THE 
 
 WILLIAM R. PERKINS 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 DUKE UNIVERSITY 
 
 Rare Books 
 
THE 
 
 PLEASURES OF HOPE, 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS, 
 
 BY 
 THOMAS CAMPBELL, 
 
 Author of " Gertrude of Wyoming"," &c. &c, 
 
 BOSTOJV. 
 
 PRINTED BY JOSHUA BELCHER. 
 1811. 
 
 L 
 
THE 
 
 PLEASURES OF HOPE 
 
 PART I. 
 
ANALYSIS OF PARI* I. 
 
 THE Poem opens with a comparison between the beaury of re- 
 mote objects in a landscape, and those ideal scenes of felicity which 
 the imagination delights to contemplate ...the influence of anticipation 
 upon the other passions is next delineated... .an allusion is made to the 
 well known fiction in pagan tradition, that, when all the guardian de- 
 ities of mankind abandoned the world, Hope alone was left behind.... 
 the consolations of this passion in situations of danger and distress.... 
 the seaman on his midnight watch....the soldier marching into bat- 
 tle., .allusion to the interesting adventures of Byron. 
 
 The inspiration of Hope, as it actuates the efforts of genius, whether 
 in the department of science or of taste... domestic felicity, how inti- 
 mately corme-tedwiih views of future happiness. ...picture of a mother 
 watching her infant when asleep... pictures of the prisoner, the mani- 
 ac, and the wanderer. 
 
 From the consolations of individual misery, a transition is made to 
 prospects of political improvement in the future state of society.. ..the 
 wide field that is yet open for the progress of humanizing arts among 
 uncivilized nations.. ..from these views of amelioration of sociery, and 
 the extension of liberty and truth over despotic and barbarous coun- 
 tries, by a melancholy contrast of ideas we are led to reflect upon the 
 hard fate of a brave people recently conspicuous in their struggles for 
 independence . .description of the capture of Warsaw, of the last 
 contest of the oppressors and the oppressed, and the massacre of the 
 Polish patriots at the bridge of Prague.. ..apostrophe to the - self-inter. 
 ested enemies of human improvement.. ..the wrongs of Africa,. ..the 
 barbarous policy of Europeans in India... prophecy in the Hindoo 
 mythology of the expected descent of the Deity, *<i redress the mise- 
 ries of their race, and to take vengeance on the violators of justice and 
 mercy. 
 
 1* 
 
PLEASURES OF HOPE 
 
 PART I. 
 
 At summer eve, when Heav'n's aerial bow- 
 Spans with bright arch the glittering hills below^ 
 Why to yon mountain turns the musing eye, 
 Whose sun-bright summit mingles with the sky i 
 Why do those cliffs of shadowy tint appear 
 More sweet than all the landscape smiling near ?— 
 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
 And robes the mountain in its azure hue. 
 
 Thus, with delight, we linger to survey 
 The promis'd joys of life's unmeasured way ; 
 
Thus, from afar, each dim-discover'd scene 
 More pleasing- seems than all the past hath been ; 
 And every form, that Fancy can repair 
 From dark oblivion, glows divinely there. 
 
 What potent spirit guides the raptur'd eye 
 To pierce the shades of dim futurity ? 
 Can Wisdom lend, with all her heav'nly power, 
 The pledge of joy's anticipated hour ? 
 Ah, no ! she darkly sees the fate of man — 
 Her dim horizon bounded to a span ; 
 Or, if she hold an image to the view, 
 'Tis nature pictured too severely true. 
 
 With thee, sweet Hope ! resides the heav'nly lights 
 That pours remotest rapture on the sight : 
 Thine is the charm of life's bewilder'd way, 
 That calls each slumbering passion into play : 
 W T ak'd by thy touch, I see the sister band, 
 On tiptoe watching, start at thy command, 
 And fly where'er thy mandate bids them steer, 
 To Pleasure's path, or Glory's bright career. 
 
Primeval Hope, the Aonian Muses say, 
 When Man and Nature mourn'd their first decay ; 
 When every form of death, and every woe, 
 Shot from malignant stars to earth below ; 
 When Murder bar'd his arm, and rampant War 
 Yok'd the red dragons of her iron car ; 
 When Peace and Mercy, banish'd from the plain, 
 Sprung on the viewless winds to Heav'n again ; 
 All, all forsook the friendless guilty mind, 
 But Hope, the charmer, linger'd still behind. 
 
 Thus, while Elijah's burning wheels prepare 
 From Carmel's height to sweep the fields of air, 
 The prophet's mantle, ere his flight began, 
 Dropp'd on the world — a sacred gift to man. 
 
 Auspicious Hope ! in thy sweet garden grow 
 Wreaths for each toil, a charm for every woe : 
 Won by their sweets, in Nature's languid hour 
 The way-worn pilgrim seeks thy summer bower ; 
 There, as the wild-bee murmurs on the wing, 
 What peaceful dreams thy handmaid spirits bring 
 
10 
 
 What viewless forms th' JEolian organ play, 
 
 And sweep the furrow'd lines of anxious thought away! 
 
 Angel of life ! thy glittering- wings explore 
 Earth's loneliest bounds, and Ocean's wildest shore 
 Lo ! to the wint'ry winds the pilot yields 
 His bark careering o'er unfathom'd fields ; 
 Now on Atlantic waves he rides afar, 
 "Where Andes, giant of the western star, 
 With meteor standard to the winds unfurl'd. 
 Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world. 
 
 Now far he sweeps, where scarce a summer smiles ; 
 On Behring's rocks, or Greenland's naked isles ; 
 Cold on his midnight watch the breezes blow, 
 From wastes that slumber in eternal snow ; 
 And waft, across the waves' tumultuous roar, 
 The wolf's long howl from Oonalaska's shore. 
 
 Poor child of danger, nursling of the storm, 
 Sad are the woes that wreck thy manly form ! 
 Hocks, waves, and winds, the shatter'd bark delav . 
 Thy heart is sad, thy home is far away 
 
n 
 
 But Hope can here her moonlight vigils keep, 
 \nd sing to charm the spirit of the deep. 
 Swift as yon streamer lights the starry pole, 
 Her visions warm the watchman's pensive soul : 
 His native hills that rise in happier climes, 
 The grot that heard his song of other times, 
 His cottage-home, his bark of slender sail, 
 His glassy lake, and broom wood-blossom'd vale, 
 Rash on his thought ; he sw r eeps before the wind, 
 Treads the lov'd shore he sigh'd to leave behind ; 
 Meets at each step a friend's familiar face, 
 And flies as last to Helen's long embrace ; 
 Wipes from her cheek the rapture-speaking tear> 
 And clasps, with many a sigh, his children dear ! 
 While, long neglected, but at length caress'd, 
 His faithful dog salutes the smiling guest, 
 Points to the master's eyes (where'er they roam) 
 His wistful face, and whines a welcome home. 
 
 Friend of the brave i in peril's darkest hour, 
 Intrepid Virtue looks to thee for power ; 
 To thee the heart its trembling homage yields, 
 On stormy floods, and carnage-cover'd fields. 
 
12 
 
 When front to front the banner'd hosts combine r 
 Halt ere they close, and form the dreadful line ; 
 When all is still on Death's devoted soil, 
 The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil ; 
 As ring's his glittering tube, he lifts on high 
 The dauntless brow, and spirit-speaking eye, 
 Hails in his heart the triumph yet to come, 
 And hears thy stormy music in the drum. 
 
 And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore 
 The hardy Byron to his native shore.— 1 
 In horrid climes, where Chiloe's tempests sweep 
 Tumultuous murmurs o'er the troubled deep, 
 'Twas his to mourn misfortune's rudest shock, 
 Scourg'd by the winds, and cradled on the rock, 
 To wake each joyless morn, and search again 
 The famish'd haunts of solitary men, 
 Whose race, unyielding as their native storm, 
 Knows not a trace of Nature but the form .; 
 Yet, at thy call, the hardy tar pursued, 
 Pale, but intrepid, sad, but unsubdued, 
 Pierc'd the deep woods, and, hailing from afar 
 The moon*a pule planet and the northern s\ 
 
Paus'd at each dreary cry, unheard before, 
 Hyaenas in the wild, and mermaids on the shore ; 
 Till, led by thee o'er many a cliff sublime, 
 lie found a warmer world, a milder clime, 
 A home to rest, a shelter to defend, 
 Peace and repose, a Briton and a friend ! 2 
 
 Congenial Hope ! thy passion-kindling- power, 
 How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled hour ! 
 On yon proud height, with Genius hand in hand, 
 I see thee light, and wave thy golden wand. 
 
 " Go, Child of Heaven ! (thy winged words proclaim) 
 5 Tis thine to search the boundless fields of fame ! 
 Lo ! Newton, priest of Nature, shines afar, 
 Scans the wide world, and numbers every star ! 
 Wilt thou, with him, mysterious rites apply, 
 And watch the shrine with wonder-beaming eye ? 
 Yes, thou shalt mark, with magic art profound, 
 The speed of light, the circling march of sound ; 
 Yv'ith Franklin, gi asp the lightning's fiery wing, 
 Or yield the lyre of Heaven another string, a 
 2 
 
-4 
 
 ;c The Swedish sage admires, in yonder bow'rs,* 
 His winged insects, and his rosy flow'rs ; 
 Calls from their woodland haunts the savage train 
 With sounding horn, and counts them on the plain- 
 So once, at Heav'n's command, the wand'rers came 
 To Eden's shade, and heard their various name. 
 
 " Far from the world, in yon sequester'd clime, 
 Slow pass the sons of wisdom, more sublime ; 
 Calm as the fields of Heav'n, his sapient eye 
 The lov'd Athenian lifts to realms on high ; 
 Admiring Plato, on his spotless page, 
 Stamps the bright dictates of the father sage : 
 * Shall nature bound to earth's diurnal span 
 '■ The fire of God, th' immortal soul of man "' 
 
 "Turn, Child of Heav'n, thy rapture -lightened eye 
 To Wisdom's walks, — the sacred Nine are nigh : 
 Hark ! from bright spires that gild the Delphian heigh' 
 From streams that wander in eternal light, 
 Rang'd on their hill, Harmcnia's daughters swell 
 The mingling tones of horn, ami harp, and shell r 
 
IS 
 
 Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs flow, 5 
 And Pythia's awful organ peals below. 
 
 "BelovMof Heav'n ! the smiling- Muse shall shed 
 Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head ; 
 Shall swell thy heart to rapture unconfin'd, 
 And breathe a holy madness o'er thy mind. 
 I see thee roam her guardian pow'r beneath, 
 And talk with spirits on the midnight heath ; 
 Inquire of guilty wand'rers whence they came, 
 And ask each blood-stain'd form his earthly name, 
 Then weave in rapid verse the deeds they tell, 
 And read the trembling world the tales of hell, 
 
 " When Yenus, thron'd in clouds of rosy hue, 
 Flings from her golden urn the vesper dew, 
 And bids fond man her glimmering noon employ, 
 Sacred to love and walks of tender joy ; 
 A milder mood the goddess shall fecal, 
 And soft as dew thy tones of music fall ; 
 While Beauty's deeply-pictur'd smiles impart 
 A pang more dear than pleasure to the heart— 
 
15 
 
 Warm as thy sighs shall flow the Lesbian strain, 
 And plead in Beauty's ear, nor plead in vain. 
 
 " Or wilt thou Orphean hymns more sacred deem, 
 And steep thy song in Mercy's mellow stream ; 
 To pensive drops the radiant eye beguile — 
 For Beauty's tears are lovelier than her smile ; — 
 On Nature's throbbing anguish pour relief, 
 And teach impassion'd souls the joy of grief? 
 
 " Yes ; to thy tongue shall seraph words be giv'n, 
 And pow'r on earth to plead the cause of heav'n : 
 The proud, the cold, untroubled heart of stone, 
 That never mus'd on sorrow but its own, 
 Unlocks a generous store at thy command, 
 Like Horeb's rocks beneath the prophet's hand. 6 
 The living lumber of his kindred earth, 
 Charm'd into soul, receives a second birth ; 
 Feels thy dread pow'r another heart afford, 
 Whose passion-touch'd harmonious strings accord 
 True as the circling spheres to Nature's plan ; 
 And man, the brother lives the friend of man! 
 
17 
 
 " Bright as the pillow rose at Heav'n's command, 
 When Israel march'd along- the desert land, 
 Blaz'd through the night on lonely wilds afar, 
 And told the path — a never- setting star : 
 So, heav'nly Genius, in thy course divine, 
 Hope is thy star, her light is ever thine." 
 
 Propitious Pow'r ! when rankling cares annoy 
 The sacred home of Hymeneal] joy ; 
 When doom'd to Poverty's sequester'd dell, 
 The wedded pair of love and virtue dwell, 
 Unpitied by the world, unknown to fame, 
 Their woes, their wishes, and their hearts the same- 
 Oh there, prophetic Hope ! thy smile bestow, 
 And chase the pangs that worth should never know. 
 There, as the parent deals his scanty store 
 To friendless babes, and weeps to give no more, 
 Tell, that his manly race shall yet assuage 
 Their father's wrongs, and shield his later age. 
 What though for him no Hybla sweets distil, 
 Nor bloomy vines wave purple on the hill ; 
 Tell, that when silent years have pass'd away, 
 That when his eyes grow dim, his tresses grej . 
 2* 
 
16 
 
 These busy hands a lovelier cot shall build, 
 And deck with fairer flow'rs his little field, 
 And call from Heav'n propitious dews to breathe 
 Arcadian beauty on the barren heath ; 
 Tell, that while Love's spontaneous smile endears 
 The days of peace, the sabbath of his years, 
 Health shall prolong to many a festive hour 
 The social pleasures of his humble bower. 
 
 Lo ! at the couch were infant beauty sleeps, 
 Her silent vatch the mournful mother keeps ; 
 She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies, 
 Smiles on her slumb'ring child with pensive eyes s 
 And weaves a song of melancholy joy — 
 " Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy : 
 No ling'ring hour of sorrow shall be thine ; 
 No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine , 
 Bright as his manly sire, the son shall be 
 In form and soul ; but, ah ! more blest than he 1 
 Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last, 
 Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past — 
 With many a smile my solitude repay, 
 And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away. 
 
19 
 
 " And say, when summon'd from the world and thee, 
 I lay my head beneath the willow tree, 
 Wilt thou, sweet mourner ! at my stone appear, 
 And soothe my parted spirit lingering- near ? 
 Oh, wilt thou come, at ev'ning hour, to shed 
 The tears of Memory o'er my narrow bed ; 
 With aching temples on thy hand reclin'd, 
 Muse on the last farewel I leave behind, 
 Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low. 
 And think on all my love, and all my woe I" 
 
 So speaks affection, ere the infant eye 
 Can look regard, or brighten in reply -, 
 But when the cherub lip hath learnt to claim 
 A mother's ear by that endearing name ; 
 Soon as the playful innocent can prove 
 A tear of pit}', or a smile of love, 
 Or cons his murmuring task beneath her care, 
 Or lisps with holy loek his ev'ning prayer, 
 Or gazing, mutely pensive, sits to hear 
 The mournful ballad warbled in his ear ; 
 How fondly looks admiring Hope the while, 
 At every artless tear, and every smile ' 
 
20 
 
 How glows the joyous parent to descry 
 A guileless bosom, true to sympathy ! 
 
