^From mosque, proclaims the morrow done, 
 
 '' Ere then the fisher must be sought j 
 ^^ His wooded island lies in view, 
 ^^ Like mist upon the billows blue; 
 
 '^By me his lesson shall be taught: — 
 
 ^^ At night his skiff shall wait and brave, 410 
 
 '' Eastward, the storm and dashing wave, 
 
 '^ Wliich there has scooped a cove; — a larch 
 
 '^ Conceals the entrance to the arch. 
 
 ^' I will find fitting means to shape 
 
 *^ Prince Andron^s dangerous escape : — 
 
 ^^ And, holy Freedom ! fall or flee, 
 
 '^ Our latest rites we pay to thee/^ 
 
 XV. 
 
 Lazily sped that stormy night; 
 
 The waves ran high, the winds sang loud. 
 And if at times the moon^s wan light 420 
 
 Hung on the dark edge of a cloud. 
 It was but to make more gloomily 
 Tliose other shadows of the sky 
 Frown on the earth as they hurried by ; 
 It was as if the shrouded dead 
 Should pass before a murderer's bed. 
 
114 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 And whilst his red and glazing eye 
 
 Was fixed in utter agony ^ 
 
 It was as if a ray should steal 
 
 On them^ as silently they wheel, 430 
 
 And light up in his gloomy brain. 
 
 The immortality of pain. 
 
 Deeming that spirits walked abroad. 
 
 The lonely centinel was awed. 
 
 Nor durst to echo trust the song 
 
 Her mimic voice would oft prolong. 
 
 Sheltered in keep, with eye and ear 
 
 Awake, and all alive with fear. 
 
 He watched till rolled the clouds away. 
 
 And dim the horizon glowed with day. 440 
 
 Ev'n when that day began to break, 
 
 ^Twas with such dull and mournful flake 
 
 As gleams in the volcano's dome. 
 
 The thunder's haunt, and earthquake's home. 
 
 Roused he the Warder ; — at his call 
 
 Rang loud the large and vaulted hall. 
 
 With jealous key, the creaking doors 
 
 Opened, and closed 3 and long the floors 
 
 Retained his parting footstep's sound. 
 
 He winds the lofty turret round, 450 
 
 Slowly, and sad, and wearily. 
 
 With heavy step and do^vnward eye 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 1X5 
 
 His first commission to relieve 
 
 The captive of his bonds till eve. 
 
 Now hath he gained that upper cell 
 
 Where Pain hath dwelt and long must dwell. 
 
 Why stands he yet upon the stair ? — 
 
 He starts ! Prince Andron is not there ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Sleep early fled from ManuePs eye ; 
 
 That morn he left his marble halls, 460 
 
 And sought where form and dash from high 
 
 The dazzling waterfalls ; 
 The tall cliff from whose savage brink 
 The weak must fall, the daring shrink, 
 \Miose echoing cave and soaring peak 
 Are vocal with the eagle's shriek ^ 
 Whatever the hand of Art has planned 
 Of bold or awful, wild or grand. 
 Here was not ; but a softer scene^ 
 
 Now bright, now solemn, now serene, — 4/0 
 
 Beautiful, and for ever green ; 
 As though to earth the sweets of heaven 
 Maternal Nature's hand had given, 
 
116 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 And blended all her stores, to show 
 How much of Eden rests below ! 
 Olive and myrtle, fig and vine. 
 
 Spread forth their blooms and purple fruits ; 
 In darker vesture rose the pine 5 
 
 To heaven the cypress sent its shoots j 
 And not one wind of all that swayed 480 
 
 Tlie roses' leaves, however slight. 
 But with its wing of sweetness made 
 
 The heart a Croesus in delight. 
 Thither, to suck their honey dew. 
 With spiral tongue the bee-bird flew. 
 With rapture drunk, and hung o'er them 
 Like segment of a brilliant gem ! 
 
 And you might see the water-breaks 
 Glide amid green pomegranate groves 
 Which the sweet bird of Midnight loves, 490 
 
 In many a maze irregular. 
 To basins marble-paved, and there 
 
 Repose in living lakes ; 
 And m the cool transparent spring 
 Did birds of beauty dip the wing ; 
 And many a Temple rose, amid 
 Those bowers, now seen, now famtly hid. 
 Wherein fair figures were displayed. 
 Hero and goddess, sage and maid. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. II7 
 
 By these the Imperial monarch stood ; 500 
 
 One arm a pillar clasped around^ 
 And there in meditative mood. 
 
 He listened to each gentle sound. — 
 
 The turtle's wail, the dash profound. 
 Of bubbling runnels gay with bliss. 
 
 Might bring a balm to sorrow's wound. 
 And charm a sterner soul than his : 
 In sooth he felt their bland controul. 
 Stealing like magic o'er his soul. 
 
 With such sweet power as sages say, 510 
 
 In desert wilderness astray. 
 If virgin Beauty cross his path. 
 Beguiles the Lion of his wrath ; — 
 Empire and care alike forgot. 
 He stood as rooted to the spot 
 
 By some overmastering charm ! 
 So have I seen in vernal woods. 
 Wreathing amid the violet's buds. 
 With seeming calmness in its eye. 
 The darkly-brooding serpent lie 520 
 
 Am innocent of harm : 
 Approach him, he uncoils his rings. 
 And redly glares, and fiercely stings. 
 Such seeming wildness wore thy face, 
 Imperial Manuel 1 brief the space. 
 
118 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 He raised from thought his bending head. 
 
 Wliate*er it was that met his eye, 
 I know not, but a stormy red, — 
 
 The sunbeam of vindictive joy, — 
 Flashed on his cheek whose smile might hide 530 
 
 Successful hate and scornful pride ; 
 Such bitter smile as malice shows 
 Upon the writhing lip of foes. 
 When fortune to their wish consigns — 
 Gift richer than Peruvian mines ! — 
 Long sought, long missed, a foeman's life. 
 By drug, by dagger, or by knife 1 — 
 But if the truth historians tell. 
 If viewed he thence the citadel 
 
 Where hopeless captives weep, 540 
 
 We need no clue the cause to trace, 
 Of changing blood in ManuePs face ; — 
 
 So hotly did it steep 
 His pale brow, thought of Andron's name. 
 Alone, could raise that fever^s flame. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But pondering on his victim's fate 
 Whose step disturbs his privacy. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 119 
 
 What sounds are at the palace gate, 
 
 That swell so wild and high ? 
 And O, why fly, like frantic things, 560 
 
 Those slaves so variously? why rings 
 Grove, temple, portico, — the tone 
 Floats on his ear — ^^the Captive^s gone!^^ 
 Scarce conscious what that sound imparts. 
 As from a dream the monarch starts ; 
 Hears voices round him, one by one, 
 '^ Where is the king? the Captive's gone/' 
 Intense distractedness of mein 
 Upon his blanched front is seen; — 
 But who may pause to contemplate 570 
 
 That form? — ^liis Nubian bursts the gate. 
 And flies, and in alarming tone 
 Exclaims, '' my lord, the Captive's gone; 
 *' The warder saw him fettered well 
 *^ Last eve ; this mom a vacant cell ! 
 '^ No trace or token marked his flight! 
 ^' Firm were the doors! no chains in sight!*' — 
 — '^ Ho! gird me on my scimetar; 
 ^^ Tlie fugitive pursue; and bar 
 
 *'The City-gates. Speed, Suley, speed, 580 
 
 ^^ And call my guards and rein my steed.'' 
 Then turns he his upbraiding eye 
 Abroad, on ocean, earth, and sky, 
 
120 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 And stamps his foot, and loudly cries 
 
 ^' By heaven! this hour the traitor dies/^ 
 
 Nor in his fury seems to know. 
 
 Fled is the man he calls his foe. 
 
 With hurrying tramp and mingled din. 
 
 Horseman and horse came pouring in 
 
 With lance in hand, and spur on heel : 590 
 
 ^^ Haste! kill! pursue !^^ Their steeds they wheel. 
 
 And seem annihilating space, — 
 
 Such speed is in their rapid race. 
 
 xvnr. 
 
 The rearward horseman^s vanished now. 
 
 And Manuel stands in deep reflection. 
 What sudden thought makes bright his brow? — 
 
 A passing recollection 
 Recalled from memory's shadowy page. 
 And haste grows cahn, and ebbs his rage. 
 With wilder wave to renovate 600 
 
 The full reflowing tide of hate ; 
 A moment^ s pause to clear again 
 His dark suspicion's tangled chain. 
 ^^ Enough, my Nubian ; bid or bring 
 ^^ Lady Eudora to her king ; 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 121 
 
 ^' Of this I might have deemed, when back 
 
 *^ From Buda I had led my powers, 
 
 ^^ And learned how small a guard, and slack, 
 
 '^ Had kept their vigil o^er those towers, % 
 
 '^ And that in Day^s departing hours, 610 
 
 ^' Thither the Lady would repair, 
 *^ And tune in these forbidden bowers, 
 
 ^^ Her wild lute to the air ; 
 '* The lute to which of yore I listened, 
 *^ Till they said my eyes have glistened 
 
 ^^ With a strange and holy awe 
 ^^ Caught from her, derived from heaven, 
 ^^ And she, to touch so sweet a strain 
 ^^ To me but once, but once again, 
 ^' Might deem her chief forgiven. 620 
 
 ^^ But, no ! these are no Turkish plains, 
 
 " Where that wayward chief might press 
 *' Some hot assault with glowing veins, 
 
 '^ And at eve when weariness^ 
 '^ Slacked his vigour, swift transform 
 / City shook by fire and storm, 
 *^ To high revel in a camp, 
 ^' Sped with dance and lit with lamp, 
 ^^ Beauty^s smile for warrior^s groan, 
 4( War's shrill clarion for the tone 630 
 
 G 
 

 122 "THE CAPTIVE 
 
 '* Of his Lady's laughing lyre, 
 
 *^ Which — but no, my brain is fire. 
 
 Seared by injury, steeled by wrong. 
 
 Not till now remembered long: 
 ^^ It was not enough, that I 
 *^ Passed his fault with honours by, 
 '^ Respecting him that in such hours, 
 ^^ Flushed with wine, and crowned with flowers, 
 *^ He has tossed the wreath aside, 
 
 *^ Sabre fastened to his side, 640 
 
 ^^ Donned his helmet, heron-plumed, 
 ^^ Banner shaken, shield resumed, 
 '^ And changed the sallying Tecbir-cry ^ 
 ^^ To one \vild wail of agony. 
 ^^ Dukedoms, three, could not console 
 '' The shame, the' ambition in his soul. 
 ^^ Successless from Mopsuestia's siege, 
 ^^ He had the praises of his liege; 
 ^^ Rank, wealth, and every other want 
 ^^ Subject might claim, or sovereign gr^nt. 650 
 
 ^^ Wlien Braniseba's duke put on 
 ^^ Helmet vdth me, in Macedon, 
 '^ Wliat cause had he for plighting ring 
 ^^ With German or Hungarian king, 
 " To bare his blade at twilight hour, 
 ^^ And under shadow of our power. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 123 
 
 " Disguised, draw to our tent, as though 
 ^^ He sought revenge on naortal foe? 
 ^^ Thought he, I ween, the crown I wear 
 ^^ Would beam more radiance on his hair, 660 
 
 ^^ That the pearled sceptre, only he 
 ^^ Of the Comnenian dynasty, 
 '^ Could wave with majesty, or wield 
 ^^ Byzantium^s warring spear and shield] 
 ^^ Fruitless the hope, and vain the task, 
 *^ The^ aspiring aim from me to mask ! 
 *^ His fire and genius well I know ; — 
 ^^ A fearful friend, — more fearful foe; — 
 *^ An enterprize, not fame can slake, — 
 ^' A fortitude, no pain can shake ; — 670 
 
 ^^ An open ear, an eye awake, 
 ^^ Resolving heart, contriving head, 
 *^ And hand to do the deed of dread ; 
 ^^ An angePs eloquence, to aid 
 *' The sweeping fierceness of his blade, 
 '^ The spell- word whose Orphean charm 
 ** Might bid surrounding nations arm, 
 ^^ And speak the tempest to a calm j 
 ^^ And now, O now! what bush or brake 
 '^ May veil the lion, hide the snake, 680 
 
 " In glowing vengeance crouched to spring, 
 " Or closelv coiled to shoot the stinsf ! 
 
 G 2 
 
124 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 ^^ If once the fang is fixed, adieu 
 
 ^^ Life, empire, glory, what are you ! 
 
 ^^ Yet shall he find, this vest beneath, 
 
 /^ A heart'^ — His sword has left its sheath 
 
 And his hand stabs the viewless air. — 
 
 Soft! What entrancing form moves there? 
 
 Like that same lion, bent to spring. 
 
 Rage in his gesture, stands the king, 690 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Beautiful spirit ! the radiant glow 
 
 Of heaven^s own purple seems over her flung. 
 Dazzling the gazer, like the bow 
 
 Which Mercy^s hand in the storm has hung. 
 
 And, O ! so fair, so soft, so young ! 
 Can this Eudora be the star 
 Which governed Andron^s fate in war ; 
 She who his cares and toils to soothe. 
 
 Left State's bright palace for the stir 
 Of camps and leaguered towns ? in sooth, 700 
 
 Lovers most enthusiast worshipper ! 
 Who all day long would watch with eye 
 
 And heart that trembled but for him. 
 
OF STAMBOUL/ 125 
 
 His course of glory, till the sky. 
 
 At dewfall, waxed dim. 
 And the shrill horn recalled his foot 
 From conquering* charge, or far pursuit ; 
 She, who would then, with fond embrace. 
 Unclasp the vizor from his face. 
 
 Bear water whence cool fountains flow, 710 
 
 To slake his thirst and bathe his brow. 
 Or, last extremity of pain. 
 
 Bind with her scarf the wounds which gush 
 In heavy drops from the gashed vein ; 
 And whilst her bleeding hero deep 
 Enjoys the fever-balm of sleep. 
 
 Each rude, disturbing murmur hush. 
 So that not e^en the slightest thing 
 Had leave to flutter on the wing ; 
 
 In peril, care, and agony, 720 
 
 His minister ; can this be she ? 
 Well may the monarch start and gaze. 
 Who knew her in her happier days. 
 Ere yet the cankering worm of grief 
 Preyed on her crisped virgin-leaf. 
 When gay at heart, in beauty^s bloom. 
 Her eye shot sunshine through the room. 
 And in the mirror of her face. 
 Each rising feeling you might trace, — 
 
126 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 Whether Joy^s smile, or Anger's flush, 730 
 
 Or injured Pride's resenting blush 
 
 Woke the black pupil's transient flash. 
 
 Or gentle Pity dewed its lash. 
 
 Or o'er her cheek as danger grew. 
 
 Courage a stormy grandeur threw j — 
 
 Ev'n like a blue transparent lake. 
 
