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 A DZIAIKEATXC SKETCH: 
 
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 taJ 
 
 SUMNER LINCOLN FAIRFIELD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF THE SISTEllS OF ST. CLARA, 
 LAYS OF MELPOMENE, *c. 
 
 BALTIMORE : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY JOSEPH ROBINSON, 
 
 Circulating Librarj' 
 
 1825. 
 
 

 ^T./.S^^iS^"^ 
 
 

 To STACY G. POTTS, Esq. 
 
 My Dear Potts : 
 
 Poetry has been to me a singular delight and peculiar happi- 
 ness — an abundant reward and consolation. In the darkest hours 
 of adversity, it has been my only light ; in the loneliest solitude, 
 my only friend ; amid a heartless world the only faithful thing. 
 I profess not what 1 feel not — indifference to fame ; but that has 
 not been my keenest incentive to composition ; that may be a 
 halo which fades as soon as seen — a wreath that withers in the 
 grasp — a beautiful dream, preluding no reality. But the Aoni- 
 des have blessed me with higher and purer pleasures ; plea- 
 sures indestructible, because passed beyond the scoff of envy 
 or the sneer of derision. The happiest hours of my life have 
 been the gift of Poetry ; and, however personal malevolence 
 or literary partiality may neglect or contemn n.y productions, I 
 shall always revere that divine art which brings oblivion of pov- 
 erty and wrong to the bleeding breast. I know very well 
 what is the fate of our choicest native flowers; "the trail of 
 the serpent is over them all"— and that serpent is neglect. But 
 I can endure this destiny with more equanimity, since my se- 
 cret hours of affliction have been blessed by the purest intellec- 
 tual enjoyment. Flattery cannot elevate nor malignity depress 
 the consciousness of what is due to me; 1 shall never be ren- 
 dered giddy by applause, nor miserable by censure ; sensible 
 that contemporary criticism is seldom ingenuous, and that time 
 reverses the capricious judgnaents of men. Tf I had been the 
 slave of opinion, 1 should ere this have been the victim of per. 
 secution ; if abuse had wounded, its many arrows would have 
 slain. But I bless my God, that he gave me a mind which ac. 
 knowledges no accountability but to itself and its Creator ; re- 
 lies solely on its own resources; and joys or grieveh ptuely 
 from the impulsions of its own energies. 1 have never been 
 A 
 
IV DEDICATION. 
 
 accustomed in life to accredit, without examination, the dicta 
 of any man ; and it is utterly impossible that I should either fear 
 or reverence the unsupported assertions of anonymous scrib" 
 biers. 
 
 For my enemies, hypercritical and hypocritical, I do, as 1 have 
 long done, bid them defiance ; charitably trusting that their 
 own consciences have not wrought them more suffering than it 
 has been possible for them to inflict on me. They have done 
 their worst, and 1 have borne it — shall I shrink now ? Ridicule, 
 always the resort of those who never meet with any thing wearing 
 even the semblance of reason or humanity, but they inconti- 
 nently fall into their natural habit of braying, has been 
 from time immemorial lavished by bastard wits and low buffoons, 
 on the best, the wisest, the greatest of mankind; and if (to 
 mention no more) Southey, Wordsworth, Coleridge and Mont- 
 gomery, have endured the purgatory of splenetic envy, assu- 
 redly it would ill beseem me to complain. The Republic of 
 Letters, like all republics, abounds with swaggering clowns, 
 who would fain pass for gentlemen ; but no one, who regards 
 his character, would condescend to contend with them, lest they 
 should have some title to honour fro'n that very circumstance. 
 I invite not criticism, and I deprecate it not. Dictatorial re- 
 proof I shall always deride j abuse I shall despise ; neglect I 
 shall endure ; but dispassionate examination and candid remark 
 will ever meet with attention and deference. To all who have 
 heretofore benefitted me by liberal observations, I offer my 
 sincere thanks ; to all who have ridiculed my works and calum- 
 niated my person, I tender my pity and contempt. I hope my 
 friends will find that their suggestions have been heeded ; and 
 my enemies perceive that their vituperations have poisoned 
 none but themselves. I forgive them all— for this forgiveness 
 costs me nothing. 
 
 To you, my dear friend, as to one who equally despises the 
 fawnings of sycophancy and the virulence of malignity. I dedi- 
 cate this volume ; feeling that from this act of justice I shall de- 
 rive the double satisfaction of having inscribed the sources of 
 my purest pleasures to one whose blameless life adorns superior 
 
DEDICATION. V 
 
 talent. Content to be useful to a world, which, even if it knew, 
 would not because it could not prize you ; happy in your affec- 
 tions, and imparting" the fountains of happiness to others by 
 those excellent tales which expose the follies while they com- 
 memorate the virtues of mankind ; you have never experienced 
 those vicissitudes and misfortunes which have fallen to the lot of 
 your less wise, less fortunate friend. From your quiet abode 
 you can behold the clouds and storms of fate roll by, not mere- 
 ly unavved, but blest by the contemplation, marking the beauty 
 of their changeful folds and the grandeur of their array. To 
 whom, then, can I more fitly dedicate a volume, which discloses 
 too often, the passions and the woes of human life ? To whom 
 more justly offer this testimonial of friendship and esteem, than 
 to one who has cheered me in its production ? It is certain it 
 would afford me far higher pleasure to see your name in the ti- 
 tle-page of a volume of your own tales, than to be enabled to 
 gratify my feelings and honour my work, by appending it to this 
 little publication. But since your modesty interdicts this jus- 
 tice to yourself, it gives me peculiar satisfaction thus publicly 
 to bear record to the moral goodness and intellectual energy of 
 my friend ; and that both may long diffuse their brightness over 
 A darkened world is my continual trust. Accept, my friend, a 
 work of wandering youth, and with it my regrets that it is no 
 more worthy your name and your approbation ; that what has 
 lessened the ills and alleviated the sorrows of my heart may 
 prove accepable in your sight, and in that of all candid and just- 
 principled persons, is the wish and prayer of, 
 My Dear Potts, 
 
 Your Undissembhng Friend, 
 
 SUMNER LINCOLN FAIRFIELD, 
 Baltimore y October^ 1825. 
 
MINA, 
 
 A BRAIXATIC SKETCH. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 SciNE — The Kancho del Venaditi), on the hacienda of Tlachiquera, 
 near the city of Guanaxuato, in New Spain. Time — evening and the 
 night succeeding. Mina seated by an open lattice, and Rosario, his 
 page, dimly seen at the extremity of the room. 
 
 MINA. 
 
 In this lone mansion of my youthful friend, 
 
 Don Mariano, will I rest awhile 
 
 From war's tumultuous turmoil and the rage 
 
 Of sanguinary horrors, and forget 
 
 For some brief space, 'mid nature's still repose. 
 
 The miseries of nations. O thou blest Spirit, 
 
 Immutable, eternal Liberty ! 
 
 Thy home is on the mountains and thy sons 
 
 Must toil and bleed to gain thy holy shrine, 
 
 And break the tyrant's sceptre and bestrew 
 
 Their gory pathway with the murderous tools 
 
 Of fiendlike dominance; — the»r midnight couch 
 
 Must be the cold damp earth — their bosom friends 
 
 The full-charged carabine and sheathless brand, 
 
 B 
 
8 IWina* 
 
 And the wild cries of forest animals 
 
 Or lone responses of tired sentinels, 
 
 Their broken slumbers' lullaby. The roar 
 
 Of enfiladed musquetry — the clash 
 
 Of gleaming sabres, and the shrieks and shouts 
 
 Of onset, triumph, agony and death, 
 
 Must be the softest accents that awake 
 
 The patriot soldier from his tented bed. 
 
 And break his feverish dreams of distant loves. 
 
 But, oh ! where breathes the base degenerate wretch 
 
 "Who dares not vindicate the holy laws 
 
 Of all presiding nature, trampled on ? 
 
 Who crouches at the tyrant's beck and does 
 
 The tyrant's bidding on his suffering peers, 
 
 Hath lost tlie privilege of man and sunk 
 
 Nature below her just prerogative. 
 
 W^here'er one man by conquest or descent 
 
 Doth lord it o'er his fellows, and usurp 
 
 Power from the nation, who alone may rule. 
 
 There let the patriot rise in wrath and hurl 
 
 The despot to the dust from which he sprung. 
 
 For thee, O heaven descended goddess ! thron'd 
 
 In man's expanding soul e'en at his birth, 
 
 The pride, the glory of his being — long 
 
 And deeply hath my heart in silence bled. 
 
 Torn from life's best affections— from the love 
 
 Of mother, kindred, friend-^and, more than all, 
 
 Of her who was the birth-star of my fate — 
 
 I have devoted my best years to thee : 
 
 But now awhile I may count back the links 
 
 Of fortune's cankered chain — and trace the clue 
 
Of being through the sufferings and the woes 
 Of ever-varying destiny, till again 
 I may behold in mennory's light the scenes 
 Of other days. Alas! 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 My lord, did'st call? 
 
 MINA. 
 
 No, good Rosario ; dastard nature seeks 
 
 To play the tyrant, and perchance I shrunk 
 
 A moment from my spirit's dignity. 
 
 Prisoned in gross material substance oft 
 
 The heav'n-born soul will droop beneath the weight 
 
 Of its vast energies, and leave the heart 
 
 Sole lord of all its powers ; but now 't is past, 
 
 The encroaching weakness. — But thy fragile frame, 
 
 My little page, unused to war's rude life. 
 
 And wasting toils and dangers imminent. 
 
 Claims due repose; for me, since early youth 
 
 The starred heaven hath been my canopy, 
 
 The rock or heath my bed ; and I have slept 
 
 Among blood-dripping banners, shattered arms. 
 
 And corses not yet cold in death, so long 
 
 That 't is a luxury, unknown for years. 
 
 To slumber 'neath a roof; — guerilla chiefs 
 
 Not often find a rancho for the night* 
 
 Go to thy slumbers, lovely boy ! 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 My lord. 
 Can I do nought to serve thee — nouglit to give 
 
10 £&ina. 
 
 Relief to thy fatigued and war-worn frame, 
 
 That may assint thy tranquilizing sleep? 
 
 Could I but soothe thy spirit into soft 
 
 Repose or by most fearful venture find 
 
 An opiate for thy heart, I should Indeed 
 
 Be blest — oh, more than blest, my dearest lord ! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Thou art a faithful and sweet boy ; but what 
 Canst thou,. with all thy tenderness and kind 
 Observance, do to heal a broken heart 
 Or still the torrent of a warlike soul ? 
 Canst thou allay the anguish of the past 
 Or kindle hope into fruition ? — On 
 Thy youthful brow there hangs the solemn shade 
 Of something ill by-gone ; and canst thou pour 
 Balm o'er a bosom robbed of all its joys ? 
 Thou well mayst turn away when such a task, 
 Beyond all skill of mortal surgery. 
 Is set before thee. 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 Good my lord, didst say 
 Thy heart was robted of all its former joys ? 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Ay, thus I said in bitterness ; I was 
 
 So happy once, it poisons all my speech 
 
 To tell my present sorrows. Wouldst thou know, 
 
 Rosario, all the pleasures of my youth 
 
 And all my past enjoyments — go and ask 
 
The Alpine solitudes of bold Monreal, 
 The groves that skirt the vallies of Navarre, 
 The cliff-arched grottoes of the Pyrenees, 
 And many a bower of bliss that blossoms yet, 
 And all will tell the tale. But what avails 
 Weak reminiscence ? I have wedded war- 
 War for the rights of man, and holy bands 
 Have hallowed my espousals — o'er crossed swords 
 The irrevocable vow hath soared to heaven. 
 And deeds have stamped it with the seal of fate, 
 Unchangeable as Deity! Let the past 
 Sleep in the unfathomed ocean of the soul 
 Amid the wreck of glorious things, till time 
 And chance and change no more have influence 
 O'er man's fresh budding hopes — to blast and v.'ither! 
 But why so sad and pale, Rosario? 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 A thought passed o'er my mind, as thou didst speak. 
 And 1 unwittingly upon my brow 
 Did picture it — but now 't is gone. 
 
 MINA. 
 
 It was 
 
 A thought of gloom : I may reciprocate 
 Thy generous offering now and seek the cause 
 Of sorrow in thy soul ; perchance, my fate 
 May teach thee moral warfare with the foes 
 That make the heart their battlefield, while thou 
 Art day by day familiar with the strife 
 That nature's children wage for liberty. 
 
i2_ £Bina. 
 
 Thou well (lost know that this my warrinja: life 
 Suits not tlie feelings of my lieait ; had Spain 
 Been other than a dungeon of despair, 
 Contending hosts had never known my name. 
 
 BOSA. 
 
 I thought, my nohle lord, of thy bold deeds 
 Of high emprise, and as I followed on 
 From great to greater — from Marina's walls 
 To San Gregorio, I could but think, 
 Had'st thou in either of thy battles fall'n, 
 How many eyes the story of thy fate 
 Had filled with bitter tears ; how many hearts 
 Writhed in deep anguish at thine early doom ! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 ^Thanks for thy friendly thought ; but why forestall 
 What fortune's chances may too soon achieve? 
 Or 'why imagine, were I gone, no chief 
 More worthy would be left to wage the war ? 
 
 ROSA, 
 
 But, Signor, thou ere while didst speak of loves; 
 Their hearts would surely bleed if thou wert gone. 
 
 MTNA. 
 
 There thou art certain and thou well may'st be. 
 Yes, many would bewail me — many weep 
 And mourn awhile and then resume tlicir smiles ; 
 There is but one who never would forget 
 Or cease to sorrow for the daring chief 
 
Who fell on foreij^n strniKl ; but she^s afar 
 
 And (lead, perchaiire— away ! thy boding speech 
 
 Would make a dastard of iipmortal Mars. 
 
 Go, bear my best affection to our host. 
 
 The gallant xVlariano, and desire 
 
 The chief for converse of avail and high 
 
 Import to meet me here ev^n now ; and then, 
 
 Rosario, seek thy couch and court repose, 
 
 Drowning thy fancies and thy fears alike. 
 
 IIOSA. 
 
 Be heaven the guardian of my noble chief! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Amen^ my little page ! good-night, Rosario ! 
 
 {Exit Rosario.) 
 So he hath gone, poor boy ! his gentle heart 
 Owns not the warrior's ardour in the rage 
 And havoc of conflicting elements^ 
 But, oh, how often hath he soothed the last 
 Dread moments of the soldiers agonies — 
 Stanched the deep wound, allayed the burning thirst, 
 Composed the bloody pillow, raised the head 
 Deliiious with anguish, and with soft 
 Assuasives lulled the fevered pulse! How oft. 
 Bent o'er the gory bed, hath he upheld 
 The blessed crucifix before the eyc£> 
 Of dying patriots and warmly breathed 
 Their parting orison when o'er them came 
 The shadows of untravelled worlds — the deep 
 Darkness that wraps the spirit in the vale 
 
14 jfttiita* 
 
 Of cold obliviating death, where yet 
 Chaos maintains its old dominion dire. 
 I fondly love that sad mysterious youth'. 
 Until this eve lie hath been silent — watched 
 My wants and answered to my wishes ere 
 Articulated; ever by my side, 
 In thoughtful silence he hath glided on, 
 Searching for foes and warning their approach 
 Long ere they came. So much devotion flows 
 From some o'ermantled cause, beyond the grasp 
 Of calculating thought — but I will search — 
 
 Enter Don Mariano. 
 Friend of my youth, I greet thee well ! 't is long 
 Since the wild waves of desolating war 
 Sundered our fortunes, but again we meet 
 The same as in the antique hails and towers 
 Of venerable Saragossa. 
 
 MARI4K0. 
 
 Ay, the same. 
 Or more, lion-hearted chief! thy praise 
 Fills every heart tl)at feels for human weal. 
 And every tongue breathes eloquence when thoB 
 And thy achievements are the inspiring theme. 
 Eternal glory and undying fame — 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Beshrew thy present speech, my noble friend, 
 And cull thy w ords more carefully. It ne'er 
 Doth appertain to principles of true 
 And genuine liberty thus to o'erween 
 
The simplest acts of duty ; freedom's sons 
 Should never mimic royal pageantries, 
 Nor deal in adulation, nor indulge 
 In undue forms of reverence to those 
 Whose names are heralded by bugle-horns. 
 The eternal order of revolving worlds 
 Is simple as sublime; let man's applause. 
 When due, be the still look of gratitude! 
 
 MARIANO. 
 
 Disclaim, with such high terms and looks sincere. 
 The extorted homage of the world, and thou 
 Mi^ht'st reign in every human heart, .the lord 
 Of mind — an empire tyrants ne'er enslaved, 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Thy pardon, Signor ! but I wished to speak 
 
 Of things essential to the present weal 
 
 Of myriads. Thou know'st the nature close. 
 
 Subtle and envious of Torres' soul ; 
 
 How by most guileful artifice he worked 
 
 My misadventures in the vicinage 
 
 Of Sombrero ; and how, when Linah drew 
 
 His lines of siege round San Gregorio, 
 
 And threatened ruin to the coward priest, 
 
 He violently retained my choicest troops 
 
 To guard his Reverence ; and sent me forth 
 
 With clowns undisciplined and unobeying, 
 
 To urge the siege of Guanaxuato. There, 
 
 First deed of shame that e'er befel me — there 
 
 Disgrace frowned on my once victorious bjanner I 
 
1© fHina* 
 
 But I'll not think of that discomfiture. 
 For I would } et preserve my reason clear. 
 Now for thy counsel-^thoju art wise in war; 
 Abide we here or seek the open plains 
 Of ever-blooming Silao ? 
 
 MARIANO. 
 
 No foes 
 Can thread yon deep barrancas unbeheld, 
 And none dare force tlie pass that intervenes 
 Us and Orrantia; therefore danger seems 
 Afar from thee and thy guerilla band 
 For a brief time; thou can«t augment thy strength 
 In silence here, and burst upon the foe 
 Again in all thy terrors when he sleeps 
 In lethargy of fancied safe repose. 
 
 MINA. 
 
 So be it then ; Orrantia I despise 
 
 Ev'n as the Pyrenean huntsman doth 
 
 The spectre-haunted hind ; 't would better fit 
 
 The pampered parasites of ruthless power 
 
 To play the matador, than thus to lead 
 
 Things human to the war of sacrilege. 
 