 Where is the troubled heart, consign'd to share 
 Tumultuous toils, or solitary care, 
 Unblest by visionary thoughts that stray 
 To count the joys of Fortune's better day ! 
 Lo, nature, life, and liberty relume 
 The dim-eyed tenant of the dungeon gloom, 
 A long lost friend, or hapless child restor'd, 
 Smiles at his blazing hearth and social board ; 
 Warm from his heart the tears of rapture flow, 
 And virtue triumphs o'er remember'd woe. 
 
 Chide not his peace, proud Reason ! nor destroy 
 The shadowy forms of uncreated joy, 
 That urge the lingering tide of life, and pour 
 Spontaneous slumber on his midnight hour. 
 Hark ! the wild maniac sings, to chide the gale 
 That wafts so slow her lover's distant sail ; 
 She, sad spectatress, on the wint'ry shore 
 Watch 'd the rude surge his shroudless corse that bore, 
 
21 
 
 Knew the paie form, and, shrieking" in amaze, 
 Clasp'd her cold hands, and fix'd her maddening- gaze 
 Poor widow'd wretch ! 'twas there she wept in vain, 
 Till memory fled her agonizing brain : — 
 But Mercy gave, to charm the sense of woe, 
 Ideal peace, that truth could ne'er bestow ; 
 Warm on her heart the joys of Fancy beam, 
 And aimless Hope delights her darkest dream. 
 
 Oft when yon moon has climb'd the midnight sky, 
 And the lone sea-bird wakes its wildest cry, 
 Pil'd on the steep, her blazing faggots burn 
 To hail the bark that never can return j 
 And still she waits, but scarce forbears to weep 
 That constant love can linger on the deep. 
 
 And,mark the wretch, whose wand'rings never knew 
 The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue, 
 Whose erring heart the lash of sorrow bore, 
 But found not pity when it err'd no more. 
 Yon friendless man, at whose dejected eye 
 Th' unfeeling proud one looks — and oasses bv ; 
 
22 
 
 Condemn'd on Penury's barren path to roam, 
 Scorn'd by the world, and left without a home — 
 Ev'nhe, at evening", should he chance to stray 
 Down by the hamlet's hawthorn-scented way, 
 Where, round the cot's romantic glade are seen 
 The blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping- green, 
 Leans o'er its humble gate, and thinks the while — 
 Oh ! that for me some home like this would smile, 
 Some hamlet shade, to yield my sickly form, 
 Health in the breeze, and shelter in the storm ! 
 There should my hand no stinted boon assign 
 To wretched hearts with sorrows such as mine ! — 
 That generous wish can soothe unpitied care, 
 And Hope half mingles with the poor man's pray'r, 
 
 Hope ! when I mourn, with sympathizing mind, 
 The wrongs of fate, the woes of human kind, 
 Thy blissful omens bid my spirit see 
 The boundless fields of rapture yet to be; 
 I watch the wheels of Nature's mazy plan. 
 And learn the future by the past of man- 
 
Come, bright Improvement ! on the car of Time, 
 And rule the spacious world from clime to clime ; 
 Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, 
 Trace every wave, and culture every shore. 
 On Erie's banks, where tigers steal along, 
 And the dread Indian chants a dismal song, 
 Where human fiends on midnight errands walk, 
 And bathe in brains the murd'rous tomahawk; 
 There shall the flocks on thymy pasture stray, 
 And shepherds dance at Summer's op'ning day; 
 Each wand'ring genius of the lonely glen 
 Shall start to view the glittering haunts of men ; 
 And silent watch, on woodland heights around, 
 The village curfew, as it tolls profound. 
 
 In Lvbian groves, where damned rites are done, 
 That bathe the rocks in blood, and veil the sun. 
 Truth shall arrest the murd'rous arm profane, 
 Wild Obi flies" — the veil is rent in twain. 
 
 Where barb'rous hordes on Scythian mountains 
 roam, 
 Truth, Mercv, Freedom, vet shall find a home ; 
 
Where'er degraded Nature bleeds and pines, 
 From Guinea's coast to Sibir's dreary mines, e 
 Truth shall pervade th' unfathom'd darkness there, 
 And light the dreadful features of despair. — 
 Hark ! the stern captive spurns his heavy load, 
 And asks the image back that Heaven bestow'd! 
 Fierce in his eye the fire of valour burns, 
 And, as the slave departs, the man returns ! 
 
 Oh ! sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceas'd awhile, 
 And hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile, 
 When leagu'd Oppression pour'd to northern wars 
 Her whisker'd pandoors and her fierce hussars, 
 Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, 
 PeaPdher loud drum, and twang'd her trumpet horn 
 Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van, 
 
 Warsaw's last champion, from her height survey M, 
 Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid, — 
 Oh ! Heav'n ! he cried, my bleeding country save !— - 
 Is there no hand on high to shield the brave. 
 
25 
 
 Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains., 
 Rise, fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! 
 By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, 
 And swear for her to live !— with her to die ! 
 
 He said, and on the rampart-heights array'd 
 His trusty warriors, few, but undismay'd ; 
 Firm-pac'd and slow, a horrid front they form, 
 Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ; 
 Low, murm'ring sounds along their banners fly, 
 Eevenge, or death, — the watchword and reply ; 
 Then peal'd the notes, omnipotent to charm, 
 And the loud tocsin toll'd their last alarm ! — 
 
 In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few! 
 From rank to rank your volley'd thunder flew : — 
 Oh ! bloodiest picture in the book of Time, 
 Sarmatia fell, unwept, without a crime ; 
 Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe, 
 Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe! 
 DroppM from her nerveless grasp the shatter'd spear, 
 Clos'd her bright eye, and curb'd her high career ; — 
 
26 
 
 Hope, for a season, bade the world farewel, 
 And Freedom shriek'd — as Kosciusko fell! 
 
 The sun went down, nor ceas'd the carnage there. 
 Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air — 
 On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow, 
 His blood-dy'd waters murm'ring far below ; 
 The storm prevails, the rampart yields a way, 
 Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ! 
 Hark ! as the mouldering piles with thunder fall. 
 A thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call! 
 Earth shook — red meteors flash'd along the sky, 
 And conscious Nature shudder'd at the cry ! 
 
 Oh ! Righteous Heaven ! ere Freedom found a grave. 
 Why slept the sword, omnipotent to save ? 
 Where was thine arm, O Vengeance ! where thy rod, 
 That smote the foes of Zion and of God, 
 That crush'd proud Amnion, when his iron car 
 Was yok'd in wrath) and thunder'd from afar ! 
 Where was the storm that slumberM till the host 
 Of blood-stain'd Pharaoh left their trembling coast > 
 
27 
 
 Then bade the deep in wild commotion flow. 
 And heav'd an ocean on their march below : 
 
 Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! 
 Ye that at Marathon and Leuctra bled ! 
 Friends of the world! restore your swords to man, 
 Fight in his sacred cause, and lead the van ! 
 Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood atone, 
 And make her arm puissant as your own ! 
 Oh ! once again to Freedom's cause return 
 The Patriot Tell — the Bruce of Bax.nockburn ! 
 
 Yes ! thy proud lords, unpitied land ! shall see 
 That man hath yet a soul — and dare be free ! 
 A little while, along- thy saddening- plains, 
 The starless night of desolation reigns ; 
 Truth shall restore the light by Nature giv'n, 
 And, like Prometheus, bring the fire of Heaven 1 
 Prone to the dust Oppression shall be hurl'd, — 
 Her name, her nature, wither'd from the world ! 
 
 Ye that the rising morn invidious mark, 
 And hate the light — because your deeds are dark j 
 
28 
 
 Ye that expanding- truth invidious view, 
 And think, or wish the song- of Hope untrue ; 
 Perhaps your little hands presume to span 
 The march of Genius, and the pow'rs of Man ; 
 Perhaps ye watch, at Pride's unhallow'd shrine, 
 Her victims, newly slain, and thus divine : — 
 u Here shall thy triumph, Genius, cease ; and here, 
 Truth, Science, Virtue, close your short career." 
 
 Tyrants ! in vain ye trace the wizard ring*; 
 In vain ye limit Mind's unwearied spring : 
 What *. can ye lull the winged winds asleep, 
 Arrest the rolling- world, or chain the deep ? 
 No : — the wild wave contemns your scepter'd hand ; 
 It roll'd not back when Canute g-ave command ! 
 
 Man ! can thy doom no brighter soul allow \ 
 Still must thou live a blot on Nature's brow ? 
 Shall War's polluted banner ne'er be furl'd ? 
 Shall crimes and tyrants cease but with the world ? 
 What ! are thy triumphs, sacred Truth, belied ; 
 Whv then hath Plato liv'd — or Sidnev died . 
 
29 
 
 Ye fond adorers of departed fame, 
 Who warm at Scipio's worth, or Tully's name ! 
 Ye that, in fancied vision, can admire 
 The sword of Brutus, and the Theban lyre ! 
 Wrapt in historic ardour, who adore 
 Each classic haunt, and well-remember'd shore, 
 Where valour tun'd, amid her chosen throng*, 
 The Thracian trumpet and the Spartan song"; 
 Or, wand'ring thence, behold the later charms 
 Of England's glory, and Helvetia's arms ! 
 See Roman fire in Hampden's bosom swell, 
 And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell ! 
 Say, ye fond zealots to the worth of yore, 
 Hath Valour left the world — to live no more ? 
 No more shall Brutus bid a tyrant die, 
 And sternly smile with vengeance in his eye ? 
 Hampden no more, when suffering Freedom calls, 
 Encounter fate, and triumph as he falls ? 
 Nor Tell disclose, through peril and alarm, 
 The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm ? 
 
 Yes ! in that generous cause for ever strong', 
 The patriot's virtue, and the poet's song-, 
 
3Q 
 
 Still, as the tide of ages rolls away, 
 
 Shall charm the world, unconscious of decay ! 
 
 Yes ! there are hearts, prophetic Hope may trust, 
 That slumber yet in uncreated dust, 
 Ordain'd to fire th' adoring sons of earth 
 With every charm of wisdom and of worth; 
 Ordain'd to light, with intellectual day, 
 The mazy wheels of Nature as they play, 
 Or, warm with Fancy's energy, to glow, 
 And rival all but Shakspeare's name below ! 
 
 And say, supernal Powers! who deeply scan 
 HeavVs dark decrees, unfathom'd yet by man, 
 When shall the world call down, to cleanse her shame. 
 That embryo spirit, yet without a name, — 
 That friend of Nature, whose avenging hands 
 Shall burst the Lybian's adamantine bands ? 
 Who, sternly marking on his native soil, 
 The blood, the tears, the anguish, and the toil, 
 Shall bid each righteous heart exult, to see 
 P^ace to the slave, and vengeance on the free ! 
 
SI 
 
 Yet, yet, degraded men ! th' expected day 
 That breaks your bitter cup, is far away ; 
 Trade, wealth, and fashion, ask you still to bleed, 
 And holy men give scripture for the deed ; 
 Scourg'd and debas'd, no Britain stoops to save 
 A wretch, a coward ; yes, because a slave ! 
 
 Eternal Nature ! when thy giant hand 
 Had heav'dthe floods, andfix'd the trembling land, 
 When life sprung startling at thy plastic call, 
 Endless her forms, and Man the lord of all ! 
 Say, was that lordly form inspir'd by thee 
 To wear eternal chains, and bow the knee ? 
 Was man ordain'dthe slave of man to toil, 
 Yok'd with the brutes, and fetter'd to the soil ; 
 Weigh'd in a tyrant's balance with his gold ? 
 No ! — Nature stamp'd us in a heav'nly mould ! 
 She bade no wretch his thankless labour urge, 
 Nor, trembling, take the pittance and the scourge ! 
 No homeless Lybian, on the stormy deep, 
 To call upon his country's name, and weep ! 
 
 Lo ! once in triumph on his boundless plain, 
 The quiver'd chief of Congo lov'd to reign ; 
 
With fires prop or tion'd to his native sky, 
 Strength in his arm, and light'ning in his eye ; 
 Scourg'd with wild feet his BUn-illumin'd zone. 
 The spear, the lion, and the woods his own 
 Or led the combat, bold without a plan, 
 An artless savage, but a fearless man ! 
 
 The plunderer came : — alas ! no glory smiles 
 For Congo's chief on yonder Indian isles ; 
 For ever fallen ! no son of Nature now, 
 With Freedom charter'd on his manly brow ! 
 Faint, bleeding, bound, he weeps the night away, 
 And, when the sea-wind wafts the dewless day, 
 Starts, with a bursting heart, for ever more 
 To curse the sun that lights their guilty shore. 
 
 The shrill horn blew ;'°at that alarum knell 
 His guardian angel took a last farewel ! 
 That funeral dirge to darkness hath resign'd 
 The fiery grandeur of a generous mind ! — 
 Poor fetter'd man ! I hear thee whispering low 
 Unhallow'd vows to Guilt, the child of Woe ! 
 Friendless thy heart ; and, canst thou harbour there 
 A wish but death — a passion but 'despair i 
 
33 
 
 The widow'd Indian, when her lord expires, 
 Mounts the dread pile, and braves the funeral fires ! 
 So falls the heart at Thraldom's bitter sigh ! 
 So Virtue dies, the spouse of Liberty ! 
 
 But not to Lybia's barren climes alone, 
 To Chili, or the wild Siberian zone, 
 Belong the wretched heart and haggard eye, 
 Degraded worth, and poor misfortune's sigh !— 
 Ye orient realms, where Ganges' waters run ! 
 Prolific fields ! dominions of the sun ! 
 How long your tribes have trembled, and obeyed ! 
 How long was Timur's iron sceptre sway'd ! 1 1 
 Whose marshall'd hosts, the lions of the plain, 
 From Scythia's northern mountains to the main, 
 Rag'd o'er your plunder'd shrines and altars bare, 
 With blazing torch and gory scymkar, — 
 Stunn'd with the cries of death each gentle gale, 
 And bath'd in blood the verdure of the vale ! 
 Yet could no pangs the immortal spirit tame, 
 When Brama's children perish'd for his name : 
 The martyr smil'd beneath avenging pow'r, 
 A.nd brav'd the tyrant in his torturing hour ! 
 
