2978 
 
THE MAGIC WORD, 
 
 Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
 
 Life is but an empty dream : 
 For that heart is dead that slumbers, 
 
 And things are not what they seem. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
THE MAGIC WORD. 
 
 II. 
 
 It bids the wearied husbandman 
 
 Toil cheerfully through care, 
 Reminding that a rich reward 
 
 Attends the Harvest-ear : 
 And pictures to his happy sight, 
 
 Though tempests scourge the earth, 
 His boys and girls from hunger free, 
 
 Around the merry hearth. 
 
 III. 
 
 It bids the warrior ' onward ' still, 
 
 Though all his comrades 'round, 
 Sad victims to the thirsty brand, 
 
 Have strewed the bloody ground : 
 For not the dreadful carnage near 
 
 Attracts his fiery eye. 
 But, dashing boldly on, he sees 
 
 Fame — Glory — Victory ! 
 
THE MAGIC WORD. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The noble Sailor scorns to fear, 
 
 Though fierce the lightnings flash, 
 And, roaring through the scowling clouds, 
 
 Loud peals the thunder's crash : 
 For, as he walks the proud ship's deck, 
 
 Where bolt nor plank are rent, — 
 He smiles undaunted on the storm, 
 
 And feels — encouragement ! 
 
 V. 
 
 So Genius, o'er whose wasted frame 
 
 Disease is sadly stealing, 
 How, all unheeding, still he toils, 
 
 New truth on truth revealing : 
 Eve is for rest, the sun reminds. 
 
 Bright setting o'er the hill ; 
 Midnight her warning gives in vain, — 
 
 Dawn finds him toiling still. 
 
THE MAGIC WORD. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Nay, this is madness, cries the friend, 
 
 Thy fevered cheek is pale — 
 When heahh and happiness are lost, 
 
 Can empty Fame avail ? 
 Alas ! such words are vain as air ! 
 
 He dreams not what controul 
 That MAGIC WORD Encouragement 
 
 Hath over such a soul ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 For harken to his stern reply : 
 
 ' Oh, Pleasure's idle son, 
 Wealth, honour, rank, a world were naught. 
 
 If I must die unknown : 
 Could I believe such were my fate, 
 
 Then every fruitless breath 
 Which Life condemns my heart to heave. 
 
 Would prove a living death ! ' 
 
THE MAGIC WORD. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 'Tis this which from the Lover's heart 
 
 All sorrow may beguile, 
 And light that sacred ray of hope 
 
 Which lives upon a smile : 
 Inspired by that celestial beam, 
 
 All things for her he '11 dare — 
 But break the spell — and mark how soon 
 
 He flies the scornful Fair. 
 
 IX. 
 
 For he who still abjectly kneels, 
 
 Despite her cold disdain. 
 Knows nothing of that nobler love, 
 
 Which animates my strain : 
 A manly heart, the while it breathes 
 
 Devotion deep and true, 
 If spurned, will proudly crush each pang 
 
 And scorn again to sue. 
 
6 THE MAGIC WORD. 
 
 X. 
 
 The Christian meets with cold repulse 
 
 When oft his voice is heard, 
 But, humbly looking up on high, 
 
 He hears the magic word : 
 And if he grieves to find his heart 
 
 On worldly hopes intent. 
 Sternly he braves the Tempter's art. 
 
 And feels — encouragement. 
 
 XI. 
 
 For hath not He who made the world, 
 
 The Father — Lord of all — 
 Kindly proclaimed, unknown to Him, 
 
 A sparrow shall not fall ? 
 And will He then a servant see 
 
 O'erwhelmed by Sorrow's tear, 
 Nor, like a Father, hark his voice. 
 
 And give him strength to bear ? 
 
THE MAGIC WORD. 
 
 XII. 
 
 See how the conscience-stricken child, 
 
 Who doth his conduct rue, 
 Will, at the slightest token, kneel 
 
 And kind forgiveness sue : 
 For, at its sound, within his breast. 
 