 The dastard cravens dare not wield the brand 
 
 In manly fight, but steal behind and stab 
 
 V the darkness — and if by the sheerest chance 
 
 They seize a prisoner, straight they bear him on 
 
 To the camp's centre and display their valour 
 
 In cruel slaughter of a pinioned man: 
 
 Mother of God ! it is beyond the calm 
 
Endurance of my nature to behold 
 
 Such demons triumph in a nation's wrongs. 
 
 MARIANO. 
 
 Heaven speed the day when they shall meet the doom 
 Their cruelties have earned. But, noble chief! 
 Or if thou wilt, good friend ! 't is time that thou 
 Should'st woo thy needful rest. 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Thou dost riot err, 
 For well thou know'st the soldier's wakeful nights. 
 But first PU post videttes upon yon cliffs 
 To guard contingencies. 'T is ever thus ; 
 Our safety must be bought with others' danger, 
 And their's with ours; peace. cannot reign beloW 
 With holy liberty, but men will sigh 
 For dignities beyond the common lot. 
 And spurn the holiest laws, and trample down 
 The highest principles of things to gain 
 The privilege of being cursed by broken hearts 
 With all the bitterness^ of hopeless woe. 
 
 MARIANO. 
 
 When I think o'er thy sufferings and thy deeds, 
 My noble friend, since last we met, I scarce 
 Can reason wonder to belief of fact. 
 
 MINA. 
 
 The warrior's course is Hke the boiling torrent. 
 Roaring and flashing through tumultuous scenes, 
 
18 ifHina* 
 
 Till the uncertain fountain disappears. 
 Come, Signor, we will tread the camp of death 
 Again together; 't is perhaps the last 
 Meeting of two oppressed and injured men 
 Whose boyhood passed in words and acts of love. 
 
PART II. 
 
 Scene — A grove in the rear of the Patriot camp, before the llancho 
 del Venadito. 
 
 MINA — solus. 
 
 Since waking thought doth mar my quiet sleep 
 With dreams of horror and strange visionry 
 Of coming ill, 't is fitting that I watch 
 And meditate in silence on the ways . 
 Of changeful destiny. There is a gloom 
 Unwonted on my heart; my nature's spirit, 
 Erst active, vigilant and unsubdued 
 By danger in most dread extremity, 
 Doth listen now to fancy's whisperings • 
 And the half-uttered oracles of dreatns. 
 Dim visionary shapes around me flit 
 Like shadows of futurity, and seem 
 To hold dominion o'er my cowering soul. 
 As 't were their right to tyrannize. Unused 
 Am I to all fantastic visi tings 
 Of wild imagination, working on 
 The temporary ills of human life 
 And turning petty woes to agonies. 
 I will disrobe my spirit of the spell 
 c 
 
20 Mina. 
 
 Of fancy^s wizardry by converse high 
 
 With things aerial, and so forget 
 
 These dark presentiments and auguries 
 
 Of gathering sorrows. — On this lovely grove 
 
 How softly gleams the waning moon ! the leaves 
 
 Dance in the autumnal night-breeze pure and fresh. 
 
 And gleam in dewy radiance as they turn 
 
 Their silken texture to the glimmering light, 
 
 And breathe such music as the spirits of air 
 
 And water love to drink j and stillness sleeps 
 
 Upon the verdured earth and azure heaven, 
 
 Like holy thoughts of heavenly love within 
 
 The cloistered vestal's bosom. — But, alas ! 
 
 Man's warring passions blot the fairest scenes 
 
 Of heaven's creation ; and his curst ambition 
 
 Corrupts and desecrates all human rights 
 
 And natural prerogatives, till the slave 
 
 Robes him in panoply of dire revenge. 
 
 And rushes forth to deeds of wo and death. 
 
 And thus dotti grief turn every lovely sight 
 
 And sound in heaven and earth to its own mood. 
 
 Desponding, dark and desolate. The world 
 
 Wears just the hue the spirit's robed withal. 
 
 And is not gay or gloomy in itself. 
 
 His heart is man's world, and as that is full 
 
 Of joy or sorrow, so doth nature seem 
 
 Or dark or beautiful. Ah, me ! how sad. 
 
 Whene'er the warrior sinks into the man, 
 
 A]>pears this penal planet, where hopes, fears. 
 
 And loves and agonies forever war ! 
 
 ^ow little know the multitude that hail 
 
The conquering chieftain in the pride and pomp 
 
 And power of victory, and send his name 
 
 In shouts triumphant o'er the echoing skies — 
 
 What sorrows in his bosom's inmost core 
 
 Dwell — silently corroding life away ! 
 
 The most exalted deeds that ever blazed 
 
 Amid the trophies of immortal fame, 
 
 Have sprung from woes that sought relief and found 
 
 Alleviation in the loud uproar 
 
 And rage and slaughter of embattled armies. 
 
 Oft from the dun obscurity of life 
 
 Driven by hopeless passions, men have gone 
 
 Forth to the spirit-stirring field of blood. 
 
 And raised proud monuments, on which their names 
 
 Live 'mid the eternal blazonry of fame, 
 
 From individual sorrow, when the world 
 
 Weened all their greatness sprung from purest 
 
 thoughts, 
 Or patriotic or aspiring. Deep 
 Within the human breast unseen, the seeds 
 Of actions lie j the first growth of our thoughts 
 And feelings none can trace — beneath the veil 
 Of motives undefinable tliey spring 
 And flourish into being unbeheld ; 
 'Tis only when they shoot up full and strong 
 That their existence is perceptible ; 
 And then as they bear fruitage, good or bad. 
 Beholders cultivate or check their growth. 
 Discharging duty, I have blessed myself. 
 And, while absorbed in general misery, 
 Forgot ray own. Rosalia's love hath been 
 
22 mim. 
 
 The exciting cause of my most famous feats 
 In this exterminating war, though power 
 Tyrannic forced me to the battle's shock. 
 But now, amid this moonlight grove, my love! 
 I'll think of thee in silence ! 
 
 Enter Rosario, siiddenly. 
 
 ROSA. * 
 
 0,my lord ! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 How now, my little page ! why thus abroad. 
 Searching me out amid this lonely wood,- 
 Not rather using the dear privilege 
 Of uridisturbed repose, so seldom granted 
 To any of our troop ? 
 
 ROSA. % 
 
 I could not sleep ! 
 My soul vfSis harrowed up by fearful dreams 
 And visions of such dread import, 1 rose 
 And fled to shield me from their influence 
 To thy forsaken room ; but thou wert gone, 
 My lord, and so I wandered forth to seek thee. 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Well, my sweet boy ! sit down upon this knoll. 
 And tremble not so fearfully — thou wilt 
 Ne'er fail to find in me a guardian friend, 
 Ready to shield thee from worse foes than dreams. 
 
ROSA. 
 
 O, my dear lord — oh, wilt thou never leave me ? : 
 How thy words gladden my affrighted heart ! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Why this emotion ? — dost thou doubt my faith ? 
 Or think thou hast just cause for gratitude 
 For that protection which each soldier claims 
 From me by right of service 'neath command ? 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 No — yes — my lord ! I thought that thou— indeed 
 I know not what. I thought — but I hoped— 
 
 MINA. 
 
 What? 
 Thou seem'st in strange bewilderment ; but tell 
 The dream that shook thy soul with such affright. 
 And I will be the prophet of thy visions. 
 And from thy fancy's revellings will draw 
 Such sage revealments of approaching joy 
 As shall dilate thy thrilling heart with rapture. 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 My dream was vision, and I saw two forms, 
 A } outh and maid, reposing in a grove 
 Of flower wreathed citrons, bordering a bright 
 And beautiful lagoon, and they did seem 
 Each other's heaven, so vividly their eyes 
 Gleamed in their hearts' light, so rapturous fond 
 Was every look, so passionate, and yet 
 
24 Dfttna. 
 
 Pure was their long communion of delight. 
 How blisslul was their being! paradise 
 Could never bless faith's fondest votaries 
 With more ecstatic rapture. They appeared, 
 Aft thus tluey sat within thatbowering grove. 
 Holding the eloquent converse of tiie heart, 
 Like two young seraphs who were twins in soul. 
 Whose every thought was melody. 1 watched 
 The lovers long; and, oh, how happy thus 
 Locked in each other's fond embrace, must be, 
 I said and sighed, those two congenial spirits ! 
 That vision fled — the grove, the lake — were gone- 
 The lovers parted. In a distant land 
 Of sky crowned mountains and of ocean streams, 
 I saw the youth, in martial garb arrayed, 
 I' the van of a few high souled soldiers move 
 Undaunted through the phalanxed ranks of foes 
 Unsparing in their power, and like a god, 
 Bear victory upon his morion's plume. 
 I had not long beheld him glorying so 
 When by his side I saw the well-loved maid, 
 In stranger guise and aspect masked, with fond 
 Devotion following the uncertain track 
 Of him — the idol of her love— 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Strange dream, 
 Rosario — thy vision is most marvellous. 
 Go on — I hold my heart in deep observance. 
 
ROSA. 
 
 The youthful hero tliroue^h entangling snares 
 And guileful ambuscades and perils dire 
 Kept on his path of glory, and by love, 
 •Stronger than death, upheld 'mid scenes of blood, 
 That agonized her soul, the gentle maid 
 Went on, the unknown companion of the chief; 
 Her sole delight to see him — hear him speak 
 Counsel to rashness — ardour to the weak — 
 H<>pe to despondency — to traitors death — 
 And watch the serpent wiles of coward foes 
 And blast them yet unformed, 0, to be near » 
 
 Her warrior-love and see his generous heart, 
 Unhardened by his wrongs, expand with true 
 Philanthropy e'en to his enemies — 
 'Twas holier bliss than all his private love ! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Thou seem'st, enthusiast, in thy wondrous dream, 
 To have beheld the secret springs of thought 
 And loneliest founts of feeling, well as deeds 
 That silently in wild meanders flow. 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 Ay, my good lord-r— thou .dost surmise aright. 
 Such was my vision — but I'll tell thee all. 
 The youth and maid again each other knew. 
 And loved as in the springtime of their hearts, 
 Tliough changing years had passed ; but as I vv atched 
 Fonilly once more their mutual loves. I saw 
 A serpent wreathe his intertwisted folds 
 
26 mina. 
 
 Around them as they sat, and strain his coil 
 
 Envenomed to its utmost dreadful power; 
 
 I heard their shrieks — their dying sobs-T— I heard 
 
 The sundering of their crushed and broken frames ! 
 
 — My spirit fainted in its agony, 
 
 And, struggling in my terrop, I awoke 
 
 And flew to thee, my own dear lord, for help. 
 
 MINA. 
 
 A story of romance clothed in a dream ! 
 Methinks, however, thy maid was passing bold 
 Thus to adventure in the ranks of war. 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 How^ could I stay in peace— enjoying all 
 The sweet delights of life save love, when thou 
 Wert borne upon the hurricane of war, 
 With none but mercenary hands to serve 
 Thy wants or soothe thy sufferings ! How — 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Hark ! 
 Rosario, heard'st thou that appalling shout ? 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 I heard a hollow sound, my lord, as 't were 
 Voices commingled with the tramp of steeds; 
 Perrhanre, U was but the gaunt wolf's midnight cry 
 Or wandering tread of trooping chargers — 
 
MINA. 
 
 Hark! 
 
 Again ! 't is some nocturnal fray — 't is base 
 
 Orrantia ambuscading round our camp — 
 
 The royal robber — the vindictive fiend 
 
 Who riots in the brave man's agonies. 
 
 We are betrayed by Torres — he did swear 
 
 Revenge when I denied his right to sack 
 
 And burn an unoffending piieblo — ah! 
 
 He hath not yet forgotten our duello 
 
 In earlier days, regarding Garza^s child. 
 
 The beautiful Rosalia. Let him come 
 
 Within the compass of my Toledo, 
 
 And he and treachery will part for ever. 
 
 Away, Rosario ! loose thy hold — I'll go 
 
 And smite the midnight bandit to .the dust* 
 
 Dost hear me, boy ? begone !— there — hark, again ! 
 
 By heaven ! thou well raaintain'st thy hold — but thus 
 
 I free me! ISlovv — 
 
 KOSA. 
 
 Xavier, Xavier, stay ! 
 Rosalia bids tliee stay ! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Rosalia ! 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 Yes! 
 Have this wan brow — these pale and hollow cheeks 
 No traces left of her thou once did'st love, 
 
28 Mirta. 
 
 And oft hast named this melancholy night? 
 Hath my voice lost by wse of foreign tones 
 Its well-known notes ? O Xavier, look not thus 
 Wildly in doubt upon thine own — own love ! 
 Say — dost thou know me now ? 
 
 MINA. 
 
 O my sweet love ! 
 Let my heart speak in throbs of eloquence 
 The holiest affection of my soul, 
 Since words are vain to give my feelings meaning ! 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 Thou wilt not leave me, Xavier ? — no, 't is not 
 
 In thy kind nature to forsake me now. 
 
 Come, sit upon this velvet-tufted lawn. 
 
 And I will tell thee all my wanderings 
 
 And chance escapes and wondrous masquerades, 
 
 In such a garb of speech as shall light up 
 
 Thy face with smiles even if hot briny tears 
 
 Were gushing from thy eyes. Come, dear love, come! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Not now, Rosalia ! Thou art more to me 
 Than aught, save honour, 'neath yon holy dome ! 
 But slaughter rages — midnight massacre 
 Shrieks for the avenger. Hark ! the deadly clash 
 Of sabres reeking with hearts' blood ; the cries 
 Of leaguerM patriots echoing through the sky, 
 And summoning their chief! I must be gone. 
 O dearest love — thou fondest, truest, best! 
 
Let me from thy last looks endearing draw 
 Valour invincible to stem the shock 
 Of merciless Orrantia — courage such 
 As only they can feel who war for right 
 Eternal and unchangeable, linked with love 
 Vvhose light irradiates eternity. 
 Rosalia, be this kiss — and this — and this — 
 Pledge of my love, my honour and my faith. 
 Farewell ! detain me not — I must be gone — 
 Farewell! till victory weaves thy bridal wreath. 
 
 Exit 
 ROSA.— soia. 
 Alas ! — and why alas ? Hath he not gone 
 To prove his fond devotion to my love 
 By strict fulfilment of his duty, faith. 
 And spotless honour? 0, 1 love him more 
 The less he heeds my womanhood of soul 
 When glory tears him from my arms ! From heaven 
 Angels look down on nothing that so much 
 Assimilates material things to pure 
 Intelligences, as when man surmounts 
 His selfish nature and in duty's cause 
 Scorns low indulgence of his own desire. 
 I would again encounter all the toils 
 And sufferings and perils I have past 
 Since last I saw the mountains of Navarre, 
 To witness such a hero in the best 
 And holiest cause that ever sanctioned war. 
 As tliat dear youth, who spurns the encroaching 
 
 power 
 Of private feeling at the warning voice 
 
so ifMtna. 
 
 Of liberty — the life of life — the soul 
 
 Of souJ to man below. And yet, ah, yet 
 
 A dread hangs o'er my heart — an omen dire 
 
 Shadows my spirit that I ne*er shall see 
 
 The conquering chieftain in his pride again. 
 
 — Jesu Maria ! what a yell of death ! 
 
 On the still air of night come screams and shouts 
 
 And shrieks of agony and trumpet blasts. 
 
 And short, quick orisons and curses fell, 
 
 And notes of loud command and rallying cries, 
 
 And thunder of dread musquetry, and groans 
 
 Dreadful — commingled in one horritl mass 
 
 Of rending sound ! Amid yon glaring fires 
 
 Of death, dark forms are grappling in the mad 
 
 Struggle of desperation ; there they tug 
 
 And strain and stab and wield the clotted brand, 
 
 Horseman to horseman in the latest strife 
 
 That either foe will wage : and there — oh, there 
 
 Upon his coal-black steed, through fire and smoke, 
 
 O'er dead and dying, Mina hurtles on 
 
 Mid bristling lances, bayonets and brands, 
 
 Like the death-angel, while the Vive el Rey^ 
 
 Where'er he moves, becomes the loud, the wild, 
 
 The joyful Viva la Repnblica I 
 
 Ah, he hath vanished from my wondering eye 
 
 On his career (»f victory, but still 
 
 His voice in louder tones above the noise 
 
 And din of battle like a clarion rings. 
 
 I'll look no more — my hero-love will come 
 
 Soon from the field of glory and receive 
 
 His own loved maid. I see an armed band 
 
Approaching now like victors and their plumes 
 Wave in the morning twilight as they come 
 Careering on, like harbingers of good 
 Tidings to me — Xavier! they are here. 
 
 Enter Bon Pedro Negrette and soldiers. 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 A delicate warrior, by the mass ! no doubt 
 
 The sage of sages in the council-hall 
 
 Of conquering Mina ! Art thou well prepared 
 
 To hail the victor from his glorious field 
 
 Of slaughter, and to chant triumphal songs 
 
 In honour of his name, prophet-boy ? 
 
 Guards ! seize the rebel youth and onward wend 
 
 To Don Francisco's central camp, where soon 
 
 The wisdom of the beardless wizard will be shown 
 
 And proved — if in his art abides the power 
 
 To avert his master's or his own sure fate. 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 O Virgin Mother ! have my fears come true ? 
 Is Mina vanquished ? May the eternal ban 
 Of heaven rest on the traitor Torres ! 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 Ha! 
 Thou art a very prophet, but thy curse 
 Falls harmless oh the corse of Padre Torres. 
 
32 IHina. 
 
 ROSA. 
 
 O jubilate ! Mina is avenged ! 
 
 His own tried sabre clove the traitor's brain ! 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 Prophet again ! thou soon wilt know the art 
 Of ruling traitors — onward to the camp! 
 
PART III. 
 
 Scene— The camp of Don Francisco de Orrantia, ihe royal commander. 
 Don Xavier Mina and Officers, prisoners, pinioned and manacled. 
 
 PRANCISCO. 
 