When Europe sought your subject realms to gain, 
 And stretch'd her giant sceptre o'er the main, 
 Taught her proud barks their winding way to shape, 
 And brav'd the stormy spirit of the Cape ; > 2 
 Children of Brama ! then was Mercy nigh 
 To wash the stain of blood's eternal dye ? 
 Did peace descend, to triumph and to save, 
 When free-born Britons cross'd the Indian wavei 
 Ah, no ! — to more than Rome's ambition true, 
 The Nurse of Freedom gave it not to you ! 
 She the bold route of Europe's guilt began, 
 And in the march of nations, led the van ' 
 
 Rich in the gems of India's gaudy zone, 
 And plunder pil'd from kingdoms not their own, 
 Degenerate Trade ! thy minions could despise 
 The heart-born anguish of a thousand cries ; 
 Could lock, with impious hands, their teeming store, 
 While famish'd nations died along the shore; • a 
 Could mock the groans of fellow-men, and bear 
 The curse of kingdoms peopled with despair ; 
 Could stamp disgrace on man's polluted name, 
 And barter, with their gold, eternal shame ! 
 
But, hark ! as bow'd to earth the Bramin kneels, 
 From heav'nly climes propitious thunder peals ! 
 Of India's fate her guardian spirits tell, 
 Prophetic murmurs breathing on the shell, 
 And solemn sounds, that awe the list'ning mind. 
 Roll on the azure paths of every wind. 
 
 "Foes of mankind! (her guardian spirits say) 
 Revolving ages bring the bitter day, 
 When HeavVs unerring arm shall fall on you, 
 And blood for blood these Indian plains bedew ; 
 Nine times have Brama's wheels of lightning hurl'd 
 His awful presence o'er the alarmed world ; 
 Nine times hath Guilt, through all his giant frame, 
 Convulsive trembled as the Mighty came ; 
 Nine times hath suffering Mercy spar'd in vain — > * 
 But Heav'n shall burst her starry gates again ! 
 He comes ! dread Brama shakes the sunless sky 
 With murmuring wrath, and thunders from on high ! 
 Heaven's fiery horse, beneath his warrior form, 
 Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm ! 
 Wide waves his flickering sword, his bright arms glow 
 Like Summer suns, and light the world below ' 
 
36 
 
 Earth, and her trembling isles in Ocean's bed 
 Are shook, and Nature rocks beneath his tread i 
 
 " To pour redress on India's injur'd realm, 
 The oppressor to dethrone, the proud to whelm ; 
 To chase destruction from her plunder'd shore, 
 With arts and arms that triumph'd once before, 
 The tenth Avatar comes! at HeavVs command 
 Shall Seriswattee 1 5 wave her hallowed wand ! 
 AndCamdeo bright, and Ganesa sublime, 
 Shall bless with joy their own propitious clime ! — 
 Come, Heav'nly Powers ! primeval peace restore ! 
 Love ! — Merey ! — "Wisdom ! — rule for ever more !" 
 
 END OF PART FIRST 
 
THE 
 
 PLEASURES OF HOPE, 
 
 PART II 
 
ANALYSIS OF PART II. 
 
 APOSTROPHE to the power of Love. ...its intimate 
 connexion with generous and social Sensibility. -.allusion 
 to that beautiful passage in the beginning of the book of 
 Genesis, which represents the happiness of Paradise itself 
 incomplete, till iove was superadded to its other blessings.... 
 the dreams of future felicity which a lively imagination is 
 apt to cherish, when Hope is animated by refined attach- 
 ment.. ..this disposition to combine, in one imaginary scene 
 of residence, all that is pleasing in our estimate of happi- 
 ness, compared to the skill of the great artist, who person- 
 ified perfect beauty, in the picture of Venus, by an assem- 
 blage of the most beautiful features he could find.. ..a 
 summer and winter evening described, as they may be sup- 
 posed to arise in the mind of one who wishes, with enthu- 
 siasm, for the union of friendship and retirement. 
 
 Hope and Imagination inseparable agents.. ..even in those 
 contemplative moments when our imagination wanders 
 beyond the boundaries of this world, our minds are not un- 
 attended with an impression that we shall some day have 
 a wider and distinct prospect of the universe, instead of the 
 partial glimpse we now enjoy. 
 
 The last and most sublime influence of Hope, is the con- 
 cluding topic of the Poem. ...the predominance of a belief 
 in a future state over the terrors attendant on dissolution.... 
 the baneful influence of that sceptical philosophy which bars 
 us from such comforts.. ..allusion to the fate of a suicide- 
 Episode of Conrad and Ellenore....Conclusion. 
 
PLEASURES OF HOPE, 
 
 PART II. 
 
 J.N joyous youth, what soul hath never known 
 Thought, feeling-, taste, harmonious to its own ? 
 Who hath not paus'd, while Beauty's pensive eye 
 Ask'd from his heart the homage of a sigh ? 
 Who hath not own'd, with rapture-smitten frame, 
 The power of grace, the magic of a name I 
 
 There be, perhaps, who barren hearts avow, 
 Cold as the rocks on Torneo's hoary brow ; 
 There be, whose loveless wisdom never fail'd, 
 In self-adoring pride securely mail'd ; — 
 
 4* 
 
42 
 
 But, triumph not, ye peace-enamour'd few ! 
 
 m 
 Fire, Nature, Genius, never dwelt with you! 
 
 For you no fancy consecrates the scene 
 
 Where rapture utter'd vows, and wept between 
 
 'Tis yours, unmov'd, to sever and to meet ; 
 
 No pledge is sacred, and no home is sweet 1 
 
 Who that would ask a heart to dulness wed, 
 The waveless calm, the slumber of the dead ? 
 No ; the wild bliss of nature needs alloy, 
 And fear and sorrow fan the fire of joy ! 
 And say, without our hopes, without our fears, 
 Without the home that plighted love endears, 
 Without the smile from partial beauty won, 
 O ! what were man • — a world without a sun 1 
 
 Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour, 
 There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bow'r! 
 In vain the viewless seraph ling'ring there, 
 At starry midnight charm'd the silent air ; 
 In vain the wild-bird carol'd on the steep, 
 To hail the sun, slow-wheeling from the deep ; 
 
43 
 
 In vain, to soothe the solitary shade, 
 
 Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd ; 
 
 The summer wind that shook the spang-led tree, 
 
 The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee ; — 
 
 Still slowly pass'd the melancholy day, 
 
 And still the stranger wist not where to stray, — 
 
 The world was sad ! — the garden was a wild ! 
 
 And Man, the hermit, sigh'd — till Woman smil'd ! 
 
 True, the sad power to generous hearts may bring 
 Delirious anguish on his fiery wing ! 
 Barr'd from delight by Fate's untimely hand, 
 By wealthless lot, or pitiless command ; 
 Or doom'd to gaze on beauties that adorn 
 The smile of triumph, or the frown of scorn ; 
 While Memory watches o'er the sad review, 
 Of joys that faded like the morning dew ; 
 Peace may depart — and life and nature seem 
 A barren path — a wilderness, and a dream ' 
 
 But, can the noble mind forever brood, 
 The willing victim of a weary mood, 
 
44 
 
 U;i heartless eares that squander life away, 
 
 And cloud young Genius bright'ning into day : — 
 
 Shame to the coward thought that e'er betray 'd 
 
 The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade ! — ' 
 
 If Hope's creative spirit cannot raise 
 
 One trophy sacred to thy future days, 
 
 Scorn the dull crowd that haunt the gloomy shrine 
 
 Of hopeless love to murmur and repine! 
 
 But, should a sigh of milder mood express 
 
 Thy heart-warm wishes, true to happiness, 
 
 Should HeavVs fair harbinger delight to pour 
 
 Her blissful visions on thy pensive hour, 
 
 No tear to blot thy memory's pictur'd page, 
 
 Xo fears but such as fancy can assuage ; 
 
 Though thy wild heart some hapless hour may miss 
 
 The peaceful tenor of unvaried bliss, 
 
 (For love pursues an ever devious race, 
 
 True to the winding lineaments of grace ;) 
 
 Yet still may Hope her talisman employ 
 
 To snatch from Heaven anticipated joy, 
 
 And all her kindred energies impart 
 
 That burn the brightest in the purest heart 1 
 
45 
 
 When first the Rhodian's mimic art array'd 
 The queen of Beauty in her Cyprian shade, 
 The happy master mingled on his piece 
 Each look that charm'd him in the fair of Greece , 
 To faultless Nature true, he stole a grace 
 From every finer form and sweeter face ; 
 And, as he sojourn'd on the JEgean isles, 
 Woo'd all their love, and treasur'd all their smiles ; 
 Then glow'd the tints, pure, precious, and refin'd, 
 And mortal charms seem'd heavenly when combin'd f 
 Love on the picture smil'd ! Expression pour'd 
 Her mingling spirit there — and Greece ador'd ! 
 
 So thy fair hand, enamour'd Fancy ! gleans 
 The treasur'd pictures of a thousand scenes ; 
 Thy pencil traces on the Lover's thought 
 Some cottage-home, from towns and toil remote, 
 Where Love and Lore may claim alternate hours, 
 With Peace embosom'd in Idalian bow'rs ! 
 Remote from busy life's bewilder'd way, 
 O'er all his heart shall taste and beauty sway ! 
 Free on the sunny slope, or winding shore, 
 With hermit steps to wander and adore ! 
 
46 
 
 There shall he love, when genial morn appears, 
 
 Like pensive beauty smiling- in her tears, 
 
 To watch the bright'ning roses of the sky, 
 
 And muse on Nature with a poet's eye' — 
 
 And when the sun's last splendour lights the deep, 
 
 The woods, and waves, and murm'ring winds asleep 
 
 When fairy harps th' Hesperian planet hail, 
 
 And the lone cuckoo sighs along the vale, 
 
 His path shall be where streamy mountains swell 
 
 Their shadowy grandeur oer the narrow dell, 
 
 Where mouldering piles and forests intervene, 
 
 Mingling with darker tints the living green; 
 
 No circling hills his ravish'd eye to bound, 
 
 Heaven, Earth, and Ucean, blazing all around ! 
 
 The moon is up — the watch-tow'r dimly burns — 
 And down the vale his sober step returns ; 
 But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey 
 The still sweet fall of Music far away ; 
 And oft he lingers from his home awhile 
 To watch the dying notes ! — and start, and smile ! 
 
 Let Winter come ! let polar spirits sweep 
 The dark'ning world, and tempest-troubled deep ! 
 
47 
 
 Though boundless snows the wither'd heath deform, 
 
 And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm j 
 
 Yet shall the smile of social love repay, 
 
 With mental light, the melancholy day ! 
 
 And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er, 
 
 The ice chain'd waters slumbering on the shore, 
 
 How bright the faggots in his little hall 
 
 Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictur'd wall 1 
 
 How blest he names, in Love's familiar tone, 
 The kind fair friend, by Nature mark'd his own } 
 And, in the waveless mirror of his mind, 
 Views the fleet years of pleasure left behind, 
 Since Anna's empire o'er his heart began ! 
 Since first he call'd her his before the holy man! 
 
 Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome, 
 And light the wintry paradise of home ; 
 And let the half-uncurtain'd window hail 
 Some way-worn man benighted in the vale ! 
 Now, while the moaning night-wind rages high, 
 \s sweep the shot-stars down the troubled sky« 
 
48 
 
 ^>V liile fiery hosts in HeavVs wide circle play, 
 
 And bath in livid light the milky way, 
 
 .Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower, 
 
 Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn hour — 
 
 With pathos shall command, with wit beguile, 
 
 A generous tear of anguish, or a smile — 
 
 Thy woes, Arion ! and thy simple tale, 3 
 
 O'er all the heart shall triumph and prevail ! 
 
 Charm'd as they read the verse too sadly true, 
 
 How gallant Albert, and his weary crew, 
 
 Ileav'd all their guns, their foundering bark to save, 
 
 And toil'd — and shriek'd — and perish'd on the wave 
 
 Yes, at the dead of night, by Lonna's steep, 
 The seamen's cry was heard along the deep ; 
 There on his funeral waters dark and wild, 
 The dying father blest his darling child ! 
 Oh ! Mercy, shield her innocence, he cried, 
 Spent on the pray'r his bursting heart, and died ' 
 
 Or will they learn how generous worth sublimes 
 The robber Moor,' and pleads for all his crimes ! 
 
49 
 
 How poor Amelia kiss'd, with many a tear, 
 His hand blood-stain'd, but ever ever dear ! 
 Hung on the tortur'd bosom of her lord, 
 And wept, and pray'd perdition from his sword ! 
 Nor sought in vain ! at that heart-piercing cry 
 The strings of nature crack'd with agony 1 
 He, with delirious laugh, the dagger hurl'd, 
 And burst the ties that bound him to the world ! 
 
 Turn from his dying words, that smite with steel 
 The shuddering thoughts, or wind them on the wheel- 
 Turn to the gentler melodies that suit 
 Thalia's harp, or Pan's Arcadian lute; 
 Or, down the stream of Truth's historic page, 
 From clime to clime descend from age to age ! 
 
 Yet there, perhaps, may darker scenes obtrude 
 Than Fancy fashions in her wildest mood ; 
 There shall he pause, with horrent brow, to rate 
 What millions died — that Cssar might he great \* 
 Or learn the fate that bleeding thousands bore, 5 
 Ifarcb'd by their Charles to Dneiper's swampy shore. 
 
50 
 
 Faint in his wounds, and shivering in the blast, 
 The Swedish soldier sunk — and groan'd his last-! 
 File after file, the stormy showers benumb, 
 Freeze every standard-sheet, and hush the drum! 
 Horsemen and horse confess'd the bitter pang, 
 And arms and warriors fell with hollow clang ! 
 Yet, ere he sunk in Nature's last repose, 
 Ere life's warm torrent to the fountain froze, 
 The dying man to Sweden turn'd his eye, 
 Thought of his home, and clos'd it with a sigh ! 
 Imperial Pride look'd sullen on his plight, 
 And Charles beheld — nor shudder'd at the sight ! 
 
 Above, below, in Ocean, Earth, and Sky, 
 Thy fairy worlds, Imagination, lie, 
 And Hope attends, companion of the way, 
 Thy dream by night, thy visions of the day ! 
 In yonder pensile orb, and every sphere 
 That gems the stavry girdle of the \ear ; 
 In those unmeasur'd worlds, she bids thee tell, 
 Pure from their God, created millions dwell, 
 Whose names and natures, unreveal'd below, 
 AVe vet shall learn, and wonder a<? we know ; 
 
51 
 
 For, aslona's Saint, a giant form," 
 Tbron'd on her tow'rs, conversing with the storm, 
 (When o'er each runic altar, weed-entwin'd, 
 The vesper clock tolls mournful to the wind), 
 Counts every wave-worn isle, and mountain hoar, 
 From Kilda to the green Ierne's shore ; 
 So, when thy pure and renovated mind 
 This perishable dust hath left behind, 
 Thy seraph eye shall count the starry train, 
 Like distant isles embosom'd in the main ; 
 Rapt to the shrine where motion first began, 
 And light and life in mingling torrent ran, 
 From whence each bright rotundity was hurl'd, 
 The throne of God, — the centre of the world ! 
 