 Whose banks are bright with flower and tree. 
 If zephyr only is awake 
 
 Eacn blossom in its waves you see. 
 But if the storm its wings unfurl, 740 
 
 The darkening billows proudly curl. 
 And to the eye its glass has given 
 The thunder^clouds which gloom in heaven, 
 
 XX, 
 
 But summer rifles the lily's bell. 
 
 And the frost of winter chills the rose. 
 And time, whose flight is pleasure's knell. 
 
 Has drugged youth's chalice deep with woes. 
 
 From summer's blooms to winter^s snows ; 
 From the hour when Autumn spreads her pall 
 
 To the last sweet days of parting spring, 750 
 
 When the fanciful hours aspire to fling 
 Life, music, and flowers, o'er all j 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 127 
 
 She seeks not, — rather shuns repose ; 
 And now her faded aspect shows 
 
 Her many passions sunk in one : — 
 Tlie brilliant eye of other days. 
 Dim, and the bosom cold to praise 
 
 Which charmed so much when life begun ; 
 Sorrow alone on her white brow sits. 
 And some deep feeling gleams by fits, 760 
 
 Like ruins of the spirit's light 
 
 Burning on through years of pain. 
 
 As the moon^s track on the main. 
 Glimmers through the dark midnight. 
 And beautiful, in time's despite. 
 
 And lovely must the spirit be, 
 Wliich loves on in dark and bright. 
 
 Pain and bliss eternally ! 
 
 Such, amid despair, is she 
 Whom her weeping maids have borne> 770 
 
 From her villa by the sea. 
 To the audience-room this mom ; — 
 She has nerved her heart with scorn ; 
 
 Put the purple on, to show 
 Souls are great by tyrants torn. 
 
 Hearts are haughty to a foe. 
 
128 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Mutely, before the king, she stands^ 
 
 Nor heaves one sigh, nor clasps her hands ; 
 
 As if her injured heart might break. 
 
 But to no earthly monarch quake. 780 
 
 As if resolved her settled air 
 
 Should to no human eye, declare 
 
 How deep, or with what gall and smart. 
 
 The torturing iron pierced her heart 3 
 
 And though the murmuring spring they hear 
 
 Bubbling in the marble hall. 
 And thousand things around appear. 
 
 Past seasons to recal. 
 When, at a word, she flew to tune 
 
 < 
 
 Her soft lute many a summer-noon, 790 
 
 To charm the king in his saloon. 
 And rose, and jasmine, culled to bind 
 
 Her braid of hyacinthine tresses. 
 And at a call, his neck entwined 
 
 In fond and innocent caresses ;— 
 The chill of snows would ill express 
 Her dark eye's silent iciness. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 129 
 
 As, fixt on him, she ponders o'er 
 
 Her many pangs that know no cure, — 
 And Andron^s bitter thrall ! what more 800 
 
 Can he inflict, or we endure ! 
 For in his red eye she can read 
 The prelude to a darker deed. 
 And this short pause of silent ire. 
 
 Is like the pulseless airs which wrap 
 
 The desolate volcanoes cap. 
 Ere the imprisoned flood of fire 
 Flares like a banner to the sky. 
 And the broad earthquake passes by. 
 What may it be that can impart, 810 
 
 To him that storminess of heart ! 
 Fearless, and with an air austere. 
 She bends her from her height to hear. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 At length her scorn has fired his spirit proud. 
 And rage bursts forth as lightning breaks the cloud ; 
 No single passion fluctuates in his mind. 
 But a whole host, in warring chaos joined. 
 Impels his heart, in swift tumultuous change. 
 From fear to pride, from fondness to revenge: — 
 
 G 3 
 
130 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 '^ Slave of the man whom, like the reckless wind, 820 
 '^ No threats could awe, no kindnesses could bind, 
 ^^ Say, in what dwelling' lurks the trustless chief? 
 '' Nay, no upbraiding look, no seeming grief, 
 *^ No hollow anguish, no dissembling sigh; 
 ^^ This instant answer, or prepare to die. 
 '^ Hemlock has poison, agony the wheel, 
 '^ The burning iron and the smiting steel ; 
 * Then would it 'vail those orbs that they have worn 
 ^^ A ray of beauty or a glance of scorn? — 
 '^ Scorched to their sockets by the searing brand, 830 
 '^ Nor light, nor triuniph, can they more command; 
 *^ Stretched on the winding wheel, would that soft limb 
 " Have vanity for you, or charm for him? 
 '' Such things there are, and lovelier ones have known 
 *^ Their bemg in the pangs which quenched their own. 
 ^^ Coils he, an adder, near us? — or, more brave, 
 ^' Flies with the steed on land, or rides the wave? 
 '^ Where rests — where flies — ^how 'scaped he ? Briefly give 
 ^^ The word I claim, and live, — in glory live, 
 *^ Crowned with the gems of wealth, the pomp of 
 power : 840 
 
 *' Here empire wooes thee, and there frowns the tower, 
 ^^ The grate, the cell, the prison : aye! the chain, 
 ^^ The groan, the gloom, the penance, and the pain, 
 '^ Eternal solitude, and whirling brain I 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 131 
 
 *^Look up ! survey the sun, flowers, fountains, sky, 
 
 " Rapture on earth, and life and light on high ; 
 
 *^ To be a captive, or a denizen, 
 
 ^^ CaitiflFwith owls, or goddess-like with men. — 
 
 ** What have I said? where are we? I should know 
 
 ^^ That pallid cheek, and chill, declining brow. 850 
 
 '^ Where are the roses fled to? that light form 
 
 '^ Was once Eudora, but the sun and storm 
 
 '^ Of battle have wrought changes, and her mind 
 
 *' Has left, perchance, remembrance far behind, 
 
 ^^ When by these fountains, in those cypress-bowers, — 
 
 " Nay, shrink not, start not, — melody was ours, 
 
 *^ And moonlight dances, revelry, and song, 
 
 Sped time upon a fairy's foot along ; 
 
 Why should a hateful shadow come between? 
 '^ Speak ! be the future what the past has been, 860 
 
 ^^ Tom by no anguish, haunted by no crime, 
 ^^ A happy pageant, and a festal time; — 
 *^ Refuse, and well thy former guilt I know, 
 ^^ A seeming virtue, but a wily foe; 
 '' The lyre, the tune, the hour, the steel, the crape, 
 '^ The ready steed, and signal for escape! — 
 *^ Not vainly did that eye of treason then 
 ^^ Glance through the gloom, and dive within the glen ; — 
 ^^ Not vainly didst thou fling to those who hem 
 '^ Thy swift retreat, the bribe of gold or gem. — 870 
 
 
132 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 '' Enough, reveal this mystery, and be free;— 
 '' I wage not war with lovely things like thee.'' 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 — ^^ Yes, am I changed ! time was, I could have borne 
 
 '^ Thy praise; all, save thine anger and thy scorn ; 
 
 '' For then thou wert no tyrant, wert too pure, 
 
 '' Too free thyself and generous to immure 
 
 '^ Chiefs amid chains and torture, — one who dyed 
 
 '' His spear in bloody battle by thy side, 
 
 '^ Thy friend, almost thy brother, one who blew 
 
 '' With thee his tasselled horn, who tracked the dew 880 
 
 '^ With the same beagles, and \vith equal skill 
 
 '^Drew shafts upon the same Thessalian hill. 
 
 ^' Look on me! sun, storm, battle, I can brave, 
 
 ^^ Shrieks on the field, and perils on the wave ; 
 
 ^^ They flung no grief, no paleness on my brow, 
 
 '^ No dagger at my heart, but it was Thou : — 
 
 '^ Andron must thy unjust resentment bear, 
 
 *^ For fancied crimes, and wrestle with despair. 
 
 '^ *Twas thus that sorrow sapped my vital bloom, 
 
 ^^ And pale consumption marked me for the tomb; 890 
 
 '^ Even this weak frame must thou essay to shake, 
 
 '' Not for mine own, but for another's sake ! 
 
OF STAMBOUL. J 33 
 
 '' Kings tread not on the fallen; kings are just j— 
 
 '' A tyrant thou, and traitor to thy trust ; 
 
 '' A king has pity, mercy; thou hast none; 
 
 ^' Of all thy petty gifts, I asked but one^ — 
 
 '' To share his lingering penance, — ^twas denied: 
 
 *' You coolly smiled, presumptuous in your pride. 
 
 '^ It shames me that you saw my tears to flow, 
 
 '^ But I am more, am more than woman now; 900 
 
 '^ Clianged, gauntletted by injury to fling back 
 
 *^ Scorn on thy gems, defiance to thy rack. 
 
 ^^ I aid Prince Andron^s flight 1 what aiding power 
 
 '^ Have I ? Am I the keeper of his tower ? 
 
 ^^ His guard, his centinel? but more I guess 
 
 '' You flatter only to insult distress. 
 
 '' Reveal the flight your wiles perchance have sped ! 
 
 '^ I dare your power, but ^tis thyself I dread, 
 
 ^' Lest that dark hands were urged to' anticipate 
 
 '^ The too long lingering years and flx his fate. 910 
 
 '^ Ha! dost thou start ! before thy spirit stands 
 
 ^* A shape, when sleep has bound thee in its bands, 
 
 *' Shall visit thy wild slumber, haunt thy guilt : 
 
 ^* Now bring the wheel, and torture if thou \vilt, — 
 
 '^ I speak no more, nor shall my shrieks be loud, 
 
 '* But I will put my finger from my shroud, 
 
 *^ And write its fiery vengeance on thy brow. 
 
 '^ Proud Autocrat! now what with me would'st Thou ?'" 
 
 -^ 
 
134 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 All words, all eloquence were faint. 
 
 The monarches paroxysm to paint, 920 
 
 As veering now from rage to pride. 
 
 His mantle-folds he threw aside ; 
 
 And, fixed on his dark forehead, sate 
 
 A mingled scowl of pain and hate. 
 
 He stamped his foot, and, at his call. 
 
 His armed vassals filled the hall. 
 
 And for a minute's space, no sound 
 
 Was heard their deepening files around. 
 
 But awe and wonder o'er them spread 
 
 The unstirring silence of the dead. 930 
 
 Quivered the monarch's lips, and clung 
 
 To the palate's roof his tongue. 
 
 Till within his lowering eye 
 
 Brighter fires of anger woke 
 A spell of stronger mastery — 
 Pointing to the turrets nigh. 
 
 Terribly he spoke : 
 ^' Away, away, this Lady bear 
 *' Up yon dark tower's winding stair ^ 
 
OF STAMBOUL. I35 
 
 *' Sleepless eyes beneath her wait, — 940 
 
 ** Adamantine be the grate j — 
 
 ^^ If a hand but wave below, 
 
 ^^ Lip salute, or head but bow, 
 
 '' Headman^s axe shall be his doom, 
 
 '^ Hers, a dungeon^s deeper gloom. 
 
 ^' Haughty woman, have thy will, 
 
 ^* Share his penance, share his ill ; 
 
 '^ Weep by day, by night repine, 
 
 *' Suns shall rise, and planets shine 
 
 '' To thy drooping eye in vain. 950 
 
 *' Never shalt thou break the chain 
 
 '^ Which around thine arm I wind, 
 
 '^ Till prince Andron comes to bind 
 
 ^^ His with that which humbleth thee, 
 
 *^ Sealer of his destiny ! 
 
 '^ Then may^st thou again be free. 
 
 '^ We, meanwhile, will hem his path, 
 
 '^ And if he should meet our wrath, 
 
 '' His shall be the sepulchre, 
 
 ^^ Thine the eternal cell's despair. 960 
 
 '^ Princess, dost thou now obey ? 
 
 '* She speaks not. Hurry her away, 
 
 ^^ Nor let those whimpering slaves be near 
 
 '^ To whisper treason in her ear.'' 
 
136 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 XXV. 
 
 How fares the high Eiidora now ? 
 
 Falls not the pride that stamped her brow ? 
 
 No ! flashing lance and pealing drum 
 
 Have failed her bosom to benumb. 
 
 Though by sabres compassed round. 
 
 Heedless that the tyrant frowned, 970 
 
 As she passed, her lip again 
 
 Assumed a smile of cool disdain. 
 
 Thence by numbers borne away. 
 
 Through the court where fountains play. 
 
 She is swiftly passing now. 
 
 And by the dark cupressine bough j 
 
 Slowlier hold they on their march. 
 
 As they near the ribbed arch. 
 
 Hark ! the unfolding portals creak — 
 
 And close ; but neither voice nor shriek^ 980 
 
 Meets the monarch, listening still. 
 
 One lone trumpet, loud and shrill. 
 
 Telling him the tale, repined 
 
 In the melancholy wind. — • 
 
 Sadly it fell, and sadly rose. 
 
 Like the gust o^er winter^s snows. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. I37 
 
 When there falls no glimpse of light, 
 
 O^er the desolate midnight. 
 
 And the hollow-voiced wave. 
 
 In fitful sorrow heard to rave, 990 
 
 Bears the wild summons to the deep. 
 
 In whitening flash and whirling sweep- 
 
 Thrice it rose, and thrice it fell, 
 
 A wild lament, a troubled knell ; 
 
 The wind blew by, and, dismally. 
 
 Flung the tidings far to sea. 
 
 O^er the murmuring billows blue. 
 
 Away, away the sea-bird flew ; 
 
 The sea-boy, mounted in his shroud. 
 
 Looked high on main, and cape, and cloud, 1000 
 
 And strained the canvas to the mast. 
 
 As there were evil in the blast. 
 
 The fisher deemed a storiti was nigh. 
 
 And plied his oars incessantly. 
 
 And scudded forward free to reach 
 
 His wooded islet^s golden beach. 
 
 Sparkle his dipping oars ; — ^'tis won — 
 
 Whilst redly glares the lurid sun. 
 
 Which, as his flapping sail is furled. 
 
 Sinks, and ^tis twilight o'er the world. 
 
 END OF CANTO I. 
 
THB 
 
 CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL. 
 
 CANTO II 
 
 (( 
 
 Hah ! was it fancy'^s work j — I hear a step- 
 It hath the speech-like thrilling of his tread : 
 
 It is himself r' 
 
 Maturin. 
 
 I. 
 
 As brightly \vild the hours of Glory run. 
 
 So throng her shadows, and so sinks her sun ; 
 
 That brilliant Circle which the day-star drew 
 
 Round Nature, is her type of being too : 
 
 See first how splendour's rushing rays adorn 
 
 The peopled towers of empire in her morn j 
 
 Thither the yet barbaric nations pour. 
 
 And Battle's blast is blown from shore to shore. 
 
140 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 By fire and freedom in her bright noon nursed. 
 
 The glow of genius is a glorious thirst ; 10 
 
 Then Power his pinnacle bestrides, and we 
 
 View Taste spring forth, like Venus from the sea. 
 
 Radiant, and pure, and goddess-like to draw 
 
 High aspirations, settling into awe. 
 
 Last Pride and Luxury, wedded to decay. 
 
 Conceal, in clouds, the ruins of her ray ; 
 
 Faint, and more faint, upon the dial falls 
 
 That ray, long shadows creep o'er crumbling walls ; 
 
 When that, her sunshine of renown expires. 
 