 So, Traitor! justice claims its own at last! 
 Audacious rebel to the best of kings! 
 In what close-woven mail of hardihood 
 Could'st thou infold thy conscious soul to dare 
 The vengeance due to most abandoned guilt, 
 Thou renegado robber ? When we laid 
 With righteous arm thy base assassin horde 
 F th' dust beneath our conquering chargers* hoofs, 
 And thou alone fled'st from our dreadful might, 
 Did never vain repentance of thy crimes 
 Torture and madden thee? Did'st never feel 
 How impotent was all thy wrath and rage 
 Against the anointed monarch of the Lord ? 
 Answer, bold rebel ! ere tlie stroke of fate 
 Fall like a thunderbolt upon thy head ! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 That I do answer suits my own desire 
 
 To tell thee what thou art — not thy command. 
 
 First to thy charge — I glory in a name 
 
34 mina. 
 
 Which counties^ lieroes by their blood have hallowed) 
 
 The wreathing incense of the eucharist 
 
 Is not more holy than the deeds of him 
 
 Who toils and bleeds and welcomes perils dire 
 
 That he may disenthral the sons of God 
 
 From murderous tyranny. Next thy quest — 
 
 My panoply through all this war hath been 
 
 An unstained spirit, resolute and free — 
 
 An uncorrupted heart that throbbed with love 
 
 To God and man, and longed to see mankind. 
 
 Unfettered by the tyrant's shackles, soar 
 
 To that proud station guaranteed by heaven 
 
 When first the sun burst on their infant eyes. 
 
 And next, thou tool of power ! thy boastful vaunt — 
 
 Shall such as thou of war and victory prate ? 
 
 Or boast of battles ? 'Twere enough to call 
 
 The Cid from his long slumbers in the tomb 
 
 To hear thee talk of prowess ! I have seen 
 
 Thee and thy thousands scattering like a flock 
 
 Of vultures when I sent El Giro forth 
 
 With one poor score of Creole peasantry. 
 
 Armed scarcely with a lance ! Reserve thy vaunts 
 
 Orrantia, till thy mercenary troops, 
 
 Confiding in the might of multitudes. 
 
 Do that thou would'st not dare to do ev'n now, 
 
 Chained as I am ! — Ay, writhe and foam and stamp, 
 
 Thou guilty coward ! Wear thy haughtiest looks 
 
 And prate of bloodiest battles as thou wilt. 
 
 But, by the rood ! the veriest boor that e'er 
 
 Battled beneath my banner's crimson shade. 
 
 Would with the flashing of a carbine fright 
 
Thy soul into annihilation. Now 
 
 Fve (lone with thee for ever, and with those 
 
 Who sent thee forth to massacre and burn. 
 
 I dare thee to the compass of thy power ! 
 
 Death hath too long been my companion — now 
 
 To dread the shadows of another world. 
 
 For one score years and five I have desired 
 
 To do what laws or human or divine 
 
 Enjoined in justice ; if Pve erred and sinned 
 
 In passion's heat, the account remains with Him 
 
 Who made me — not with thee nor thy dread king. 
 
 Now take my dying words — and note them well — 
 
 Thy sovereign is a tyrant — Spain a den 
 
 Of slaves, to madness driven hy fiends like thee. 
 
 Who batten on a dying nation's blood. 
 
 PR AN. 
 
 There is my answer to thy rebel speech. 
 
 {Strikes him.) 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Inglorious wretch! is this Castilian honour? 
 Enter Don Alya Argensola, mariscal de campo. 
 
 ALVA. 
 
 It ill hefits a son of Spain, my lord, 
 Idly to look upon a deed so far 
 Beneath Uispania's martial character 
 As stroke of sabre on a pinioned man. 
 And he a prisoner. 
 d3 
 
FRAN. 
 
 Keep thy counsel, sage ! 
 And leave ray presence ! 
 
 AXVA. 
 
 When it suits my will. 
 I quail not at thy frown, proud chief! I hold 
 Authority from higher powers than thee. 
 
 FRAN. 
 
 Leave me or ere I speak again, proud rebel ! 
 Else— 
 
 ALVA. 
 
 Rebel — ha ! — Don Pedro ! {Enter Pedro.)^ 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 Well, my lord ! 
 
 ALVA, {aside.) 
 The youthful prisoner thou just hast seized 
 Bear thou in most observant courtesy 
 To yonder holy convent dimly seen 
 Of San Lorenzo ; place thy tender charge 
 Safe in its holy walls — then point thy march 
 With all my powers toward Victoria's camp, 
 Boquilia's citadel. I'll meet thee there. 
 See it be done anon. 
 
 PEDRO. 
 
 I shall, mj lord ! {Exiu 
 
FRAX. 
 
 What meant thy silent converse ? 
 
 ALVA. 
 
 Honour. 
 
 FRAN. 
 
 Ha! 
 
 Brief as the Spartan — hold as guilt; beware L 
 
 ALVA. 
 
 I shall beware of those who dare overstep 
 
 Humanity's prerogatives and laws 
 
 Of nations ; threats from him, however, who know& 
 
 No better using of his sword than on 
 
 A fettered captive, weigh not much with me. 
 
 I wait thy orders, be they such as man 
 
 Can execute. 
 
 FRAN. 
 
 Retire and call the guard ! {Eccit Mva. 
 
 Now, Xavier Mina, for thy treason death 
 
 Instant awaits thee ! Padre Buenventura 
 
 Will shrive thee of thy crimes as priests are wont. 
 
 Then righteous justice will exact its own ; 
 
 Save that thou wilt accept Fernando's good 
 
 Indidto and thy troops array beneath 
 
 The royal standard. — Hear'st thou mercy's voice ! 
 
 MINA. 
 
 I hear the Voice of cowardice and shame j 
 I hear a voice that trembles at its own 
 
38 IHinar* 
 
 CommaTids ; the voice of liim who dreads the sound 
 or (loath ; of hiin whose bones wili lie i* th' sun 
 Bleaching; or ere my corse Is cold, if yet 
 A patriot breathes in this ensanguined land. 
 
 Re-enter Don Alva and guard. 
 
 PKAN. 
 
 Take yon base traitor outward of the camp 
 Fronting the convent and despatch him there. 
 
 ALVA. 
 
 Hath he been sentenced by the laws to die ? 
 
 FRAN. 
 
 Dar'st thou discourse on my commands? My will 
 Is law not subject to appeal. 
 
 ALVA. 
 
 With slaves 
 It may be — not with me. All men have rights 
 Sv.orn to them by society when first 
 Tliev enter on the world, and all may claim 
 Their native piivilege; none can deny 
 Their just demand except by forfeiture 
 or their ow n safety. Be the peril thine, 
 11 »he Count Mina fall unheard, unjudged, 
 Before his country's stern tribunal ! 
 
 FRAN. 
 
 And mine it shall be ! — and the peril thine 
 
To answer bold infraction of the laws 
 Of war, ere yonder sun's last crimson beams 
 Fade from the western horizon. Away ! 
 Bear on the traitor to the field of fate — 
 The pleasure's mine to certify his death. 
 
 {Exeunt 
 
 [To the arena before the convent ; a stake in the midst to which Mina i» 
 bound — soldiers preparing- for execution. Francisco approaches with 
 a blinding cap ; and at the same time a shriek is heai'd from the con- 
 vent, and Rosalia is seen at a grated window, gazing wildly on the 
 scene below.] 
 
 MINA. 
 
 Away! Pve looked on death too long to fear 
 
 What man can do^ no mortal power shall cloud 
 
 My eye till expiration's shadows dim 
 
 Its fire ; it shall not close upon the earth 
 
 Until it flashes on eternity. 
 
 What shriek was that? ha ! — soldiers — 't is the last 
 
 And only wish I e'er shall speak — be sure 
 
 Your aim err not — and let your signal be 
 
 My last word — Now ! ( Theyjire — he falls.) 
 
 SOSA. 
 
 God ! O God ! he's dead ! 
 
 FRAX. 
 
 So perish traitors ! Take ye careful note 
 
 That life be utterly extinct, and word 
 
 All your averments with perspicuous art — 
 
 Then leave the unhallowed corse for vultures' food. 
 
 And make ye close inquest whence came that shriek 
 
 Of horror, and from whomsoe'er it came, 
 
40 iBina. 
 
 straight bring the rebel to my camp. — And now 
 For potent Alva. {Exit. 
 
 FIRST SOL. 
 
 Comrade, is he dead ? 
 
 SEC. SOL. 
 
 Ay, the great cliief hath gone ! My trembling heart 
 Knocked 'gainst my ribs as 't would have rung a 
 
 knell 
 For the great hero ; how he stood and looked 
 And spake the death-word ! Dost thou think our 
 
 chief 
 Would dare a score of carbines so? 
 
 riRST SOL. 
 
 Canst tell 
 Where is Don Alva ? 
 
 SEC. SOL. 
 
 In the patriot camp 
 Of Count Victoria ere this hour of doom, 
 
 FIRST SOL. 
 
 Will follow, comrades ? 
 
 ALL. 
 
 Alva is our chief! 
 
 SEC. SOL. 
 
 Lift then the hero's corse within the walls 
 Of holy San Lorenzo, where due rites 
 
Will hallow the great warrior's biu'ial ; 
 Then folhnv on Don Alva^s way and make 
 Report throui^^h all the land that Mina lives, 
 Devoted still to liberty and vengeance ! 
 
 {Exeunt. 
 
 BOSA. 
 
 {Embracing the body of'Mimi^ surrounded by the sis- 
 terhood and monks.) 
 Ah, he hath gone ! — the great, the lovely one, 
 Even in his pride of fame! The voice that spake 
 Victory to nations in their glorious strife 
 For freedom — and to me in softest tones 
 Most holy love — is hushed for ever more ! 
 His early hopes of quiet happiness — 
 Life's sweet affections and domestic joys, 
 In youth he quitted to subserve the cause 
 Of those who bled for freedom ; long he warred 
 For liberty not his own — long he bore 
 Unmurmuring all the perils and the wants 
 Of march, encampment, siege and battle — what 
 Hath been the hero's recompense? His good 
 Deeds and pure thoughts all turned against himself! 
 world ! base world ! thou changest at a breath 
 Virtue to vice, heroes to fiends, and heaven to hell. 
 The Holy One was scoffed and buffetted 
 And mocked and beat and crucified ! To Him 
 Who was a Man of Soriows while he dwelt 
 Incarnate, and, O Holy Virgin! unto thee, 
 In penance for the past, do I devote 
 My melancholy days; and here in lone 
 Seclusion o'er thy grave, my warrior-love ! 
 
4a mma. 
 
 I will revere thy memory, liovve'er 
 Traduced and vilified by wicked men ; 
 Thy name shall be the theme of all my thoughts, 
 Tlie spell-word of my orisons 5 for long 
 As high heroic deeds and virtues, pure 
 As snow in upper air, shall claim regard. 
 The wise, the great, the good of humankind 
 Will chant the praises of the gallant Mina! 
 Ye holy men ! now bear the glorious chief 
 To his last resting-place beneath yon lines 
 Of cypresses and near his tomb I'll rest 
 From all the feverish passions of the world. 
 Its cares, its sorrows and its calumnies. 
 With you, O holy virgins ! From your shrine 
 My penitential prayers shall rise what time 
 The midnight tapers burn, and holy spirits 
 Delighted hover o'er the perfumed altar ! 
 And, when the soul disrobes itself of clay. 
 With sacred rites and high observances. 
 Ye will my body lay not far from his 
 Who loved and fought and bled and died in vain ? 
 
xmrocATXoN. 
 
 O THOU bright Spirit ! thou whose power is o'ec 
 The poet's all creating thought, whatever 
 Thy unknown nature be, or like the air 
 Impalpable^ the essence of a soul. 
 Star-winged and eagle-eyed, or human shape 
 Lone dwelling amid silent solitudes. 
 Nymph, muse or oread, Olympic-born, 
 Unseen and shrined in mystery ; — where'er 
 The glory of thy beauty beams, among 
 The ancient woods of thy proud dwelling-place, 
 Parnassus, or the fair JEgean isles. 
 Or o'er the haunted stream of Helicon, 
 Gushing mid flowers that skirt its holy banks. 
 To great Apollo sacred and the nine ; 
 Or mid the blue arcades of yonder sky 
 Where Dian walks in brightness and the stars 
 Stud ministering spirits' pathway thick and fair 
 As bright-eyed daisies gem the mead; — whate'er 
 Thou art and wheresoe'er thy presence dwells— 
 O come, fair Spirit ! come in all thy charms 
 And bring elysium to a suffering heart ! 
 
 In childhood's hours— lone, visionary, wild, 
 Silent and solitary, w:hile yet the sum 
 Of my heart's pulses could be reckoned — thou 
 
44 Sitbocatiott 
 
 Wert my devotion and I loved to drink 
 
 The incense of thine altar, and imbibe 
 
 Thy spiritual breathings, and I felt my soul 
 
 Dilate with rapture when upon me came 
 
 A mighty awe and reverend majesty, 
 
 A passion purified, a godlike power, 
 
 Which brought the universe within my grasp, 
 
 And made high seraphim my ministers. 
 
 And now I would become thy worshipper. 
 
 True and devoted, though too full of sin 
 
 And mortal stains for thy immortal smiles, 
 
 Undimmed by gross materiality. 
 
 But^ Holy Spirit ! I have been the child 
 
 Of sorrow, and my sole delight for years 
 
 Of melancholy memories hatli been 
 
 Thy lofty service; oh, thou oft hast taught 
 
 My heart forgetfulness of grief and pain 
 
 And obloquy and scorn and poverty, 
 
 And all the nameless ills and wrongs that wear 
 
 With endless iteration life away. 
 
 And I have gloried in thee when the world, 
 
 The brutal world mocked thee with taunt and sneer. 
 
 And .one quicTt passing, visionary hour. 
 
 Past in thy high communion, when the stars 
 
 Were my companions and the moon my bride. 
 
 Hath been more precious to my soul than all 
 
 The pageantries of pride and show of art. 
 
 AVhen cares have come upon me, and the woes 
 
 Of life grew darker on my tearful eye, 
 
 And hate and envy blackened my good name. 
 
 And the stern voice of strife assailed mv ear 
 
Blended with demon shouts, and I beheld 
 
 No friend among my unrelenting foes ;-^ 
 
 When in the invisible night, alone — 
 
 Silence ^nd solitude around— my heart 
 
 Hath bled and my soul sunk into despair, 
 
 I've turned to thee and found in thy sweet smile 
 
 A paradise, beyond the reach of worms, 
 
 Whose venwm hath all. qualities of hell 
 
 Save power to give it action ; there I've dwelt 
 
 In loneliness and bliss, far from the noise 
 
 And din of the world's warring, wholly blest 
 
 In thy etherealizing look of love ! 
 
 Oh, then descend, great Spirit !. on me novv 
 
 And light my bosom with empyreal fires ! 
 
 Spring with her flowers and verdure and gay birds^ 
 
 Soft-voiced and musical, and bright-blue skies, 
 
 And calm, transparent waters, smiles around. 
 
 And as I speak to thee, the silvering moon 
 
 Lights the green foliaged hills that gently slope 
 
 Down to yon lovely bay, and on my brow 
 
 Shines like a mother's eye upon her child, 
 
 First born, most loved ; and from the lilac flowers,, 
 
 Purple and fragrant, and the aspen trees 
 
 Fresh leaving, and the dark green dewy grass, 
 
 The ^usurrating airs, sweet-scented, come 
 
 Upon me, like the memory of youth. 
 
 Sure thou wilt come on such a night as this, 
 
 Spirit of Poesy ! and from thy w ings 
 
 Scatter the perfume of the skies on earth ;. 
 
 Thou wilt descend from thine aerial home. 
 
 And teach thy son, (unworthy all, but true, . 
 
46 Sbonitett 
 
 Knowledge of unseen worlds, and guide aright 
 The searchings of his too adventurous tliought. 
 Free from the wiles and snares of disbelief. 
 Or sceptic question ; — thou wilt mark his path 
 And note its errings manifold ; thy smile 
 Will light his way, and thus he may advance 
 Onward to heaven in peace, unenvying all 
 The gaudy state and circumstance of m^n. 
 So thou wilt prove his minister of joy 
 And change the poisoned waters of fierce strife 
 And hate and envy into springs of love ; 
 And when the portal of the skies expands 
 Before me, and death rends these bands of clay, 
 Thou, Holy Spirit ! wilt await my steps, 
 And welcome home the wandering child of God! 
 
 SONITET. 
 
 Born in convulsions, nursed in grief and pain. 
 And doomed in childhood to endure the spite 
 Of hate long hoarded— earth had no delight 
 For me in all her ways of mirth— no strain 
 To soothe my heart; no charm to chain my sight ; 
 No spell of pleasure and no hope of gain ; 
 But all was bleak and dreary as the reign 
 Of scowling winter, robed in enclless night; 
 
Yet I have seen the World and known it well — 
 Its hopes, fears, follies, crimes—- and I have been 
 The brother of affliction, and each scene 
 Of fate, though varied, still was miserable ; 
 But I have learned to know myself and bow 
 Humbly to Him, who doth my 'sorrows know* 
 
 THE IDEAIiIST. 
 
 I^Vhen the last hues of sunset fade away, 
 And blend in magic wreaths of light and shade. 
 And stillness sleeps beside the closing day. 
 Drinking the music of the breezy glade, 
 
 I love to wander forth alone 
 
 Through shadowy groves and solemn woods^ 
 
 And muse of pleasures past and gone, 
 
 'Mid nature's holy solitudes ; 
 For then my spirit to its God aspires, 
 And worships in the light of Love's ascending fires. 
 
 Where rocks hang tottering from the mountain's side, 
 And ancient trees in hoary grandeur wave, 
 I love to sit— forgetting pomp and pride. 
 And all the passions that the soul enslave, — 
 
 And yield my heart to the sweet charm 
 
 Of nature in her loneliness, 
 b2 
 
48 Baeali^U 
 
 While soft-voiced zephyrs, breathing balm, 
 The perfHmed shrubs and flowers caress. 
 And the last song-bird pours her parting lay 
 Of love and praise to bless the brightly- closing day. 
 
 There is a loveliness in nature's smile, 
 Which fills the heart with heaven's own holy glad- 
 ness, 
 Though he, who banquets on her charms, the while 
 Feels thoughts steal o'er him near allied to sadness j 
 
 When 'mid the perfect works of God, 
 
 He muses on the sin and folly 
 
 That make man's heart their dark abode — 
 
 Oh, who would not be melancholy ? 
 How sad the thought that this fair world should be 
 The dwelling-plaCe of guilt and helpless misery ! 
 