 Oh ! vainly wise, the moral Muse hath sung 
 That suasive Hope hath but a Syren tongue ! 
 True ; she may sport with life's untutor'd day, 
 Nor heed the solace of its last decay, 
 The guileless heart her happy mansion spurnj 
 And part like Ajut — never to return ! ' 
 
 But yet, methinks, when Wisdom shall assauge 
 The griefs and passions of our greener age, 
 
52 
 
 Though dull the close of life, ami far away 
 
 Each flow'r that hail'd the dawning of the day; 
 
 Yet o'er her lovely hopes that once were dear, 
 
 The time-taught spirit, pensive, not severe, 
 
 With milder griefs her aged eye shall fill, 
 
 And weep their falsehood, though she love them still 
 
 Thus, with forgiving tears, and reconcil'd, 
 The king of Judah mourn'd his rebel child ! 
 Musing on days, when yet the guiltless boy 
 Smil'd on his sire, and fill'd his heart with joy ; 
 My Absalom ! (the voice of Nature cried !) 
 Oh ! that for thee thy father could have died ! 
 For bloody was the deed, and rashly done, 
 Thatslew my Absalom ! — my son! — my son ! 
 
 Unfading Hope ! when life's last embers burn, 
 When soul to soul, and dust to dust return ! 
 Heav'n to thy charge resigns the awful hour ! 
 Oh ! then, thy kingdom comes ! Immortal Power! 
 What though each spark of earth-born rapture fly 
 The quivering lip, pale cheek, and closing eye ! 
 Bright to the soul thy seraph hands convey 
 The morning dream of life's eternal day — • 
 
Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin ! 
 And all the Phoenix spirit burns within ! 
 
 Oh! deep-enchanting prelude to repose, 
 The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! 
 Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, 
 It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 
 Mysterious worlds, untravell'd by the sun ! 
 Where Time's fur-wand' ring tide has never run, 
 From your unfathom'd shades, and viewless spheres, 
 A warning comes, unheard by others ears. 
 s Tis HeavVs commanding trumpet, long and loud, 
 Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! 
 While Nature hears, with terror-mingled tx-ust, 
 The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust ; 
 And, like the trembling Hebrew, when he trod 
 The roaring waves, and call'd upon his God, 
 With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, 
 And shrieks, and hovers o'er the dark abyss ! 
 
 Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume 
 The dread unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! 
 5* 
 
54, 
 
 Melt, and dispel, ye epectre-doubts, that roll 
 Cimmerian darkness on the parting- soul ! 
 Fly, like the moon-eyed herald of Dismay, 
 Chas'd on his night-steed by the star of day ! 
 The strife is o'er — the pangs of Nature close, 
 And life's last rapture triumphs o'er her woes. 
 Hark ! as the spirit eyes, with eagle gaze, 
 The noon of Heav'n undazzled by the blaze, 
 On Heav'nly winds that waft her to the sky, 
 Float the sweet tones of star-born melody ; 
 Wild as that hallow'd anthem sent to hail 
 Bethlehem's shepherds in the lonely vale, 
 AVhen Jordan hush'd his waves, and midnight still 
 Watch'd on the holy tow'rs of Zion hill ! 
 
 Soul of the just! companion of the dead! 
 "Where is thy home, and whither art thou fled ! 
 Back to its heav'nly source thy being g-oes, 
 Swift as the comet wheels to whence he rose ; 
 Doom'don his airy path awhile to burn, 
 And doom'd, like thee, to travel, and return. — 
 Hark! from the world's exploding- centre driv'n, 
 With sounds that shook the firmament of Heav'n, 
 
55 
 
 Careers the fiery giant, fast and far, 
 
 On bick'ring wheels, and adamantine car ; 
 
 From planet whirl'd to planet more remote, 
 
 He visits realms beyond the reach of thought^ 
 
 But, wheeling homeward, when his course is run, 
 
 Curbs the red yoke, and mingles with the sun ! 
 
 So hath the traveller of earth unfurl'd 
 
 Her trembling wings, emerging from the world ; 
 
 And o'er the path by mortal never trod, 
 
 Sprung to her source, the bosom of her God ! 
 
 Oh ! lives there, Heav'n ! beneath thy dread expanse, 
 One hopeless, dark Idolater of Chance, 
 Content to feed, with pleasures unrefin'd, 
 The lukewarm passions of a lowly mind ; 
 Who, moujd'ring earthward, 'reft of every trust, 
 In joyless union wedded to the dust, 
 Could all his parting energy dismiss, 
 And call this barren world sufficient bliss ?— » 
 There live, alas ! of Heav'n-directed mien, 
 Of cultur'd soul, and sapient eye serene, 
 Who hail thee, Man ! the pilgrim of a day, 
 Spouse of the worm, and brother of the clay V 
 
56 
 
 Frail as the leaf in Autumn's yellow bower, 
 Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower ! 
 A friendless slave, a child without a sire, 
 Whose mortal life, and momentary fire, 
 Lights to the grave his chance-created form, 
 As ocean-wrecks illuminate the storm ; 
 And, when the grin's tremendous flash is o'er, 
 To Night and Silence sink for ever more ! — 
 
 Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, 
 Lights of the world, and demi-gods of Fame ? 
 Is this your triumph — this your proud applause, 
 Children of Truth, and champions of her cause ? 
 For this hath Science search'd, on weary wing, 
 By shore and sea — each mute and living thing? 
 Launch'd with Iberia's pilot from the steeg, 
 To worlds unknown, and isles beyond the deep : 
 Or round the cope her living chariot driv'n, 
 And wheel'd in triumph through the signs of Heav'n 
 Oh ! star-eyed Science, hast thou wander'd there, 
 To waft us home the message of despair ? 
 Then bind the palm, the sage's brow to suit, 
 Of blasted leaf, and death-distilling fruit ! 
 
57 
 
 Ah me ! the laurel'd wreath that murder rears, 
 
 Blood-nurs'd, and water'd by the widow's tears, 
 
 Seems not so foul, so tainted, and so dread, 
 
 As waves the night-shade round the sceptic head. 
 
 What is the bigot's torch, the tyrant's chain ? 
 
 I smile on death, if Heav'n-ward Hope remain ! 
 
 But, if the warring winds of Nature's strife 
 
 Be all the faithless charter of my life, 
 
 If Chance awak'd, inexorable pow'r ! 
 
 This frail and fev'rish being of an hour, 
 
 Doom'd o'er the world's precarious scene to sweep, 
 
 Swift as the tempest travels on the deep, 
 
 To know Delight but by her parting smile, 
 
 And toil, and wish, and weep, a little while ; 
 
 Then melt, ye elements, that form'd in vain 
 
 This troubled pulse, and visionary brain ! 
 
 Fade, ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom ! 
 
 And sink, ye stars, that light me to the tomb ! 
 
 Truth, ever lovely, since the world began, 
 
 The foe of tyrants, and the friend of man, — 
 
 How can thy words from balmy slumber start 
 
 Reposing Virtue, pillow'd on the heart ! 
 
5 8 
 
 Yet, if thy voice the note of thunder roll'd, 
 And that were true which Nature never told, 
 Let Wisdom smile not on her conquer \i field ; 
 No rapture dawns, no treasure is reveal'd! 
 Oh ! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate, 
 The doom that bars us from a better fate ; 
 But, sad as angels for the good man's sin, 
 Weep to record, and blush to give it in ! 
 
 And well may Doubt, the mother of Dismay, 
 Pause at her martyr's tomb, and read the lay, 
 Down by the wilds of yon deserted vale, 
 It darkly hints a melancholy tale ! 
 There, as the homeless madman sits alone, 
 In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan ! 
 And there, they say, a wizard orgie crowds, 
 When the moon lights her watch-tower in the clouds, 
 Poor, lost Alonzo ! Fate's neglected child ! 
 Mild be the doom of Heav'n — as thou wert mild ! 
 For oh ! thy heart in holy mould was cast, 
 And all thy deeds were blameless, but the last. 
 Poor, lost Alonzo ! still I seem to hear 
 The clod that struck thy hollow-sounding bier ! 
 
59 
 
 When Friendship paid, in speechless sorrow drown'd, 
 Thy midnight rites, but not on hallow'd ground ! 
 
 Cease every joy to glimmer on my mind, 
 But leave — oh ! leave the light of Hope behind ! 
 What though my winged hours of bliss have been, 
 Like angel-visits, few, and far between ! 
 Her musing mood shall every pang appease, 
 And charm — when pleasures lose the power to please ] 
 
 Yes ! let each rapture, dear to Xature, flee ; 
 Close not the light of Fortune's stormy sea — 
 Mirth, Music, Friendship, Love's propitious smile, 
 Chase every care, and charm a little while, 
 Ecstatic throbs the fluttering heart employ, 
 And all her strings are harmoniz'd to Joy ! — 
 But why so short is Love's delighted hour ? 
 Why fades the dew on Beauty's sweetest flow'r .' 
 Why can no hymned charm of Music heal 
 The sleepless woes impassion'd spirits fell? 
 Can Fancy's fairy hands no veil create, 
 To hide the sad realities of fate ? — 
 
60 
 
 No ! not the quaint remark, the sapient rule, 
 Nor all the pride of Wisdom's worldly school, 
 Have pow'r to soothe, unaided and alone, 
 The heart that vibrates to a feeling- tone ! 
 "When stepdame Nature every bliss recals, 
 Fleet as the meteor o'er the desert falls ; 
 When, 'reft of all, yon widow'd sire appears 
 A lonely hermit in the vale of years ; 
 Say, can the world one joyous thought bestow 
 To Friendship, weeping at the couch of Woe ? 
 No ! but a brighter soothes the last adieu, — 
 Souls of impassion'd mould, she speaks to you ' 
 Weep not, she says, at Nature's transient pain, 
 Congenial spirits part to meet again ! 
 
 What plaintive sobs thy filial spirit drew, 
 What sorrow chok'd thy long and last adieu, 
 Daughter of Conrad ! when he heard his knell, 
 And bade his country and his child farewel ! 
 Doonvd the long isles of Sydney Cove to see, 
 The martyr of his crimes, but true to thee ? 
 Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart, 
 And thrice retuniM, to bless thee, and to part ; 
 
61 
 
 Thrice from his trembling' lips he murmur'd low 
 The plaint that own'd unutterable woe ; 
 Till Faith, prevailing- o'er his sullen doom, 
 As bursts the morn on night's unfathom'd gloom, 
 Lur'd his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime, 
 Beyond the realms of Nature and of Time ! 
 
 " And weep not thus, (he cried) young" Ellenore., 
 My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more ! 
 Short shall this half-extinguish'd spirit burn, 
 And soon these limbs to kindred dust return ! 
 But not, my child, with life's precarious fire, 
 The immortal ties of Nature shall expire ; 
 These shall resist the triumph of decay, 
 When time is o'er, and worlds have pass'd away 1 
 Cold in the dust this perish'd heart may lie, 
 But that which warm'd it once shall never die ! 
 That spark unburied in its mortal frame, 
 With living light, eternal, and the same, 
 Shall beam on Joy's interminable years, 
 UnveiPd by darkness — unassuag'd by tears ! 
 
 " Yet, on the barren shore and stormy deep, 
 One tedious watch is Conrad doom'd to weep; 
 6 
 
62 
 
 Bat when I gain the home without a friend, 
 And press th' uneasy couch were none attend, 
 This last embrace, still cherish'd in my heart, 
 Shall calm the struggling spirit ere it part ! 
 Thy darling form shall seem to hover nigh, 
 And hush the groan of life's last agony ! 
 
 " Farewel I when strangers lift thy father's bier, 
 And place my nameless stone without a tear ; 
 When each returning- pledge hath told my child 
 That Conrad's tomb is on the desert pil'd ; 
 And when the dream of troubled fancy sees 
 Its lonely rank grass waving in the breeze; 
 Who then will soothe thy grief, when mine is o'er 
 Who will protect thee, helpless Ellenore ? 
 Shall secret scenes thy filial sorrows hide, 
 Scorn'd by the world, to factious guilt allied 1 
 Ah ! no ; methinks the generous and the good 
 Will woo thee from the shades of solitude ! 
 O'er friendless grief compassion shall awake, 
 And smile on Innocence, for Mercy's sake !" 
 
 Inspiring thought of rapture yet to be, 
 The tears of love were hopeless, but for thee '. 
 
If in that frame no deathless spirit dwell. 
 
 If that faint murmur be the last farewel ! 
 
 If fate unite the faithful but to part, 
 
 Why is their memory sacred to the heart ? 
 
 Why does the brother of my childhood seem 
 
 Restor'd awhile in every pleasing- dream ? 
 
 Why do I joy the lonely spot to view, 
 
 Wy artless friendship bless'd when life was new « 
 
 Eternal Hope ! when yonder spheres sublime 
 Peal'd their first notes to sound the march of Time 3 
 Thy joyous youth began — but not to fade. — 
 When all the sister planets have decay'd ; 
 When rapt in fire the realms of ether glow, 
 And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below 
 Thou, undismay'd, shalt o'er the ruins smile, 
 And light thy torch at Xature's funeral pile i 
 
 END OF PART SECOND. 
 
NOTES. 
 
 «* 
 
NOTES. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Note I. And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore 
 The hardy Byron to his native shore. 
 
 The following- picture of his own distress, given by- 
 Byron in his simple and interesting narrative, justifies 
 the description in page 10. 
 
 After relating the barbarity of the Indian cacique to 
 his child, he proceeds thus : — " A day or two after, 
 we put to sea again, and crossed the great bay I men- 
 tioned we had been at the bottom of when we first 
 hauled away to the westward. The land here was 
 very low and sandy, and something like the mouth of 
 a river which discharged itself into tRe sea, and which 
 had been taken no notice of by us before, as it was so 
 shallow, that the Indians were obliged to take every- 
 thing out of their canoes, and carry it over land. We 
 rowed up the river four or five leagues, and then took 
 into a branch of it that ran first to the eastward, and 
 then to the northward : here it became much narrow 
 
68 
 
 er, and the stream excessively rapid, so that we gained 
 but little way, though we wrought very hard. At night 
 we landed upon its banks, and had a most uncomfort- 
 able lodging, it being a perfect swamp ; and we had 
 nothing to cover us, though it rained excessively. The 
 Indians were little better off than we, as there was no 
 wood here to make their wigwams ; so that all they 
 could do was to prop up the bark, which they carry in 
 the bottom of their canoes, and shelter themselves as 
 well as they could to the leeward of it. Knowing the 
 difficulties they had to encounter here, they had pro- 
 vided themselves with some seal ; but we had not a 
 morsel to eat, after the heavy fatigues of the day, ex- 
 cepting a sort of root we saw the Indians make use of 
 which was very disagreeable to the taste. We labour- 
 ed all the next day against the stream, and fared as 
 we had done the day before. The next day brought us 
 to the carrying place. Here was plenty of wood, but 
 nothing to be got for sustenance. We passed this 
 night as we had frequently done, under a tree ; but 
 what we suffered at this time is not easy to be express- 
 ed. I had been three days at the oar, without any 
 kind of nourishment except the wretched root above 
 mentioned. I had no shirt, for ii had rotted off by 
 bits. All my clothes consisted of a short grieko 
 (something like a bear-skin,) a piece of red cloth which 
 had once been a waistcoat, and a ragged pair o* 
 trowsers, without shoes or stocking? ' 
 
69 
 
 Note 2. A Briton and afriehd. 
 