 What fond emotions rise, — 
 As, like a Prodigal, he strives 
 
 To win approving eyes ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But, rob him of this Magic-spell, 
 
 And wound his noble heart 
 With cold reproach, and how he writhes 
 
 Beneath the cruel smart : 
 His manly feelings wither up. 
 
 And self-respect, once dear. 
 Deserts him, till, disgraced, he falls 
 
 A victim to Despair. 
 
S THE MAGIC WORD. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 For, all too vain, the heart may strive 
 
 To mock Adversity, — 
 And, if unaided by this spell, 
 
 Soon dims the brightest eye ; 
 And soon less frequent on the ear 
 
 The merry laugh will rise : 
 For sternest souls must lose their nerve,- 
 
 When Hope uncherished dies. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Then oh, let none forget the charm 
 
 This MAGIC WORD hath won, 
 But bear it with him o'er Life's paths, 
 
 To cheer each Falterer on : 
 And, as the good Samaritan 
 
 His aid the stranger lent, — 
 So, when a Brother near thee sinks. 
 
 Whisper — encouragement ! 
 
NINA: 
 
 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 Oh, who is it that 's done this deed, 
 
 This ill deed done to me, 
 As to send me out this time o' the year 
 
 To sail upon the sea ! 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 4 
 
Note. — The scene of the following Poem is laid in the Bay 
 of Naples ; alternating between the shore of Sorento and the 
 Isle of Capri. On the Isle is a curious Cave, known as the 
 Azure Grotto : from the fact that it is lighted by means of the 
 sun's rays being reflected into it, from the water outside, 
 through an aperture barely large enough to admit the smallest 
 skiff. The water being deep blue, the rays which it transmits 
 into the Cave are, likewise, of the same colour. Thus the whole 
 Cave is illuminated with a most beautiful sky-blue light — 
 whence it is called the Azure Grotto. 
 
11 
 
 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 In splendour, o'er the purple skies, 
 
 Apollo's golden chariot flies ; 
 
 And, as the burning wheels retire, 
 
 Behold a sheet of living fire. 
 
 Wide o'er the Bay, his rest proclaims, 
 
 And heaven and earth seem wrapt in flames. 
 
 While sternly on his molten throne, 
 
 In sullen grandeur, all alone, 
 
 Vesuvius proudly towers on high, 
 
 And frowns o'er earth portentously. 
 
 But, ere the light hath left the west, 
 
 Far-flashing from his haughty crest, 
 
 A thousand flames in glory play. 
 
 And e'en create perpetual day ; 
 
12 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 Till softly in the glimmering sky, 
 
 The fair Diana hangs her bow, 
 And then, beneath her chastening eye, 
 
 All blends into one silvery glow : 
 The while Sicilian mount and plain. 
 
 Perfume the joyous winds that soar, 
 And waft the billows o'er the main. 
 
 In music, on lone Capri's shore. 
 
 II. 
 
 Upon that Isle, with mountains crowned, 
 Where once a Tyrant's palace frowned, 
 Cheerless, within his humble Cot, 
 With none to bless his lonely lot. 
 Beside the roar of the ocean wild. 
 Dwelt one whom Bigotry reviled ; 
 And, with a despot's stern command, 
 Had exiled from his native land. 
 The courteous mien — the bearing high, 
 The firm thin lip — the lofty eye — 
 
CANTO FIRST. 
 
 The proud, free step, that spurned the earth — 
 
 Bespoke him sprung of gentle birth. 
 
 Yet nor for wealth, nor rank he pined, 
 
 For, to his humble lot resigned, 
 
 His wants were few — the woods or tide, 
 
 By industry, those wants supplied : 
 
 But ah his lieart ! its wants were great, 
 
 And that rebelled against his state, 
 
 For, in a desert though H were thrown, 
 
 'Tis ne'er content to be alone. 
 
 But murmurs one unceasing strain — 
 
 To love and be beloved again ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Thus, o'er his lonely hearth at night. 
 
 Where Mirth ne'er smiled with young Delight, 
 
 He thought how bright that hearth would seem, 
 
 If she, the Idol of his dream. 
 