 Yet if his woe be unallied to crime. 
 And suffering not from evil conscience spring. 
 To nature's bosom let him come, what time 
 Flowers ope the bud and birds are on the wing, 
 And there the fretful world forget 
 And search the w orld of his own breast. 
 Where thoughts, like suns, arise and set, 
 And whirlwind passions rage unblest j 
 There let the son of song and sorrow lie 
 And inspiration catch from nature's speaking eye! 
 
 From earliest youth I loved alone to climb 
 The moss-wreatlied rock, and from the mountain's 
 brow, 
 
O^er sea and land^ ah amplitude sublime. 
 To gaze when sunk the sun in radiant glow, 
 And poured o'er verdured vales and hills. 
 And groves and meads and gushing streams, 
 Such glory as creation fills. 
 His last full swell of golden beams. 
 
 ye, who would adore the Eternal Power, 
 
 Go forth alone and pray at evening's hallowed hour ! 
 
 The spirit then throws off the garb of clay. 
 Which in the warring world 'tis doomed to wear. 
 And robes itself in beautiful array, 
 And soars and sings amid the blooming air. 
 Where in aerial halls of light 
 Meet kindred spirits, pure and goo(J> 
 And parted souls again unite 
 Where grief and pain cannot intrude, 
 And in the radiance of soul-mingling eyes. 
 Reveal the mystic power of heaven's high harmonies. 
 
 1 ever was a melancholy child, 
 Unmirthful and unmlngling with the crowd; 
 The loneliest solitude on me hath smiled 
 When lightning darted from the rifted cloud ; 
 
 And I have felt a strange delight 
 ^Mid forests and the cavern's gloom. 
 And wandered forth at dead midnight 
 To muse beside the lonely tomb; — 
 
 I always loved the light of that dread eye. 
 
 Which flashed upon me from eternity ! 
 
50 l^tali^U 
 
 I knew not whence such unshared feelings came — 
 
 I only knew my heart was full of deep 
 
 Emotions vi-vid — but without a name; 
 
 Within my breast they would not — could not sleep. 
 But swayed me in their giant power 
 To passion's uncommuning mood, 
 And drove me from the festive bower 
 To ruined tower and lonely wood, 
 
 Where on my soul ideal glories came. 
 
 Fairies and oreads bright and coursers wrapt in 
 flame* 
 
 Oh, how I loved that solitary trance — 
 That deep upheaving of the bosom's sea, 
 O'erstrewn with gems that dazzled on my glance, 
 Like eyes that gleam from out eternity ! 
 Creatures of every form and hue. 
 Lords of the earth and angels past 
 In garb of go^ld before my view, 
 Like lightnings on the hurrying blast. 
 And voices on my inward spirit broke. 
 And mysteries breathed, and words prophetic spoke. 
 
 The child of reverie and the son of song, 
 A word could wound me or a look depress ; 
 I saw tlie world was full of ill and wrong 
 And sin and treachery and sad disti'pss ; 
 
 And so, e'eij in my youth's bright morn, 
 
 I fled the haunts that others love. 
 
 That I might think why I was born, . 
 
 And what below and what above 
 
Was due from one thus sent upon the earth 
 To sow and reap in tears and mourn his painful 
 birth. 
 
 My birth-place was the airy mountain height, 
 And childhood passed 'mid nature's grandeur wild, 
 And still I see, by memory's magic light, 
 How on' my soul each Alpine mountain smiled ! 
 Though years have passed since I was there. 
 And many a change hath o'er me come^ 
 There's not a scene, or wild or fair. 
 Around my long forsaken home, 
 But I could point in darkness, out, and tell 
 The shape and form of things I loved so well. 
 
 Trees, birds and flowers were my familiar friends 
 In boyhood's days — and every leaf that grew 
 My vine-wove arbour round my love; — there blends 
 With budding thought a spirit from the dew. 
 That gems each quivering leaf and flower; 
 And precious to the mind mature 
 Are memories of that guiltless hour. 
 When with a worship fond and pure 
 The soul beheld in every thing below 
 A God sublime, whom we in works alone can know. 
 
 Deep in the soul rest early thoughts, and now 
 I love to roam 'mid lonely hills, when night 
 Her starry veil throws o'er her spotless brow, 
 And wraps her elfin form in fair moonlight; 
 
5^ Sonnet* 
 
 Then o'er me come those thoughts agaiit, 
 Which were my food in other years, 
 And I forget my bosom's pain, 
 And cease to feel my trickling tears. 
 
 Weird sybils ! cease of destiny to prate ! 
 
 The boy creates for life and ratifies his fate. 
 
 Here let me rest — a wanderer tired and faint. 
 Dear Nature ! on thy soft maternal breast, 
 And learn for others those fair scenes to painty 
 Which taught me wisdom and which made me blest! 
 Fashion and folly still" may rove 
 And seek for pleasure in the throng, 
 But I will live in thy sweet love. 
 
 And blond thy praiSCS With my SOlig, 
 
 O lovely daughter of the holy One, 
 
 Whose smile wafts spirits to the heavenly throne ! , 
 
 SOiriTZST.* 
 
 The man who feels the majesty of Mind, 
 And the omnipotence of Intellect, 
 But little recks of vulgar disrespect 
 And all the railings of a world unkind ; 
 They pass him by e'en as the winter wind 
 Passes the towering ever-verdant pine. 
 
Howling but harmless ; — from the affluent mine 
 Of his proud spirit, by still care refiued, 
 Issue ethereal riches — worthier far 
 Than if his earlier thoughts had wrought him fame, 
 And all had wreathed with fragrant flowers his namej 
 Triumpliing thus o'er folly's fools, his star 
 Gathers new glory and his soul nevv powers, 
 Until he revels in Fame's heavenly bowers. 
 
 *FHZ: EVEKING STAR. 
 
 JbiRE lingering sunlight leaves the western sky 
 And mellow tintings mingle with the gloom, 
 The crescent gilds the soft blue arch on high. 
 With beams that vseem in upper air to bloom. 
 And down the cope of heaven afar, 
 A .world of beauty, bliss and love. 
 Gleams brightly forth the Evening Star, 
 The loveliest light of all the host above. 
 
 Cold searchiiig science may the spheres explore. 
 And yon vast systems learnedly unfold, 
 But^- wrapt in beauty's charms, I scorn the lore, 
 And lightly all such withering knowledge hold ; 
 
54 iSbrning S^tar* 
 
 When fancy revels in the skies, 
 And rose wreathed bowers are breathing balm, 
 O who would know the mysteries 
 Of heaven — and all the glorious scene uncharm ? 
 
 Let man, lone habitant of this dark sphere, 
 Deem yon bright orbs the starry halls of love. 
 Where souls conj2:enial meet that sorrowed here, 
 And through elysian groves in rapture rove ! 
 Rend not away the magic veil 
 That brightens beauties seen afar ^ 
 Belie not fancy's fairy tale, 
 That sees a paradise in every star ! 
 
 Thou Evening Star! o'er yon blue mountain sinking, 
 Thy radiant beams along the white clouds burn, 
 And, as I gaze, my wandering soul is thinking 
 Of past delights that never can return ; 
 
 Thou art a friend beloved, and long 
 
 I've told my sorrows all to thee, 
 
 For I, a feeling son of song. 
 Have been the sport of wayward destiny. 
 
 Oft on the hill-top 'mid embowering woods 
 
 I sit when night relieves my heart from care, 
 
 A.nd nothing sensual on my soul intrudes, 
 
 \s in the world's rude strife and day-light's glare, 
 
 And watch thy light, sweet Evening Star ! 
 
 And think how dear a home thou art, 
 
 Shrined in the ethereal sky afar. 
 To the sad spirit and the suffering heart. 
 
ISbening ^tav. 55 
 
 Well have the wild-souled bards of Yemen deemed 
 Thine orb the dwelling of tlie great and good, 
 Where Indra's glory hath for ever beamed 
 Since from the skies rolled Ganges* holy flood. 
 And 'mid the Swerga's hallowed bowers 
 Dwelt suras pure and glendoveers, 
 Happy as heaven's own living flowers. 
 Unchanging as the lapse of endless years. 
 
 There pure ones dwell, for ever blest — and there 
 Chant songs, whos€ music sometimes steals away. 
 And faintly floats along the moonlight air. 
 Like the low warblings of a seraph's lay ; 
 
 Around the holy shrine they throng 
 ^ In sacred groups, while soft perfume 
 
 Waves in the breath of glowing song^ 
 And soars to God, like spirits from the tomb. 
 
 Now in the budding springtime of the year 
 Young hearts will blossom in the smiles of loves. 
 And soul-lit eyes, gem of the starry sphere ! 
 Delight in thee | — lone wandering through the grove 
 Where fanning airs 'mid green leaves play. 
 Lovers entranced gaze on thy beams. 
 And paint a paradise far away 
 Of groves and flowers and birds and murmuring 
 streams. 
 
 And, oh, how lovely are their visions ! Light 
 Descends from heaven on love's first blissful dream, 
 
 F 
 
56 Mti)olntiom^U 
 
 And on the heart falls all that meets the sight 
 In rainbow hues with ever-varying gleam. 
 If e'er on earth we can define 
 The joys that prophets tell of heaven, 
 ^Tis when young hearts in love divine 
 Blend like the blue and purple hues of even. 
 
 But love is madness in a world like this — 
 It smiles to agonize — it charms to slay ! 
 Demons watch o'er earth's holiest scenes of bliss. 
 And laugh at sorrow nothing can allay. 
 
 Fame, knowledge, wealth and pride and power. 
 And love and joy are all in vain 5 
 They live and bloom one little hour, 
 Then fade like Evening's Star and sink to pain. 
 
 THE REVOZiUTIOITZST. 
 
 '^l^HEY wandered forth by soft Fluvanna's stream 
 When o'er the twiliglit heaven smiled the rich eve 
 Of autumn, and the fleecy clouds of day 
 Hung on the pictured sky in fairy forms 
 Of beauty, changeful as the sunbow's tints 
 Upon the dark brown cliff; and o'er the verge 
 Of the clear horizon the purple waves 
 Of light ebbed downward to eternity ; 
 
The balmy airs of that sweet season came 
 
 Like music from the harp of Memnon — faint. 
 
 Low and melancholy, then scarcely heard 
 
 Mid the dim groves, then quite inaudible, 
 
 Lulled into silence, like a syren charm ; 
 
 When, swelling through all harmonies of sound, 
 
 Again they breathed through the thick woven boughs, 
 
 Shook the grey moss that hung in hoar festoons 
 
 From the high branches — o'er Fluvanna's stream 
 
 Spread curling crystal, tinged with evening's light, 
 
 And mid the wild flowers and the scented shrubs 
 
 Made melancholy music. 'Twas the hour 
 
 Of starlight intercourse, of whispered love, 
 
 And purified affection, which derives 
 
 Its beauty from its innocence, and throws 
 
 The light of Eden's rosy bowers o'er all 
 
 The passions of our earth-stained nature; — 't was 
 
 The holy season of the young throbbing heart. 
 
 When it dilates with those high feelings, born 
 
 In heaven and sent like seraphim below. 
 
 There is a holiness in daylight's close, 
 
 A pure enchantment in the twilight heaven, 
 
 AVhere beauty kisses glory, and bright forms 
 
 Fold their sun pinions in the ethereal air ; 
 
 The bosom feels then, while it throbs for love. 
 
 And the eye gazes longingly on high. 
 
 How far from heaven its passions and its powers 
 
 Tend mid the cold realities of life. 
 
 By soft Fluvanna's stream they wandered on, 
 Down fair Ligonier's vale, where waters, woods, 
 
5s Utholntioni^U 
 
 And rich green verdure and bright golden harvests 
 
 Smiled glowingly, while over all the scene 
 
 The mighty Allegany from on high 
 
 Looked like a cloud-throned spirit o^er the world* 
 
 The last beams of the setting sun illumed 
 
 The dense pine forests and the cliffy dells, 
 
 And deep ravines, where torrents, all unseen, 
 
 Poured their wild music on the silent air ; 
 
 And the fair floating clouds of evening hung 
 
 Upon the mountain's brow, as if to crown 
 
 Nature's proud monarch, while their outskirts fringed 
 
 His sides like a broad mantle wrought of Ind. 
 
 AH earth seemed slumbering 'neath the smile of 
 
 heaven. 
 And the soft tendance of high spirits! peace 
 Wavod her dove pinions in the cool night air^ 
 As if the shout of war had never woke 
 The everlasting echoes of those hills. 
 And surely peace — the peace of kindling hearts. 
 Devoted to each other, smiled upon 
 Young Agnes and her lover; they had been 
 Companions from their childhood — wept and laughed 
 And played together from their earliest years ; 
 They had gone hand in hand to the green fields. 
 And holy temple — side by side had knelt 
 And w^orshipped God more fondly that each saw 
 His image in the other ! it w as sweet 
 To mark their artlessness of love and hear 
 The converse of their hearts, while their bright eyes 
 Together read and their fair faces jjressed 
 Unblushing ; oh, if thou w ouldst image out 
 
Heaven In thy fancy, and its holy loves, 
 Observe two infants, cradled in one couch, 
 Fed by one hand, in thought and word and deed 
 Blent from the dawn of being; then bright gleams 
 Of what pure spirits are spring forth and bloom ! 
 Love had become their food of thought — the life 
 Of each, and it was holy, past all fear, 
 Or jealousy or passion ; for each knew 
 The other faithful even Hnto death, 
 And trusted ever ; ah ! that such sweet love 
 Should lead but to the grave ! that life's best hopes 
 Should be wild meteors, heralding despair! 
 
 Not in their wonted converse of light joy 
 They roamed along ; not with accustomed smiles 
 Reached their vine arbour by Fluvanna side. 
 Each had been silent, save in few short words 
 Spoken unwittingly, as if to shun 
 The burden of their sorrows ; but they came 
 At last to the fresh verdured alcove where 
 Thick trailing flowers, o'ergemm'd with pearly dew. 
 Hung blushing in perfume, like the past joys 
 Of loves more bright and fragrant than the scene. 
 Then tender words, and low wild sobs came forth. 
 And Agnes leaned upon De Grammont's breast. 
 And oft she raised her tearful eyes to heaven, 
 And called down blessings on the warrior ; then 
 She clung around liis neck, and wept again, 
 And prayed him not to go ! The soldier's voice 
 Faltered, but his proud spirit blenched not — ^^Love ! 
 My country calls me f I should ill deserve 
 fS 
 
^0 l$rbolutioni0t# 
 
 Such love as thine, if I should dare to he 
 A craveii in the hour of mortal strife. 
 No ! let me merit thee by worthy deeds ! '^ 
 One wild, long kiss — a hurried, last farewell — 
 And Agnes is alone! far o'er the cliffs 
 Sound the proud charger's hoofs ; upon a height, 
 O'erlooking all the vale, a horseman curbs 
 His war-steed for a moment, and the eye 
 Of the fair girl has caught his high white plumes^ 
 "Waving aloft ! the crash of parting boughs 
 And flinty bridle path is heard awhile, — 
 Then silence sinks on the deserted bower* 
 
 ^Tis night again — a lovely summer night. 
 Lit by the full fair moon, whose pearly beams 
 Gleam o'er the engirdling forest, and illume 
 The cottage garden and the willow grove; 
 And Agnes has arisen to look forth 
 On the still night — but not to watch the charms 
 Of nature ; she had heard her grandsire speak 
 De Grammont's plaudit for high gallant deeds,. 
 Achieved in neighbouring battles, and her heart 
 Beat prophesy of his return — she knew 
 He would not pass the cottage and not see 
 His earliest, best love ; and she had framed 
 A glorious welcome for her hero-love. 
 She watched the mountain path where he must come> 
 And saw his form in every shadow thrown 
 Over the moonlight rocks; she heard his voice 
 In every bret-ze Ibr.t waved the midnight groves. 
 Beguiled for ever — still beguiling 1 sound-& 
 
Kebolutionl^t ei 
 
 Came on her ear from the far woods, and she 
 Shaped them into De Grammont's voice, and aft 
 The throbbings of her heart became to her 
 The distant tramp of steeds. 
 
 While thus she caught 
 The voice and image of her own fond heart 
 And wrought them into being, quick and bright 
 Beneath the willow grove a bayonet gleamed. 
 And, on the instant, pealed a warning cry — 
 *^ Dear lady, fly ! the Hessians !'' ere the words 
 Had ceased to echo, flashed the levelled gun. 
 And on the green turf lay a bleeding corse, 
 And the next moment Agnes backward fell. 
 Rolling in blood ; all conscious sense extinct. 
 Strange sounds were in her spirit, sounds of wrath 
 And stifled agony, and roaring fires. 
 And low death-wailing and demoniac shouts; 
 But nought distinct — as in a fevered dream. 
 They floated by her, but she knew them not. 
 She woke at last ; the clotted blood had stanched 
 Her wounds, but life was ebbing fast away. 
 She listened — all was still ; and faint and wild 
 With fear, she dragged her feeble limbs along. 
 And reached the hall ; there by the lurid light 
 Of the loud crackling cottage, in his blood 
 Her slaughtered grandsire lay, and by his side 
 His only child— her only parent ! There 
 The haughty Hessian chief, with fiendlike eye. 
 Stood gazing in delight, and as she strove 
 To pass, he seized her with a ruffian ^rasp. 
 