 The sons forget the grandeur of their sires j 20 
 
 Heroes are shrunk to vassals j deeds sublime 
 
 Are scoffed ; and Liberty becomes a crime ; 
 
 Scarce known, through Slavery's gathering shadows flit. 
 
 Like ghosts, the forms of Wisdom and of Wit ; 
 
 Taste breaks her pencil ; Hope her charmed glass, — 
 
 Another age — and her descendants pass 
 
 O'er altars rent, and sculptures green with grass ; 
 
 From gilded halls, the crouchmg tiger springs. 
 
 And ivy crests the Capitols of kings ; 
 
 Doubt on his moonlit marbles sits, and spells 30 
 
 Disputed names, and cancelled chronicles ; 
 
 And as the melancholy wind repines 
 
 Through vacant temples, and deserted shrines. 
 
 Sighs o'er the vigils which his fondness keeps. 
 
 Or sickens at the solitude and weeps. 
 
 \ 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 141 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet with her day of majesty, not all 
 
 Is wrapt in night^s annihilating pall; 
 
 Memory and song transmit her patriot^s name. 
 
 Through years of wrong, and centuries of shame; 
 
 Our eye once more upon their pages cast, 40 
 
 Forgets the present and renews the past; 
 
 Lit by their ray again, a golden shower 
 
 Of sunshine hangs on temple and on tower; 
 
 The fluted column burns ; in bright relief. 
 
 Each statue stands of goddess and of chief; 
 
 The olive grows more green ; a murmuring sound 
 
 Steals the rich shrines and holy mountains round. 
 
 All things existent, speak of spirit still, — 
 
 The rock, the flower, the ocean, and the hill ; 
 
 On its blue crag the' Acropolis defies 50 
 
 The strength of time, the lightnings of the skies; 
 
 Each field, each wave o^er which the mighty flew. 
 
 By fancy tinged with inspiration's hue. 
 
 Despite the fallen fane, the people's trance. 
 
 Still breathe of power, of passion, and romance. 
 
142 THE CAFnVE 
 
 III. 
 
 Thus is there beauty still upon thy cheek. 
 
 Pride of the modern Goth, and elder Greek, 
 
 Queen of the Orient! Thou, whom Constantine 
 
 Crowned, in a bridal hour, almost divine. 
 
 To keep perpetual Glory's golden keysj 60 
 
 All earth thy dower, thy ministers all seas. 
 
 Though thy fair halls a tyrant makes his home, — 
 
 And the Seraglio shows its burnished dome. 
 
 Though the high Mosque a sainted sod profane. 
 
 Though bearded Moslems shame Sophia's fane. 
 
 Thou hast thy beautiful dust, — urns which enfold 
 
 The ashes of thy demigods of old; — 
 
 The same wild path of waves too, which has worn 
 
 And to the Crescent shaped thy Golden Horn,^ 
 
 That path o'er which Minerva's Xenophon, 70 
 
 From red Cunaxa called his heroes on ; 
 
 The baffled Persian barred his way in vain, 
 
 And idly round him shook his empty chain ; 
 
 In all, through all, he mocked the' insidious foe. 
 
 The Median sling and the barbaric bow 3 
 
 Chill, faint with famine, bleeding, Avasted, wet. 
 
 Firm, though betrayed, and conquering, though beset j 
 
OF STAMBOUL. J43 
 
 O'er snows and sands they strive ; O, can it be ! 
 
 Is yon the heaving of the dark blue sea? 
 
 The shout of happy thousands rends the air: 80 
 
 '' The sea! the sea!'' and all is safety there. 
 
 As o'er the blackening Bosphorus they sweep, 
 
 Byzantium seems to meet them on the deep. 
 
 And gladdening thoughts of their dear Athens come 
 
 In each green olive and columnar dome ; 
 
 There, in bright hour, resigned that glorious soul. 
 
 The warrior's trophy, for the sage's stole. 
 
 And left his name and story evermore. 
 
 To charm a world he almost saved before. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But past that vision, later ages roll, 90 
 
 Nor is Byzantium near, but Istamboul; 
 
 There, yet, a Greek the throne of Julian fills. 
 
 And sees a lordlier Athens on the hills. 
 
 Looks with wide eye around the vext Euxine, 
 
 But not to hail a warrior from its brine ; 
 
 One came, and what was his embrace? — a chain. 
 
 Long may he gaze there, but to gaze in vain. 
 
 Long be Prince Andron hid from Manuel's eye. 
 
 Whatever his doom, and wheresoever he flv! 
 
144 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 V. 
 
 The blush of the eve fadeth dim o^er the water; 100 
 
 The night-wind is rising, and billows dash high. 
 As in her lone tower, StambouPs loveliest daughter 
 Looks abroad from her lattice o^er ocean and sky. 
 There's a frown in the heaven, and a gloom on the ocean/ 
 
 And a low, hollow dirge in the lapse of the wind. 
 That well suit the sad melancholious emotion. 
 
 The feeling and fire of a musical mind, — 
 Of one whose live chords with swift impulse will borrow 
 
 A token and tone from the hue of the hour. 
 Inspiration in joy, and sereneness in sorrow, 1 10 
 
 Subdued into patience, but latent with power. 
 She turned to the page of the past 3 — 'twas a dream ; — 
 
 To the future 3 — ^twas life without one joyous ray; 
 For quenched in despair was the tremulous beam. 
 
 Her beacon by night, and her vision by day. 
 O, O ! for a wing the dark storm to outfly 
 
 Like the birds of the storm that so soaringly shriek 
 Round her turret, to kindle a cresset on high. 
 On each Asian precipice, castle, and peak; 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 145 
 
 Though dim, it might lure him to anchor in sands 120 
 
 Where the wave lies serenest in haven and bay. 
 Now, haply, his bark the wild element strands. 
 
 Assassins surround, or the ruthless betray ! 
 With that image came terror, and lowering suspense. 
 
 And doubt, giant lord of the rack and the wheel. 
 Whose ordeal, wrought up into torture intense. 
 
 Not the loftiest can scorn, nor the haughtiest conceal !— 
 She felt it — Eudora, steal over her frame. 
 
 And the veil of her fantasy strip from her eye. 
 As the earthquake of night, that, long slumbering in 
 flame, 130 
 
 Rends the mantle of Nature in passing her by. 
 ** I could brook,'^ she exclaimed, 'Uhefoul finger of scorn, 
 
 ^^The scowl of contempt, and the menace of hate, 
 *' These, these, I could bear, and unmurmuring have borne 
 
 ** With a bosom undaunted, and spirit elate; 
 ^^ But to linger for ever in towers, to commune 
 
 *^ With nought but the sun-loving swallow, and cloud, 
 *^ Soaring free, — soaring free! — in calm regions of noon, 
 
 ^^ Of their limitless pleasure and liberty proud, 
 ** And alone on the frailty of fortune relying, 140 
 
 *^ To gaze on, to envy their transit, and feel 
 *^ There is wormwood in life, and a solace in dying, 
 
 ^^ Yet to linger, weep, tremble, and agonize still ; — 
 ^^ And at night, when her poppies should silence the toil 
 
 ^^ Of the mind, and hush all its wild fancies asleep, 
 
 H 
 
146 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 '^ To dream of the loved and the absent^ awhile, 
 
 ^^ In slumber to smile, and awaking to weep ;-^ 
 '^ I know not — ^this dark brain, now tearless and dry, 
 
 ^^ May reel with its sufferance, and thus it were well ; 
 ^^ But gently, O maid of the lunatic eye, 150 
 
 *^ Lay thy shaft on my heart, and it will not rebel; 
 ^^ For thee, savage Chief, unrepentant in ire,— 
 
 '^ Hark ! hark]! ^tis the voice of the injured that calls ! 
 ^* May thy hearth be usurped by the ivy and briar, 
 
 " And the fox and owl hoot in thy tenantless walls I 
 *^ Dim, dim through the compassing clouds of decay, 
 
 *^ The stars that o'er-ruled thy nativity shine, 
 ^- Thy sceptre soon shivered, thy crown passed away, 
 
 ^^ To circle a forehead more royal than thine : 
 ^^ I err not ; there sits on a shadowy throne, 160 
 
 " Whose steps are on kingdoms, the form of the brave, 
 ^^ With finger that beckons, ah me ! 'tis his own ! 
 
 ^^ Now, haughty Insulter! down, down to the grave !'^ 
 
 VI. 
 
 With filmed eye, and fixed look. 
 
 As if her brain, indeed, were reeling, 
 
 Eudora trembled as she spoke 
 This more than earthly burst of feeling j 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 14^ 
 
 For there was visioned to her sight 
 
 With martial figures compassed round, 
 A form, an eye like Andron^s, bright, 170 
 
 With sceptred hand, and arm unbound,-^ 
 
 But dark his cheek as one who frowned 
 Some object of his hate to see, — - 
 
 Fetter or chain, whose cankering wound 
 He wears to all eternity ; 
 And in his eye there still was dread. 
 
 As one not yet unused to pain, — 
 That sleepless sense of torture fled, 
 
 Wliilst dark remembrances remain. 
 Which Titan on his rock would feel 180 
 
 Loosed from his eagle and his chain. 
 Or mad Ixion from his wheel. 
 
 That ordeal of a brain 
 Blinded by Night^s long tyrannies. 
 To which the very light of skies 
 Were agony, until it grew 
 Fixed and familiar to the view : 
 But his Byzantine diadem 
 Was starred with many a flaming gem. 
 Opal, and pearl, and amethyst, 190 
 
 Torn from turbans of the East, 
 And crouched on many a gonfalon. 
 From Syrians holiest ramparts won; 
 
 His feet the Turkish libbard kissed; — 
 
 H 3 
 
148 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 It might be but a phantasm sent 
 
 In pity from the world of dreams, 
 A show which fancy oft has lent 
 
 To soften passion's fierce extremes. 
 But which in years of brighter date. 
 The future quickens into fate. 200 
 
 Whence, or whatever that gifted vision 
 Which charmed her soul with thoughts Elysian, 
 Or of the future or the past. 
 It could not, and it did not last : 
 The image of that sceptred king. 
 
 The glittering diadem he wore. 
 Passed by, like an unreal thing. 
 
 And she but listens to the roar 
 Of rising winds and tossing seas. 
 And the stormy music which the breeze 210 
 
 Makes as it drives ashore 
 The big waves^ that, in ceaseless lash. 
 Heavily boom, and whitely dash. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A moment, and Eudora's heart. 
 Its own proud quietude regains^ 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 149 
 
 And high resolve and courage, dart 
 
 A keener current through her veins. 
 But hark; she hears the dread tambour 
 Beat an alarum near her tower. 
 
 In a wild, a muffled knell. 220 
 
 '* Blessed Virgin! can it be, 
 *^ Is my chief no longer free ! 
 
 *^ Seek they this lone cellP' 
 Hush, for the cry of warder ! — no ; 
 But the wailing trumpets blow 
 Accents sorrowful and shrill. 
 Vale to valley, hill to hill. 
 
 Wave to wave, the signal tossed ; 
 In the captive^s fancy naming 
 Andron^s name, with grief proclaimmg 230 
 
 Lost, for ever lost. 
 In the courts around, below. 
 
 Heard was many a voice, recounting 
 Fruitless chasing of the foe ; 
 
 Knights from weary steeds dismounting ; 
 Horses pawing, arch resounding; 
 Watchword passed to centinel ; 
 
 Helm unbuckling; sabre sheathing; 
 Soldier curse or blessing breathing 
 On the mighty scaped so well. 240 
 
1^0 XliJE CAPTIve 
 
 Sounds now ceasing, now renewing. 
 
 Rising on the ear, and fainting, 
 Andron gone beyond pursuing: — 
 
 Hers is pleasure past the painting. 
 Now there^s not a voice in hearing. 
 Knight on knight is disappearing 
 
 From the area's space, below. 
 Ye, who've seen the battle veering. 
 Doubting, trembling, hoping, fearing. 
 Banners rearing, sinking, rearing, 250 
 
 Till a panic seized the foe. 
 And they fled, like winds on ocean. 
 With a terrible commotion, — 
 That lone lady's deep emotion. 
 Ye, and ye alone, can know. 
 Far-oflf is the tambour beating ; — 
 Far-oflf are the bugles greeting ; 
 Ceasing as the bands they number. 
 Striking now the hour of slumber. 
 
 In an echo, deep and low, 260 
 
 Through the silent city ranging. 
 Stationed guards the watch are changing. 
 
 Hark ! again their trumpets blow 
 Accents silver.toned and shrill 1-5=?? 
 Not a beagle now is baying. 
 Soldier shouting, war-horse neighing; — 
 All lies gathered, dark and stilL 
 
OE STAMBOUL. 151 
 
 VIII. 
 
 All is still but the wind on the wave. 
 
 The minute-beat of the ocean^s pulse ! 
 All is at rest but the hoarser rave 270 
 
 Of rushing tides which the walls repulse, — 
 That mighty voice, that hollow sound 
 From all the mustering billows round. 
 Heaved in a mass from realm to realm. 
 As if the floods which erst did whelm 
 The universal earth, were yet 
 Not all assuaged, nor could forget 
 How, in their rushing might, went down. 
 Temple on temple, tower on town. 
 The lofty mountains ^vild and wide 280 
 
 With all their snows upon them, — Pride 
 In his communion with the stars, — 
 Battle, with all his crests and cars, — 
 
 All, all the Omnipotent created. 
 And none were left of millions, none 
 But Pyrrha and Dpucalion, 
 
 To watch the waves as they abated^ 
 And smile, amid their wilderness^ 
 
152 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 When the first star of their new night 
 
 Put forth from clouds, its lonely light 290 
 
 As Venus dimly does on this. 
 With thoughts like theirs, Eudora sate. 
 Her eye upon the roaring strait; 
 Earth, was, to her, that vacant ball. 
 And she the only left of all. 
 But yet not wholly left : — a strain 
 
 Is heard from Passion's sweetest string j 
 To the Genii of the main. 
 
 Is it that sister-spirits sing! 
 Is it that the sea-shell rings 300 
 
 With the west-wind's visitings. 
 Now just hushed, — now mildly waking 
 Sounds which the hoarse sea is breaking. 
 And breathing now, when it seemed o'er, 
 A heavenlier strain than all before ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Bright in the bosom of the west. 
 There shmes a track in the stormy skies; — 
 
 Is it the wan moon's wasting crest. 
 
 Which sheds one luminous smile and flies ! — 
 
 Its momentary lustre lies, 310 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 15^ 
 
 With lapse of shadow, on the main. 
 
 But flashes through her glimmering grate. 
 
 On each memorial of her fate, — 
 Portal and pillow, bar and chain, — 
 And shows a cedarn lute, uphung 
 
 Ere the beam was in its wane. 
 O'er which the fairy-footed winds. 
 Had walked in tenderness, and flung 
 
 The all uneartldy strain 
 Which came, which often comes to gentle minds, 320 
 Who eye the brightness of that star which binds 
 Our life with beauty in a magic link 
 With each fresh ray which thence our spirits drink. 
 