 Would deign upon his suit to smile, 
 
 And bless the Hermit of that Isle : 
 
 13 
 
14 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 For Manza's towers rose proudly o'er 
 The old Oaks of the neighbouring shore ; 
 And often when th' unconscious Maid, 
 At eve, beside the ocean strayed. 
 Spelled by the irresistless charm. 
 
 He 'd watch her steps, with longing eye, 
 Until her dear receding form 
 
 Faded in dim obscurity. 
 
 IV. 
 
 He loved, and yet had often turned, 
 
 In coldness, from the Maiden's side, — 
 For, though his heart with passion burned. 
 
 Yet was he still withheld by Pride : 
 For she, who thus his heart beguiled, 
 Was Manza's heir and only child : 
 
 Thus wealth was hers — her Lover poor. 
 And proudly had he shrunk to hear, 
 
 The world might deem the love he bore. 
 Burned more for gold than Manza's heir. 
 
CANTO FIRST. 15 
 
 V. 
 
 But he who M strive to break the chain, 
 
 Which Love around his heart hath twined, 
 Is Hke the bird that beats in vain. 
 
 The bars wherein it long hath pined, 
 And in each struggle to be free, 
 Still wounds itself more bitterly. 
 Thus on an eve, when o'er the west 
 The sun displayed his radiant crest, 
 Giovanni! from his island-quay, 
 Had launched his shallop o'er the Bay, 
 To reach Sorento's welcome shore. 
 Where dwelt that Flower he dared adore. 
 And dreaming of the lovely Maid, 
 Within the grove he fondly strayed ; 
 Till lo, ere fell the evening dew. 
 
 Kind Venus, conscious of his love, 
 The step of gentle Nina drew 
 
 To mark how bright she lit the Grove. 
 
 ^ The Italians pronounce this — Jo-vany. 
 
16 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Her unassuming, graceful form, 
 
 Was not of that commanding mould. 
 Which rouses Passion's turbid storm. 
 
 And proves the wreck of him controuled : 
 But of that spiritual mien, 
 Which bids you deem some Fairy-queen, 
 In secret, from her realm hath stole. 
 To win an earthly Lover's soul. 
 Her cheeks the rose might envious view, 
 
 Her bosom shames the lily's white, 
 Her eyes from heaven have caught their hue, 
 
 From some pure star their sparkling light ; 
 A bud, besprinkled o'er with dew. 
 
 Just bursting into leaves, the while, 
 Might picture to your fancy true. 
 
 How sweet her lips could form a smile. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Not long he wanders in the glade, 
 Before he meets the lovely Maid : 
 
CANTO FIRST. 17 
 
 Their hands extended — gently prest, 
 The soft confusion each confest, 
 The fulness of their hearts betrayed ; 
 And, while in his, he twines her arm. 
 He roams enraptured at her side,. 
 Till, in his wildly heaving breast^ 
 Young Love achieves a conquest warm. 
 And triumphs over jealous Pride. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sweet hope he reads from Love's true books, 
 
 As in her earnest eyes he looks. 
 
 And, gazing on her crimsoned cheeks, 
 
 The while she blushes nor rebukes. 
 
 The sorrows of his heart he speaks. 
 
 And, as beside her there he knelt, 
 
 You should have heard him to have felt 
 
 His was the love of few : 
 For thou had'st learned, if never known, 
 'Tis not the words, but soul-felt tone^ 
 
 That speak the feelings true. 
 
18 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 IX. 
 
 For Nina wept and smiled, in turn, 
 
 To hear that tender voice, — 
 Yet, while she wept his love to learn, 
 
 She felt her heart rejoice : 
 There is a joy, resembling grief, 
 
 The signs of sorrow wears. 
 And which, to give the breast relief. 
 
 Must vent itself in tears. 
 So burst from out her struggling soul. 
 The rapture she nor could controul, 
 
 When 'twas her happiness to learn, 
 That he, whom secretly she loved, 
 A warm requital thus hath proved. 
 