62 Uet^littioni^u 
 
 And drair^ed her onward ; but a dead, stiff weight 
 Was in his arms, for on her face, amid 
 All mortal terror, death had fixed his seal j 
 And with a demon look of curst desire. 
 He threw the virgin on her mother's breast. 
 * # ^ # # # # 
 
 ^Tis morn upon the Alleganean heights. 
 And bright its earliest rays flash o'er the arms 
 Of conquering troops descending; loud and high 
 The trumpet wakes the echoes of the cliffs. 
 And o'er their proud array the banner waves 
 Of freedom and of valour. In the front 
 Careers a noble horseman, and a joy. 
 Beyond e'en battle's rapture, from his eyes 
 Flashes exulting as he looks below. 
 *^'Tis the grey mist that baffles me,'^ he said. 
 As turning from the view, a sad, sick smile 
 Mocked secret apprehension. Now they reach 
 The lowest hill and there he turns to gaze. 
 *^ I cannot see the cottage ! '* how his heart 
 Beat in its strong convulsions, as the hopes. 
 Long cherished, of this hour turned to despair I 
 In weaiiness and pain, in midnight watch. 
 And midday battle, he had looked to this — 
 This hour of recompense— and fondly thought 
 That Agnbs' smile would change all woe to bliss* 
 He gazed as if his soul were perishing, 
 But the dark woods frowned in their loneliness — 
 No blue smoke rose — no sound of life was heard ; 
 All— all was still and lone. How his heart shrunk 
 And trembled ! but De Gkammont hurried on^ 
 As if his spirit fled from its own fears j 
 
Xtebolttttoni0t. €3 
 
 And he has gained the cottage — or the place 
 Where it once stood ; there black and bloody ashes, 
 And cindered bones, and broken brands and prints 
 Of the assassins' footsteps gave dread note 
 Of the past horror; with a frenzied glare 
 Of agony unutterable he gazed, 
 And wild convulsions shook his heart ; then wrath,. 
 Deep, burnin,e; wrath, like lightning, from his eyes 
 Flashed balefully, and from his quivering lips 
 Thundered in awful accents — " Vengeance ! '^ all 
 His gallant band their voices raised on high. 
 And uttered — ^^ Vengeance ! '' Allegany heard. 
 And through its wildest fastnesses and clefts 
 Pealed — *^ Vengeance ! Vengeance ! *^ 
 
 Long the close pursuit, 
 And patient, ere De Grammont's soul had rest. 
 But vengeance came at lengtli, and the fell wretch, 
 Who showed no mercy, had no mercy showed. 
 Thrice in his heart's deep core his reeking blade 
 De Grammont buried, and a fearful smile. 
 The last that ever lit his features, came. 
 Like midnight lightning o'er an open grave. 
 Over his face ; then forth he went and fought 
 His country's battles witli a desperate wrath, 
 That kept his soul from madness, and achieved 
 Immortal deeds, which on the hero brought 
 Praises and honours. manifold; but he 
 Recked not of them ; 't was Agnes that inspired 
 The warrior's daring, and his heart knew not 
 A moment's rest, till ^neath the ruin's dust 
 And ashes, brave De Grammont slept in death I 
 
THE COiraUEROR'S CHZI.D. 
 
 From Aroer's field of glory and the towers 
 Of Minnith smouldering rnid blood and flame. 
 The conquering chieftain, girt with all his powers, 
 In pomp of terror unto Mizpeh carne^ 
 Loud blew his war-horn — spears flashed gory red. 
 And the earth trembled ^neath his courser's tread, 
 
 Prond Ammon had been humbled — far and wide 
 Dark Ruin hovered o'er the unburied dead ;_ 
 The paynim foe had perished in his pride — 
 The oppressor slept on slaughter's crimson bed; 
 The sword of God in Jephthah's giant hand 
 Had left the record of its might o'er all the land. 
 
 Bright in the sun the burnished armour shone. 
 
 And blood stained sabres glittered in the air. 
 
 Bearing true witness unto glory won 
 
 In stern affray — and every warrior there 
 
 Burned with that lofty spirit ever given 
 
 To them who do the sovereign bests of heaven. 
 
 The mighty chieftain gloried in that hour. 
 And felt how greatness grows within the heart 
 
 * See Judg^es xi.— 30— 40, 
 
t)f him who nourishCvS the germ of power; 
 No pride of birth can such high joy impart 
 As one good deed by inborn valour wrought — 
 Conceived unaided in the depths of thought. 
 
 There is no majesty -but that of mind ; 
 The purple robe, the sceptre and the crown 
 The rudest hands can fashion ; — as the wind, 
 The body's pomp the guiltiest wretch may own; 
 But, like the sun that burns from pole to pole, 
 O'er all creation reigns the godlike soul. 
 
 So Jephthah proved ; for born in low estate. 
 And driven forth by pride of place, he roved 
 Lone o'er the world, the sport of chance and fate, 
 Oppressed and wronged — unloving and unloved; 
 Behold him now in victory's brightest van ! 
 His own great spirit formed that mighty man. 
 
 Let envy, hate, fraud, falsehood — all combine 
 To crush the spirit self-sustained — H is vain — 
 No human power can blast a thing divine ; 
 The shaft rebounds — the ambushed foe is slain, 
 E'en by his own envenomed weapon — wait, 
 son of grief, the thunderbolt of Fate ! 
 
 For it will come in wrath — though long delayed, 
 And pour its sea of lightnings o'er the heart 
 That swells in festering pride o'er hopes betrayed, 
 Exulting — for its doom ! on thine own part 
 
66 i^r^>Tq^uerot'» <Ki&iitt» 
 
 Keep virtue by thy bide — lliine eye above— 
 And envy's scorn will thy true greatness prove. 
 
 Be lord of thine own spirit, and look down 
 
 On the base scatterling herd with pity's smile ; 
 
 So thou shalt keep the glory and the crown 
 
 Of goodness raised above the reach of guile. 
 
 And feel that heavenly peace which o'er the breast 
 
 Comes like sweet music from the realms of rest. 
 
 Just cause had Gilead's sons to wail the hour. 
 When, proud of their inheritance, they spurned 
 The bastard boy and mocked him in their power 5 
 Behold him now, in glory's front, returned 
 From exile — bearing in his mighty hand 
 The sceptre-sword that guards and rules the land ! 
 
 Ye little know, proud reptiles of a day ! 
 What 't is ye sting in your impotent spite ; 
 The giant's breath will blast you all for aye 
 Ere ye can crawl into eternal night; 
 Beware how ye would trample on the mind — 
 Vengeance and death and ruin are behind ! 
 
 Onward careers great Ammon's victor — he 
 Who long in caves and foiest wilds abode, 
 W^eary and faint, the cWld of misery — 
 His only friend the omnipresent God ! 
 Let earth admire the wisdom of his trust. 
 And choose that faithful Friend for ever just! 
 
Oh, when the path of life is hard beset, 
 And thy sick heart grows faint and sighs alone, 
 And all that thou in the world's ways hast met 
 Have left thee in affliction's need and gone 
 To revel's halls or beauty's fairy bower — 
 Go, seek a faithful friend in that dark hour! 
 
 And kneel down in thy lowliness and ask 
 His guidance through the mazes of earth's wo - 
 And hooded guilt ; and set thee to the task 
 Of empire o'er thyself, and thou wilt kno\y 
 How passing great and good thy God will be 
 In life's worst ills and last extremity. 
 
 And do it in thy youth, when the fresh spring 
 Of joy mid sunny thoughts runs brightly on, 
 And thy gay spirit soars on rainbow wing 
 Through the clear heaven of beauty ; then alone 
 On thy heart's shrine kneel humbly down and make 
 Thy vow to God, for his and for thy sake. 
 
 And thou wilt feel the happier, though the jeer 
 And scoff of the false world may goad thee sore; 
 Yet keep thy bosom void of care and fear — 
 Lose not that faith all earth could not restore ! 
 The purest virtues 'neath the sky have been 
 The sport of jest profane and ribaldry obscene. 
 
 Then thou wilt find him true in all his ways. 
 As to the prophets and wise kings of yore ; 
 
 G 
 
L. 
 
 68 eronmtvot'^ ©l^iHr* 
 
 His smile will brighten sorrow's darkest days, 
 And light with bloom death's vale and time's dark 
 
 shore ; 
 In all thy griefs thou wilt know where to go — 
 In all thy sickness and thy cares below. 
 
 The mighty victor, w-ith his bright array 
 
 Of valiant warriors, in his glory goes 
 
 O'er hill and dale, like morning's earliest ray, 
 
 Now lost, now flashing through the clouds of rose, 
 
 Till Mizpeh brightens on the lengthening view — 
 
 Hanging far off on the horizon blue. 
 
 Then Jephthah's heart beat high with pride of fame, 
 Fame which his wife and only child would share — 
 Alas! how long that lovely daughter's name 
 Will be the watch-word of his heart's despair ! 
 How long rash vows and all unheedful words 
 Have broken human hearts and edged unsparing 
 swords ! 
 
 The great have fallen from their pride of place— 
 The good have perished in an evil hour — 
 The lovely lost their beauty's loveliest grace — 
 And love and pleasure felt the awful power 
 One moment wields o'er time; a word hath rent 
 Empires to atoms, and o'er nations sent 
 
 Long bitter strife and misery and death ; 
 Through seas of blood, o'er hills of human bones, 
 
While awful voices shrieked and wailed beneath, 
 Armies have marched to death and glorious thrones 
 Changed masters on the instant — how or why ? 
 Go, ask the idle wind that murmurs by ! 
 
 Men talk of glory and immortal fame, 
 
 And pant for honours and the world's applause, 
 
 As if the glitter of a spangled name 
 
 Would win reversion of great nature's laws; 
 
 Ah ! who can trust what changes with a breath ? 
 
 Rests glory's crown upon the brow of death ? 
 
 Loud rose the shouts of triumph and of pride 
 O'er Mizpeh's plain and Gilead's glittering heights, 
 And loud again the conqueror's shouts replied 
 As o'er the hills, like storm clouds' fitful lights. 
 The victor-band rushed on in long array. 
 Loaded with spoils from Ammon's fearful fray. 
 
 Unbounded joy filled every bosom then. 
 And mirth's loud uproar through the city poured, 
 And Jephthah was the happiest of men — 
 The hero king, whose sceptre w^as his swordj 
 And his heart glowed in unrestrained delight 
 To be thus welcomed from the glorious fight. 
 
 \ 
 But mid his jubilee of fame and pride — \ 
 
 Amid his honours and his pomp of state, 
 A soft, sweet voice rose by the hero's side— 
 A voice more awful than the shriek of Fate; 
 
^0 g^ott of ffieniu** 
 
 *^ Bless thee, my father ! we've looked long for thee— 
 O welcome now ! — thou dost not look on me! 
 
 ** Wilt thou not kiss me, father ? 0, 't is long 
 Since thou didst fold me in thy dear embrace ! 
 Come, father, come ! PU sing thee a sweet song, 
 And thou shalt hear and change that gloomy face^ 
 Why, thou art very strange and cold to me 
 Amid the glory of thy victory ! ^' 
 
 ^Bought with thy blood, my dear, lost, only child ! '^ 
 No more the hero's quivering lips could speak ; 
 His crimson brow grew pale — his fixed eye wild — 
 Tears drow ned his voice — his mighty frame grew 
 
 weak ; 
 The warrior-chief of Ammon's awful day 
 Sunk in his daughter's arms and sw^ooned away ! 
 
 THE soiT OF aumus. 
 
 'TwAs summer evening and the fair blue sky 
 
 In rosy beauty hung o'er land and sea, 
 
 And to the poef s visionary eye 
 
 Burned with light gushing from eternity ; 
 
 The soft, sweet airs of heaven breathed o er his brow 
 
 As he gazed on the lovely scene below 
 
S^on of H&tnim. 7i 
 
 His solitary chamber — rich and bright, 
 And watched the mellowing shadows as they fell 
 O'er flowery vales and green isles robed in light. 
 Till darkness dimmed the scenes he loved so well. 
 
 But vainly beauty smiles when the heart bleeds 
 
 In silent, untold agony of wo; 
 
 Nought of fair forms the withering spirit heeds — 
 
 All sight and sound is mockery ; grief doth grow 
 
 Deeper and wilder amid joy and mirth, 
 
 And sorrow veils this bright and lovely earth 
 
 In darkness and in dreariness — and all 
 
 Seems cold and hollow in the ways of men ; 
 
 And the dark spirit wears a living pall 
 
 Of deathless death — it cannot smile again. 
 
 Oh ! who can tell how hard it is to wear 
 A mirthful look that hides a broken heart? 
 How deep and desolate is that despair. 
 Which sickly smiles of forced delight impart ? 
 'Tis awful misery to seem in joy ; 
 Smiles on the lip — tears in the wandering eye ; 
 Hope on the brow — despair within the soul ! 
 Oh, why to man are all earth^s sorrows given— 
 The thousand woes that mock at man's control. 
 But from earth's griefs to turn his thoughts to hea- 
 ven ? 
 
 The bright creations of his soaring thought 
 Had from the young bard passed away, and now 
 g3 
 
72 ^on of ©irniuft* 
 
 He wept o'er all his mighty mind had wrought ; 
 And his heart's darkness gloom'd along his hrow. 
 And fearful forms appeared and bade him look 
 Upon their ghastly horrors — and he took 
 The terrors of their wild and withering eyes 
 F/en to his bosom's core, and o'er him came 
 That hollowness of sufferance which tries 
 The spirit more than rack or bickering flame. 
 
 He saw not — heard not — thought not of the crowd 
 That passed him joyously on either hand ; 
 His spirit writhed within a shuddering shroud. 
 And o'er him Genius waved his magic wand. 
 (Genius ! bright child of heaven — a god of earth ! 
 Despair and Death for ever give thee birth; 
 Thou angel heir whose heritage is pain ! 
 Whose rapture, anguish and all countless woes; 
 "W hose only joy is sorrow's mournful strain — 
 Whose only hope this being's early close !) 
 
 Earth's charms availed not; sadness in him grew 
 Darker and deeper till it sunk in gloom ; 
 Time o'er his bosom poured its deadly dew. 
 And Death called on him from the yawning tomb- 
 Stretched forth his skeleton arm and beckoned on 
 The suffering soul whose meteor course was done — 
 Rising in glory and the pride of fame. 
 Soaring in beauty on its starry way, 
 Then bursting o er ti^e ruio of a name — 
 The glorious vision of a stormy day ! 
 
Sion of <JSeniu»* ^3 
 
 There was no beauty in this world to him — 
 No charm, no hope, no comfort, and he felt 
 Power from his spirit, vigour from each limb, 
 Life from his heart, departing ; and he knelt 
 In lone devotion to his God and prayed 
 That Fate's dread arrow might not be delayed, 
 And yet not pierce his bosom unprepared ! 
 " Father ! thou knowest all my thoughts and deeds. 
 The woes I've borne alone—the woes Pve shared— 
 And thou wilt purify the heart that bleeds." 
 
 But nothing can from human hearts expel 
 
 The fear of death — it is not weal nor wo. 
 
 That withers up the spirit, heaven nor hell ; 
 
 It is that awful void — that gulf below 
 
 All reach of thought— that boundless depth of gloom 
 
 W hich hangs for ever o'er the oblivious tomb^ 
 
 No eye can span it and no thought unfold — 
 
 Hopes, fears and passions and all human powers 
 
 Perish before the mystery untold, 
 
 Searching in vain for Eden's holy bowers. 
 
 And death to him had terrors — oh, it had 
 Terrors for thee, almighty Son of God ! 
 Oft callous, fears are felt not by the bad 
 At the dread voice that summons to the sod; 
 The doubtfulness of good that virtue feels 
 Oft o'er the heart in withering anguish steals. 
 And clouds the closing hour of sinless life 
 With fears that hardened guilt denies; for, oh. 
 
'^^ cSon of <ffiettiu0^ 
 
 Goodness dotli question its own worth, thougb rife 
 Witli all that hallows earth's intensest wo. 
 
 The mournful bard — life's best affections gone. 
 Its kindly charities and hojies of fame, 
 Mused darkly on the ways of fate alone — 
 Continual soi^iows and a blasted name. 
 Till in the pale light of his bosom's shrine . 
 Aj)peared a form majestic and divine ; 
 Mysterious greatness gleamed along his brow — 
 His air breathed awe — his voice was like the sea's : 
 His eye illumed ail nature in its glow — 
 And thus he spake the spirit's mysteries : — 
 
 ^' Son of the Skies ! thou, who dost oft commune 
 With the ethereal stars when sleep locks up 
 Life's founts of bitterness in night's still noon ; 
 Thou wilt not always drink this poison cup 
 Of Wretchedness allotted thee below; 
 Thou wilt not always wear upon thy brow 
 The visible torture of thy bleeding heart; 
 Thy sunken cheek and hollow eye will yet 
 Smile ere thy spirit from the world depart, 
 And coming hours shall teach thee to forget. 
 
 '^ Thy toil hath been for greatness and for fame. 
 
 And thou hast panted \\\ the poisoned air 
 
 Of hate and envy to achieve a name 
 
 For the fool's mockery ; and thought and care, 
 
 And vigilant observance and much pain. 
 
 And watchings long thou could'st not bear again, 
 
<Son of QSitnim. 75 
 
 Have been rewarded by a damninj^ curse— 
 The spleen of bastard wit and envy's gall; 
 And low, base foes, whom fiends could make no worse. 
 Have shouted o'er the ruins of thy fall. 
 
 ^^ One look of thine could blast them into death. 
 
 But, mid the locust plague, thine eye would tire 
 
 Of slaying, and the poison of their breath 
 
 Taint and obscure thy spirit's holy fire. 
 
 Pass o'er them — stoop not to their scope — 't is vain 
 
 To battle with the fitchew ; canst thou reign 
 
 And 4)anquet on thy proud and just applause 
 
 Without the envenomed chalice, that will bear 
 
 Death to thy vitals ? In a lofty cause 
 
 The world will crown thee with thy heart's despair. 
 
 *^ But should'st thou bask in glory's fairest light. 
 Canst thou make league with death to sound thy 
 
 praise ? 
 Or hope to hear amid sepulchral night 
 The voice of fame that charmed thy mortal days ? 
 Can mouldering dust resume its form again. 
 Or thy soul hover o'er this realm of pain 
 To drink the incense of a crowd, whose breath, 
 Ere an hour wings its unreturning flight. 
 May fan the cold, unearthly brow of death, 
 And all their memories sink to endless night ? 
 
 " No ! glory unbeheld is grief and shame— « 
 The spix'it's power is wasted upon dust ; 
 
7^ Son of asitnim^ 
 
 Virtue and goodness never lead to fame. 
 
 Nor breathing pictures of the wise and just. 
 
 Fiends love not what they cannot falsify, 
 
 And there are fiends who never dwelt on high. 
 
 Let Genius dip his pencil in the gloom. 
 
 That o'er man's heart comes from the depths of hell — 
 
 Ages will weep above his laurelled tomb, 
 
 And immortality his triumphs swell. 
 