 X. 
 
 From the high and sullen walls 
 
 She that lute of lutes hath taken ; 
 Happy airs in happy halls. 
 
 It was ever wont to waken. 
 There is a bliss in every touch 
 
 Of chords where Andron^s used to linger; 
 But yet her numbers are not such : — 330 
 
 Hark ye to her fairy finger. 
 
 h3 
 
154 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 I. 
 
 '' Camest thou, trembling' soul of sound, from o'er the 
 
 heaving* sea 
 To bear the voice of him I love, absent although he be ! 
 Gladness was in each tone ; but yet these waters of my 
 
 woe 
 Obey not the beguiling charm; they lie too deep to flow. 
 This heart, aks ! has long been chill, and dry this aching 
 
 brain. 
 And I deem, even now, of a Princess' pride, that it 
 
 should not stoop to pain. 
 
 2. 
 
 ''I sit in the visions of my thought, my palace-hall a 
 
 tower. 
 And memory traces yet for me, thy first departing hour. 
 All day I watched, though fled the ship, thy pathway on 
 
 the sea, 340 
 
 Which though serene as light, yet seemed to darkly 
 
 frown on me ; 
 The dashing of the sable waves, the murmur of the blue. 
 Re-echoed back upon my heart, thy desoiate adieu. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 155 
 
 3. 
 
 *' I sit in the visions of my thought ; *twas sunset on the 
 
 main. 
 The Turkish blast of war blew o'er, we flew to our hills 
 
 again. 
 To scenes of liberty and peace, where heroes of old name 
 Blew Freedom^s Grecian clarion, till the world filled with 
 
 their fame ; 
 It was thy bliss by Delphi^s wave, and consecrated shrine. 
 To dwell upon their deeds as my warm spirit did on 
 
 thine- 
 
 4. 
 
 ** But through the bowers where turtles dwell, the eaglets 
 
 eye may roam, 350 
 
 And loved Parnassus' mountain-peaks will be the 
 
 thunder's home : 
 The war-bell tolled our knell of peace, but still it was a 
 
 charm 
 To watch the floating of thy crest, the waving of thine 
 
 arm. 
 Till gashing swords rained wounds on thee, and then my 
 
 brain became 
 Frantic vvith agony and fear,— all ashes, yet all flame. 
 
] 56 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 6. 
 
 *' I sit in the visions of my thought ; a vesper-hymn 
 
 arose, — 
 Old StambouPs sword was scabbarded, and vanished 
 
 were her foes ! 
 On the golden sands of the shelly sea, at evetide, were 
 
 we met. 
 And still we gazed, and lingering watched, though many 
 
 a star had set. — 
 Who, at so sweet an hour, could hear immortal ocean 
 
 roar, 360 
 
 And leave to vacancy and night, that dear romantic 
 
 shore? 
 
 6. 
 
 *' But ev'n at that delicious hour, and on that tranquil 
 
 path. 
 Rapt in such joy as angels feel, and pure Elysium 
 
 hath, — 
 In that divinity of thouglit — soothed, softened, melted, 
 
 awed. 
 Hate spoke his malison, and poured his vials all 
 
 abroad j 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 157 
 
 AVhy did I e'er survive that night, why when the morn- 
 ing frowTied, 
 
 Wake from the sickly trance of grief to see my warrior 
 bound I 
 
 7. 
 
 '' Then agony — ^but thou art safe, and I should not re* 
 
 pine, — 
 Bright flowers bedeck thy goodly stem ! they bloom no 
 
 more on mine. 
 In the loved presence of my lord, I stood a beauteous 
 
 tree, 370 
 
 The glory of sweet waters near, the banquet of the 
 
 bee ; — 
 The lightning fell, nor dew nor shower can ever gladden 
 
 more 
 My leafless branches, for decay is busy at the core. 
 
 V 
 
 8. 
 
 *' Orion proudly mounts the sky, pale shimmering 
 
 through the shower ; — 
 Why does he bend a guiding ray to this sepulchral 
 
 tower I 
 
158 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 The weight of sleep is on my lids ; winds, clouds, stars, 
 
 waters, ye 
 
 Must be my ministers of rest, my sentries must ye 
 
 be !— 
 Give all your sounds to this lorn lute, when silent and 
 
 uphung. 
 
 That life, captivity, and light, may look like strangers 
 
 long! 
 
 XL 
 
 Not long the golden juice might lie 380 
 
 Of slumber on Eudora^s eye ^ 
 
 In restless ecstacy, her dream 
 
 Made night^s uncertain phantoms seem 
 
 Like him she loved, for ever near ; — 
 
 But flying, ever, chased by fear. 
 
 And she as on the wings of wind. 
 
 Was hasting evermore behind. 
 
 In seeming swiftness, now they pass 
 
 The spiry cliff, the quick morass. 
 
 And hill whose windy summit forms 390 
 
 Wild lineament of clouds and storms. 
 
 Which, as she tracked his steps with pain. 
 
 Would tear him from her sight again. 
 
OF STAMBOUL- 159 
 
 Anon, bewildering Fancy gave 
 
 Her wanderer to the dancing wave ; 
 
 Blue glowed the waters, and on high 
 
 His sails swelled in a cloudless sky ^— - 
 
 She had forsook her hated tower. 
 
 Had baffled ManueVs jealous power. 
 
 And far, upon the tossing main, 400 
 
 His flying vessel sought to gain. 
 
 The shore was near ; the' ambitious prow 
 
 Chid the long billows' lingering flow j 
 
 But as the sails the seamen furl. 
 
 The whirlwinds rise, the surges curl j 
 
 A moment — and the form he wore 
 
 Is whelmed beneath the ocean-floor. 
 
 Now seem the war-drum and the fife. 
 
 Again to call her chief to life ; 
 
 With plated cuirass on his breast, 410 
 
 With white plume waving, lance in rest. 
 
 On, on he rushed to victory, 
 
 '' For Stamboul V^ was the battle-cry. 
 
 And cloven shield, and turban-fold. 
 
 Horseman and horse, beneath him rolled ^-^ 
 
 But, full upon her startled view. 
 
 Distinct, a Giant shadow grew! 
 
 His arm ascending in the sky. 
 
 Unsheathed the sabre from his thigh. 
 
160 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 Dark Manuel's form he seemed to wear, 420 
 
 With laughing shout, and frantic air. 
 
 Her visioned Prince he sternly smote. 
 
 Who groan or murmur uttered not. 
 
 But strove one only thought to claim. 
 
 In utterance of her gentle name. 
 
 His timeless fate her woe would weep. 
 
 And anguish broke the bonds of sleep. 
 
 XIL 
 
 She woke in terror, and her eye, awake, 
 
 Yet seemed in ghastly energy to ache 
 
 With some such vision as in sleep appeared 430 
 
 To woo her to the danger which she feared, 
 
 For as upon the lonely walls it fell, 
 
 She saw a shadow move across the cell,— 
 
 Slow, but distinct, no creature of the brain, 
 
 It paused, — it moved, — and then it paused again. 
 
 Eudora, startled at the Presence, said 
 
 ** What form art thou which risest from the dead 
 
 '* To awe my sorrow ? Ha ! I know thee now, 
 
 *' O Andron ! O my husband ! it is thou ! — 
 
 *' The paleness of the grave is on thy brow. 440 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 161 
 
 *' And thou wert buried in the darkening deep : — 
 
 *^ I knew it ! there was torture in my sleep ! 
 
 '^ Speak to my spirit, shade of air, or place 
 
 ^'Thy shadowy form once more in my embrace/' 
 
 It was no dream : she rushed that shade to clasp. 
 
 And a strong arm of iron met her grasp. 
 
 She feebly, fondly shrieked ; that shriek again 
 
 Another's voice of gladness made more plain. 
 
 A few wild accents faltered on her tongue ; — 
 
 To his fond arms the sad Eudora sprung, 450 
 
 Threw back the tresses of her hair, though weak. 
 
 That hers might feel the pressure of his cheek. 
 
 Which chill at first, and tremulous, became 
 
 With the next pulse, all fever and all flame. 
 
 Flushed with a hope too strong for mortal faith. 
 
 And scarcely conscious of his life or death ; 
 
 He kissed her beating temples, — stilly kissed, — 
 
 And, whispering, strove to clear away the mist 
 
 Which wrapt her soul, — those thoughts which scarce we 
 
 feel- 
 When dread and doubt contend with hope and zeal. 460 
 It is the living Andron in her arms. 
 Who stills her tremors, and her terror calms ! — 
 *' Fear not, Eudcra, heaven has heard thy prayer, 
 '* It still has left some joy for both to share ; — 
 
152 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 '^ But husli ! though deep the stair, thy voice may tell 
 
 " My tale of wonder to the centinel. 
 
 *^ I heard, I hear his footfall in the gale.— 
 
 ^' Hark to the tread ! — ^now list, I have a tale/* 
 
 ^Twas long ere that delicious agony 
 
 Was o'er, that floo|d of deep suspense and joy j 470 
 
 Long, long her eye the glassy lustre took. 
 Which on the seeming spirit bent its look. 
 Till, cleared from her delusive dream of fear. 
 She faintly smiled, and bowed her head to hear. 
 
 
 XIIL 
 
 ' Manuel thou know^st, with what a jealous guard 
 These towers he strengthened and this cell he barred,-^ 
 Barred from approach alike of friend and foe, 
 •'A spy within, a bloodhound lurked below, 
 *^ That so, if ev'n the virtue of the grape 
 *' Might steep all others, this might track escape. 480 
 *' Whilst thou, my life, wert near at times to soothe 
 " My hopes, all blighted in their fire of youth, 
 ^' To give thy soft voice to the summer-wind, 
 '^ And teach the sullen warder to be kind, — 
 "' Whilst thy stoPn visits made my chains sit well, 
 '^ I was a Prince, though fettered in my cell ! — 
 
OF STAMBOUL. Ig3 
 
 '' My first, sole feelings, giv'n to love and thee, 
 '' I recked not of the bliss of being free ; 
 *' But when his active hate afar removed 
 "' The form I worshipped, and the voice I loved, 490 
 ^^ I felt an angry malice in my veins, 
 '' And burned, and fretful, strove to break my chains, 
 *' If only in defiance of the wrong, 
 ^^ To sting the^ unfeeling, and to pique the strong ; 
 '' But every rivet of the fettering coil 
 ^* With firmness mocked the toiler and the toil, 
 '^ Till, late last night, in grinding rage I lent 
 ^' My utmost vigour to the fierce intent j — 
 ^^ It bent! it snapped as by a powerful charm ! 
 Oh! it was heaven once more to stretch my arm 500 
 In freedom to the stars, and wave abroad 
 ^*The bickering splendours of my sheathless sword! 
 He left me this with sneers but ill concealed 
 To mock the hand which should essay to wield,-?^ 
 '^ But wielding this, I still the power command 
 ^* To teach the long-chained arm, the writhing hand, 
 '^ The long reversion of their wrongs to quit, 
 ^^ Till pride of art repays his scornful wit. 
 *^ I next surveyed my cell from side to side, 
 *^ With loftier instinct, and an ampler stride, 510 
 
 '^ And each lethargic sense, with freedom, rose 
 ^' To tenfold strength from languor's long repose ; 
 
 
 (( 
 
 (€ 
 
164 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 *' And prying grew my gaze ; that gaze was thrown 
 
 *' By chance, at length, upon a loosening stone, 
 
 '' Through whose small cleft I felt the crannying air : 
 
 ** The stone removed, light broke on my despair, — 
 
 *^ I saw the semblance of a broken stair! 
 
 '^ A glimpse of hope, one glimpse, however brief, 
 
 *^ Will rouse the loneliest captive from his grief. 
 
 '^ I toiled till midnight, in that secret way ; 520 
 
 ^^ On arched walls in ruinous decay 
 
 '^ The moon through rifts her lonely lustre threw; 
 
 '^ I hailed the omen with dilated view; 
 
 ^^ And now resolved the cavern to explore, 
 
 '^ Replaced, with care, the loose stones of the floor. 
 
 *^ There have I walked, and heard the quickening sound 
 
 ^^ Of waters rolling freely, but profound. 
 
 ^^ I know not where it leads, but, where it leads 
 
 ^^ Are tangled roots, loose earth, and clustering weeds, 
 
 ^^ And there some outlet we may find, or shape 530 
 
 '* By mine or breach, the means of our escape. ' 
 
 *^ I heard all day the shrilling horn proclaim 
 
 '* The captive's freedom, and the monarch's shame, 
 
 *^ And smiled to think, that I, in my dim vault, 
 
 " Could with such dread the purple-born assault! 
 
 ^^ I heard the rush of steeds, the creaking gates, 
 
 ** (How my heart shudders whilst my tongue relates !) — 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 
 
 165 
 
 ^^ Which to this sullen cell my love betrayed: — 
 
 *^ But, fear not, all shall sternly be repaid ; 
 
 *' And if to bound once more upon the tide, 540 
 
 ^^ In nature's freedom, be a wish denied, 
 
 ^' Life yet shall roll rejoicingly away, 
 
 ^^ Thy arms my camp, thy smile of smiles my ray, 
 
 ^'Till, tempered to thy loveliness of soul, 
 
 ^^ Death opes a portal to the years which roll 
 
 ^^ In music, and our bark obeys the breeze, 
 
 '^ To happy islands o'er celestial seas/' 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Then came the long embrace, the scanning eye. 
 
 The eager question, and the fond reply; 
 
 The feelings uttered of departed years, 550 
 
 Sweet smiles of rapture, and still sweeter tears. 
 
 To one who long in pain has pined apart. 
 
 How grateful rush those ^waters of the heart P 
 
 The cord which bound the brain, beneath the thirst 
 
 Of long-denied relief is brightly burst ; 
 
 And then, how fast, how free those currents rise I — 
 
 The heart transfers all utterance to the eyes. 
 
 No desert spring, just found in cooler skies. 
 
 Ere the breath thickens, and the traveller dies, — 
 
166 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 No sound which life's scarce-beating pulse recals, 560 
 Of palms that whisper with the cloud that falls. 
 Comes with such gladdening import to his ear. 
 As the full flow of Hope's forgotten tear; 
 The heart's sweet flowers though withered long ago. 
 Fed by those drops, catch freshness as they flow. 
 And give their incense to the winds again. 
 In grateful triumph o'er remembered pain. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Eudora trembled, though by tears relieved ; — 
 
 It was so sudden, scarce could be believed. 
 
 An hour ago so tortured, now so blest ! 570 
 
 In the past — anguish, — ^in the future — rest! 
 
 She mshed no more than, thus, in chambers dim. 
 
 To gaze, love, listen, weep once more with him : 
 
 Day, midnight, eve, may roll unheeded now. 
 
 Too happy she to think if swift or slow ; 
 
 Nor can the seasons, in their changes more 
 
 Brighten or chill; — the billow on the shore 
 
 Which lately broke, as with bewildered groan. 
 