 And pledged Love's dear return. 
 
 But it were sacrilege to tell 
 
 How sweetly coy she there confest. 
 With modest grace, the timid flame. 
 
 That warmed her virgin breast. 
 
CANTO FIRST. 19 
 
 Transported with her yielding charms, 
 
 Fondly, within his circhng arms, 
 
 He clasps his Idol and his Prize, 
 
 To kiss the tear-drops from her eyes ; 
 
 The while his words in numbers roll. 
 
 To reassure her trembling soul. 
 
 And ye, whose hearts have wildly burned, 
 
 And found that passion all returned. 
 
 Alone can know how sweet their kiss, — 
 
 How full the measure of their bliss ! 
 
 XI, 
 
 But time now warns he must away. 
 
 Though Fate hath blest his cheerless lot 
 And, while she waves a fond adieu, 
 Her 'kerchief lessens on the view. 
 As swiftly, to his humble Cot, 
 The shallop skims the rippling Bay. 
 
20 
 
 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 CANTO SECOND, 
 
 I' 
 
 There is a Hall on Capri's Isle 
 
 No hand of man hath ever built, 
 It rose when Judas' kiss was guile, 
 
 And mountains quaked at human guilt. 
 Unlike the Halls of stately pride, 
 No towers flank its rugged side ; 
 No Gothic casements' painted ray 
 Here welcomes in the God of day ; 
 Nor battled front, nor warder's din. 
 Betrays what splendour lies within : 
 A simple portal, scarcely seen 
 Within the billow's crystal sheen, 
 Unbarred by bolt or lock, is all 
 That leads to Neri's fairy hall. 
 
CANTO SECOND. 21 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet, though 'tis never closed — beware 
 No human footstep enters there : 
 For fathomless, and full of wrath, 
 The only lintel that it hath 
 Are angry waves, that every tide 
 Sweeps foaming 'neath its rocky side. 
 And when, at morn, Apollo's light, 
 From stern Vesuvius' towering height, 
 Comes glimmering o'er the silver Bay, — 
 Each golden beam — each glorious ray, 
 Must dive beneath the deep blue wave 
 To pierce the entrance of that Cave. 
 And, when they thus have passed the door, 
 And rise from out the watery floor, 
 Lo, every ray of golden hue, 
 Is changed to that of azure blue ; 
 And all within, to human eye. 
 The marble walls of magic dye, 
 
22 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 The columned arch and ceiling high, — 
 Seem formed of portions of the sky. 
 
 III. 
 
 And such the bright abode of one 
 Whose history was all unknown. 
 They called her Neri — for the name 
 Implied a dark or mystic fame : 
 Some deemed she was not born of earth, 
 But that the sea had given her birth j 
 And, at the bidding of a spell, 
 Had burst, like Venus, from a shell. 
 And others thought she was the ghost 
 Of some poor Maid who, on that coast, 
 Had suffered shipwreck, and whose soul, 
 Resisting sternly Death's controul. 
 Had lingered thus within that Cave, 
 
 Until her Love again should brave 
 The tempest of the wind and wave. 
 
 And share with her a watery grave. 
 
CANTO SECOND. 23 
 
 IV. 
 
 For, when at eve her fragile skiff 
 Would hold its course along the cliff, 
 The fisher and the homeward bound, 
 Would steer their vessels far around 
 The promontory's rugged height. 
 To shun the Elfish Maiden's sight, — 
 Lest sudden storm and wreck might shew 
 Her Lover numbered 'mong their crew. 
 And, as the peasant saw her form. 
 To heaven he breathed his Ave warm. 
 And crossed himself religiously, 
 The while he strove to shun her eye. 
 
 V. 
 
 And, when the Moonlight tipped the wave, 
 She always left her Azure-Cave, 
 Arrayed in garbs of flashing light. 
 That dazzled the beholder's sight. 
 