 " Yet thou must soar; immortal spirits wear 
 Robes coloured in the skies — they cannot rest 
 Mid earth's cold multitudes ; the holy air 
 Near heaven they breathe, and are supremely blest 
 When, the false world and all its woes forgot, 
 They feel their own divinity ; thy lot. 
 Lowly with men, is holy and sublime 
 With angels and wingec: glories at the hour 
 Of inspiration, when thy soul can climb 
 Heaven's gate and hail each spirit in his bower. 
 
 *^Less for the world's applause, more for thy own, 
 
 Howe'er, in humble consciousness of all 
 
 The gifts of G(iD, toil thou till crowns are won 
 
 Of virtue and of glory ; see thou fall 
 
 Not from the principles of goodness given 
 
 To all earth's sons by kind, indulgent heaven ! 
 
 Despair not of thy meed ! though dark the hour 
 
 Of disappointment, put the armour on 
 
 Of faith and perseverance, and thy power 
 
 Will strengthen still when centuries have gone." 
 
Ceased the deep voice — the ideal phantom fled; 
 
 Bat left that comfort which reflection gives 
 
 To virtue in affliction; — well 't were said. 
 
 He lives to glory who to goodness lives. 
 
 O'er the young bard new freshened feelings rise, 
 
 And thoughts of beauty beaming from the skies, 
 
 And gay hope, like a sunbow, round his heart 
 
 Glitters and colours every feeling there, 
 
 And as his dark and dreary thoughts depart, 
 
 He feels, — while heaven avvaits, let none despair ! 
 
 THE PROPHET'S IAAZiISOZ7.* 
 
 The apostate king of Israel's holy land 
 
 Was revelling in Samaria's idol bowsers, 
 
 And round him danced and sung a harlot band 
 
 To soothe remorseful sin's long lingering hours ;-^ 
 
 The fair Zidonian w andered through the grove. 
 
 The heathen queen of lawless faith and love. 
 
 There Ahab lay, with pomp pavilioned round, 
 Couches of gold and gorgeous canopies, 
 
 *And Elijah, the Tishbite, who was of the inhabitants of Gi- 
 lead, said unto Ahab — As the Lord God of Israel Jiveth. before 
 whom f stand, there shall not be dew nor rain these years but 
 according to my word. — I. Kings, xvii. 1. 
 
78 l$topfitV^ |HaU0on* 
 
 And wanton harps of most melodious sound, 
 And robes that wore the rainbow's minja^Ied dies; — 
 There nothing lacked of his luxurious show 
 Save Gud's approval as he looked below. 
 
 There wreathing flowers hung breathing rich per- 
 fume, 
 And fragrant fruit of every form and name, 
 And radiant beauty in voluptuous bloom 
 To Ahab's bower, a willing victim, came ; 
 Not unobserved by Zidon's daughter, who 
 Plunged him in crime and gloried in the view. 
 
 Yet oft amid the music and the mirth 
 His dark brow quivered and his eye grew wild ; 
 Forms passed before him not of mortal birth, 
 And gleamed along his brain, and darkly smiled 
 With that prophetic look which probes and sears 
 The heart, and in a moment does the work of years* 
 
 Beneath the glory of his gorgeous show 
 A viper preyed upon his heart, and none, 
 Save his false queen, could soothe the awful wo 
 Of him who groaned — a slave upon a throne ! 
 She o'er him held the power of crime and he 
 Bowed shuddering to her bloody sovereignty. 
 
 Israel's grey fathers by the wayside stood 
 Communing mournfully on other days. 
 And oft they saw the awful sign of blood 
 Shoot o'er the wrathful sky its fiery rays ; 
 
And then they looked toward the groves of Baal 
 And shrieked to see the warning portent fail. 
 
 But save to eyes of faith no sign appeared, 
 And x\hab revelled on in deadlier guilt. 
 Nor Syrian king nor slaughtering angel feared j 
 And by his side she lay whose hand had spilt 
 The blood of God's high prophets and profaned 
 The temple where His visible presence reigned. 
 
 And each had sinned till heaven could bear no morCj 
 
 And mid their wildest riot, most profane, 
 
 A tall, majestic shadow stood before 
 
 Their blasted eyes— now downcast all in vain ; 
 
 The sable garb — the hoary beard — the tread. 
 
 Solemn as death, shook Ahab's soul with dread. 
 
 For well he knew the prophet of the Lord, 
 And awfully he feared to meet him there. 
 Amid those idol groves and bowers abhorred; 
 And his heart quailed in horror and despair 
 When with uplifted eyes and hands outspread, 
 The Seer of God his awful message said : — 
 
 *^ Hear, rebel king ! and thou, false heathen, hear ! 
 Thus saith the Lord and thus it shall be done ; 
 Oft o'er this land shall pass the death-winged year 
 Beneath the scorchings of the cloudless sun ; 
 ISoY rain, nor dew, nor vapour shall assuage 
 The burning heat in its wide- wasting rage. 
 
 H 
 
80 iPtoptjere IWaliison* 
 
 ^' All streams shall vanish and all fountains dry, 
 And still the mighty sun shall burn and burn, 
 Till stiffening lips can frame no dying cry — 
 Till withered hearts to cracking masses turn — 
 And chords and sinews cleave unto the bone, 
 And the flesh shrink and harden into stone. 
 
 '^Groves, gardens, vineyards — all green things shall 
 
 fail. 
 And desolation reign o'er all the land ; 
 Proud men — fair women, choaking, ghastly pale, 
 In vain shall struggle with impotent hand 
 To end their agonies ;— all earth shall lie 
 Blackeningi n barrenness 'neath a burning sky. 
 
 *^The lips shall feel no moisture in the breath— 
 E'en on the corse the famished worm shall die. 
 And death go slaughtering o'er the wreck of death, 
 Amid the still, unutterable agony ; 
 The babe shall die — to the hot bosom pressed — 
 Pressing its withered lips unto its mother's breast. 
 
 ^^ The prince and beggar, and the lord and slave, 
 Shall writhe and agonize and gasp for breath 
 And perish side by side — and one wide grave. 
 The lake's exhausted gurge, shall hold them ; Death 
 Shall ride victorious, mid low girgling moans. 
 To slaughter o'er a nation's skeletons. . 
 
 ^^ Amid the thick, intolerable glare 
 
 A dull, dead sound shall murmur evermore. 
 
And flocks and herds pant in the sweltering air 
 And lie down in the channel that before 
 Held many waters, and devour the sand 
 That yet is moist. And Israel's sons shall stand 
 
 ^^ Gazing until their eyes weep blood upon 
 Creation's fiery furnace to behold 
 The beauty of a cloud — there shall be none ! 
 No more the shepherd need to watch his fold, 
 No more the vintager his vines— no more 
 The merchant hail his vessel from the shore. 
 
 " Yon holy mountains from their cloudy height 
 Shall w^aft no breezes to the burning vale. 
 But savage beasts shall yell in wild affright 
 From rock and cave till sense and motion fail, 
 And the black leafless forests mourn and«!5igh 
 Between the dying earth and all -destroying sky. 
 
 *'Then thou, proud king ! e'en in this idol grove 
 Amid tliy host of deities shalt feel 
 The wrath of an ofiended God, and prove 
 His penal might ; here thou wilt pray and kneeJ 
 E'en in the house of Baal— his house of crime— 
 And weary heaven for mercy in that time. 
 
 ^' But vainly shalt thou ask it — all as vain 
 
 As God did long beseech thee to return 
 
 And live — thou would'st not hearken then — again 
 
 Thou shalt not hear his voice ! o'er thee shall bur> > 
 
«2 lJt0ton0 of Uomanct. 
 
 And thy idolaters, his fiercest ire 
 Till Israel's sins are purified by fire. 
 
 "All earth shall blacken in a sea of flame 
 
 Till years have rolled their desolating way»-- 
 
 Till God restores the glory of the name 
 
 That Israel bore beneath his holy sway ; 
 
 Thus saith the Lord ! Prepare to meet thy doom ! 
 
 For vengeance o'er the idolatrous land will come ! ^' 
 
 The prophet vanished from the monarch's eye. 
 Who stood there, chained by agonizing fear ; 
 His dark form towering on the crimson sky — 
 His voice still ringing in the false king's ear. 
 In waves of purple flame sunk the hot sun— 
 The years of wrath and terror have begun. 
 
 viszoxrs OF ROM-axjcB. 
 
 " Ce I'eure ou la melancholic 
 S'asseoit pensive et recueillie 
 Aux bords silencieux des raers, 
 Et, meditant sur les ruines, 
 Contemple aii penchant des colllnes 
 Ce palais, ces temples deserts." 
 
 De Lamartiiie. 
 
 ^Vhen dark-browed midnight o'er the slumbering 
 
 world 
 Mysterious shadows and bewildering throws. 
 
Vi^iom of Uomantt. ss 
 
 a\nd the tired wings of human thought are furled. 
 And sleep descends, like dew upon the rose, 
 How full of bliss the poet's vigil hour 
 When o'er him elder Time hath magic power! 
 
 Before bis eye past ages stand revealed 
 When feudal chiefs held lordly banquettings, 
 In the spoil revelling of wave and field. 
 Among their vassal serfs unquestioned kings : 
 While honoured minstrels round the ample board 
 The lays of love or songs of battle poured. 
 
 Mid loud wassail and quaint legend and jest, 
 The horn-rimmed goblet, pledge of heart and hand^ 
 To knightly lips in solemn faith is pressed. 
 And rose-lipped mirth waits on the warrior-band. 
 To whom the brand and cup alike are dear, 
 The storm of battle and the banquet's cheer. 
 
 Throned on his dais^ the proud sux>erain looked o'er 
 The lengthening lines of haughty barons there. 
 And listened to the minstrel's rhythmic lore. 
 Or boon accorded to the suppliant's prayer. 
 Or planned the chase through wood and mountain 
 
 dell. 
 Or roused his guests by feuds remembered well. 
 
 The dinted helmet, with its broken crest. 
 
 The serried sabre and the shattered shield 
 
 Hung round the wainscoat dark and well expressed 
 
u Vi^ioM of l^omancr. 
 
 That wild, fierce pride which scorned unscathed to 
 
 yield ; 
 And pictures there with dusky glory rife 
 From age to age bore down stern characters of strife. 
 
 Amid long lines of glorious ancestry, 
 
 Whose eyes flashed o'er them from the old grey 
 
 walls, 
 What craven quails at danger^s lightning eye ? 
 What warrior blenches when his brother falls ? 
 Bear witness, Crescy and red Agincourt ! 
 Bosworth and Bannockburn and Marston Moor ! 
 
 The long lone corridors— the antlered hall — 
 The massive walls — the all-commanding towers— 
 Where revel reigned and masquerading ball. 
 And beauty won stern warriors to her bowers — 
 In ancient grandeur o'er the spirit move 
 With all their forms of chivalry and love. 
 
 The voice of centuries bursts upon the soul — 
 Long-buried ages wake and live again — 
 Past feats of fame and deeds of glory roll. 
 Achieved for ladye-love in knighthood's reign | 
 And all the simple state of olden Time 
 Assumes a garb majestic and sublime. 
 
 The steel-clad champion on his vaulting steed. 
 The mitred primate, and the Norman lord, 
 The peerless maid awarding valour's meed. 
 And the meek vestal who her God adored — 
 
Vi#ione of Uommtt. 85 
 
 The pride, the pomp, the power and charm of earth 
 From Fancy's dome of living thought come forth. 
 
 The sacred oriflamme m war's red tide 
 Waves mid the shivering shock of lance and brand. 
 And trump-like voices burst in shouts of pride 
 O'er foes whose blood hath stained the wasted land 
 Hark ! through the convent-shades triumphal songs 
 Lo ! the rich shrine !— thus saints avenge our wrongs 
 
 0*er kneeling penitents at the abbey's shrine 
 Absolving voices speak God's benison, 
 And lonely cloisters echo prayers divine 
 From many a holy, world- forsaking nun, 
 Before the image of the Crucified 
 Bowed in prostration of all worldly pride. 
 
 The pale-browed vestal and the dark-stoled friar. 
 The prayerful monk whose heart is in his grave. 
 Raise their low^ voices in the holy choir, 
 While in response the mournful yew-trees wave ; 
 And through the cloisters and lone aisles they sigh 
 That hope smiles not for them beneath the sky* 
 
 Beyond the holy walls stern warriors sleep 
 Who gloried in their high-born ancientry ; 
 Whose war-steeds erst in many a desperate leap 
 O'er lance and spear w^ent on right gloriously — 
 Carved on the tombstone rests the brave knight's 
 
 form — 
 Where is the knight? Ask not the battening worm 
 
«6 Viuom of Uommte. 
 
 The feast is o'er, the huntsman's course is done, 
 The trump of war — the shrill horn sounds no more — 
 The heroic revellers from the hall have gone — 
 The lone blast moans the ruined castle o'er ! 
 The spell of beauty and the pride of power 
 Have passed for ever from the feudal tower. 
 
 No more the drawbridge echoes to the tread 
 
 Of visored knight o'ercanopied with gold ; 
 
 O'er mouldering gates and crumbling archways 
 
 spread, 
 Dark ivy waves in many a mazy fold. 
 Where chiefs flashed vengeance from their lightning 
 
 glance. 
 And grasped the brand and couched the conquering 
 
 lance. 
 
 But all hath not in silence perished here— 
 
 The deep, still voice of lost power will be heard ; 
 
 Mysterious spectres in the gloom appear 
 
 As still in death they would be shunned and feared j 
 
 All is not lost — the bright electric air 
 
 Glows with the spirits of the great that were ! 
 
 One generation from another draws 
 
 Greatness and glory adding to its own ; 
 
 It breathes the spirit of the primal laws. 
 
 And makes the heart a freeborn nation's throne; 
 
 Time treads in dust earth's highest pride and fame, 
 
 But thoughts of power for ever are the same. 
 
Ui0ion» of Uommtt, 87 
 
 Oh ! who so weak as ponder on the tomb ? 
 
 The dead are nothing ! — drink the mountain breeze 
 
 Or roam o'er ruins wrapt in ages' gloom — 
 
 And hoard thou well Earth's silent mysteries ; 
 
 The past is written in the lightning's glare 
 
 To bid the Future for its doom prepare. 
 
 The gorgeous pageantry of times gone by — 
 The tilt, the tournament, the vaulted hall, 
 Fades in its glory on the spirit's eye. 
 And fancy's bright and gay creations— all 
 Sink into dust when reason's searching glance 
 Unmasks the age of knighthood and romance. 
 
 For fatal feuds from unknown sources sprung, • 
 Raged unrepressed and unappeased by tears ; 
 And (shame to tell !) the royal minstrels sung 
 Oppression's poean in those darkened years ; 
 Then empire hung upon the arm of power. 
 And fate frowned o'er the dark embattled tower* 
 
 Like lightning lingering on the sable cloud, ^ 
 Their glories flash and dazzle but to slay; 
 A warning light — a flame engirdled shroud 
 Amid the o'erwhelming tempest's black array ! 
 The days of chivalry may yet return. 
 But may their glories gleam upon my urn ! 
 
THZ: SURPRZSAXi** 
 
 From Gibeah's tower, at the dawn of day, 
 
 The warder looked afar, 
 And he saw through the mist strange disarray 
 
 In the foemen's ranks of war ; 
 The deep earth shook and the twilight air 
 
 With a thousand voices rung, 
 And a death-wail rose of wild despair 
 
 Where the foe to battle sprung. 
 
 In the mountain-pass tall shadowy forms 
 
 Reeled madly to and fro, 
 Like the rage and shock of Alpine storms 
 
 From the Jungfrau's snowy brow ; 
 And the shivering spear and clashing sword 
 
 Showed where the giants fell. 
 Before the wrath of IsraePs lord, 
 
 Down the dark and gory dell. 
 
 From his fitful sleep, with a start of fear, 
 ^Neath the great pomegranate tree, 
 
 King Saul leapt up, and he grasped his spear. 
 And listened breathlessly j— 
 
 • See I. Samuel, xiv. 
 
^^ Whence come those war-cries V^ Louder now 
 Peal mingled shouts and screams, 
 
 And the fire of death o'er Seneh's brow- 
 In lurid grandeur gleams. 
 
 ** This morning broke on a mailed host, 
 
 In vast and haught array ; 
 Like Egypt's throng on the Red Sea's coast. 
 
 They have melted all away ! 
 With the speed of Fate count o'er my band " — 
 
 ** My liege, your will is done." 
 " The foeman flies from his proud command '* — 
 
 " Before your gallant son.'' 
 
 ^^ Lo ! Judah's prince on the beetling rock 
 
 O'erthrows his giant foe. 
 And he hurls him down, with a stunning shock. 
 
 O'er the gory ridge below ! 
 God shield hini now ! " and the army stood 
 
 In fixed and wild amaze. 
 While the warrior prince through waves of blood 
 
 Went on in glory's blaze. 
 
 " The ark of God ! " at that awful cry 
 
 The w^arriors knelt and prayed — 
 Then their onset shouts rolled o'er the sky. 
 
 And they rushed on undismayed ; 
 In the arrowy van, with a wrathful brow. 
 
 King Saul, like a storm, passed by. 
 And his iron heel tramped o'er his foe. 
 
 Unheard his dying cry. 
 
9Q Uttjelle* 
 
 A thousand swords and a thousand spears 
 
 Are flashing far and wide, 
 And the heathen host aye disappears 
 
 Before high Judah's pride ; 
 Through the livelong day the foemen fled, 
 
 And the victor prince pursued. 
 Till in Beth-aven, among the dead, 
 
 At eve the conqueror stood. 
 
 TO I.T7ZZ:i.Z.E. 
 
 If your soul were in my soul's stead, 
 I would not blame* but weep with thee, 
 And every hope and pleasure fled 
 Should be revived by sympathy ; 
 I could not smile amid thy tears, 
 Nor feel a joy when wo was thine— 
 But thou canst mock my darkest fears. 
 And laugh at sorrow when 't is mine* 
 
 Illusion may uphold belief 
 
 That this false world is kind and true. 
 
 And thou may'st smile at withering grief 
 
 Who never felt its deadly dew ; 
 
 And I can bear thy wildest mirth. 
 