 Has much of music in its loneliest tone, — 
 
 It seems to say, they are the only two 580 
 
 With whom earth, sky, and ocean have to do. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 157 
 
 XVI. 
 
 To thoughts of lightest kind, joy lends his ray. 
 
 And paints the morrow brighter than to day ; 
 
 Though not by day, with Andron, can she steal 
 
 The bliss to speak, the paradise to feel. 
 
 To watch with him the clouds that flit and flee, 
 
 The gliding ships, the sunsets o^er the sea. 
 
 And birds of calm that dip their azure wings 
 
 In ocean, loveliest of a thousand things, — 
 
 Yet can she soothe the darkness of his cell, 590 
 
 With glad inventions that shall please as well. 
 
 Romantic harp, and legendary song. 
 
 Shall make his hours of absence seem less long- ; 
 
 And the resounding voice of one so dear. 
 
 Falling like seraph's hymns upon his ear. 
 
 Shall soothe each wild anxiety, and still 
 
 The many thoughts that blindly war with will. 
 
 The night is all their own ; and O, the night 
 
 Has charms — the hours in their so silent flight. 
 
 Each stamped with lovelier feeling than the last, 600 
 
 And each more prized in passing to the past- 
 
 The faint white flush long lingering in the west. 
 
 The stars revolving, and all earth at rest 
 
168 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 Save two fond souls, the only ones wliich find 
 
 Their Eden in this vigil of the mind : — 
 
 The all-transfusing eye, the placid brow. 
 
 The whispering undertone, the murmured vow. 
 
 The midnight watch o^er weariness asleep. 
 
 The chronicles which they together keep. 
 
 The clouds that round the moon in shadow lay, 610 
 
 The yellow moonshine brightening all the bay. 
 
 Or, yet more stirring to a heroine^s soul. 
 
 The thunders in their repercussive roll. 
 
 The storm, the wind, the lightning, and the sweep 
 
 Of the gigantic waters of the deep. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Yes, — these shall all be theirs, and hers the care 
 
 To save the ripest fruits for him to share. 
 
 Or whatever else stern Manuel may impart 
 
 To feed with life her agony of heart. 
 
 To smile away the clouds which intervene 620 
 
 To make his present what the past had been j 
 
 And he, too, in such visions, feeleth more 
 
 Of promised comfort than in years before. 
 
 Yes ! though a thousand tender ties allied 
 
 The young, the plighted bridegroom to his bride. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 169 
 
 Though 'twas his pride in lovers ecstatic hour 
 
 To tend her as a florist tends a flower. 
 
 Note each bright sparkle of her eye, each tress 
 
 Whose motion was a living loveliness. 
 
 Treasure each object that had felt her touch, 630 
 
 And ever in her absence think of such. 
 
 Yet, never, in her bridal hours, she seemed 
 
 So beautiful as now, when o'er her streamed 
 
 Her hair from recent sorrow loosely thrown 
 
 On the fair breast that throbbed for him alone — ^ 
 
 Now, — when her many sufferings all approved 
 
 How she resented, and how fondly loved. 
 
 The blooms of virgin passion past away, 
 
 Time gives to Woman deeper claims than they,— ^ 
 
 That new existence flushing round the heart, 640 
 
 The friendship, pure, which acts a sister's part. 
 
 No act of hers but breathes a secret charm. 
 
 Desires all innocent, affections warm ; 
 
 The white transparent candour of the brow. 
 
 No false appearance, no dissembled vow. 
 
 But open faith, unconscious of a crime, 
 
 Emotions mild, and harmonized by time; 
 
 A concord ripened into love sincere. 
 
 Kind without doubt, and tender without tear; — 
 
 The electric threads which by new instincts tied, 650 
 
 Age does but strengthen, pain can not divide : 
 
170 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 Touched by the hand that spun them, how they thrill! 
 So fond in good, so doubly fond in ill. 
 That only at our glance of scorn or hate. 
 Scorched they recoil, and leave us to our fate ! 
 
 XVIIL 
 
 Fortune not oft seems anxious to atone 
 
 The wrongs of years, and blend all joys in one, 
 
 AVhen grand events in sure succession flow. 
 
 Wave after wave, nor yet too fast, nor slow, — 
 
 ^^^len various means, in due gradation tend, 660 
 
 Firm to one purpose, faithful to one end, 
 
 Ab though to lifeless things were given a sense 
 
 Of good and evil, an intelligence 
 
 To deal around, for years of crime and wrong. 
 
 Strength to the weak, and weakness to the strong; 
 
 Yet now to Andron's lot such grace was lent. 
 
 To soothe a spirit broken but unbent. 
 
 As if heaven now had made him all its care. 
 
 In one glad moment answering years of prayer. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 171^ 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A tower stood near in siglit, whose battled frieze 670 
 Sung to the wing and wildness of the breeze. 
 Where oft the sea-bird in its fear would hie. 
 When winds were up, and tempests swept the sky ; 
 With clustering ivy were the loopholes hid; 
 Seaward the steep cliffs all access forbid 3— 
 Poised on the boiling surf, it seemed to be 
 An island rock, or pillar of the sea. 
 But not on all sides beaten, — for to view 
 On one grey side, high clustering alders grew. 
 In florid verdure beautiful ; the more 680 
 
 As Andron oft had watched their growth before;— 
 Hour after hour it was his wont to stand. 
 And watch the leaf a twig, the twig a wand. 
 The wand a graceful sapling in whose leaves 
 The small birds sang so sweet in summer-eves : — 
 The very leaves brought peace to him, they played 
 With such sweet interchange of light and shade. 
 And threw, when all was black and parched around. 
 Bright thoughts of freedom in their whispering sound — 
 In that quick sympathy of thought which finds 690 
 
 Love in the trees, rocks, waters, stars, and winds, 
 
 I 2 
 
J 72 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 So full with feeling that it must express 
 That love, or perish with its mute excess 
 
 XX. 
 
 There are mysterious sounds at this lone hour. 
 
 Heard from the rustling ivies of that tower. 
 
 The alder-branches, rent, in ruin fall. 
 
 And steps are surely heard upon the wall. 
 
 And voices through the wind to answering voices call. 
 
 And something like the name of Andron there. 
 
 To them the many-murmuring billows bear, 700 
 
 The prince looked out, the eastern clouds were white 
 
 With morn's first flush, and by that dubious light 
 
 He sees a beckoning form which now is bent, 
 
 ^wixt sea and sky, above his battlement. 
 
 'Tis Cosmo ! in far sterner hours than these^ 
 
 Towers he has scaled overhanging deeper seas. 
 
 When every step was o'er a foeman slain, 
 
 A turbaned Turk, or prostrate Saracen. 
 
 ^^ Captive, a stranger and a friend, behold: — 
 
 ** I smile at danger, fortune aids the bold. 710 
 
 ^^ Haste ! to thyself thy flight and freedom owe, 
 
 ^^ Night rolls away, a bark is moored below. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 173 
 
 "^^ And once afloat, no arm can countervail 
 
 ^^ The tossing billow and the driving sail. 
 
 *^ Cosmo of Venice knows no idle fear; — 
 
 *' I pitied thy sad doom, and I am here; 
 
 ^* Nor shalt thou doubt my truth, — a jewelled ring, 
 
 *^ This scarf enfolds, fit signet of a king, 
 
 *^ Found on the morrow of that midnight strife 
 
 ** Which left thee. Christian captive, nought but 
 
 life/^ 720 
 
 XXL 
 
 And Andron knew that figured scarf of pride. 
 
 Though deeply stained, had wrapt his early bride; 
 
 And this the monarch's ring, the seal of power 
 
 Which stamped his will on that remembered hour. 
 
 He faltered thanks to heaven! a beam of thought 
 
 Flashed on his mind, and there like sunshine wrought ; 
 
 '* Stranger, he said, I tax thy courage high, 
 
 ^^ The path is dangerous which thou needs must try; 
 
 '^ For me I reck not of the venturous limb 
 
 '^ To scale a turret or the billow swim; 730 
 
 *' But on thy aid, Eudora must depend; — 
 
 '* This instant, therefore, with the ring descend, 
 
174 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 '' And at the orient gate, beside the sea, 
 '' Seeks out the Cyprian guard who holds the key, — 
 *' Brief be thy message ; bid them that they bear 
 '^ The slave Eudora, to the garden stair, 
 **With one attendant left, prince Andron meets thee 
 there.^' 
 
 XXII. 
 
 In pride of peril, with a brief adieu, 
 Cosmo received the ring, and thence withdrew ; — 
 Passed to the tower which bears the ocean blast, TAO 
 And gave the word to Guiscard as he passed. 
 A kiss of gladness, and one soothing tone. 
 Are given Eudora, and her chief is gone 
 Down the deep windings of the steps of stone. 
 No outward sign that vault must e^er betray j — 
 ^Tis closed upon him, and he strides away : 
 So much of firmness did his step assume. 
 She would not doubt, but still must dread his doom. 
 With ear awake to every sound, she stands. 
 Pale lip, quick pulse, short breath, and clasped 
 hands, 750 
 
 And eager head bent downward to the floor ; 
 A faint, departing footfall sounds — one more — 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 175 
 
 And all is silence, and a dim delay, 
 And golden moments hurrying on the day ; 
 Then a strong arm has smote the yielding wall. 
 And stones fall fast without — she hears them fall. 
 What next the Lady saw, she scarcely knew. 
 
 Sick with suspense, or dizzy with the view, 
 
 A gasping at the heart she felt, of breath 
 
 Denied, — the film without the rest of death. 760 
 
 XXIIL 
 
 But grappling fast the cords which Guiscard flung, 
 
 ^Twixt crag and coast, intrepid Andron hung, — 
 
 So low, he heard the swimming bittern shriek. 
 
 And felt the salt foam driven upon his cheek; 
 
 But even in this severe extremity, 
 
 Hope filled his soul, — he felt that he was free ! 
 
 And bliss was in that momentary date. 
 
 That dangerous pause, which vigour saved from fate. 
 
 He nears the summit vidth a greeting eye ; — 
 
 A moment, and the cords vibrating fly, '^'J^ 
 
 Loose to the winds, and, in a wild embrace, 
 
 Guiscard he folds, hiding his weeping face 
 
 Within his mantle, and his words, though weak. 
 
 All — all that e'er the heart can utter, speak. 
 
176 THE CAPTIVE 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Oh, there was music in the oars^ longf sweep. 
 
 Which bore their boat so boldly on the deep ! 
 
 And a stern beauty in each wave that flew 
 
 By the strong keel, then flashed away in dew! 
 
 The amplitude of heaven, the stars, the robe 
 
 Of freedom spread o'er all the glorious globe , ' 780 
 
 The stir of the strong winds, the cry — the call 
 
 Of Nature in her boundless carnival. 
 
 Come down upon his heart, and that endue 
 
 As with a sense electrical and new. 
 
 But dark emotions mingled, unforgot. 
 
 And urged him, like an eagle, past the spot. 
 
 A light is glimmering at the iron gate. 
 
 And there are slaves, with folded arms, who wait. 
 
 The guards in silence eyed them as they came. 
 
 Just bowed in reverence at the emperor's name, 790 
 
 Bear from the tower Eudora's fainting weight 
 
 And idly of the stormy ocean prate. 
 
 His hand prince Andron to the stranger gave. 
 
 Then waved his arm and measured back the wave. 
 
 Long at that gate the mutes remained to gaze. 
 
 In darkening doubt, and ill-suppressed amaze. 
 
OF STAMBOUL. 177 
 
 And many a legend of remorse and awe 
 
 From this wild night did Grecian damsels draw 
 
 Of her who would not o'er the waters flee. 
 
 And of the armed Phantom of the Sea. ^ 800 
 
 XXV. 
 
 No longer tossed upon the waves of night, 
 Tis morn, and ocean smiles again in light; 
 The clouds have vanished ere the stars went down. 
 And heaven^s deep figure shows without a frown 
 As in Creation's birth ; around, behind. 
 The azure waves are rolled before the wind ; 
 There one white sail glides happily and fleet. 
 As speed and sunshine fill the flowing sheet. 
 To them who o'er those freshening billows bound 
 Life, like the sea, is an enchanted round,-* 810 
 
 A path of rays,-— a circle of delight, — ^ 
 All wildly free, and passionately bright ;— 
 Too full for speech they sit, and silent eye, 
 Upward, the blue benevolence of sky, 
 Oflfering their orisons ; — and thus they glide. 
 By human eye unknown and undescried, 
 Hour after hour, along the ample tide. 
 Away ! away ! away 1 for ever so. 
 Long as the breeze shall urge, the waters flow, — 
 
 I 3 
 
178 THE CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL. 
 
 Through noon, through eve, through night, a second 
 day 820 
 
 Burns on the wave, but still away, away. 
 The bark flies forward to a barbarous shore. 
 And doubt expires, and danger is no more. 
 
 XXVL 
 
 Long years in ManuePs eye, a restless gloom 
 
 Was seen to strive, and haunt him to the tomb. 
 
 And Andron came his kinsman^s strife to see. 
 
 The last strong throe, and mortal agony. 
 
 And ManuePs crown he wore, and saw the stones 
 
 Grow grey with years, and darken o^er his bones. 
 
 Whatever befel that heart, his own was changed, 830 
 
 In roving wide, avenging or avenged. 
 
 He brought a bride from o'er the heaving main. 
 
 Yet on his brow were lines, — perchance of pain, — 
 
 Such they might be ! who knew ? who knows ev'n now ? — 
 
 They could but see the blackness of his brow. 
 
 If e'er Eudora's name was named aloud. 
 
 His look grew gloomy, and his bearing proud : 
 
 In all beside, gay, versatile, and brave. 
 
 Free as the wind, and reckless as the wave. 
 
 END OF CANTO II. 
 
NOTES TO THE CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 " St. Henno sits upon her sail. 
 
 A meteor, appearing* in stormy weather upon the shrouds of 
 the ship, named St. Hermo's lire by the Sicilian mariners. 
 Dryden, in his ^* Song of a Scholar and his Mistress," introduce* 
 the same image, 
 
 ^ But wlien the bells of Istambonl. 
 
 Bells were introduced at Constantinople, according to Ducange, 
 140 years before this period. The earliest instance found in the 
 Byzantine writers is of the year 1040, but the Venetians assert 
 that they introduced them in that city in the 9th century. 
 
 ^ ne keen Ligarian*s craft prevailed. 
 
 For the description of this interesting escalade, see Sal Inst : 
 Bell. Jug. cap. 93, 04. 
 
182 NOTES TO THE 
 
 ^ The bearded Imaum^s chaunt in air. 
 
 In the time of the Emperor Manuel, the Turks had a mosque 
 At Constantinople* 
 
 ^ And at eve when weariness 
 Slacked his vigour y swift transform 
 City shook by fire and storm. 
 