24 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 Tall and majestic as a Queen, 
 Her form possessed that noble mien, 
 That might have lured you to her side, 
 Did not she seem a Phantom-bride : 
 Her hair all hanging loose behind. 
 And floating on the playful wind. 
 Was darker than the plumes they bring 
 Plucked from the captive Raven's wing. 
 Her mournful eyes ne'er turned their gaze, 
 But seemed as if they strove to raise, 
 By weird, or some fairy spell. 
 The form of one she loved too well. 
 And then it seemed as if the skiff, 
 By magic, glided from the cliff: 
 For neither oar, nor swelling sail, 
 Impelled it in the wildest gale : 
 But, on the deck, she 'd sadly stand, 
 And hold within her graceful hand, 
 A silver Harp, whose mystic tone 
 Breathed music of the spheres alone. 
 
CANTO SECOND. 25 
 
 And, while she struck the vibrant chords, 
 She sang such sad and mournful words. 
 That, all who heard, were fain to bless 
 A creature of such tenderness ; 
 For every note was like a wail 
 Of Melancholy's saddest tale. 
 And Lovers e'er together knelt. 
 
 And offered up to Heaven a prayer. 
 That Fortune might with kindness melt. 
 
 And pity such intense despair. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But there was one from whom that song 
 The sighs of deepest sadness drew ; 
 
 For well he knew she loved him long, 
 And loved him tenderly and true ; 
 
 For he had dared to tempt the wave, 
 
 That flowed within her azure cave, 
 
 And there had gazed upon and seen 
 
 The beauty of this Wizard-queen, 
 
26 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 Who thus had long been left by spell 
 
 Enchanted in that Magic-cell : 
 
 For, as he entered, lo, he read 
 
 The inscription of a verse that said : 
 
 ' And not until a Hermit young, 
 
 Of noble birth and manhood strong, 
 
 Shall woo thee from these rock-bound walls, 
 
 Thy chain of stern Enchantment falls : 
 
 And he it is thou'rt doomed to love, 
 
 And he is doomed to thee to prove 
 
 Whatever of happiness or woe. 
 
 It be thy lot on earth to know.' 
 
 VII. 
 
 And when he read the mystic charm. 
 And saw the beauty of her form, 
 
 A moment, in his eager arm, 
 
 He clasped her to his bosom warm. 
 
 But, ere his lips had dared to frame 
 
 Fit language for his sudden flame. 
 
CANTO SECOND. 27 
 
 A tremour through his bosom ran, 
 And chilled his passion ere began. 
 And there were tear-drops in his eye, 
 And from his bosom burst the sigh, 
 To see how soon the prophecy 
 Would thus fulfil its destiny : 
 For, at that moment, o'er his fit. 
 The form of Nina seemed to flit, 
 And warn him, with her beckoning hand. 
 To fly the Temptress' luring wand. 
 But when he strove to leave her side, 
 
 She clung more fondly to his breast, 
 And bade him stay, whate'er betide, 
 
 Nor leave a maiden thus distrest : 
 Oh take not, said she, from my soul. 
 
 That sunlight of Affection's glow, 
 Which first within my bosom stole. 
 
 When I beheld thy noble brow. 
 
28 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thus, when he saw her pearly tears, 
 And marked the budding of her years, — 
 Once more, he fain had heard her prayer. 
 So tenderly she breathed despair : 
 But, when he thought of Nina's eye. 
 His reason gained the mastery ; 
 And, while his farewell look he gave, 
 He rushed forever from the Cave, 
 Nor saw, the while he crossed the door, 
 She poured out o'er the watery floor, 
 A philter, from whose bubbles rose. 
 The history of his future woes. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yet she must pine and love him still, 
 And thus her destiny fulfil, 
 Until his heart more kindly proves, 
 Or dies the Maiden whom he loves. 
 
CANTO SECOND. 29 
 
 And ever, from that fatal day, 
 The Hermit's footsteps never stray- 
 Around that promontory's cliff, 
 But that he sees her graceful skiff, 
 Mysterious passing through the gale. 
 Without an oar — without a sail : 
 While, on the deck, the Maiden stands. 
 And holds, within her snowy hands, 
 The Harp of silver, to whose chords. 
 She sadly breathes these mystic words. 
 That, on the Hermit's shrinking ear, 
 Echo in accents sternly clear : — 
 
 ' Till Neri's Lover loves her true. 
 