 Though my cold heart entombs tke dead — 
 
But dark would seem tliis joyous earth. 
 If your soul were in my 30uPs stead. 
 
 Time was when life looked gay and bright. 
 And this world full of bowers of love ; 
 When sunny day and starry night 
 Below smiled as they gmile above ; 
 Then grief was but a strange, sad name. 
 And mournful looks the theme of jest — 
 Then hope was bliss, and love was fame. 
 And but to breathe was to be blest. 
 
 But now — my eye hath lost its fire. 
 My soul its mirth, my heart its bloom, 
 And all that's left me is my lyre, 
 And a stern pride, dark as the tomb ; 
 Yet I can bear thy laugh and mirth. 
 And blame thee not, though hope hath fled — 
 For darker yet would seem this earth, 
 If ^our soul were in my soul's stead ! 
 
 THE BTTBIAX. OF ABEI.MIZRAZM.'^ 
 
 ^' Rest, reverend patriarch ! in thy last reposej 
 And soft and holy be thy blessed sleep ! 
 O'er thy loved form the vaulted tomb we close — 
 O'er thee we bend and feej it bliss to weep. 
 
 * See Genesis, ch. h- 
 
92 iSuvial of ^fieltni^ratim 
 
 Rest, Father, rest beyond the woes of earth ! 
 Seraphic spirits hail thy heavenly birth ! 
 
 "Great honoured chief! from Egypt's throne we 
 
 come 
 To render reverence to thy mighty son. 
 And bear with homage to the sacred tomb 
 His sire who stands by Pharaoh's godlike throne ; 
 Rest in the fulness of thy years and fame, 
 O ancient chief! and honoured be thy name ! 
 
 *^ Sleep mid the fragrance of thy virtuous deeds, 
 And may thy spirit breath thy heart's perfume ! 
 While thus 1 kiss thy brow, my bosom bleeds — 
 that I could sleep with thee in the tomb ! 
 Rest, Father, rest among thine honoured race ! 
 Thy lost son bears thee to thy dwelling-place !'' 
 
 Such were the sounds from Atad's tented plain, 
 That warned the nations Israel was no more ; . 
 Low murmuring Jordan listened to the strain, 
 And sighed the notes along his pebbled shore. 
 And Hebron heard and echoed down her vale 
 The long, the deep, the mournful funeral wail. 
 
 The voice of death went forth o'er Edom's land. 
 And Seir bewailed in solemn unison ; 
 E'en misbelievers round Machpelah stand 
 And mourn the patriarch and the prophet gone, 
 "While on her pillar Israel's earliest love 
 Stands, welcoming his spirit's flight above. 
 
Lo ! where they move in lengthenimg march and slow, 
 The choicest pride and pomp of Egypt's throne j 
 Their golden chariots in the bright sun glow — 
 Their chargers move in mournful grandeur on; 
 Rich purple robes, with grief's insignia bound. 
 Throw rainbow colours on the fresh air round. 
 
 The long dependent line, that comes and comes. 
 Still lengthening, as it moves, on either side ; 
 The princely state, that all the scene illumes— 
 The eloquent still grief — the solemn pride — 
 All — all proclaim a great, good man hath gone, 
 And left no peer to do as he hath done. 
 
 Mark him, the foremost of the long array. 
 
 The mightiest prince that roams the banks of Nile ! 
 
 His heart is sad — his soul is dark to-day — 
 
 His fixed and thoughtful eye betrays no smile j 
 
 Amid his pomp and majesty he seems 
 
 Lost in the mazes of dark memory's dreams. 
 
 And well he may be — 't is the dreaming boy, 
 The son of Israel's age — the lovely one ! 
 And here he breathes again his native sky, 
 The lord of Egypt's lords; — and one alone 
 In the wide world bears loftier rule than he, 
 The shepherd-boy — the slave of treachery ! 
 
 Again he sees the vales of Shechem spread 
 Their bright rich verdure, and the lovely plains 
 
94 isurial of ^ttlmmaim. 
 
 Of Dothan, dotted with white flocks — and red 
 The vintage opes around its swollen veins, 
 The same as when he took his lonely way 
 To seek his brethren — and now where are they r 
 
 Around him rise familiar scenes, and well 
 Remembrance keeps his ancient love for them ; 
 E'en to the erring wanderer he could tell 
 Each spot from Hebron's vale to Bethlehem ; 
 There his mad brethren mocked his misery — 
 Here bound and sold him— and now where is he ? 
 
 Again he hears the cruel taunt and jest — 
 
 Again he sees the Ishmeelitan band ; 
 
 His spirit shudders e'en to dream the rest — 
 
 The toilsome journey and the foreign land ^ 
 
 Dark o'er his thought the gathering shadows come^ 
 
 Like wild, gaunt spectres from the haunted tomb. 
 
 But in a pure and lofty mind the fell 
 
 Revenge of grovelling spirits may not rest ; 
 
 As well might passions, born and nursed in hell. 
 
 Riot and rage in Gabriel's holy breast ; 
 
 Lo ! as the past rolls o'er his thoughtful mind. 
 
 He turns and smiles on Israel's sons behind. 
 
 And, oh, that smile of all-forgiving love 
 Sunk like an arrow in each guilty soul ; 
 *Tis passing anguish — more than death to prove 
 Affection breaking through the world's control ; 
 
i&nvial Of ^ttlmi^vaim^ 95 
 
 So righteous heaven turns on the envious heart 
 The keenest edge of hate's envenomed dart. 
 
 The pardoning spirit conquers every wrong, 
 And from worst ill draws everlasting good; 
 Wretched he lives and dies in shame, who ioMg 
 O'er dark revenge and penal fate doth brood j 
 The almighty arm, the Almighty One hath said. 
 Alone must vengeance on the oppressor shed. 
 
 As onward rolled the solemn burial train 
 Through Hebron's vale — his childhood's home— how 
 
 sweet 
 Seemed to the prince those bowers of love again 
 Where erst a father's smile he used to meet, 
 Whene'er he came at evening from the field. 
 And sadly deeds of dark import revealed ! 
 
 How fondly through decay he traced the scene 
 Of many a happy hour and innocent. 
 When, his heart gay and as the sky serene, 
 From Israel's smile to God's he came and went* 
 Of both alike the love ! and, oh, how fair 
 The far blue hills hung on the misty air ! 
 
 Then, as he looked and sighed o'er happier hours. 
 His musings caught a darker hue, and turned 
 To Israel wandering through his silent bowers 
 In desolate grief — yes, here he wept and mourned 
 For h's lost son — for Rachel's lovely child, 
 Year after year till agony grew wild, 
 iS 
 
96 ^nvial of afielmi^taim. 
 
 None now were left the good old man could love 
 As virtuous fathers love their oflFspring — save 
 His youngest born, and he could never move 
 The heart that slumbered in his brother's grave. 
 Whene'er it ceased to bleed — except when heaven 
 Revealed a hope by earth no longer given* 
 
 He put on sackcloth and denied the poor 
 And worn-out words of comfort all could give ; 
 They could not to his heart his son restore. 
 And he in mourning for the lost would live— 
 Oh> Israel's sons had hearts from out the rock — 
 Nature could not abide such sorrow's shock ! 
 
 How could the traitors to a father^s heart 
 Meet the wild eye whose light dissolved in tears ? 
 Or how their tale of tissued lies impart 
 To a soul darkened by the storms of years? 
 All but a father, who in love must dote. 
 Might have seen treachery on the bloody coat. 
 
 But he, alas! too true to doubt the oath 
 
 Of them whose minds beneath his eye had grown. 
 
 Believed as virtue smooth vice ever doth. 
 
 And mourned in silence, friendless and alone; 
 
 While the twin-robbers led their brethren forth 
 
 To deeds that stained the young, the blooming earths 
 
 The prince wept bitterly as thus he drew 
 Affection's dark portrait of lonely wo, 
 And memory sketched in sorrow's sable hue 
 The blight of hope his sire was doomed to know. 
 
ISuttal of ^ttlmi)vaimi 9? 
 
 While he, the Hebrew boy, through trials bore 
 True faith and worship to a heathen shores 
 
 The mighty lord of Egypt's garden-land 
 
 Could bear no more ; upon the solemn bier 
 
 He fixed his eye and leaned upon his hand. 
 
 Like one whose soul seeks heaven's high holy sphere. 
 
 Till paused his chariot at the house of death, 
 
 Machpelah's cave — the burial-field of Heth. 
 
 There the great father of the faithful slept. 
 His youth's first love reposing by his side ; 
 And there the sire of countless nations kept 
 Eternal watches o'er his beauteous bride ; 
 There Laban's daughter slumbered with the dead. 
 And there doth Israel lay his reverend head. 
 
 With solemn rite and ceremonial due 
 
 They lay the patriarch on his last cold bed, 
 
 And o'er him myrrh and balm and spicery strew. 
 
 And flowers, bright as his deeds, sweet perfume shed; 
 
 There let him sleep for ever undecayed ! 
 
 The prince kneeled down and to Jehovah prayed. 
 
 He rose and gazed on Israel's pallid brow. 
 
 And sighed and turned — and turned and looked once 
 
 more, 
 Then from the cave, with mournful step and slow, 
 Went forth and sealed the sacred temple's door. 
 Far on tlieir way to Egypt's land the bright 
 And solemn train shed lengthening lines of light* 
 
THE ZiAV OF THB COZiOKIST. 
 
 On the rude threshold of his woodland cot. 
 When the sun turned the western sky to gold, 
 Wrapt in dark musings on his wayward lot, 
 And joys long past that o'er his spirit rolled. 
 Stern in his faith, though sorrow marked his mein, 
 The exile stood — the genius of the scene ! 
 
 Unbounded, solitary, dark and deep, 
 The mountain forests lowered around and threw 
 Their solemn shadows o'er the craggy steep. 
 Where human foot had never brushed the dew ; 
 And through the tangled maze of wildwoods run 
 Streams, whose long waves ne'er glittered in the sun. 
 
 O'er the vast sea of foliage vari-hued 
 
 No wreathing smoke from distant cottage rose; 
 
 No well-known voice came singing thro' the wood-— 
 
 No form beloved tracked o'er the winter snows. 
 
 Or sunny summer hillside, glad to seek 
 
 And find a friend to cheer him once a- week. 
 
 Unbroken there was life's lone sleep, save when 
 The moose or panther yelled along his way. 
 Or the wolf prowled and ravined through the glen. 
 Or, high in air, the eagle screamed for prey j 
 
Hag of tfit atoloni0t 99 
 
 The Indian's arrow had a noiseless flight, 
 More dark and deadly than a monarch's might. 
 
 Oft lonely barrows on the woody plain 
 Alone revealed that mortal things had been ; 
 That here red warriors, in their slaughter slain. 
 Reposed in glory on the conquering scene 
 Of their high valour — and their hard won fame 
 Hath left them not on earth a record — or a name. 
 
 But soon the whirring arrow, stained with blood. 
 Gave fearful warning vengeance slept not here — 
 That he, who threaded thus the mazy wood. 
 And slew far-off* the wild and timorous deer. 
 Had darts within his quiver stored to bear 
 Death to the white man through the noiseless air. 
 
 Mid the dense gloom of nature's forest- woof 
 The exile stood, who erst with lords abode ; 
 Rude was the cottage with its leaf-thatched roof, 
 Where dwelt the puritan— alone with God ; — 
 There terror oft through nights of cold unrest 
 Counted the pulse of many a trembling breast. 
 
 In the vast wilderness, afar removed 
 
 From scenes more dear than happy hearts can tell^ 
 
 Torn from the bosoms of the friends he loved 
 
 Too fervently to bid a last farewell ; 
 
 Here, at the hour when hearts breathe ar away 
 
 Their music — thus the exile poured his lay : — 
 
100 liay of m croloni^n 
 
 ^^ Mysterious are thy ways, Almighty One! 
 And dark the shades that veil thy throne of light. 
 But still to thee we bow — thy will be done — 
 For human pride leaves erring man in night; 
 To thee we make our still and solemn prayer — 
 Be thou our Sun and every scene is fair ! 
 
 *^ When from oppression, crowned and mitred. Lord ! 
 We fled — a faint band — o'er the Atlantic main, 
 Thou wert our refuge— thou, our shield and sword — ' 
 Our light in gloom — our comforter in pain ; 
 Thy smile beamed brighter on our woodland shed 
 Than all earth's glory on a regal head. 
 
 ^* And oft, amid the darkness and the fears 
 
 Of them thy goodness gave to share my lot, 
 
 ThoH hast in mercy listened to the tears 
 
 Of love and innocence in this rude cot, 
 
 And filled pale lips with bread, and the raised arm 
 
 Of murder palsied ere its wrath could harm. 
 
 ^^ When through the unbarred window on our bed 
 The famishing bear hath looked — or to our hearth 
 The tyger sprung to tear the babe — or red 
 The hatchet gleamed along the glade, on earth, 
 Ev'n as in Eden, thou hast walked in power, 
 And saved us in the dark and trying hour. 
 
 *^ When, gathered round the winter fire, whose flames 
 The cold gale, howling through the cottage, fanned. 
 
Hap of tftt croloni0t 101 
 
 We talked o'er distant loved and honoured names. 
 And siglied when thinking of our native land, 
 Thy still, small voice was heard — ^ The same God 
 
 here 
 Beholds thee as thy friends beloved and dear.' 
 
 "Thus hast thou been our comfort-— thou, for whom 
 We left the land — loved land ! that gave us birth. 
 And sought these shores of savageness and gloom, 
 Cold, faint and sick—the exiles of the earth ! 
 We heard thy summons. Lord ! and here we are. 
 Near to thy love — from earthly IdVes afar ! 
 
 ** Softly beneath thine all-protecting smile 
 Hath been our sleep in perils dire— and on 
 The stormy waters and the rugged soil 
 Thy blessing hath descended, and thy sun 
 Hath unto us such gladdening harvests givjen 
 As erst came down on Zin from pitying heaven. 
 
 ** Narrow and dark through this continuous shade 
 Our winding paths o'er cliffs and moors must be ; 
 But bright with verdure is our lovely glade. 
 Bright as our love and sweet as piety; 
 And here, though danger point the poisoned dart. 
 We wear a charm, true faith, within the heart. 
 
 " The radiant sun, thy glorious work, O Lord ! 
 Fades from the west and lights the moon on high ; 
 As they who trust in thy most holy word, 
 Catch light and glory from the blessed sky ; 
 
102 pjour of Seattle 
 
 And even here amid the forest's gloom 
 
 Life's darkest hours thy smile can e'er illume." 
 
 The exile turned and entered to his home, 
 
 Blest with tlie view his pious soul had caught 
 
 Of heaven's mysterious ways — and o'er him come, 
 
 As through his mind roll living streams of thought. 
 
 Such gleams of Joy as ever must arise 
 
 From his pure heart who worships at the skies. 
 
 Irreverent sons of Plymouth's pilgrim hand ! 
 Approach not them ye will not to revere ! 
 The wandering fathers of this mighty land 
 Contemplate thou with reverence and fear. 
 Heir of the Faithful ! let thy bosom take 
 The faith that dared the exile and the stake ! 
 
 THE HOUR OF DEATH. 
 
 Whene'er in solemn meditative mood 
 I roam alone o'er nature's fair domain. 
 Or 'mid the shadowy stillness of the wood. 
 Or o'er the shell-strewn beach of the bright main. 
 Or the green waving upland lawn, 
 Where pearly dew-drops gem the flowers, 
 And summer smiles at rosy dawn. 
 Like memory o'er unsinning hours, 
 
I^mir of B$s^t% 103 
 
 I often think that soon the time must come, 
 When I shall change this fair world for the tomb. 
 
 I think—and sorrow steals a tear the while — 
 That spring will perfume all the inspiring air, 
 And summer suns o'er lovely landscapes smile. 
 And autumn heaven's own garb of glory wear; 
 That silver voices, fond and sweet. 
 Will mingle in devoted love. 
 And happy youths and maidens meet, 
 Where now with mournful steps I rove; 
 But when bright flowers and suns and fields are gay. 
 Where shall I be ! — where will my footsteps stray 2 
 
 The glorious sun in radiant heaven will rise. 
 And soft voiced birds amid the roselight sing; 
 The mellow moon will shine in bright blue skies. 
 And groves breathe music o'er the gushing spring ; 
 But where will be the lonely one, 
 Who swept his lyre in wayward mood. 
 And sighed and sung and wept alone 
 In holy nature's solitude? 
 Where shall I be when other bards are seen 
 Wandering in reverie where I oft have been ? 
 
 The paths I've worn — a stranger's foot will tread — 
 The trees I've reared — will yield no fruit to me — 
 The flowers I've trained — can^t^blossom for the 
 
 dead — ^ 
 
 The name I've cherished — what is tb^t\to thee, 
 
 K X ^ ■ 
 
104 j^our of mtsittt. 
 
 Pale phantom of the brain — Fame ! 
 
 There's none to weep when I am gone ; 
 
 E'en if thou wilt, forget my name — 
 
 Fve lived and will die alone! 
 I ne'er could brook an eye upon my heart — 
 As I have lived, even so I will depart. 
 
 Alas ! 'tis very sad to think that we, 
 Sons of the sun, eternal heirs of light. 
 Must perish sooner than the wind-tossed tree. 
 Our hands have planted, and unending night 
 Close o'er our buried memories ! 
 Our sphere of starry thought — our sun 
 Of glory quenched in morning skies — 
 Our sceptre broken — empire gone — 
 The voice, that spake creations into birth, 
 Too weak to fright the worm from human earth ! 
 
 I know not where this heart will sigh its last — 
 I cannot tell what shaft will deal the blow — 
 Nor, when the final agony is past. 
 Whither my spirit from this world will go : 
 
 It w ill not sleep, it cannot die. 
 
 It is too pure to grovel here ; 
 
 Among the worlds beyond the sky, 
 
 In some unknown but lovely sphere, 
 O may it dwell all bodiless and bright, 
 Shrined in a temple of eternal light! 
 
 But, like our fondest hopes and best desires. 
 Our aspirations may be all in vain ; 
 
Our souls may worship their own glorious fires. 
 Which light us only into dust again ; 
 Perchance, the creatures of an hour. 
 Our being closes in the grave — 
 Of death and dark corruption's power 
 I would not be the thrall and slave ; 
 No — let me plunge into the black abyss — 
 My spirit shudders at the thought of this ! 
 