 '' He pressed, with active ardour, the siege of Mopsuestia ; the 
 day was employed in the boldest attacks ; but the nig-ht was 
 wasted in song and dance, and a band of Greek comedians 
 formed the choicest part of his retinue. Andronicus was sur- 
 prised by the sally of a vigilant foe; but, while his troops fled in 
 disorder, his invincible lance transpierced the thickest ranks of 
 the Armenians. On his return to the imperial camp in Mace- 
 donia, he was received by Manuel with public smiles and a pri- 
 vate reproof — but the duchies of Naissus, Braniseba, and Cas- 
 toria, were the reward or consolation of the unsuccessful general."' 
 
 GiBBON^s Dec. and Fally chap, xlviil. 
 
 * And changed the sallying Tecbir^cry. 
 
 The war-shout of the Turks and Arabs. 
 
CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL. 183 
 
 CANTO 11. 
 
 ^ A7id to the Crescent shaped thy Golden Horn. 
 
 The harbour of Constantinople obtained, in a very remote period, 
 the denomination of the Golden Horn. Its fig'ure was a curve 
 resembling the horn of an ox. The epithet of golden was ex- 
 pressive of the riches which every wind wafted from the most dis- 
 tant countries into its secure and capacious port. 
 
 2 (( 
 
 The sea ! the sea P^ and all is safety there. 
 
 The account which Xenophon gives in his history of the cele- 
 brated retreat of the Ten Thousand, of the event alluded to in the 
 text, is one of the most interesting passages in that interesting 
 work; one, which, after the long series of dangers to which his 
 daring band had been exposed, awakens in the mind of the 
 reader no common sympathy : we participate in all the joy of 
 such a discovery. *^ The fifth day they arrived at the high mouu- 
 ^^ tain called Tlieches. As soon as the vanguard had ascended 
 " the mountain, and beheld the sea, they raised a mighty shout, 
 " which when Xenophon and those in the rear heard, they con- 
 *^ eluded that some other enemies were attacking them in front, 
 " for the people belonging to the country they had burned fol. 
 
182 NOTES TO THE CAPTIVE OF STAMBOUL. 
 
 ** lowed their rear, some of whom those who had the charge of it 
 ** had killed, and taken others prisoners in an ambuscade ; they 
 " had also taken twenty bucklers, made of ox-hides, with the 
 ^' hair on,^' 
 
 ** The noise still increasing* as they came nearer, and the mew, 
 *^ as fast as they came up, running- to those who still continued 
 " shouting, their cries swelled with their numbers; so that Xe- 
 *' nophon, thinking- something more than usual had occurred, 
 *^ mounted his hoise, and taking with him Lycius and his troop 
 *^ of cavalry, rode up to their assistance, and presently they hear 
 <« the soldiers shouting— «^ THE SEA ! THE SEA !'' and cheer^ 
 '^ ingone another. At this all the rear-guard ran with the rest 
 ^* and thither were driven the horses and beasts of burden. 
 '* When all were come together on the top of the mountain, they 
 '^ embraced their general, their captains, and one another, with 
 *^ many tears. And there, by whose orders is uncertain, the 
 ^^ soldiers instantly bring together a vast number of stones, and 
 *^ raise a great monument, on which they placed a number of 
 *^ shields made of raw hides, and many other trophies taken from 
 ^* the enemy." 
 
 Xenophon, Anab. Lib. iv. cap. 7. 
 
POEMS. 
 
Ri ssell''s consort, a woman of virtue, daughter and heir of 
 the good earl of Southampton, threw herself at the king's feet, 
 and pleaded with many tears the merits and loyalty of her father, 
 as an atonement for those errors, into which honest, however 
 mistaken principles had seduced her husband. These suppli* 
 cations were the last instance of female weakness, (if they deserve 
 the name), which she betrayed. Finding all applications vain, 
 she collected courage, and not only fortified herself against the 
 fatal blow, but endeavoured by her example to strengthen the 
 resolution of her unfortunate lord. With a tender and decent 
 composure they took leave of each other on the day of his exe- 
 cution. '* The bitterness of death is now past,'' said he, when he 
 turned from her. Lord Cavendish had lived in the closest inti- 
 macy with Russell, and deserted not his friend in the present 
 calamity. He offered to manage his escape, by changing 
 clothes with him, and remaining at all hazards in his place. 
 Russell refused to save his own life, by an expedient which 
 might expose his friend to so many hardships. When the duke 
 of Monmouth by message offered to surrender himself, if Russell 
 thought that this measure would any wise contribute to his safety ; 
 ^* It will be no advantage to me," he said, '^ to have my friends 
 die with me." As he was the most popular among his own 
 party, so he was the least obnoxious to the opposite faction : and 
 his melancholy fate united every heart, sensible of humanity, in 
 ^ tender compassion for him," 
 
 Hume. Charles II. chap . Ixix . 
 
THE RUSSELL. 
 
 A 
 
 ^' O salvar Roma io voglio. 
 
 A 
 
 U perir secoP^ 
 
 Bruto di Aljieri. 
 
 1. 
 
 As o'er some lone and blighted land, 
 Tom from fair freedom's page. 
 
 Where dwelt the glorious and the grand. 
 The hero and the sage. 
 
 In pensive pilgrimage we tread, — 
 
 If pile or pillar o'er the dead 
 Calls back the vanished age. 
 
 In record to admiring thought 
 
 The' imperishable names are brought 
 
] 88 POEMS. 
 
 2. 
 
 And every name a spell-word is. 
 
 Of power to kindle higher 
 Tlie patriot's holy energies. 
 
 The heroes pulse of fire; 
 To quicken with instructive theme. 
 The inspiration and the dream 
 
 Of him who loves the lyre; 
 And charm with spoils unknown before 
 The heart that swells at wisdom's lore. 
 
 3. 
 
 Turn to where bloom Arabian flowers 
 
 On Horeb's sainted sod, 
 A glory lingers in the bowers 
 
 Where erst the Hebrew trod. 
 In whose revealing page we see 
 Time's birth, an angry Deity, 
 
 The thunder and the rod 3 
 Reaps not the sage from name like his 
 High presages of future bliss? 
 
 / 
 
POEMS. Ig9 
 
 4. 
 
 Or turn to wisdom's own pure clime. 
 
 The mother of the free. 
 Whence draw the nations through all time 
 
 The milk of liberty. 
 O Greece ! though long thy life is fled. 
 As nobles to a Princess dead. 
 
 We bow the adoring knee ; 
 Thine, thine indeed are names of light. 
 Time can not dim, nor tyrant blight ! 
 
 5. 
 
 Here, should we say, those spirits ranged 
 
 To whom such spells belong. 
 Who moulded kings, and empires changed; 
 
 The sightless Homer flung 
 Here, where immortal Ocean smiles. 
 In triumph round her thousand isles, 
 
 His melody of song; 
 Sweet Sappho there— and here, more dim. 
 Wild Pindar woke his Pythian hymn. 
 
190 POEMS. 
 
 6. 
 
 Bursting on valour^s ardent ear. 
 What millions ownM the charm ! 
 
 Here peaPd the trumpet, there the spear 
 Shook in the couching arm. 
 
 Go — view Thermopylae! the pass 
 
 Yet tells of high Leonidas, 
 Whose ashes there are warm. 
 
 Corinth — bright thoughts of him hath woke, 
 
 Who snapt the Syracusan yoke.* 
 
 7. 
 
 And Athens, lovely Athens! she 
 
 Is resonant with One, 
 Who freed from blight her olive tree, 
 
 And warm'd with freedom's sun. 
 And with Aristogeiton's, rest 
 Thy hallowed name, Hannodius, blest 
 
 Long as the tide shall run 
 Of flowing time, and with twin ray 
 Grow brighter as your sands decay. 
 
 ♦ Timoleon. 
 
POEMS. 191 
 
 O* 
 
 To Marathon — to Leuctra go. 
 
 Where Battle drove his share. 
 And bow thine head, but not in woe. 
 
 For those who perished there : 
 ^Twas on tiaras that they trod, — 
 And memory sanctifies the sod. 
 
 And views without despair. 
 The Theban in his latest field. 
 Expire in triumph on his shield. 
 
 9, 
 
 For every drop by freemen shed 
 
 To other chiefs gave birth. 
 As generous spirits rose to tread 
 
 In other climes of earth. 
 Lo ! thronM on her imperial hills^ 
 How Rome the world^s horizonr fills 
 
 With majesty and w^rth, 
 Wliilst live the Gracchi, and her foes 
 Wax pale before her Scipios ! 
 
192 POEMS. 
 
 10. 
 
 But not to Greece — but not to Rome 
 
 These spells alone belong. 
 Each sod each wave was glory^s home^ 
 
 Where honour spurn'd at wrong! 
 Alike the solitudes of Tell, 
 And field where Kosciusko fell. 
 
 Shall breathe — shall burn in song; 
 And in Iskander^s beacon-name. 
 Shall rough Albania start to fame. 
 
 11. 
 
 Nursed in the soil of foreign strife,. 
 
 The Corsic olive grew. 
 For though it gave Napoleon life. 
 
 It gave Paoli too; 
 Ev^n magic lives in thee, dark Spain, 
 O sweet Alcseus ! for a strain 
 
 Like that thy Lesbos knew ! 
 The greenest laurels shouldst thou wear 
 In song, chivalrous Porliere ! 
 
POEMS. 193 
 
 12. 
 
 And, wave-washed Albion! canst Thou boast 
 
 No column — trophy — stone, — 
 No names to shed around thy coast 
 
 A glory all thine own ? 
 Eyrie of freedom, yes ! — her power. 
 In sunniest^ as in stormiest hour. 
 
 With patriots girt thy throne. 
 Who watched with keen and jealous eye. 
 Staters giant cloud swim darkly by. 
 
 13. 
 
 It was a sunny hour, when back 
 
 The exiled Stuart came,* 
 Like a young eagle in a track 
 
 Of peril, fraught with fame. 
 It were enough if his trainM wing, 
 Although it brought no second spring, 
 
 Had been but free from shame ; 
 But His in summer's brightest hour. 
 Gather the plague and thunder-shower 
 
 * Charles XL 
 K 
 
194 POEMS. 
 
 14. 
 
 He sought not by immediate arts 
 
 Power^s pinnacle to gain; 
 Such grasp suspicious thought imparts^ 
 And makes ambition vain ; 
 But skillM the evil to hoodwink. 
 By gradual rivet, gradual link. 
 
 He forged the iron chain. 
 Whose penal coils were doomed to bind 
 The chartered rights of human-kind. 
 
 15 
 
 The Magog-sway of State and Law, 
 
 Twin despots in disguise. 
 The eagle-eye of Freedom saw. 
 And bade her Russell rise. 
 No satellite — no satrap he. 
 To crouch or bend the pliant knee j 
 
 Firm, self-respecting, wise. 
 He strippM away the specious veil : 
 Patriot he rose, and martyr fell. 
 
POJEMS. 105 
 
 16. 
 
 A giddy Court, bribed to betray,* 
 
 And armed to defy,t 
 Threw in the sceptre to outweigh 
 
 Her balanced harmony : 
 Vindictive — studious to debase 
 The curule chair, the civic mace,J 
 
 The people's sovereignty; 
 And with no airy dagger strike 
 At noblest hearts, Tiberius-like. 
 
 17. 
 
 With no wild visionary's heat. 
 
 But temperate fire, to plan 
 Through doubt, through danger, through defeat, 
 
 llie liberties of man; — 
 To scorn the senate's venal mutes. 
 State's parasites, or prostitutes. 
 
 Her Russell led the van; 
 Braving, with Sidney at his side, 
 A bigot's wrath, — a tyrant's pride. 
 
 * Hume, Charles II. c. 69, Note 12. 
 f Ibid. c. 66, Note 1, et passim. 
 X Ibid. c. 69, Nomination of Sheriffs. 
 
 k2 
 
196 POEMS. 
 
 18. 
 
 Too daring souls! ye little knew 
 The treacherous lingered near. 
 With hollow voice and arm untrue. 
 
 To check your high career ; 
 To move in sunshine of your fame. 
 Yet turn to blast each glorious aim ;- 
 
 A Howard or Jaffier, 
 What matters it — the ivies wreathe 
 To leave a murdered trunk beneath. 
 
 19, 
 
 Arraigned — behold his Lady stand 
 
 Her pleading lord beside. 
 With shrinking heart, yet aiding hand, 
 
 The great Southampton's pride. 
 Gentle, but steePd with fortitude. 
 The waters of her grief subdued, — 
 
 Unnoticed is their tide j 
 Alas ! too deep those waters lie. 
 They chill the heart, not cloud the eye. 
 
POEMS, 197 
 
 20. 
 
 It soothes to think upon that form 
 
 Like angel left below. 
 In virtue pure, in friendship warm. 
 
 And dignified in woe : 
 It soothes — but it were long to tell. 
 How firm, how true, how wise, how well- 
 
 Her sire upheld — but no — 
 Ingratitude ! thy name is king ; 
 Will not the cherished viper sting! 
 
 21. 
 
 And Sophism, in the shape of Law, 
 Skilled to confound, and wrest 
 
 Truth in each inference he will draw. 
 Writes Treason on his crest : 
 
 Age, beauty, birth! — ye vainly sue. 
 
 His doom has long been fixed — adieu 
 Thou noblest, firmest, best! 
 
 For vengeance hastes to perpetrate 
 
 The dire anathema of hate. 
 
198 POEMS. 
 
 22. 
 
 Ceird in the fortresses of power. 
 
 Oh no ! I will not dare 
 To think upon the parting hour 
 
 Which Beauty comes to share : 
 Her agony, love, tenderness. 
 Imploring childhood's last caress 
 
 Young, innocent, and fair. — 
 Enough! those eyes have looked their last. 
 Enough! ^* Death's bitterness is past.'' 
 
 23. 
 
 And now in marble or a mound. 
 
 The holy ashes lie 
 Of Him, when girt by danger round, 
 
 *' Who scom'd to fear or fly:" 
 Patriot ! Pole — Roman, Switzer — Greek ! 
 Whate'er ye sought below, or seek. 
 
 There read your homily : 
 It tells — and ages vouch it true. 
 Earth is no home for such as you. 
 
POEMS. 199 
 
 24. 
 
 But O, ye martyrs ! from your bones, 
 
 Your voices yet are heard; 
 There is a magic in the tones, 
 
 A spirit in each word : 
 And blood to living veins belongs. 
 Which proudly boils at Russell^s >vrongS/ 
 
 So happy! so adored! 
 His name, a beacon of the past. 
 While seasons roll, while planets last. 
 
 25. 
 
 But turn ye to avenging time. 
 
 To a successive age. 
 And read the moral of the crime 
 
 In history's tragic page. 
 See the dark mover of the deed, 
 James — to the injured Bedford plead. 
 
 For aid in civil rage ; 
 His fortunes into ruin hurled. 
 The scorn or pity of the world. 
 
200 POEMS. 
 
 26. 
 
 ** Ah, Sir! long* years have shed their snow/' 
 
 The mourning father said, 
 ** Upon the tresses of this brow, 
 
 ** And bowed this aged head. 
 '* Now in the sunset of my course, 
 ** Feeble and withered is my force, 
 
 *^ But I had once — to aid, 
 ** Or your fallen fortunei to restore, 
 ^^ A Son ! but he is now no more !'" 
 