 Don Patricio Gedd, a Scotch physician in one of the 
 Spanish settlements, hospitably relieved Byron and 
 his wretched associates, of which the Commodore 
 speaks in the warmest terms of gratitude. 
 
 Note 3 . Or yield the lyre of Heav'n another siring. 
 
 The seven string's of Apollo's harp were the sym- 
 bolical representation of the seven planets. Herschel, 
 by discovering- an eighth, might be said to add another 
 string to the instrument. 
 
 Note 4. The Swedish sage. 
 Linnaeus. 
 
 Note. 5. Deep from his vaults the Loxian murmurs jloiv. 
 "Loxias is a name frequently given to Apollo by 
 Greek writers : it is met with more than once in the 
 Chcephorae of JEschylus. 
 
 Note 6. Unlocks a generous store at thy command, 
 
 Like HoreVs rocks beneath the prophefs hand. 
 See Exodus, chap. xvii. 3, 5, 6. 
 
 Note" Wild Obi fiies. 
 
 Among the negroes of the West Indies, Obi, or 
 Obiah, is the name of a magical power, which is be- 
 lieved by them to affect the object of its malignity 
 with dismal calamities. Such a belief must undoubt- 
 
7U 
 
 edly have been deduced from the superstitious my- 
 thology of their kinsmen on the coast of Africa. I 
 have therefore personified Obi as the evil spirit of the 
 African, although the history of the African tribes 
 mentions the evil spirits of their religious creed by 
 a different appellation. 
 
 Note 8. Sibir's dreary mines. 
 
 Mr. Bell of Antermony, in his Travels through Sibe- 
 ria, informs us that the name of the country is univer- 
 sally pronounced Sibir by the Russians. 
 
 Note 9. Presaging wrath to Poland — and to man ! 
 
 The history of the partition of Poland, of the mas- 
 sacre in the suburbs of Warsaw, and on the bridge of 
 Prague, the triumphant entry of Suwarrow into the Po- 
 lish capital, and the insult offered to human nature, by 
 the blasphemous thanks offered up to Heaven, for vic- 
 tories obtained over men fighting in the sacred cause 
 of liberty, by murderers and oppressors, are events 
 generally known. 
 
 Note 10. The shrill horn blew. 
 
 The negroes in the West Indies are summoned to 
 their morning work by a shell or a horn. 
 
 Note 11 How long -was Timur's. iron sceptre s-way'd? 
 To elucidate this passage, I shall subjoin a quotation 
 
71 
 
 from the Preface to Letters from a Hindoo Rajah, a 
 work of elegance and celebrity. 
 
 " The imposter of Mecca had established, as one of 
 the principles of his doctrine, the merit of extending- 
 it, either by persuasion, or the sword, to all parts of 
 the earth. How steadily this injunction was adhered to 
 by his followers, and with what success it was pursued, 
 is well known to all who are in the least conversant in 
 history. 
 
 " The same overwhelming- torrent, which had inun- 
 dated the greater part of Africa, burst its way into th» 
 very heart of Europe, and covered many kingdoms of 
 Asia with unbounded desolation, directed its baleful 
 course to the flourishing provinces of Hindostan. Here 
 these fierce and hardy adventurers, whose only im- 
 provement had been in the science of destruction, who 
 added the fury of fanaticism to the ravages of war, 
 found the great end of their conquests opposed, by ob- 
 jects which neither the ardour of their persevering 
 zeal, nor savage barbarity could surmouut. Multitudes 
 were sacrificed by the cruel hand of religious persecu- 
 tion, and whole countries were deluged in blood, in the 
 vain hope, that by the destruction of a part, the re- 
 mainder might be persuaded, or terrified, into the pro- 
 fession of Mahomedism ; but all these sanguinary ef- 
 forts were ineffectual ; and at length, being fully con- 
 vinced, that though they might extirpate, they could 
 never hope to convert any number of the Hindoos, they 
 relinquished the impracticable idea, with which they 
 
 # 
 
72 
 
 had entered upon their career of conquest, and con- 
 tented themselves with the acquirement of the civil 
 dominion and almost universal empire of Hindostan." 
 — Letters from a Hindoo Rajah, by Eliza Hamilton. 
 
 Note 12. And braved the stormy spirit of the Cape. 
 
 See the description of the Cape of Good Hope, trans- 
 lated from Camoens, by Mickle. 
 
 Xote 13. While famish* d nations died along the shore. 
 
 The following account of British conduct, and its 
 consequences, in Bengal, will afford a sufficient idea. 
 of the fact alluded to in this passage. After describ- 
 ing the monopoly of salt, betal nut, and tobacco, the 
 historian proceeds thus : — " Money in this current 
 came but by drops ; it could not quench the thirst of 
 those who waited in India to receive it. An expedi- 
 ent, such as it was, remained to quicken its pace. 
 The natives could live with little salt, but could not 
 want food. Some of the agents saw themselves well 
 situated for collecting the rice into stores ; they did 
 so. They knew the Gentoos would rather die than 
 violate the principles of their religion by eating flesh. 
 The alternative would therefore be between giving 
 what they had, or dying. The inhabitants sunk ; — 
 they that cultivated the land, and saw the harvest at 
 the disposal of others, planted in doubt — scarcity en- 
 sued. Then the monopoly was easier managed — 
 sickness ensued. Jn some districts the languid living 
 
73 
 
 left the bodies of their numerous dead unburied." — 
 Short History of the English Transactions m the East- 
 Indies, p. 145. 
 
 Note 14. Nine times hath Brama's -wheels of lightening 
 hurl'd 
 His awful presence o'er the prostrate -world f 
 
 Among the sublime fictions of the Hindoo mytholo- 
 gy, it is one article of belief, that the Deity Brama has 
 descended nine times upon the world in various forms, 
 and that he is yet to appear a tenth time, in the figure 
 of a warrior upon a white horse, to cut off all incor- 
 rigible offenders. Avatar is the word used to express 
 his descent. 
 
 Note 15. And Camdeo bright, and Ganesa snbli?ne. 
 
 Camdeo is the God of Love in the mythology of the 
 Hindoos. Ganesa and Seriswattee correspond to the 
 Pagan deities Janus and Minerva. 
 
T4, 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Note 1. The noon of Manhood to a myrtle shade ! 
 Sacred to Venus is the myrtle shade. — Dry den. 
 
 Note 2. Thy i*oe3, Jlrion / 
 
 Falconer in his poem The Shipwreck speaks of him- 
 self by the name of Arion. — See Falconer's Shipwreck, 
 Oanto III. 
 
 Note 3. The robber Moor. 
 
 See Schiller's tragedy of the Robbers, scene v. 
 
 Note 4. What millions died that Ccesar might be great. 
 
 The carnage occasioned by the wars of Julius Caesar 
 has been usually estimated at two millions of men. 
 
 Note 5. Or learn the fate that bleeding thotisands bore, 
 March* d by their Charles to Dneiper*s sicampy 
 nhore. 
 In this extremity (says the biographer of Charles 
 XII. of Sweden, speaking of his military exploits be- 
 fore the battle of Pultowa,) the memorable winter of 
 1709, which was still more remarkable in that part of 
 Europe than in France, destroyed numbers of his 
 troops ; for Charles resolved to brave the seasons as 
 
75 
 
 lie had done his enemies, and ventured tojnake long- 
 marches during this mortal cold. It was in one of 
 these marches that two thousand men fell clown dead 
 with cold before his eyes. 
 
 Note 6. As on lona's height. 
 
 The natives of the island of Iona have an opinion, 
 that on certain evenings every year the tutelary saint 
 Columbia is seen on the top of the church spires count- 
 ing the surrounding islands, to see that they have not 
 been sunk by the power of witchcraft. 
 
 Note 7. And part, like Ajut, — never to return ! 
 
 See the history of Ajut and Anningait in the Ram- 
 bler. 
 
o'connor's child. 
 
 THE FLOWER OF LOVE LIES BLEEDIXb 
 
o'connor's child, 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE FLOWER OF LOVE LIES BLEEDING. 
 
 wH once the harp of Innisfail* 
 
 "Was strung- full high to notes of gladness 
 
 But yet it often told a tale 
 
 Of more-prevailing- sadness. 
 
 Sad was the note, and wild its fall, 
 
 As winds that moan at night forlorn 
 
 Along- the isles of Fion-Gael, 
 
 When for O'Connor's child to mourn, 
 
 The harper told, how lone, how far 
 
 From any mansion's twinkling star, 
 
 From any path of social men, 
 
 Or voice, but from the fox's den, 
 
 * The ancient name of Ireland. 
 
The Lady in the desert dwelt, 
 And yet no wrong's, no fear she felt : 
 Say, why should dwell in place so wild 
 The lovely pale O'Connor's child ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Sweet lady ! she no more inspires 
 
 Green Erin's hearts with beauty's pow'r, 
 
 As in the palace of her sires 
 
 She bloom'd a peerless flow'r. 
 
 Gone from her hand and bosom, gone, 
 
 The regal broche, the jewell'd ring-, 
 
 That o'er her dazzling- whiteuess shone 
 
 Like dews on lilies of the spring-. 
 
 Yet why, thoug-h fall'n her brother's kerne,* 
 
 Beneath De Bourgo's battle stern, 
 
 While yet in Leinster unexplor'd, 
 
 Her friends survive the English sword j 
 
 Why lingers she from Erin's host, 
 
 So far on Gal way's shipwreck'd coast ; 
 
 Why wanders she a huntress wild — 
 
 The lovely pale O'Connor's child ? 
 
 * Kerne, the ancient Irish foot soldieiy. 
 
gl 
 
 III. 
 
 And fix'd on empty space, why burn 
 Her eyes with momentary wiluness ; 
 And wherefore do they then return 
 To more than woman's mildness ? 
 Dishevell'd are her raven locks, 
 On Connocht Moran's name she calls ; 
 And oft amidst the lonely rocks 
 She sing-s sweet madrigals. 
 Plac'd in the foxglove and the moss, 
 Behold a parted warrior's cross ! 
 That is the spot where, evermore, 
 The lady, at her shieling* door, 
 Enjoys that in communion sweet, 
 The living and the dead can meet 
 For lo ! to love-lorn fantasy, 
 The hero of her heart is nigh, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Bright as the bow that spans the storm, 
 In Erin's yellow vesture clad, 
 A son of light — a lovely form, 
 He comes and makes her glad : 
 * Rude hut. or cabin 
 
32 
 
 Now on the grass -green turf he sits, 
 His tassell'd horn beside him laid ; 
 Now o'er the hills in chase he flits, 
 The hunter and the deer a shade ! 
 Sweet mourner ! those are shadows vain, 
 That cross the twilight of her brain ; 
 Yet she will tell you, she is blest, 
 Of Connocht Moran's tomb possess'd, 
 More richly than in Aghrim's bow'r, 
 When bards high prais'd her beauty's pow'r, 
 And kneeling pages offer'd up 
 The morat* in a golden cup. 
 
 V. 
 
 ' A hero's bride ! this desert bow'r, 
 It ill befits thy gentle breeding : 
 And wherefore dost thou love this flow'r 
 To call — My love lies bleeding ?' 
 
 " This purple flow'r my tears have nurs'd ; 
 A hero's blood supplied its bloom : 
 I love it, for it was the first 
 That grew on Connocht Moran's tomb. 
 
 * A drink made of the juice of mulberry mixed with 
 honey. 
 
83 
 
 Oh ! hearken, stranger, to my voice ! 
 This desert mansion is my choice ; 
 And blest, though fatal, be the star 
 That led me to its wilds afar : 
 For here these pathless mountains free 
 Gave shelter to my love and me ; 
 And every rock and every stone 
 Bare witness that he was my own. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " O'Connor's child, I was the bud 
 Of Erin's royal tree of glory ; 
 But woe to them that wrapt in blood 
 The tissue of my story ! 
 Still as I clasp my burning brain, 
 A death-scene rushes on my sight ; 
 It rises o'er and o'er again, 
 The bloody feud, — the fatal night, 
 When chafiing Connocht Moran's scorn; 
 They call'd my hero basely born ; 
 And bade him choose a meaner bride 
 Than from O'Connor's house of pride. 
 
84 
 
 Their tribe, they said, their high degree, 
 Was sung in Tara's psaltery ;* 
 Witness their Eath's victorious brandy 
 And Cathal of the bloody hand, — 
 Glory (they said) and power and honour 
 Were in the mansion of O'Connor; 
 But he, my lov'd one, bore in field 
 A meaner crest upon his shield. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Ah, brothers ! what did it avail, 
 That fiercely and triumphantly 
 Ve fought the English of the pale 
 And stemm'd De Bourgo's chivalry r 
 And what was it to love and me, 
 That barons by your standard rode .• 
 Or beal-firest for your jubilee, 
 Upon an hundred mountains glow'd 
 
 * The ps:i!ter of Tara was the great national I - 
 the ain.-iuj;t Irish. 
 
 j" Vide the note upon the victories of the house of 0' 
 Connor. 
 
 * Fires lighten" on May -day on the hill tops by thr Irisl 
 
 the note on stanza VII. 
 
85 
 
 "What though the lords of tower and dome 
 From Shannon to the North-sea foam, — 
 Thought ye your iron hands of pride 
 Could break the knot that love had tied ? 
 No : — let the eagle change his plume, 
 The leaf its hue, the flow'r its bloom \ 
 But ties around this heart were spun, 
 That could not, would not, be undone ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " At bleating of the wild-watch fold 
 Thus sang my love — * Oh come with me : 
 Our bark is oh the lake behold : 
 Our steeds are fasten'd to the tree. 
 Come far from Castle-Connor's clans — 
 Come with thy belted forestere, 
 And I, beside the lake of swans, 
 Shall hunt for thee the fallow deer ; 
 And build thy hut and bring thee home 
 The wild fowl, and the honey-comb ; 
 And berries from the wood provide, 
 And play my clarshech* by thy side. 
 
 * The harp. 
 
S6 
 
 iThen come, my love !'— How could I stay ! 
 Our nimble stag-hounds track'd the way, 
 And I pursued by moonless skies. 
 The light of Connocht Moran's eyes. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " And fast and far, before the star 
 Of day-spring rush'd we through the glade. 
 And saw at dawn the lofty bawn* 
 Of Castle-Connor fade. 
 Sweet was to us the hermitage 
 Of this unplough'd, untrodden shore : 
 Like birds all joyous from the cage, 
 For man's neglect we lov'd it more. i 
 
 And well he knew, my huntsman dear, 
 To search the game with hawk and spear 
 While I, his evening food to dress, 
 Would sing to hiin in happiness. 
 But oh, that midnight of despair ! 
 When I was doom'd to rend my hair : 
 The night, to me of shrieking sorrow 
 The night, to him that had no morrow - 
 
 * Ancient f 
 
X. 
 