 Where'er the spirit goes — however it lives — 
 I cannot doubt it sometimes comes below. 
 And from the scenes of mortal love derives 
 Much to enhance its happiness or wo. 
 And when I muse of death and gloom. 
 And all that saints and prophets tell, 
 I pause not at the dark, cold tomb, 
 Nor listen to the passing knell, 
 But think how dear the scenes I loved will be 
 When 1 gaze on them from eternity ! 
 
 THE DIRGE. 
 
 W EEP not thou for the dead 1 
 Sweet are their dreamless slumbers in the tomb- 
 Their eyelids move not in the morning's light, 
 No sun breaks on the solitary gloom. 
 
106 mitqt. 
 
 No sound disturbs the silence of their night- 
 Soft seems their lowly bed ! 
 
 Grieve not for them, whose days 
 Of fleshly durance have so quickly passed^ — 
 Who feel no more affliction's iron chain ! 
 Sigh not for them who long since sighed their last, 
 Never to taste of sin and wo again 
 
 In realms of joy and praise ! 
 
 What they were once to thee 
 It nought avails to think — save thou canst draw 
 Pure thoughts of piety, and peace, and love. 
 And reverent faith in heaven's eternal law, 
 From their soft teachings, ere they soared above^ 
 
 Lost in Eternity ! 
 
 When o'er the pallid brow 
 Death flings his shadow — and the pale, cold cheek 
 Quivers, and light forsakes the upturned eye. 
 And the voice fails ere faltering lips can speak 
 The last farewell — be not dismayed — to die 
 
 Is man's last lot below ! 
 
 Death o'er the world hath passed 
 Oft, and the charnel closed in silence o'er 
 Revolvent generations — past and gone ! 
 And he will reign till earth can hold no more — 
 Till Time shall sink beneath the Eternal Throne, 
 
 And heaven receive its last. 
 
mvqt. 107 
 
 Death enters at our birth 
 The moulded form we idolize so much. 
 And hour by hour some subtle thread dissolves? 
 That links the web of life — at his cold touch 
 Power after power decays as time revolves. 
 
 Till earth is blent with earth. 
 
 The soul cannot abide 
 In the dark dreariness of flesh and sin ; — 
 Its powers are chained and trampled on by clay. 
 And paralyzed and crushed — 't would enter in 
 Its own pure heaven, where passion's disarray 
 
 Comes not, nor hate nor pride. 
 
 Come, widowed one ! with me, 
 And we will wander through the shades of death ! 
 Look now upon those sheeted forms that soar 
 Amid the rosy air ! their perfumed breath 
 Wafts the rich fragrance of heaven's flowery shore— 
 
 Amid the light of Deity ! 
 
 Would'st thou wail o'er their flight ? 
 Or curb their pinions with the chains of Time ? 
 Art thou or canst thou be so happy here, 
 Thy spirit pants not for a fairer clime ? 
 O, sorrowing child of sin, and doubt, and fear ! 
 
 Thy heart knows no delight. 
 
 Would'st thou roll back the waves 
 Of the unfathomed ocean of the Past, 
 K 2 
 
108' Bir§t. 
 
 And from soft slumbers wake the unilreaming Dead, 
 Again to shiver in the bleak, cold blast, 
 Again the desert of despair to tread. 
 And motirn their peaceful graves ? 
 
 Ah, no ! — forget them not ! 
 Thoughts of the dead incite to worthy deeds. 
 Or from the paths of lawless ill deter ; 
 When the lone heart in silent sorrow bleeds, 
 Or sin entices — to the past recur — 
 
 Trust heaven — ^thou wilt not be forgot ! 
 
 Weep not for them who leave 
 In childhood's sinless hours the haunts of vice ! 
 Mourn not the lovely in their bloom restored 
 To the bright bowers of their own paradise ! 
 Mourn not the good who meet their honoured Lor4 
 
 Where they no more can grieve ! 
 
 But rather weep and mourn 
 That thou art yet a sinning child of dust. 
 Changeful as April skies or fortune's brow ; 
 And, while thy grief prevails, be wise, and jUvSt, 
 And kind — ^so thou shalt die like flowers that blow^ 
 
 And into rose-air turn. 
 
KECHOPOZ.XS. 
 
 Amid the noise and close pursuit of gain, 
 jind strife of interest, and show, and glare 
 Of cities, death becomes a spectacle 
 Of sombre pomp, to gaze on, not to feel ; 
 A thing of stern necessity which all 
 Idly believe they must encounter, w^hen 
 Time summons; but they think not that a chance, 
 A step, a word, a look, may seal their fate. 
 And bear them on to ruin ; the mere form, 
 The mantle of the grave, so oft beheld, 
 Becomes familiar — but the thought, that burns 
 Into the bosom, purifying all 
 The taints and blots of years, and leading on 
 The spirit to deep penitence for sin. 
 Comes not within the heart. — Whene'er the soul 
 Contemplative, would with the sainted dead 
 Hold still communion, living forms obtrude^ 
 And blend the grossness and the poor parade 
 Of earth, with the pure essence of our thought 5 
 And sounds, unmeet for meditation's ear, 
 Break on the holy solitude, and tear 
 The spirit from its loftiness, and bring 
 
110 0tttopoli». 
 
 All the vain forms and unwise usages 
 
 Of the cold world, between us and the skies. 
 
 But would'st thou feel the deep solemnity 
 And awe, unmixed, if thou revere heaven's law, 
 With dread fanatic, go thou to the grave 
 Of some poor villager, and contemplate 
 His silent burial ! There thou wilt see 
 The coffin and the bier — the sable pall, 
 And dark-robed mourners, and thine ear will catck 
 The dreary stroke of mattock and of spade. 
 And thou wilt hear that hollow, deathlike sound 
 Of falling clay, most awful melancholy. 
 As in the city's mighty burying place. 
 But less of forms — less of the world around- 
 More of the spirit of the scene, the flight 
 Unknown of that most subtle thing called life, 
 The untravelled realm beyond thee and the Judge 
 Immaculate, who waits thy coming, then 
 In solitude and silence, thou wilt muse. 
 And bow thy spirit 'neath the throne of heaven. 
 Tears shed when none can mark them must be pure. 
 Gushing from the full heart, and when the corse 
 Is laid within the narrow house, that holds 
 All man's ambition, love, and wealth, and hope, 
 And solitude doth shadow all the scene. 
 Lone on the hill-side, thou, in passing near. 
 To contemplate the last abode of earth, 
 See'st some pale mourner seated by the grave. 
 Where the uprooted sods, new placed in earihi 
 Wither to yellowness in the hot sun, 
 
^ecropoU0. 1 1 1 
 
 Thou may'st be sure the grief thou see'st is true j 
 And it will do thy bosom good to mark 
 That silent mourner ; more than loud lament, 
 And prayers profane, and showers of ready tears, 
 Such deep yet humble wo avails with Him 
 Who gave the dead son living to the arms 
 Of her who had given worlds to see him live, 
 Yet asked not back the dead. — The saddest scenes 
 Of our mortality to searching minds, 
 Become a pleasure when the human heart 
 Pours its untainted feelings forth, and gives 
 Like calm, deep waters, every image back 
 In nature unimpaired. There is in truth. 
 However uncultured, such an eloquence 
 Of joy or sorrow, as imparts its force 
 E'en to the hardest heart ; and would'st thou hope 
 To be remembered fondly after death. 
 Not with continual tears and sighs, but love 
 Growing with thought, until it quite absorbs 
 The heart, and gives its utterance by deeds. 
 Such as the mourner thinks thou would'st approve 
 Living — go, and resign thy breath to Him 
 Who gave it, mid calm nature's soft repose 5 
 Then thou wilt sink into thy final rest. 
 The dreamless sleep whose morning has no end, 
 With many things to comfort thy departure ; 
 Feeling, when o'er thee comes the last cold thrill 
 Of shuddering nature, and thy voice grows weak 
 And hollow, and the dew upon thy brow 
 
112 <tton!50latiom 
 
 Wets the warm lips of love, and many grasp 
 Convulsively thy bloodless hand, that they 
 Will fondly think of thee when thou art gone, 
 And never speak thy name except in praise. 
 
 COHJSOIuJLTlOUt' 
 
 Why weep*st thou, son of earth ? 
 Why writhes thy pallid brow in inward strife, 
 Or heaves thy bosom with convulsive sighs? 
 O, art thou weary of thy lonely life, 
 And panting for a being in the skies? 
 
 Speak— let thy grief come forth ! 
 
 Hath some beloved friend 
 Left thee in loneliness to sigh and weep. 
 And evermore to feel thyself alone^ 
 Thy lovely bride who on thy heart did sleep, 
 Or she who gave thee birth — her only one. 
 
 Beloved without end ? 
 
 Perchance, thou mourn'st the loss 
 Of some long faithful friend— now proved untrue. 
 Baring thy bosom naked to the gaze 
 And mockery of the world— and through and through 
 Thy heart is pierced — and thou in evil days 
 
 Alone must bear the cross ; 
 
And find no comforter in all 
 Thy sorrows and thy sicknesses, wliile hate 
 And persecution follow thee and goad 
 And wound thee sore — and thou canst not relate 
 Thy griefs to any friend, but bear'st thy load 
 
 As H were thy funeral pall. 
 
 The sweet friends of thy youth, 
 Thy kindred loves, the truest and the best, 
 All may have left thee, or by death or worse, 
 Keen-cutting treachery ; and in thy breast 
 Their blessing's changed into a withering curse^ — 
 
 And memory's the grave of truth. 
 
 Yet weep not o'er thy doom 
 As those who hide their treasure in the dust ; 
 Though thou art poor and scarce canst lay thy head 
 In peace to rest, yet fail not in thy trust 
 Of Him who watches o'er thy humble bed — 
 
 There's light amid the gloom. 
 
 The hand, that erst sent food 
 Ev'n in the beaks of ravens to the seer. 
 And manna o'er the desert wilderness, 
 Will serve thy wants ev'n in thy greatest fear. 
 And in the agony of thy distress 
 
 Reveal unlooked for good. 
 
 Then weep no more nor sigh ! 
 The Supreme Good wields not His power in vain ; 
 
^4 ;^iamt ilttounti0. 
 
 Forgive thy foes and love them for His sake, 
 Who sees and will relieve thy hardest pain ; 
 Trust Him and weep not — and thy heart will take 
 His image from the sky ! 
 
 THE MIAMI MOVX7BS. 
 
 *Rogas ubipost obitum jaceas ? ubi non nata jaceant." 
 
 Wrecks of lost nations ! monuments of deeds, 
 Immortal once — but all forgotten now ! 
 Mysterious ruins of a race unknown, 
 As proud of ancestry, and pomp, and fame — 
 Prouder, perchance, than those who ponder here 
 O'er what their wild conjectures cannot solve ! 
 Who raised these mouldering battlements? who trod 
 In jealous glory o^er these ruined walls ?— 
 Who reigned, who triumphed, or who perished here ? 
 What scenes of revelry, and mirth, and crime. 
 And love, and hate, and bliss and bale have passed ? 
 Ah ! none can tell. Oblivion's dusky folds 
 Shroud all the Past, and none may lift the pall; 
 Or, if they could, what would await the eye 
 Of antique research, but the fleshless forms 
 Of olden time ; dark giant bones that tell — 
 Nothing ! dim mysteries of the earth and air ! 
 Since human passions met in conflict here. 
 
The woods of centuries have grown — and oft 
 And long, the timid deer hath bounded o'er 
 The sepulchre of warriors;, and wild birds 
 Sung notes of love o'er slaughter's crimson field. 
 And the gaunt wolf and catamount and fox 
 Have made their couches in the embattled towers 
 Of dauntless chiefs, nor dreamt of danger there ! 
 Princes and kings — the wise, the great, the good. 
 May slumber here, and blend their honoured dust 
 With Freedom's soil ; and navies may have rode 
 On the same wave that bears our starry sails. 
 Here heroes may have bled to win a name 
 On Glory's sun-bright scroll, and prophets watched 
 Their holy shrines, whose fires no longer glow. 
 Sweet rose and woodbine bowers around these walls 
 May once have bloomed less fragrant and less fair 
 Than the fond hearts that blended, and the lips 
 That pressed in passion's rapture ; and these airs 
 That float unconscious by, may have been born 
 Of gales, that bore Love's soft enchanting words. 
 But all is silent now as Death's own halls ! 
 Empires have perished where these forests to\f ep 
 In desolate array — and nations sunk 
 With all their glories, to the darkling gulf 
 Of cold forgetfulness ! — But what avails 
 The uncertain quest, the dark and wildering search 
 For those whose spirits have hut passed v«ay 
 To the dark land of shadow^s and of dreams, 
 L 
 
H6 UffigM. 
 
 An hour before our own ? Why in amaze 
 Behold these shattered walls, when other times 
 Shall hang in wondering marvel o'er our own 
 Proud cities, and inquire — ^* Who builded these ?'^ 
 
 RHIGAS. 
 
 [The first of modern Grecian worthies, \vho invoked and concentrat- 
 ed those thunders of vengeance which have since burst over the empire 
 of Turkey in Greece. He fell by treachery, in May, 1798.] 
 
 From Thessaly's woods a voice goes forth, 
 A voice of wrath o'er the groaning earth, 
 And the ancient hills, as it sounds along, 
 Wail back the cry of a nation's wrong, 
 And the ^gean Isles with a shout reply 
 To the far-heard trump of victory. 
 
 Olympus stoops to hear 
 
 Tlie voice of patriot power. 
 
 And the gods of Greece appear 
 In this dark and fearful hour. 
 
 Men stand erect in their pride again, 
 
 And grasp the sabre, that long hath lain. 
 
 Like the soul of Greece, in the sloth and rust 
 
 Of dead despair — and they shake the dust 
 
 Of slavery from their banners p/oud. 
 
 And swear they shall be their ,aield or shroud j 
 
The deep wild voice of wrath wails on, 
 And OEta hows as it hurries by, 
 
 And as it sweeps o'er Marathon, 
 The dead send up an awful cry. 
 
 That voice thrills through the hearts of men, 
 Like lightning through a tomb — the glen, 
 The vale, the hill, and the holy wood 
 Return it back like an ocean flood, 
 And the Priestess lights her Delphic shrine, 
 And o'er it bends with a look divine; 
 And helm and brand and spear 
 
 In the altar's blazing glare. 
 And the warrior dead come near, 
 
 In the solemn guise of prayen 
 
 The beacon-lights of the brave around 
 Blaze to the sky o'er the holy ground. 
 And warrior-forms in their armour gleam. 
 Like tlie giant shapes of a troubled dream ; 
 With lances in rest, and swords in hand. 
 As the Grecians stood, the Grecians stand. 
 
 The Turk is slumbering by 
 
 In his garb of blood and death— 
 
 A nation's victor cry 
 Is hanging on a breath ! 
 
 'Mid the pillared ruin's hollow gloom. 
 Bursting in wrath from the sleepless tomb. 
 In his hauberk each and his belted brand, 
 The dead arise in their stern command; 
 
118 Uffiqa^. 
 
 They long have groanM in a restless trance, 
 But they hear the voice, and seize the lance, 
 And put their terrors on — 
 
 And they throng around the brave, 
 And chant high glories gone 
 In the deep voice of the grave. 
 
 A glorious shape is passing by, 
 With a brow of gloom and a lowering eye^ — 
 His casque is severed — his banner torn — 
 His sabre broken, and his look forlorn ! 
 Like a warrior's ghost in the lightning's light, 
 He stands before that altar bright. 
 
 The voice of wrath is still. 
 And the beacon-fires are dim, 
 
 And o'er each midnight hill 
 Is heard a funeral hymn. 
 
 **Dark the Danube, but darker far 
 The blood on the Turkish seymetar! 
 Dark the Danube, and deep its wave! 
 But darker and deeper Rhigas' grave ! 
 The mighty w^aters flow lonely on. 
 But they bear the corse of Grecians son ! 
 Kot Passwan Oglou's power. 
 
 Nor the shield of night could save — 
 Death is the patriot's dower — 
 
 His freedom is the grave !" 
 
 Then thrice the warriors uttered ^^ wo !" 
 And thrice waved their sabres tu and fro, 
 
And vanished then with a hollow groan, 
 And the Priestess stood by her shrine alone. 
 The fire burned dim, but it burned on still, 
 When again there came from Ida's hill 
 The wild low hymn of death ; 
 
 But in w rath and grief it came, 
 And the listener held his breath, 
 And called on Jesu's name. 
 
 " Slaves to the Moslem ! victory's lords ! 
 To the dust again bequeath your swords ? 
 No — they shall gleam in carnage yet 
 'Mid the deep death-thirst of the bayonet ! 
 The corse of Rhigas floats on the wave. 
 But his spirit sleeps not in the grave. 
 
 Let a nation's battle-cry 
 Ring on the free-born air ! 
 
 Let groans ascend the sky — 
 The hero dwells not there !" 
 
 The voice of wrath is high and loud. 
 
 And the Great of Greece are stern and proud. 
 
 And the beacon fires are lighted now 
 
 On the sea's wild wave and the mountain's brow, 
 
 And the sword gleams red on Marathon, 
 
 And a strong arm shakes the Ott'man throne ! 
 
 In the Grecian army's van, 
 'Mid havoc, death and flame, 
 
 Careers a god-like man — 
 His war-word, Rhjgas' name ! 
 
 M 
 
sovtirn'T. 
 
 Syren, Farewell ! perchance, a last Farewell! 
 Thy victim votary loves alike and fears 
 Thy potent spell, thy bay- wreath gemmed with tears; 
 Thine eye and voice, that bid the bosom swell ; 
 Thy charms, thy woes, no mortal tongue may tell j 
 Beauty that maddens, and despair that sears, 
 The spirit glowing in its youth of years, 
 Throned in its heaven of thought o'er yawning hell! 
 
 Lonely and dark have been my youthful days ; 
 Burdened with poverty, and woes, and lies, 
 And all to me beneath the watchful skies, 
 Have been untrue, save Him I ever praise; 
 Then fare thee w ell, Syren of the heart ! 
 My hope in Heaven will never more depart. 
 
 rjMS.