 27. 
 
 From sire to rising son bequeathed. 
 
 Yon Abbey rears its halls. 
 And there hath ready Painting breathed 
 
 Souls in the silent walls. 
 Touched by the talisman of art. 
 Mourner and mourned to being start j — 
 
 Here, in her sable palls. 
 Rapt in mute anguish for the dead. 
 Doth Rachel bend her aching head. 
 
POEMS. 201 
 
 28. 
 
 And hopeless sorrow seems to throw 
 
 O'er all that speak mg face. 
 The white rose of undymg woe, 
 
 A melancholy grace ; 
 Warmed with a sunbeam from above 
 Of mingled memory and love. 
 
 Not ages can erase : 
 Alas ! she knows her tears are vain. 
 Yet will not close those springs of pain. 
 
 29. 
 
 And there the Russell's form commands ^ 
 
 The Delian with his bow. 
 So looks, so threatens, and so stands,. 
 
 The Python to overthrow : 
 Light, colour, attitude, and life. 
 With the cold canvas seem at strife 
 
 Instinctively, as though 
 Their bright Promethean fire wauld chide 
 The' unhealing pulse's lingering tide. 
 
 K 3 
 
202 POEMS- 
 
 30. 
 
 Long ! long, loved images, to you 
 Shall kindred Britons turn. 
 
 To nature's warm emotions true. 
 To weep, to' adore, to burn — 
 
 And shoot to Stuart's tyrant ragift^ 
 
 That Python of a later age. 
 The arrows of their scorn. 
 
 Giving to your unuttered wrongs 
 
 The language of a thousand tongues. 
 
 31. 
 
 Enough ! the gladdening sun has set 
 Which poured its beams on you ; 
 To you, so bright is our regret. 
 
 There can be no adieu ; 
 None ! — whilst from your majestic root 
 One beauteous scion lives to shoot. 
 
 Ye bud and bloom anew; 
 The sight sad freedom smiles to see. 
 And loves those blossoms as the tree. 
 
POEMS. 203 
 
 32. 
 
 Of such fair scions One there was. 
 
 Too beautiful and brief; 
 Time should have broke his scythe and glass. 
 
 For love of such a leaf: 
 I know not why — the loveliest bloom 
 Is soonest gathered from the tomb. 
 
 The earliest plucked by grief j 
 It is as though each element 
 Envied the glorious life it lent. 
 
 33. 
 
 But deeply gazing thus on thee. 
 
 Thou Picture !* I could deem. 
 The blight of his benignity, 
 
 A nothing, or a dream : 
 Breathing the vital air again. 
 Could deem his spirit walked with men, 
 
 Unconscious of the stream. 
 Whose darkly-rolling tide at last 
 
 Ingulfs all present in the past. 
 
 ,^ 
 
 * In Woburn-Abbey is a full-length painting of Duke Francis, 
 taken when he was Marquis of Tavistock. 
 
204 POEMS. 
 
 34. 
 
 And but those robes — that youthful pby 
 
 Of colour on his cheek, 
 1 he triumphs of a later day. 
 
 Another time bespeak ; 
 His eloquent air, Ulysses-like, 
 Wisdom and dignity might strike 
 
 A gazer for the Greek 
 Of Ithaca, whose voice appals 
 The suitors in his father*s halls. 
 
 35. 
 
 Him the hushM Senate reverenced too y 
 O'er Him, shall History tell, 
 
 IVhen bannered War his clarion blew, 
 A prophet's mantle fell. 
 
 He heard, and with presaging sigh, 
 
 Tlie course of blood and agony 
 Strove vainly to repel ; 
 
 His pitying heart those rites abhorred,. 
 
 He loved the oHve, not the sword. 
 
POEMS. 205 
 
 36. 
 
 He would have torn the page of war 
 From England's blazoning book^ 
 And bent the gashing scimetar 
 
 To plenty^ s pnining-hook ; 
 He would have beat the spear and shaft 
 TcHploughshares, and the banner-staff 
 
 Tum'd to the pastoral crook j 
 The groan of millions to the song 
 Of peasants their sweet vales among. 
 
 37. 
 
 He would — ^but what he would have been^ 
 
 Can hope, can love avow ? 
 Death dropped his curtain on the scene,. 
 
 And withered every vow. 
 Where are the vanished Great? declare 
 The Medici, the Decii, where. 
 
 Where generous Francis now ? 
 Immortal suns in memory^s sky — 
 They are not dead, they could not die 
 
^06 POEMS. 
 
 38. 
 
 Tliey came like angels of a night. 
 
 To disappear by day ; 
 As radiant was their earthward flight. 
 
 As swift to pass away. 
 Too bright, alas I to linger here. 
 They fled — we should not shed one tear 
 
 For beings blest as they ; 
 But evermore exult to find 
 Their living image left behind. 
 
 39. 
 
 Though gone in glory down the sky 
 
 Our Cynosures decline, 
 If other watch-lights burn on high, 
 
 ^Tis folly to repine* 
 Look up ! in freedom^s hemisphere 
 The star of Russell lingers near. 
 
 And other Pleiads shine. 
 Devoted in the stormiest night 
 To shed round us their guidhig light 
 
POEMS. 207 
 
 40. 
 
 And, circled thus with names of light, 
 
 WoBURN ! I bid thee hail, 
 A beauty rests on every height, 
 
 A charm in every vale . 
 Peopled with bright remembrances. 
 Green, green on high thy pines arise, 
 
 Though wintry storms assail, 
 And whisper to the waters near. 
 The dirge which sorrow loves to hear. 
 
 41. 
 
 And of the dead will fancy deem 
 
 Those shades are vocal still. 
 Their voice upon the murmuring stream. 
 
 Their footstep on the hill ! 
 This solace let not reason chide. 
 That thus the Great, the Glorified 
 
 Are reproduced at will ; 
 For sweet, though sad, is the relief 
 Which brings an anodyne to grief. 
 
208 POEMS. 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written on a blank leaf of the ^^ Pleasures of Hope.''' 
 
 Of power the fond and feeling- heart to blesf 
 
 With tenderest joy and sweetest pensiveness. 
 
 In Love's warm soul to wake a deeper glow. 
 
 Or kindlier steal a flushing smile from Woe, — 
 
 Here Campbell lives ; liis record of renown 
 
 No fleeting- pomp, — a pageant, or a crown ! 
 
 With time's swift tide, tkey sparkle, charm, and pass ; 
 
 Ionic marble and Corinthian brass 
 
 Melt into dust ; towers, kingdoms, empires fall, 
 
 As circling ages unto ages call ; 
 
POEMS. 209 
 
 But all unfelt the withering chill of time. 
 
 In the fresh flower of a perpetual prime — 
 
 Here Campbell lives ;•*— here hath his hand designed 
 
 The fervid transcript of his generous mind. 
 
 Like that mysterious crystal which inspires 
 
 Serener pureness from the wrath of fires j 
 
 The tender charm of his familiar page, 
 
 Wliich soothed with softest dreams our earlier age, 
 
 But breathes, resigned to Art's severe controul, 
 
 Diviner transport, and a purer soul. 
 
 When his bold strings, with noblest frenzy fraught. 
 
 Unchecked by terror, reach the heaven of thought. 
 
 Seems not his minstrel-spirit to have won 
 
 The fiery car and mantle of the sun ; 
 
 Wide o'er the burning galaxy to sweep. 
 
 Span earth's proud planet, and divide the deep. 
 
 Its springs unlock, and wake with potent spell 
 
 The angel pity, slumbering in her cell ? — 
 
 Soft as her sigh, the swelling tones subside. 
 
 Mournful and low, yet warbling as they glide. 
 
 Soothe the still ear, the' arrested soul enchain. 
 
 Till bliss is moulded in the mint of pain! 
 
 O THOul whose path fair Fancy strews ^vith flowers^ 
 One lovely tissue of romantic hours^ — 
 
210 POEMS- 
 
 Whose classic home indulgent Heaven has graced 
 With each blest handmaid in the court of taste ! 
 Oft o'er the^ enchanting scenes thine art has plann'd 
 Supremely lovely, or divinely grand. 
 Shall Beauty linger, each rude care asleep. 
 Alone with thee to glow or wildly weepj 
 Till thou, enshrin'd within her breast, shalt be 
 The guardian priest of her futurity. 
 Responsive to her voice^ bright dreams to weave 
 At opening sunrise and at falling eve. 
 
POEMS. 211 
 
 Written beneath a Miniature in the possession of a Friend. 
 
 1. 
 
 Go to ! what need of voice or verse 
 
 Our feelings to pourtray, 
 Wliilst, beauty of the Universe I 
 
 To thee those feelings stray. 
 Thy look of loveliest innocence. 
 Our thrilling pulse, and gaze intense. 
 
 Have far more power than they — 
 To tell how low our spirit kneels. 
 Our eye admires, and bosom feels. 
 
212 POEMS. 
 
 2. 
 
 The simple chesnut locks, which Taste 
 
 Loved far too well to braid. 
 The pearled breast, the cincture chaste. 
 
 The eye for musing made. 
 The lips like Eve's before her fall. 
 Melting with sweetness, — and o^er all 
 
 That melancholy shade. 
 Flung like a bridal veil, declare 
 Too much of Angel harboured there : 
 
 3. 
 
 Too much of Angel long to live 
 
 On earth's contracted span. 
 And these sweet looks of pity give 
 
 To such a thing as man j 
 The fire that lit thy early years. 
 Attracted by its native spheres. 
 
 Its rapid race o'erran. 
 And, all transformed to light and love. 
 Shot starlike to the heaven above. 
 
POEMS. 213 
 
 4. 
 
 Though loving eyes stream fast for thee, 
 
 I know thou wilt not frown. 
 Nor, freed thyself from pain's decree. 
 
 On pain look harshly down ; 
 Though thine are now Elysian hours. 
 Though heaven with songs, and stars, and flowers. 
 
 Thy walk of glory crown. 
 This tribute of a moment born. 
 Thou may'st accept, thou wilt not scorn. 
 
 5. 
 
 Why didst thou fade, so fair and young. 
 
 Ere Autumn seared thy leaf ? 
 O, sweets are doubly loved, when flung 
 
 Abroad by winds of grief ! 
 If secret woe thy blossom wrung. 
 There was one beating heart had sprung 
 
 To bring thine own relief j 
 But ere his love could make it less. 
 Beauty was lost in lifelessness. 
 
214 POEMS. 
 
 6. 
 
 O ! then, when still-survivmg Lave 
 Grew tearless with his throe, 
 
 Hope, heralding thy path above. 
 Seemed lost to earth below. 
 
 And Anguish mshed to annihilate 
 
 His future with a glance of hate. 
 There came a pause in woe — 
 
 Thou, silent picture of the dead ! 
 
 Smiled on him, and the chaos fled : 
 
 7. 
 
 Fled — for an hour of calmer thought. 
 
 Fled — for a mournful tear. 
 Which though it flowed that thou wert not, 
 
 Proved that thou still wert near j 
 That thou wert near to soothe his pain. 
 Bring bliss to his bewildered brain. 
 
 The assurance to his fear — 
 Whatever of others, yet that thou 
 Didst love him, and dost love him now. 
 
POEMS. 215 
 
 8. 
 
 Oh for a spirit's eye to strip 
 
 The veil that wraps our race. 
 And show in new companionship 
 
 The parted face to face. 
 This may not be — yet for awhile — 
 So sweetly does this Picture smile. 
 
 We gaze, and start to trace 
 All that she was on earth, and even 
 Almost what she is now in heayen. 
 
216 POEMS. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE STATUE. 
 
 At the entrance of the Temple of the Graces at Wohurn Ab- 
 bey, is an exquisite piece of Sculpture by the celebrated Chan- 
 trey, representing" his Grace the Duke of Bedford^s youngest 
 daughter — Lady Louisa Russell, in the act of pressing a dove to 
 her bosom. 
 
 L 
 
 Louisa, wandering througli the wood. 
 
 Had caught, one summer noon, a dove. 
 And, blest beyond expression, stood , 
 
 The picture of infantine love. 
 She pressed with Medic^an grace 
 
 The bird within her snowy arms, 
 ^vA downward bent her simny face. 
 
 To kiss away its wild alarms. 
 
POEMS. 217 
 
 2. 
 
 It was a needless thought ! the bh-d 
 
 Was far too happy to depart ; 
 Finding, by every pulse that stirred. 
 
 Its warmest nest was on her heart ; 
 And he who chanced that girl to see 
 
 So fondly smoothe each ruffled feather. 
 Wished that the turtle-dove and she 
 
 Thus, ever thus, might dwell together, 
 
 3. 
 
 The Sculptor heard that wish of his, 
 
 And by a magic of his own. 
 Re-echoed back the parent's l)liss. 
 
 And fixed the lovely twins in stone. 
 The statue cannot speak her power. 
 
 The mild bird raise its sculptured wings. 
 Yet, stamped in taste's divinest hour. 
 
 We half misdeem them living things. 
 
 L 
 
218 POEMS. 
 
 A ray is in her smile, her eye — 
 
 It cannot be the beam that falls 
 From the sun^s figure in the sky, — 
 
 Without are bowers, around are walls ; 
 Yet brightness radiates round the stone. 
 
 Sincere as e'er to feeling rushed, 
 And sweetness seems in every tone 
 
 Late uttered — though the voice is hushed 
 
 5. 
 
 In that serenely-speaking smile. 
 
 We live our childhood o'er again, 
 But sadness chills our cheek the while. 
 
 To think we cajunot feel as then : 
 When youth's full fire is in our eyes. 
 
 We steal from Venus' car a turtle, 
 And nestle — ^who would not ? the prize 
 
 On glowing hearts with chains of myrtle. 
 
POEMS. 219 
 
 6. 
 
 But of the many, cherished thus. 
 
 How few, fond girl 1 like thine remain. 
 Nor, home returning, leave to us. 
 
 Chilled heart, dark throe, and vacant chain ! 
 But thou, in life's young loveliness. 
 
 From age to age as now shalt stand. 
 Smiling with transport so to press 
 
 Love's turtle with thy little hand. 
 
 7. 
 
 Fit guardian of so fair a shrine ! 
 
 The loveliest of those Graces three 
 May well like thee her head decline, — 
 
 Thou art herself in infancy. 
 But when few summer-suns make ripe 
 
 This flower which glads the parent-stem. 
 Statue ! thy living prototype 
 
 Shall burst to bloom, and charm like them. 
 
 L 2 
 
220 POEMS. 
 
 / took the Harp. 
 
 I. 
 
 I took the harp, and would have sung. 
 But scarcely had its tones awoke. 
 
 When lo ! a chord too harshly strung. 
 Beneath my fingers, sighing, broke. 
 
 2. 
 
 *Tis thus the heart of gentle mould 
 To love, alas, too fondly given. 
 
 Ere it can well its tale unfold. 
 By Beauty's careless touch is riven. 
 
 3. 
 