 "When all was hush'd at even tide, 
 I heard the baying of their beagle : 
 Be hush'd ! my Connocht Moran cried, 
 f Tis but the screaming of the eagle. 
 Alas ! 'twas not the eyrie's sound, 
 Their bloody bands had track'd us out ; 
 Up-list'ning starts our couchant hound — 
 And hark ! again, that nearer shout 
 Brings faster on the murderers. 
 Spare — spare him — Brazil — Desmond fierce ? 
 In vain — no voice the adder ch?.rms ; 
 Their weapons cross'd my sheltering arms i 
 Another's sword has laid him low — 
 Another's and another's ; 
 And every hand that dealt the blow — 
 Ah nre ! it was a brother's ! 
 Yes, when his moanings died away, 
 Their iron hands had dug the clay, 
 And o'er his burial turf they trod, 
 And I beheld— Oh God ! Oh God ! 
 His life-blood oozing from the sod ! 
 
88 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Warm in his death-wounds sepulchred, 
 Alas ! my warrior's spirit brave, 
 Nor mass nor ulla-lulla* heard, 
 Lamenting sooth his grave. 
 Dragg'd to their hated mansion back* 
 How long in thraldom's grasp I lay, 
 I know not, for my soul was black, 
 And knew no change of night or day. 
 One night of horror round me grew ; 
 Or if I saw, or felt, or knew, 
 'Twas but when those grim visages, 
 The angry brothers of my race, 
 Glared on each eye -ball's aching throb, 
 And check'd my bosom's pow'r to sob ; 
 Or when my heart with pulses drear, 
 Beat like a death-watch to my ear. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " But Heav'n, at last, my soul's eclipse 
 Did with a vision bright inspire : 
 1 woke, and felt upon my lips 
 A prophetess's fire. 
 
 1 The Irish lamentation for the dead 
 
39 
 
 Thrice in the east a war-drum beat, 
 I heard the Saxon's trumpet sound, 
 And rang'd as to the judgment seat 
 My guilty, trembling brothers round. 
 Clad in the helm and shield they came 
 For now De Bourgo's sword and flame 
 Had ravag'd Ulster's boundaries, 
 And lighted up the midnight skies. 
 The standard of O'Connor's sway 
 Was in the turret where I lay : 
 That standard, with so dire a look, 
 \s ghastly shone the moon and pale, 
 I gave, — that every bosom shook 
 Beneath its iron mail, 
 
 XIII. 
 " And go ! I cried, the combat seek, 
 Ye hearts that unappalled bore 
 The anguish of a sister's shriek, 
 Go ! — and return no more ! 
 For sooner guilt the ordeal brand 
 Shall grasp unhurt, than ye shall hold 
 8* 
 
90 
 
 The banner with victorious hand, 
 Beneath a sister's curse unrolled. 
 Oh stranger ! by my country's loss ! 
 And by my love ! and by the cross ! 
 I swear I never could have spoke 
 The curse that sever'd nature's yoke j 
 But that a spirit o'er me stood, 
 And fir'd me with the wrathful mood ; 
 And frenzy to my heart was giv'n, 
 To speak the malison of heav'n. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " They would have cross'd themselves all mute, 
 They would have pray'd to burst the spell ; 
 But at the stamping of my foot 
 Each hand down pow'rless fell, 
 And go to Athenree!* I cried, 
 High lift the banner of your pride ! 
 But know that where its sheet unrolls 
 The weight of blood is en your souls ! 
 Go where the havoc of your kerne 
 Shall float as high as mountain fern ! 
 
 * A',hunrce, the Lattle fought in 1314, which decided the 
 fate ofTreUitir! 
 
9\ 
 
 Men shall no more your mansion know ! 
 The nettles on your hearth shall grow ! 
 Dead as the green oblivious flood, 
 That mantles by your walls, shall be 
 The glory of O'Connor's blood ! 
 Away ! away to Athunree ! 
 Where downward when the sun shall fall 
 The raven's wing shall be your pall ; 
 And not a vassal shall unlace 
 The vizor from your dying face ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 u A bolt that overhung our dome 
 Suspended till my curse was giv'n, 
 Soon as it pass'd these lips of foam 
 Peal'd in the blood-red heav'n. 
 Dire was the look that o'er their backs 
 The angry parting brothers threw ; 
 But now, behold ! like cataracts, 
 Come down the hills in view 
 O'Connor's plumed partizans, 
 Thrice ten Innisfallian clans 
 
92 
 
 Were marching to their doom : 
 
 A sudden storm their plumage toss'd, 
 
 A flash of lightning- o'er them cross'd. 
 
 And all again was gloom ; 
 
 But once again in hcav'n the hands 
 
 Of thunder spirits clapt their hands. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Stranger ! I fled the home of grief, 
 At Connocht Moron's tomb to fall ; 
 I found the helmet of my chief, 
 His bow still hanging on our wall ; 
 And took it down, and vosv'd to rove 
 This desert place a huntress bold ; 
 Xor would I change my buried love 
 For any heart of living mould. 
 No ! for I am a hero's child, 
 I'll hunt my quarry in the wild ; 
 And still my home this mansion make, 
 Of all unheeded and unheeding, 
 And cherish, for my warrior's sake, 
 The flower of love lies bleedine." 
 
NOTES 
 
 O'CONNORS CHILD, 
 
 Verse 2. 1. 9. 
 Kerne, the plural of Kern, an Irish foot soldier. 
 In this sense the word is used by Shakspeare. Gains- 
 ford in his Glory's of England, says, " They (the 
 Irish) are desperate in revenge, and their kerne 
 think no man dead until his head be off? 
 
 Terse 4. 1. 2. 
 In Erin's yellow vesture clad. 
 Yellow dyed from saffron, was the favourite col- 
 our of the ancient Irish, as it was among the Belgic 
 Gauls ; a circumstance which favours the supposi- 
 tion of those who deduce the origin of the former 
 from the latter people. The Irish chieftains who 
 came to treat with queen Elizabeth's lord lieutenant, 
 appeared as we are told by Sir John Davie s, in s^f 
 fron coloured uniform. 
 
94 
 
 Verse 6. 1. 13 and 14\ 
 
 Their tribe, they said, their high degree^ 
 Was sung in Tara* s psaltery. 
 
 The pride of the Irish in ancestry was so great, 
 that one of the O'Xeals being- told that Barret of 
 Castlemone had been there only 400years,he replied 
 — that he hated the clown as if he had come there 
 but yesterday. 
 
 Tara was the place of assemblage and feasting" of 
 the petty princes of Ireland. Very splendid and 
 fabulous descriptions are given by the Irish histori- 
 ans of the pomp and luxury of those meetings. The 
 psaltery of Tara was the grand national register of 
 Ireland. The grand epoch of political eminence in 
 the early history of the Irish, is the reign of their 
 great and favourite monarch Ollam Fodlah, who 
 reigned, according to Keating, about 950 years be- 
 fore the Christian era. Under him was instituted 
 the great Fes at Tara, which it is pretended was a 
 triennial convention of the states, or a parliament ; 
 the members of which were the Druids, and other 
 learned men, who represented the people in that 
 assembly. Very minute accounts are given by Irish 
 annalists of the magnificence and order of these en- 
 tertainments ; from which, if credible, we might 
 collect the earliest traces of heraldry that occur in 
 history. To preserve order and regularity in the 
 srreat number and variety of the members who met 
 
95 
 
 on such occasions, the Irish historians inform us 
 that when the banquet was ready to be served up, 
 the shiekl-bearers of the princes, and other members 
 of the convention, delivered in their shields and tar- 
 gets, which were readily distinguished by the coats 
 of arms emblazoned upon them. These were ar- 
 ranged by the grand marshal and principal herald, 
 and hung upon the walls on the right side of the 
 table ; and upon entering the apartments, each 
 member took his seat under his respective shield 
 or target, without the slightest disturbance. The 
 concluding days of the meeting, it is allowed by the 
 Irish antiquarians, were spent in very free excess of 
 conviviality ; but the first six, they say, were devo- 
 ted to the examination and settlement of the annals 
 of the kingdom. These were publickly rehearsed. 
 "When they had passed the approbation of the 
 assembly, they were transcribed into the authentic 
 chronicles of the nation, which was called the Reg- 
 ister, or Psalter of Tara. 
 
 Col. Valency gives a translation of an old Irish 
 fragment, found in Trinity college, Dublin, in which 
 the palace of the above assembly is thus described, 
 as it existed in the reign of Cormac 
 
 "In the reign of Coi-mac, the Palace of Tara was 
 was nine hundred feet square ; the diameter of the 
 surrounding rath, seven dice or casts of a dart ; it 
 contained one hundred and fifty apartments ; one 
 bttndred a n d fifty dormitories, or sleeping rooms for 
 
96 
 
 guards, and sixty men in each : the height was 
 twenty-seven cubits ; there were one hundred and 
 fifty common drinking- horns, twelve doors, and one 
 thousand guests daily, besides princes, orators and 
 men of science, engravers of gold and silver, carv- 
 ers, modelers, and nobles. The Irish description 
 of the banqueting-hall is thus translated : twelve 
 stalls or divisions in each wing ; sixteen attendants 
 on each side, and two to each table ; one hundred 
 guests in all." 
 
 Verse 7. 1.3. 
 Ye fought the English of the pale. 
 The English pale generally meant Louth in Ulster, 
 and Meath, Dublin, and Kildare in Leinster. — Mob 
 i'neuux History of Ireland. & 
 
 Verse 7- I. 4- 
 And stemm'd Ds Botirgo's chivalry. 
 The house of O'Connor had a right to boast oi 
 their victories over the English It was a chief of 
 the O'Connor race who gave a check to the English 
 Champion, De Courcey, so famous for his personal 
 strength, and iov cleaving a hemlet at one blow of 
 his sword, in the presence of the kings of France 
 and England, when the French champion declined 
 the combat with him. Though ultimately conquer- 
 ed by the English under De Bottrgo, the O'Connors 
 had also humbled the pride of that name on a 
 
97 
 
 r.cuiorable occasion : viz. when Walter De Bourgtb 
 an ancestor of that De Bourgo who wo/, the battle 
 of Athunree, had become so insolent as to make 
 excessive demands upon the territories of Con- 
 naught, and to bid defiance to all the rights and 
 properties reserved by the Irish chiefs, Aelh O'- 
 Connor, a near descendant of the famous Cathal, 
 surnamed of the Bloody Hand, rose against the 
 usurper, and defeated the English so severely, that 
 'lieir general died of chagrin after the battle. 
 
 Verse 7. L 7. 
 Or Beal fires for your jubilee. 
 The month of May is to this day called Mi Beal 
 tiennie, i. e. the month of BeaPs fire, in the original 
 language of Ireland. These fires were lighted on 
 the summits of mountains (the Irish antiquaries say) 
 in honour of the sun; and are supposed, by those 
 conjecturing gentlemen, to prove the origin of the 
 Irish from some nation who worshipped Baal or Be- 
 lus. Many hills in Ireland still retain the name of 
 Cnoc Greine, i. e. the hill of the sun ; and on all are 
 to be seen the ruinr. of druidicai altars. 
 
 Verse 8. 1. 12. 
 And play my clcvshech by thy side. 
 The clarshech, or harp, the principal musical iu- 
 strument of the Hibernian bards, does not appear to 
 be of Irish origin, nor indigenous to any of the Brit- 
 9 
 
'jS 
 
 ish islands. — The Britons undoubtedly were not 
 acquainted with it during- the residence of the 
 ltomans in their country, as in all their coins, on 
 which musical instruments are represented, we see 
 only the Roman lyre, and not the British teylin or 
 harp. 
 
 Verse 9. I. 3. 
 And saw at dawn the lofty ba~vn. 
 
 Daingean is a Celtic word expressing- a close fast 
 place, and afterwards a fort. This the English cal- 
 led a Bawn, from the Teutonic baiven, to construct 
 and secure with branches of trees. The Daingean 
 was the primitive Celtic fortification, winch was 
 made by digging a ditch, throwing up a rampart, 
 and on the latter fixing stakes, which were interlaced 
 with boughs of trees. — An extempore defence used 
 by all nations, and particularly by the Romans. 
 
 v"\ "on te fossa patens 
 
 Objectu sudiion coronat agger. 
 
 In this manner the first English adventurers se- 
 cured their posts at Ferns and Idorne. When King 
 Dennod entered Ossory, he found that Donald its 
 tossarch had plashed apace, i. e. made large and 
 deep trenches with hedges upon them. Four hun- 
 dred years afterwards, the Irish had the same mode 
 fence. Within half a mile of the entrance of 
 the Moiry, the English found that pace by which 
 

 they were to pass, being- naturally one of the mos' 
 difficult passag-es in Ireland, fortified with g-ood art 
 and admirable industry. The enemy having- raised 
 from mountain to mountain, from wood to wood, 
 and from bog- to bog-, traverses with huge and high 
 flankers with great stones, mingled with turf and 
 staked down on both sides, with palisades wattled. 
 Plashing from the Franco-gallic ptes&erJA to entwine, 
 and is equivalent to the Teutonic bawen. — Ledwick't 
 Antiquities of Ireland. 
 
 Verse 13. 1. 16. 
 To speak the malison of Heaven. 
 If the wrath which I have ascribed to the heroine 
 of this little piece should seem to exhibit her char- 
 acter as too unnaturally stript of patriotic and 
 domestic affections, I must beg- leave to plead the 
 authority of Corneille in the representation of a simi- 
 lar passion : I allude' to the denunciation of Camille, 
 in the tragedy of Horace. When Horace, accom- 
 panied by a soldier bearing- the three swords of the 
 Curiatii, meets his sister, and invites her to con- 
 gratulate him on his victory, she expresses only her 
 grief, which he attributes at first only to her feel- 
 ing-s for the loss of her two brothers ; but when 
 she bursts forth into reproaches against him as the 
 murderer of her lover, the last of the Curiatii, he 
 exclaims : 
 
100 
 
 '* O Ciel, qui vit jamais une pareilie rage, 
 Orois tu done que je suis insensible a l'outrage 
 Que je snuffre en mon sang ce mortel deshonneur : 
 Aime, Aime cette mort qui fait notre bonheur, 
 Bt prefere du moins au souvenir d'un homme 
 Ce que doit ta naissance aux interets de Rome." 
 