 And when its sweetest thrill is o'er. 
 And it has ceased to throb for ever. 
 
 Can kindliest smiles its pulse restore. 
 Or warm it then ?— no, never ! never ! 
 
 4. 
 
 Then, Lady, whilst that heart's awake 
 Which beats for thee, and thee alone. 
 
 Remember that its chords will break. 
 If with rude hand they're dwelt upon. 
 
POEMS. 221 
 
 To 
 
 With a Seal bearing the Inscription 
 
 *^ CON TE SONO. 
 
 17 
 
 1 
 
 We came — we met — we looked — we parted ; 
 
 To one, at least, with some re^ret^ 
 And both perhaps were heavier-hearted. 
 
 Than if our eyes had never met. 
 Then, Lady ! let the seal I send 
 
 Sometimes revive a thought of me. 
 It speaks the feeling of a friend, 
 
 '' Though absent, I am still with thee/' 
 
222 POEMS. 
 
 2. 
 
 Years pass, and with them sweep along 
 
 The forms we love, the loves we feel. 
 And absence deals oblivious wrong. 
 
 And friendship mourns declining zeal. 
 O, then how sweet the heart to find 
 
 Which spite of veering timers decree. 
 In the fixt fondness of the mind. 
 
 Declares — ^^ indeed Fm still with thee/' 
 
 3. 
 
 The sweetest leaf, the sunniest flower. 
 
 Must bear the rude winds of the year ; 
 So fondest hearts in angry hour. 
 
 May oft be thought most insincere. 
 But well may dark mistrust rejoice 
 
 When blighted seems its cherished tree. 
 To hear from far this still small voice, 
 
 Pm still with thee, Pm still with thee/* 
 
POEMS, 223 
 
 4. 
 
 I nurse the vain, but grateful thought. 
 
 That thy remembered hand shall press. 
 In fondest hours, what mme has wrought — 
 
 Spell of appealing tenderness. 
 To claim myself, of many such. 
 
 But one — I know can never be ; 
 Yet, when this sigil feels thy touch. 
 
 Remember, ^' I am then with thee/' 
 
 5. 
 
 In hope, regret, joy, doubt, surprize, — 
 
 Whatever thou feePst, or think'st, or grieves t, 
 Thy smile of lips, thy light of eyes. 
 
 The tears thou shed^st, the praise thou givest ; 
 Of all fond friendship sends away. 
 
 Shall this the happy witness be. 
 And ever say, or seem to say. 
 
 In all, through all, '' Pm still with thee/' 
 
224 POEMS. 
 
 6. 
 
 Whilst I — recal (if once forgot) 
 
 The whiteness of thy soul and brow, 
 And feel there's sweetness in my lot. 
 
 To think on such an one as thou : 
 But Memory's calm reflecting ray 
 
 Can never, never darkened be ; 
 For still in soul though far away, 
 
 '^ I am with thee, I am Avith thee !" 
 
 C^.' 
 
POEMS. 
 
 225 
 
 AFTER THE SPANISH 
 
 1 
 
 Sweet maid ! I leaned in lifers young bloom^ 
 
 Upon a spirit warm as thine. 
 And dreamt, how could I dream its doom 
 
 Would ever so respond to mme ? 
 Trembling, I touched my light guitar. 
 
 As now — to please her listening ear. 
 And thought, how could I think the star 
 
 Of love in her dark eye sincere ? 
 
 L 3 
 
226 POEMS. 
 
 2 
 
 I flung my holiest rosary 
 
 Around her neck, the white veil under^ 
 And thought the beads would ever be 
 
 By other hands unbroke asunder. 
 I gave as flourishing a leaf 
 
 As those which thy white roses shade. 
 And giving, said, *' Pm sure no thief 
 
 Will e^er my blossomed flowers invade/^ 
 
 3. 
 
 But song — flowers — rosary — all are gone ! 
 
 The ear that listened, lips that praisM! 
 And of my many hopes, not one 
 
 But perished in the flame they raisM. 
 Gifts, long refused, I oft could see 
 
 She took with smiles, but now ^tis plain 
 These were not given in pain for me. 
 
 But pride of power in giving pain- 
 
POEMS. 227 
 
 4. 
 
 I wish that thou indeed wert she 
 
 By whom those early smiles were given. 
 For then, I know, from pleasure's tree 
 
 My young buds had not all been riven. 
 For kind and mild thy spirit is. 
 
 And holy are the tears thou givest. 
 And oh ! His something near to bliss, * 
 
 To know that His for me thou grievest. 
 
 But dry those d[ear, subduing eyes. 
 
 Or stormier grief will gush from mine. 
 Yet, when away, my heart will prize 
 
 Each drop that overflows from thine. 
 Not when away, not when away, 
 
 Oh no ! I could not bear to see 
 The tender sentiment decay 
 
 That speaks of sympathy from thee. 
 
228 POEMS. 
 
 6. 
 
 But we must part, and I must pass 
 
 To mingle with the crowd again. 
 And strive, in hollow mirth, alas — 
 
 How vainly ! to forget my pain. 
 But shunned or sought, in smiles or tears. 
 
 However my soul may droop and pine, 
 ^Twill half be happy, since it bears. 
 
 Dear maid ! the thrilling st^mp of thine. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 229 
 
 Written in an Album. 
 
 1. 
 
 Oh, I could whisper thee a tale 
 That surely would thy pity move. 
 
 But lightly would the lips avail 
 
 To shadow forth the souPs deep love. 
 
 2. 
 
 To tell that tale my pen were weak. 
 My tongue the office too denies. 
 
 Then mark it on my varying cheek. 
 And read it in my silent eyes. 
 
230 POEMS. 
 
 " Et longum, forinose, vale ! vale ! inquit lola."— Virgil. 
 
 1. 
 
 This scorn of all the glorious stir 
 
 Which sunshine brings to morn, — 
 This darkening upon flower and fir, 
 These lonely hours — all, all concur 
 To tell that thou art gone ! 
 
 2, 
 
 The night that falls on Memory^s brain^ 
 
 In slumbers sad, but dear ; 
 A lightless lamp — a severed chain. 
 Are all of thee that now remain 
 
 To tell that thou wert here. 
 
POEMS. 231 
 
 3. 
 
 Although the links could disunite, 
 
 The lamp in crystals break, — 
 Their very fragments have the light 
 Of stars, and I in fortune's spite 
 Will gaze — though all forsake. 
 
 4. 
 
 The fond farewell to others given, 
 
 I envy not you gave ; 
 The same to me accorded, even 
 Although my very soul had striven. 
 
 Had made that soul a slave. 
 
 5. 
 
 Thy one last glance to one unknown. 
 
 Enough suffices me j 
 A smile or two — a tender tone 
 Fading in music, serve alone 
 
 For Memory's reverie. 
 
232 POEMS. 
 
 6. 
 
 She shall not let the lightest thmg 
 
 That breathes of thee declme j 
 No ! sad or happy, she shall cling. 
 Like bees upon the flower of springs 
 To each dear leaf of thine ! 
 
POEMS. 
 
 233 
 
 SOJrJYET to W. WORnSWORTH^ JESQ, 
 
 With thee, divme Philosopher, I gazed 
 
 Upon the mighty hills at dying day : 
 
 The prodigal elements around us lay 
 
 Rocked like a babe to slumber ; the sky blazed. 
 
 Rich with vermilion fires, whose hue embraced 
 
 Woods, rocks, — the lake in its romantic pride, — 
 
 And then a flying sunbeam we descried 
 
 Brightening up half the valley : Night erased 
 
 Too soon the' expressive picture, but my heart 
 
 Locked it as in the casket of sweet thought. 
 
 Sacred to future fancy. Hast thou part 
 
 In the fine dream, or is it all forgot ? 
 
 Oft on the fairy Spectacle I brood. 
 
 The flowers, the hills return — vale — water — wood- 
 
 And thou — the beautiful Genius of the spot. 
 
231 POEMS. 
 
 To 
 
 The rose and vestal snowdrop. Lovely One ! 
 
 Gathered by thee, within my whitest book 
 
 Lie like a charm ; how much I love to look 
 
 On them thou shalt not know : let the proud Sun, 
 
 Swift journey er in a withering circlet, run 
 
 His race of ruin — he shall never steal 
 
 One passionate memory which these gifts reveal 
 
 Of pleasant hours by-gone from us — not one! 
 
 Thy locks, thy music-making lips, thine eyes, 
 
 (Starry inquisitors) and, yet more fair. 
 
 The sunshine of thy delicate spirit lies 
 
 Warm on my heart, and makes Elysium there. 
 
 Sometimes cross Thou my wood-walks by surprise. 
 
 Wearing the Grecian Hebe's smiling air. 
 
POEMS. 
 
 235 
 
 Taliessin. 
 
 Lovely the ascent has been, though in the face 
 
 Of giant hills ; the hooded Twilight now. 
 
 Darkens their summits, and I stand where Thou 
 
 Ancestral Harper of our ancient race. 
 
 High Taliessin! hadst thy dwelling-place, 
 
 A mountain-throne.* Oh grand, oh glorious spot ! 
 
 Speak, mighty Elements! have ye forgot 
 
 His numbers ! does your heart preserve a trace 
 
 Of that old British music? Hark ! the Lake, 
 
 The Druid waves of sunlit Geirionedd 
 
 Make answer far into the hills, and break 
 
 Their sleep of centuries ; — with awe I tread ; 
 
 Hm eye seems on me in that star, whose flake 
 
 Falls, like a tongue of fire upon my head. 
 
 ♦ The residence of Taliessin, the foundation-stones of which 
 are yet to be seen, is pointed out in a romantic gorge of the 
 mountains near Llanrwyst. It is within sight of Lynn Geirionedd, 
 and is surrounded by an amphitheatre of hills. On the summer- 
 evening on which I visited it, the vesper-planet was seen most 
 beautifully above the crag called Grinllom, or the Hill of Glow- 
 worms, and every object in the twilight conspired to heighten the 
 effect of the associations connected with so interesting a spot. 
 
236 POEMS. 
 
 The Cascade on Raven Crag^ near Lake Coniston. 
 
 Pure Virgin of these Alps ! who lov^st to wear 
 
 Thy foam around thee as a bridal vest. 
 
 And from these stormy heights dost seek the rest 
 
 Which yon blue vale and glassy sea prepare — 
 
 Now scattering on the wuids thy silver hair. 
 
 Giving fresh greenness to the moorland moss,^ 
 
 Now fretting imambitiously across 
 
 The ancient stones, filling the amorous air 
 
 With music : gazing upon thee I think 
 
 Of Her, the young, the modest, and the wise. 
 
 Who often sang beside thy verdant brink,* 
 
 In shepherd^s ear the Songs of Paradise. 
 
 Of thee, pellucid Fountain, I will drink. 
 
 So thou inspire me with like melodies. 
 
 * Miss Elizabeth Smith. 
 
POEMS. 037 
 
 Newstead Abbey. 
 
 I plucked a bluebell from thy crumbling wall. 
 
 Proud Pile of proud Antiquity in tears ! 
 
 Who, yet indignant at the conquering years, 
 
 Sitt'st frowning in thy wild monastic pall 
 
 On ruin, and to one lone waterfall 
 
 Mournest thy wrongs. Pale Princess ! raise thy head 
 
 The planet of thy splendour is not fled, 
 
 A Voice has gone from forth thy desolate hall 
 
 A musical and melancholy voice. 
 
 Making the Years thy vassals; crowning thee, 
 
 Ev^n in thy dust and ashes as the choice. 
 
 The high-born bride of Immortality. 
 
 Thousand enamoured Pilgrims shall rejoice 
 
 To come, and cull thy glorious weeds, like me. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 GREEN, PRINTER, 
 LEICESTER STREET, LEICESTER SQUARE 
 
AONIAN HOURS, 
 
 A Poem in Tivo Cantos ; 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY, J. H. WIFFEN. 
 
 " This is a volume of very delig*htful poetry, and we do not 
 hesitate to avow that, notwithstanding- the fascination of its title, 
 we have experienced greater pleasure than we had even antici* 
 pated from its perusal. We believe Mr. Wiffen to be in posses- 
 sion of poetical talents of no common order. He has developed 
 very considerable powers in the volume, and with every good wish 
 for his attaining* to that distinction he appears so eminently to 
 deserve, we will take our leave of him with a sentiment of 
 Petrarch, put forth on a very diflFerent occasion : 
 
 " Tanto te prego piu 
 
 Non lassar la magnanima tua impresa/' 
 
 Gentleman^s Magazine^ August^ 1819. 
 
 '* This author possesses both the heart and the eye of a poet. 
 The principal poem is very superior to the mass of modern poetical 
 attempts. His forte seems to be a happy union of sentiment with 
 description. His versification is flowing and correct/* 
 
 Monthly Magazine y August y 1819. 
 
 " With a lively susceptibility of natural beauties^ Mr. WiFFBif 
 unites considerable powers of correct thinking and just discrimi- 
 nation ; evincing in the progress of his meditative excursion, the 
 happy facility of leading the mind through ^* nature up to nature *sj 
 God. The beauties of this work are sufficient to claim for the 
 author a respectable station in the rank of his country's poets.'' 
 
 European Magaziney Septembery 1819. 
 
" The Society of Friends has had, and has its able writers in 
 science and belles lettres, and we are pleased to notice so accom- 
 plished a champion from its ranks for the poet's laureate crown." 
 
 Literary Gazette^ No. 141. 
 
 " This poem, amid some harsh lines and obscurities of expres- 
 sion, displays much fervour of imag-ination, an enthusiastic love 
 of nature, and a mind deeply imbued with a sense of omnipotence. 
 The shorter poems, which conclude this pleasing- volume, display 
 a vein of classical eleg-ance, with the same strong- feeling- ana de- 
 scriptive power which are so interesting- in '' Aspley Wood."' 
 
 Neio Monthly Magazine^ September^ 1819. 
 
 **This interesting- little volume, independent of the moral tone 
 of feeling- that pervades it, contains so much really pathetic poetry 
 as to entitle it to a very honourable rank in modern literature. The 
 lines on Howard are in a fine strain of sentiment, and appear to us 
 in no slight deg*ree worthy of their inestimable subject." 
 
 Lady'^s Magazine^ October^ 1819. 
 
 ^' Mr. WiFFEN is evidently a young- writer, but he is a promising- 
 one : he appears to possess an enthusiastic love of nature, and a 
 cultivated fancy. There are passages in this Volume of great 
 spirit and beauty, and the ^' Stanzas on Howard" are the pledge 
 of better things.'' 
 
 Eclectic Review y April^ 1820. 
 
 '' Mr WiFFEN has manifested much imagination and poetry in 
 this work; we have seldom seen more sweetness, spirit, and true 
 pathos than in the beautiful stanzas dedicated to the memory of 
 Howard, as well as in some others of the detached poems." 
 
 Monthly Review y December y 1819. 
 
 In 8vo. Price 7^. Qd. 
 
 Published by Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, and for 
 
 John Warren, Old Bond Street. 
 

 
 
 
 
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