 At the mention of Rome, Camille breaks out into 
 this apostrophe : 
 
 "Rome, I'unique objet de mon ressentiment ! 
 Rome, a qui vient ton bras d'immoler mon amant '. 
 Rome, qui t'a vu naitre et que ton cceur adore ! 
 Rome enfin que je hais, parcequ'elle t'honore ! 
 Puissent tous ses voisins, ensemble conjures, 
 Sapper ses fondemens encore mal assures ; 
 Et, si ce n'est assez de toute PItalie, 
 Que l'Orient, contre elle, a l'Occident s'allie 9 
 Que cent peuples unis, des bouts de l'Univers 
 Passent, pour la detruire, et les monts et les mers ; 
 Qu'elle-meme sur soi renverse ses murailles, 
 Et dc ses propres mains dechire ses entrailles ; 
 Que le courroux du Ciel, allume par mes voeux, 
 Fasse pleuvoir sur elle un deluge de feux ! 
 Puissai-jede mes yeux y voir tomber ce foudre, 
 Voir ses maisons en cendre, et tes lauriers en poudre* 
 Voir le dernier Romain a son dernier soupir, 
 Moi seulc en etre cause, et mourir de plaisir !'•' 
 
101 
 
 Verse 14. 1. 5. 
 And go Athunree, I cried— 
 Jn the reign of Edward the Second, the Irish pre- 
 sented to Pope John the Twenty-second a memorial 
 of their sufferings under the English, of which the 
 language exhibits all the strength of despair. — " Ev- 
 er since the English (say they) first appeared upon 
 our coasts, they entered our territories under a cer- 
 tain specious pretence of charity, and external hyp- 
 ocritical show of religion, endeavouring at the same 
 time, by every artifice malice could suggest,to extir- 
 pate us root and brand), and without any other 
 right than that of the strongest, they have so far 
 succeeded by base fraudulence and cunning, that 
 they have forced us to quit our fair and ample habi- 
 tations and inheritances, and to take refuge like 
 wild beasts in the mountains, the woods, and the 
 morasses of the country ; — nor even can the caverns 
 and dens protect us against their insatiable avarice. 
 They pursue us even into these frightful abodes ; 
 endeavouring to dispossess us of the wild uncultiva- 
 ted rocks, and arrogate to themselves the propexty 
 of every place on which we can stamp the figure 
 of our feet." 
 
 The greatest effort ever made by the ancient Irish 
 to regain their native independence was made at the 
 time when they called over the brother of Robert 
 Bruce from Scotland. — William de Bourgo, brother 
 to the Earl of Ulster, and Richard de Birmingham 
 9* 
 
10£ 
 
 were sent against the main body of the native insur- 
 gents, who were headed rather than commanded by 
 Felim O'Connor. — The important battle, which de- 
 cided the subjection of Ireland, took place on the 
 10th of August, 1315. It was the bloodiest that ever 
 was fought between the two nations, and continued 
 throughout the whole day, from the rising to the 
 setting sun. The Irish fought with inferior disci- 
 pline, but with great enthusiasm. They lost ten 
 thousand men, among whom were twenty-nine 
 chiefs of Connaught. — Tradition states that after 
 this terrible day, the O'Connor family, like the Fa- 
 bian, were so nearly exterminated, that throughout 
 all Connaught not one of the name remained, except 
 Felim's brother, who was capable of bearing arm's. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
SPECIMENS 
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM MEDEA. 
 
 Ikhjx? efe \tyeev, xxfcv rt c-oqxc 
 Tits 7rgGa&i fcgbTiss hk dLV a./u.*£roi(. 
 
 Medea, v. 194, p. S3, Glasg. edit. 
 
 X ELL me, ye bards, whose skill sublime 
 First charm'd the ear of youthful Time, 
 With numbers wrapt in heav'nly fire ; 
 Who bade delighted Echo swell 
 The trembling- transports of the lyre, 
 The murmur of the shell, — 
 Why to the burst of Joy alone 
 Accords sweet Music's soothing- tone i 
 Why can no bard, with magic strain, 
 In slumbers steep the heart of pain 2 
 While varied tones obey your sweep, 
 The mild, the plaintive, and the deep, 
 
106 
 
 Bends not despairing- Grief to hear 
 Your golden lute, with ravish'd ear ? 
 Oh ! has your sweetest shell no power to bind 
 The fiercer pangs that shake the mind, 
 And lull the wrath, at whose command 
 Murder bares her gory hand ? 
 When flush'd with joy, the rosy throng 
 Weave the light dance, ye swell the song ! 
 Cease, ye vain warblers ! cease to charm 
 The breast with other raptures warm ! 
 Cease ! till your hand with magic strain 
 In slumbers steep the heart of pain ' 
 
SPEECH OF THE CHORUS 
 
 IN THE SAME TRAGEDY, 
 
 To dissuade Medea from her purpose of putting her chi'. 
 dren to death, and Jiving- for protection to Athens. 
 
 \J HAGGARD queen ! to Athens dost thou guide 
 Thy glowing chariot, steep'd in kindred gore ; 
 
 Or seek to hide thy damned parricide 
 
 Where Peace and Mercy dwell for ever more ? 
 
 The land where Truth, pure, precious, and sublime, 
 Woos the deep silence of sequester'd bowers, 
 
 And warriors, matchless since the first of Time, 
 Rear their bright banners o'er unconquer'd towers ' 
 
 "Where joyous Youth, to Music's mellow strain, 
 Twines in the dance with Nymphs for ever fair. 
 
 While Spring eternal, on the lilied plain, 
 
 Waves amber radiance through the fields of air ! 
 
108 
 
 'f lie tuneful Nine (so sacred legends tell) 
 First wak'd their heavenly lyre these scenes among 
 
 Still in your greenwood bowers they love to dwell ; 
 Still in your vales they swell the choral song ! 
 
 For there the tuneful, chaste, Pierian fair, 
 The guardian nymphs of green Parnassus, now 
 
 Sprung from Harmonia, while her graceful hair 
 Wav'd in bright auburn o'er her polish'd brow T 
 
 ANTISTROPHE I. 
 
 Where silent vales, and glades of green array, 
 The murm'ring wreaths of cool Cephisus lave, 
 
 There, as the Muse hath sung, at noon of day, 
 The Queen of Beauty bow'd to taste the wave ; 
 
 And blest the stream, and breath'd across the land, 
 The soft sweet gale that fans yon summer bowers ; 
 
 And there the sister Loves, a smiling band, 
 Crown'd with the fragrant wreaths of rosy flowers ! 
 
 "And go, (she cries) in yonder valleys rove, 
 With Beauty's torch the solemn scenes illume ; 
 
 Wake in each eye the radiant light of Love, 
 
 Breathe on each cheek young Passion's tender 
 bloom f 
 
109 
 
 Entwine, with myrtle chains, your s.oft control, 
 To sway the hearts of Freedom's darling kind 1 
 
 With glowing- charms enrapture Wisdom's soul, 
 And mould to grace etherial Virtue's mind." 
 
 STROPHE II. 
 
 The land where Heaven's own hallow'd waters play, 
 Where Friendship binds the generous and the good, 
 
 Say, shall it hail thee from thy frantic way, 
 Unholy woman ! with thy hands embrued 
 
 In thine own children's gore ? — oh ! ere they bleed, 
 Let Nature's voice thy ruthless heart appal ! 
 
 Pause at the bold, irrevocable deed — 
 
 The mother strikes — the guiltless babes shall fall? 
 
 Think what remorse thy maddening thoughts shall 
 sting, 
 
 When dying pangs their gentle bosoms tear ; 
 Where shalt thou sink, when ling'ring echoes ring 
 
 The screams of horror in thy tortur'd ear ? 
 
 Xo ! let thy bosom melt to Pity's cry, — 
 Tn dust we kneel— by sacred Heaven implore— - 
 10 
 
no 
 
 O ! stop thy lifted arm, ere yet they die, 
 Nor dip thy horrid hands in infant gore ! 
 
 ANTISTROPHE II. 
 
 Say, how shalt thou that barb'rous soul assume, 
 Undamp'd by horror at the daring- plan ? 
 
 Hast thou a heart to work thy children's doom ? 
 Or hands to finish what thy wrath began ? 
 
 When o'er each babe you look a last adieu, 
 And gaze on innocence that smiles asleep, 
 
 Shall no fond feeling beat, to nature true, 
 
 Charm thee to pensive thought — and bid thee weep 
 
 When the young suppliants clasp their Parent dear, 
 Heave the deep sob, and pour the artless prayer, — 
 
 Aye ! thou shalt melt ; — and many a heartshed tear 
 Gush o'er the harden'd features of despair ! 
 
 Nature shall throb in ev'ry tender string, — 
 Thy trembling heart the ruffian's task deny ; — 
 
 Thy horror-smitten hands afar shall fling 
 
 The blade, undrench'd in blood's eternal dye l . 
 
11 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Hallow'd Earth ! with indignation 
 Mark, oh mark, the murd'rous deed ! 
 
 Radiant eye of wide creation, 
 Watch the damned parricide ! 
 
 Yet, ere Colchia's rugged daughter 
 
 Perpetrate the dire design, 
 And consign to kindred slaughter 
 
 Children of thy golden line ! 
 
 Shall the hand, with murder gory, 
 Cause immortal blood to flow ? 
 
 Sun of Heav'n ! — arra\ 'd in glory ! 
 Rise, — forbid, — avert the blow! 
 
 In the vales of placid gladness 
 Let no rueful maniac range ; 
 
 Chase afar the fiend of Madness, 
 Wrest the dagger from Revenge ! 
 
 Say, hast thou, with kind protection, 
 Rear'd thy smiling race in vain ; 
 
 Fost'ring Nature's fond affection, 
 Tender cares, and pleasing pain I 
 
US 
 
 Hast thou, on the troubled ocean, 
 Brav'd the tempest loud and strong-, 
 
 Where the waves, in wild commotion, 
 Roar Cyanean rocks among ! 
 
 Didst thou roam the paths of danger, 
 
 Hymenean joys to prove 1 
 Spare, O sanguinary stranger, 
 
 Pledges of thy sacred love ! 
 
 Shall not Heaven, with indignation, 
 'Watch thee o'er the barb'rous deed ! 
 
 Shalt thou cleanse, with expiation, 
 Monstrous, murd'rous, parricide ? 
 
n: 
 
 LOVE AND MADNESS. 
 
 AN ELEGY. 
 WRITTEN IN 1795, 
 
 JlIARK ! from the battlements of yonder tower* 
 The solemn bell has toll'd the midnight hour ! 
 Rous'd from dear visions of distemper'd sleep, 
 Poor B k wakes — in solitude to weep ! 
 
 "Cease, Mem'ry, cease (the friendless mourner 
 cry'd) 
 To probe the bosom too severely tried ! 
 Oh ! ever cease, my pensive thoughts, to stray 
 Through the bright fields of Fortune's better day * 
 When youthful Hope, the music of the mind, 
 Tun'd all its charms, and E n was kind ! 
 
 * Warwick Castle. 
 •10* 
 
114 
 
 " Yet, can 1 cease, while glows this trembling frame, 
 In sighs to speak thy melancholy name ! 
 I hear thy spirit wail in every storm ? 
 In midnight shades I view thy passing form ! 
 Pale as in that sad hour, when doom'd to feel, 
 Deep in thy perjur'd heart the bloody steel ! 
 
 " Demons of Vengeance ! ye at whose command 
 I grasp'd the sword with more than woman's hand, 
 Say ye, did Pity's tremLling voice control, 
 Or horror damp the purpose of my soul ? 
 No ! my wild heart sat smiling o'er the plan, 
 Till Hate fulfill'd what baffled Love began ! 
 
 u Yes ; let the clay-cold breast, that never knew 
 One tender pang to generous Nature true, 
 Half mingling pity with the gall of scorn, 
 Condemn this heart that bled in love forlorn ! 
 
 " And ye, proud fair, whose soul no gladness warms. 
 Save Rapture's homage to your conscious charms ! 
 Delighted idols of a gaudy train ! 
 Ill can your blunter feelings guess the pain", 
 
115 
 
 When the fond faithful heart, inspir'd to prove 
 Friendship renn'd, the calm delight of love, 
 Feels all its tender Strings with anguish torn, 
 And bleeds at perjur'd Pride's inhuman scorn! 
 
 " Say, then, did pitying- Heav'n condemn the deed, 
 When Vengeance bade thee, faithless lover ! bleed I 
 Long- had I watch'd thy dark foreboding brow, 
 What time thy bosom scorn'd its dearest vow ! 
 Sad, though I wept the friend, the lover chang'd, 
 Still thy cold look was scornful and estrang'd, 
 Till from thy pity, love, and shelter thrown, 
 I wander'd, hopeless, friendless, and alone ! 
 
 First gave to wrath unlimited control ! 
 
 Adieu the silent look ! the streaming eye ! 
 
 The murmur'd plaint ! the deep heart -heaving sigh ! 
 
 Long slumb'ring Vengeance wakes to better deeds ; 
 
 He shrieks, he falls, the perjur'd Lover bleeds ! 
 
 Now the last laugh of agony is o'er, 
 
 And pale in blood he sleeps, to wake no more ! 
 
 " 'Tis done ! the flame of hate no longer burns ; 
 Nature relents ; but, ah ! too late returns ! 
 
116 
 
 Why docs my soul this gush of fondness feel I 
 Trembling- and faint, I drop the guilty steel ! 
 Cold on my heart the hand of terror lies, 
 And shades of horror close my languid eyes ! — 
 
 " Oli ! 'twas a deed of Murder's deepest grain ! 
 
 Could B k's soul so true to wrath remain r 
 
 A friend long true, a once fond lover fell ! — 
 Where Love was foster'd, could not Pity dwell ! 
 
 kC Unhappy youth ! while yon pale crescent glows, 
 To watcli on silent Nature's deep repose, 
 Thy sleepless spirit, breathing from the tomb, 
 Foretells my fate, and summons me to come! 
 Once more I see thy sheeted spectre stand, 
 Roll the dim eye, and wave the paly hand ! 
 
 " Soon may this fluttering spark of vital flame 
 Forsake its languid melancholy frame ! 
 Soon may these eyes their trembling lustre close, 
 Welcome the dreamless night of long- repose ! 
 Soon may this woe-worn spirit seek the bourne ! 
 Where, luli'd to slumber, Grief forgets to mourn !" 
 
117 
 
 THE WOUNDED HUSSAR. 
 
 J\.LONE to the banks of the dark-rolling Danube 
 Fair Adelaide hied when the battle was o'er : 
 
 Oh whither, she cried, hast thou wander'd, my lover j 
 Or here dost thou welter, and bleed on the shore I 
 
 What voice did I hear ? 'twas my Henry that sigh'd ! 
 
 All mournful she hastew'd, nor wander'd she far, 
 When bleeding, and low, on the heath she descried, 
 
 By the light of the moon, her poor wounded Hussar! 
 
 From his bosom that heav'd, the last torrent was 
 streaming, 
 
 And pale was his visage, deep mark'd with a scar, 
 And dim was that eye, once expressively beaming, 
 
 That melted in love, that kindled in war ! 
 
118 
 
 How stnit was poor Adelaide's heart at the sight ! 
 
 How bitter she wept o'er the victim of war ! 
 Hast thou come, my fond Love, this last sorrowful night, 
 
 To cheer the lone heart of your wounded Hussar ! 
 
 Thou shalt live, she replied, Heav'n's mercy relieving- 
 Each anguishing- wound, shall forbid me to mourn ! 
 
 Ah, no ! the last pang in my bosom is heaving ! 
 No light of the morn shall to Henry return ! 
 
 Thou charmer of life, ever tender and true : 
 Ye babes of my love that await me afar ! — 
 
 His faltering tongue scarce could murmur adieu, 
 When he sunk in her arms— the poor wounded Hussar : 
 
119 
 
 GILDEROY. 
 
 X HE last, the fatal hour is come, 
 That bears my love from me ; 
 
 I hear the dead note of the drum, 
 I mark the gallows tree ! 
 
 The bell has toll'd ; it shakes my heart 
 The trumpet speaks thy name ; 
 
 And must my Gilderoy depart 
 To bear a death of shame ? 
 
 No bosom trembles for thy doom ; 
 
 No mourner wipes a tear, 
 The gallows' foot is ail thy tomb, 
 
 The sledge is all thy bier ! 
 
120 
 
 OIi, Gilderoy ! bethought we then 
 
 So soon, so sad, to part, 
 When first in Roslin's lovely glen 
 
 You triumph'd o'er my heart ? 
 
 Your locks they glitter'd to the sheen, 
 Your hunter garb was trim ; 
 
 And graceful was the ribbon green 
 That bound your manly limb ! 
 
 Ah ! little thought I to deplore 
 These limbs in fetters bound ; 
 
 Or hear, upon thy scaffold floor, 
 The midnight hammer sound. 
 
 Ye cruel, cruel, that combin'd 
 
 The guiltless to pursue ; 
 My Gilderoy was ever kind, 
 
 lie could not injure you ! 
 
 A long adieu ! but where shall fly 
 
 Thy widow all forlorn, 
 When every mean and cruel eye 
 
 Regards mv woe with scorn 
 
121 
 
 Yes ! they will mock thy widow's tears. 
 And hate thine orphan boy ; 
 
 Alas ! his infant beauty wears 
 The form of Gilderoy ! 
 
 Then will I seek the dreary mound 
 That wraps thy mouldering clay ; 
 
 And weep and linger on the ground, 
 And sigh my heart away. 
 
 i. 
 
122 
 
 THE HARPER. 
 
 wN the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was 
 
 nigh, 
 No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I : 
 No harp like my own could so cheerfully play, 
 And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. 
 
 When at last I was forc'd from my Sheelah to part, 
 She said, (while the sorrow was big at her heart) 
 Oh ! remember your Sheelah when far far away; 
 And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray. 
 
 Poor dog ! he was faithful and kind, to be sure, 
 And he constantly lov'd me, although I was poor ; 
 When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away, 
 I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. 
 
12; 
 
 When the road was sodark,and the night was so cold, 
 And Pat and his dog- were grown weary and old, 
 How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray, 
 And he lick'd me for kindness — my poor dog Tray. 
 
 Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case, 
 Nor refus'd my last crust to his pitiful face ; 
 But he died at my feet on a cold winter day, 
 And I play'd a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. 
 
 Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind ? 
 Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind ? 
 To my sweet native village, so far far away, 
 I can never more return with my poor dog Tray. 
 
124 
 
 SONG. 
 
 iVlY mind is my kingdom, but if thou wiit deign 
 A queen there to sway without measure ; 
 
 Then come, o'er its wishes and homage to reign, 
 And make it an empire of pleasure. 
 
 Then of thoughts and emotions each mutinous crowd, 
 That rebell'd at stern reason and duty ; 
 
 Returning — shall yield all their loyalty proud 
 To the Halcyon dominion of beauty. 
 
125 
 
 EXILE OF ERIN. 
 
 X HERE came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin, 
 
 The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill : 
 For his country he sigh'd, when at twilight repairins 
 
 To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. 
 
 But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion, 
 
 For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, 
 
 Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion, 
 
 He sang- the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. 
 
 Sad is my fate ! said the heart-broken stranger, 
 The wild deer and wolf to a covert <San flee ; 
 
 But I have no refuge from famine and danger, 
 A home and a country remain not to me. 
 11* 
 
126 
 
 Never again, in the green sunny bowers, 
 
 Where my forefathers liv'd, shall I spend the sweet 
 
 hours, 
 Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, 
 
 And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh ! 
 
 Erin my country ! though sad and forsaken, 
 In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore ; 
 
 But alas ! in a far foreign land I awaken, 
 
 And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! 
 
 Oh cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace me 
 
 In a mansion of peace — where no perils can chase me? 
 
 Never again, shall my brothers embrace me ? 
 They died to defend me, or live to deplore ! 
 
 Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood ? 
 
 Sisters and sire ! did ye weep for its fall ? 
 Where is the mother that look'd on my childhood I 
 
 And where is the bosom friend, dearer than all ? 
 Oh ! my sad heart ! long abandon'd by pleasure, 
 Why did it do* on a fast-fading treasure ! 
 Tears, like the rain-drop, may fall without measure ; 
 
 But rapture and beauty they cannot recall. 
 
 * • 
 
127 
 
 Yet all its sad recollection suppressing, 
 One dying wish my lone bosom can draw : 
 
 Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing! 
 Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh ! 
 
 Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, 
 
 Green be thy fields — sweetest isle of the ocean ! 
 
 And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud with devotion- 
 Erin mavournin ! — Erin go bragh !* 
 
 * Ireland my darling— Ireland for ever. 
 
128 
 
 THE BEECH TREE'S PETITION. 
 
 v-Jh leave this barren spot to me, 
 
 Spare, Woodman, spare the beechen tree. 
 
 Though shrub or flow'ret never grow, 
 
 My wan unwanning shade below, 
 
 Nor fruits of autumn blossom born 
 
 My green and glossy leaves adorn, 
 
 Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 
 
 The ambrosial treasures of the hive, 
 
 Yet leave this little spot to me, 
 
 Spare, Woodman, spare the beechen tree. 
 
 Thrice twenty summers I have stood 
 In bloomless fruitless solitude ; 
 Since childhood in my rustling bower 
 First spent its sweet and sportive hour, 
 
129 
 
 Since youthful lovers in my shade 
 Their vows of truth and rapture paid, 
 And on my trunk's surviving frame 
 Carv'd many a long forgotten name. 
 Oh, by the vows of gentle sound 
 First breath'd upon the sacred ground, 
 By all that Love hath whisper'd here, 
 Or beauty heard with ravish'd ear, 
 As Love's own altar honour me, 
 Spare, Woodman, spare the beechen tree- 
 
130 
 
 ODE TO WINTER. 
 
 W HEN first the fiery mantled sun 
 His heavenly race began to run, 
 Round the earth and ocean blue, 
 His children four the Seasons flew. 
 
 First, in green apparel dancing", 
 
 The young Spring smil'd with angel grace ; 
 Rosy Summer next advancing, 
 
 Rush'd into her sire's embrace : 
 Her bright hair'd sire, who bade her keep 
 
 For ever nearest to his smiles, 
 On Calpe's olive shaded steep, 
 
 On India's citron-cover'd isles : 
 More remote and buxom-brown, 
 
 The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne 
 A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown, 
 
 A ripe sheaf bound her zone. 
 
151 
 
 But howling- Winter fled afar, 
 To hills that prop the polar star, 
 And lores on deer-borne car to ride, 
 With barren darkness by his side. 
 Round the shore where loud Lofoden 
 
 Whirls to death the roaring- whale, 
 Round the hall where Runic Odin 
 
 Howls his war -song to the gale ; 
 Save when adown the ravag'd globe 
 He travels on his native storm, 
 
 Deflow'ring nature's grassy robe, 
 And trampling on her faded form : — 
 
 Till light's returning lord assume 
 The shaft that drives him to his polar field, 
 
 Of power to pierce his raven plume, 
 And crystal cover'd shield. 
 
 Oh, sire of storms ! whose savage ear 
 The Lapland drum delights to hear, 
 When Frenzy with her blood-shot eye 
 Implores thy dreadful deity. 
 Archangel ! power of desolation ! 
 Fast descending as thou art, 
 
132 
 
 Say, hath mortal invocation 
 
 Spells to touch thy stony heart I 
 Then sullen Winter hear my prayer, 
 And gently rule the ruin'd year ; 
 Nor chill the wand'rer's bosom bare, 
 Nor freeze the wretch's falling tear ; — 
 To shuddering want's unmantled bed, 
 Thy horror-breathing agues cease to lead, 
 And gently on the orphan head 
 Of innocence descend. — 
 
 But chiefly spare, O king of clouds ! 
 The sailor on his airy shrouds : 
 When wrecks and beacons strew the steep. 
 And spectres walk along the deep. 
 Milder yet thy snowy breezes 
 
 Pour on yonder tented shores, 
 Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 
 
 Or the dark-brown Danube roars. 
 Oh winds of winter ! list ye there 
 
 To many a deep and dying groan ; 
 Or start, ye demons of the midnight air, 
 
 At shrieks and thunders louder than vour own. 
 
133 
 
 Alas ! ev'n your unhallow'd breath 
 May spare the victim, fallen low ; 
 
 But man will ask no truce to death,- 
 No bounds to human woe.* 
 
 * This ode was written in Germany, at the close of 1800, 
 before the conclusion of hostilities. 
 
 12 
 
134 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 
 
 \JUR bugles sang- true — for the night-cloud had 
 lowVd, 
 
 And the centinel stars set their watch in the sky ; 
 And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowVd, 
 
 The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. 
 
 When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, 
 By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain ; 
 
 At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, 
 And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. 
 
 Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, 
 Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track : 
 
 'Twas autumn — and sunshine arose on the way 
 
 To the home of my fathers, that welcom'd me back. 
 
135 
 
 I flew to the pleasant fields travers'd so oft 
 
 In life's morning 1 march, when my bosom was young" ; 
 
 I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, 
 
 And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. 
 
 Then pledg'd we the wine -cup, and fondly I swore, 
 From my home and my weeping friends never to part; 
 
 My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, 
 And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart. 
 
 Stay, stay with us — rest, thou art weary and worn : — 
 And fain was their war -broken soldier to stay ; 
 
 But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, 
 And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away, 
 
1S6 
 
 THE TURKISH LADY. 
 
 A WAS the hour when rites unholy 
 Call*d each Paynim voice to pray'r, 
 And the star that faded slowly 
 Left to dews the freshen^ a ir. 
 
 Day her sultry fires had wasted, 
 Calm and sweet the moonlight rose j 
 
 Ev'n a captive's spirit tasted 
 Half oblivion of his woes. 
 
 Then 'twas from an Emir's palace 
 Came an eastern lady bright : 
 
 She, in spite of tyrants jealous, 
 Saw and lov'd an English knight. 
 
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 ■ Tell me, captive, why in anguish 
 
 ■ Foes have dragg'd thee here to dwell, 
 
 1 "Where poor Christians as they languish 
 'Hear no sound of sabbath bell ?' — 
 
 1 'Twas on Transylvania's Bannat 
 1 When the crescent shone afar, 
 • Like a pale disastrous planet 
 
 * O'er the purple tide of war — 
 
 1 In that day of desolation, 
 
 * Lady, I was captive made ; 
 
 ' Bleeding for my Christian nation 
 'By the walls of high Belgrade.' 
 
 ' Captive ! could the brightest jewel 
 ' From my turban set thee free ?' — 
 
 : Lady, no ! — the gift were cruel, 
 ' Ransom'd, yet if reft of thee. 
 
 ' Say, fair princess ! would it grieve thee 
 ' Christian climes should we behold ?' — 
 
 ' Nay, bold knight ! I would not leave thee 
 ' Were thy ransom paid in gold !' 
 12* 
 
138 
 
 'Sow in Heav'n's blue expansion 
 Rose the midnight star to view, 
 
 When to quit her father's mansion, 
 Thrice she wept, and bade adieu ! 
 
 * Fly we then, while none discover ! 
 
 * Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride !' 
 Soon as Rhodes the British lover 
 
 Clasp'd his blooming- Eastern bride. 
 
139 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written at the request of the Highland Society in Londmi, 
 ■when met to commemorate the 2\st of JMarcky the dau 
 of victory in Egypt. 
 
 1 LEDGE to the much lov'd land that gave us birth ! 
 
 Invincible romantic Scotia's shore ! 
 Pledge to the memory of her parted worth ! 
 
 And first, amidst the brave, remember Moore ! 
 
 And be it deem'd not wrong that name to give, 
 In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's sigh ! 
 
 Who would not envy such as Moore to live ? 
 And died he not as heroes wish to die ? 
 
 Yes,tho' too soon attaining glory's goal, 
 To us his bright career too short was giv'n ; 
 
 Yet in a mighty cause his phoenix soul 
 Ho&e on the ftames of victory te Heav'n* 
 
140 
 
 How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain 
 
 One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn 
 
 For him ! — How oft on far Corunna's plain 
 Shall British exiles weep upon his urn ! 
 
 Peace to the mighty dead ! — our bosom thanks 
 In sprightlier strains the living- may inspire ! 
 
 Joy to the chiefs that lead old Scotia's ranks, 
 Of Roman garb and more than Roman fire ! 
 
 Triumphant be the thistle still unfurl'd, 
 
 Dear symbol wild! on freedom's hills it grows, 
 
 Where Fingal stemm'd the tyrants of the world, 
 And Roman eagles found unconquer'd foes. 
 
 Joy to the band* this day on Egypt's coast 
 Whose valour tam'd proud France's tricolor, 
 
 And wrench'd the banner from her bravest host, 
 Baptiz'd Invincible in Austria's gore ! 
 
 Joy for the day on red Vimeira's strand, 
 
 When bayonet to bayonet oppos'd, 
 First of Britannia's hosts her Highland band 
 
 Gave but the death-shot once, and foremost clos'd ! 
 * The 42d Regiment. 
 
Hi 
 
 Is there a son of generous England here 
 Or fervid Erin ? — he with us shall join, 
 
 To pray that in eternal union dear, 
 The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine ! 
 
 Types of a race who shall th' invader scorn, 
 As rocks resist the billows round their shore, 
 
 Tvpes of a race who shall to time unborn 
 Their country leave unconquer'd as of yore ! 
 
142 
 
 LINES 
 
 Written on visiting a scene in Argyleshire. 
 
 -cxT the silence of twilight's contemplative hour, 
 
 I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood, 
 On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower, 
 
 Where the home of my forefathers stood. 
 All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode, 
 
 And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree ; 
 And travelled by few is the grass-covered road, 
 Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode 
 
 To his hills that encircle the sea. 
 
 Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, 
 
 By the dial-stone aged and green, 
 One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk, 
 
 To mark where a garden had been. 
 Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race, 
 
 All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew, 
 From each wandering sun-beam, a lonely embrace ; 
 For the night-weed and thorn overshadowed the place, 
 
 Where the flower of my forefathers grew. 
 
Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of all 
 
 That remains in this desolate heart ! 
 The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall ; 
 
 But patience shall never depart ! 
 Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and 
 bright, 
 
 In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd, 
 With the vanishing 1 phantoms of love and delight, 
 Abandon my soul like a dream of the night, 
 
 And leave but a desert behind. 
 
 Be hushed, my dark spirit ! for wisdom condemns 
 
 When the faint and the feeble deplore ; 
 Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems 
 
 A thousand wild waves on the shore ! 
 Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain. 
 
 May thy front be unaltered, thy courage elate ! 
 Yea ! even the name I have worshipped in vain 
 Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again ; 
 
 To bear is to conquer our fate.