 Or Neri's Lover made to rue 
 
 The eve he weds his Nina fair. 
 
 This Harp must soothe my fond despair.' 
 And, when he hears that Wizard-song, 
 
 A dread of something undefined. 
 Doth seem, for hours, to prolong 
 
 Its mystic meaning to his mind. 
 
30 
 
 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 CANTO TH IRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 The rosy Morn smiles o'er the main, 
 As, dimly, down the murky west, 
 Fair Cynthia and her starry train 
 Slowly, in turn, descend to rest : 
 A flood of gold overspreads the Bay, 
 The beach is strewn in pearly spray, 
 And, like a timid maid, the sky 
 Blushes before the Deity. 
 
 II. 
 But, as it were, to take her place. 
 With equal light and equal grace. 
 
CANTO THIRr, 81 
 
 Behold another Cynthia, now, 
 Hath risen from her couch to crown 
 
 A fond Endymion's brow. 
 And, while within the grove, alone, 
 In silver witchery of tone. 
 
 The lovely Nina sung. 
 Her form a moonlight radiance shed, 
 As gracefully her footsteps sped, 
 
 The branching oaks among. 
 
 BRIDAL HYMN. 
 
 1. 
 
 Aged Oaks ! that stand around 
 
 Linked together, like a band 
 Of old sentinels, to guard 
 
 This my noble father's land, — 
 Why so frowning, why so grave. 
 
 Heed ye not my happy lay ? 
 Ye should proudly wave your plumes. 
 
 For your Mistress weds to day ! 
 
32 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 2. 
 
 Types of innocence and truth, 
 
 Sweet companions of my bower, 
 When at eve, the day receding. 
 
 Twilight rules the sacred hour — 
 Beauteous birds ! awake your notes, 
 
 And now join me in my lay : 
 Ye should chaunt your sweetest songs, 
 
 For your Mistress weds to-day. 
 
 3. 
 
 Flowers that, with pearly dew, 
 
 Glitter in the morning light, 
 Purer let your perfumes be — 
 
 Let your hues be doubly bright : 
 All your sweet perfections yield, 
 
 Since, with fingers light and gay. 
 Now a Bridal- wreath she'll weave, 
 
 For your Mistress weds to-day. 
 
CANTO THIRD. 33 
 
 4. 
 
 Waters that now sparkle clear, 
 
 Rippling on the glistening shore, 
 In a sweetly liquid chime, 
 
 To yon fisher's sweeping oar — 
 Oh ! be calm until the morn, 
 
 Nor awake your angry sway : 
 Safely bear Giovanni's skiff, 
 
 To his happy Bride to-day ! 
 
 5. 
 
 Winds that kiss my blushing cheek, 
 
 And are revelling in my hair, — 
 Never will I chide ye more, 
 
 If ye but continue fair ; 
 Gentle Eurus ! wilt thou once 
 
 Hear an anxious Maiden pray. 
 And her Lover safely waft 
 
 To his happy Bride to-day ? 
 3 
 
34 ., THE ERIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 6. 
 
 Skies that smile with trembling light, 
 
 Conscious of Apollo's gaze, 
 Shedding glory o'er the scene, 
 
 With your pure cerulean rays, — 
 Let no angry storm arise. 
 
 Striking terror and dismay. 
 Brightly shine till morrow's eve : 
 
 For the Nina weds to-day ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And now, with graceful dignity, 
 
 That thrills the heart with ecstasy, 
 
 In all the joy of early love, 
 
 A Star of light along the Grove, 
 
 In every budding charm arrayed, 
 
 Returns the gentle Sylvan maid ; 
 
 Impatient of the coming hour, 
 
 That brings the Bride-Groom to her bower. 
 
CANTO THIRD. 35 
 
 But wherefore does she wildly start, 
 And shudder like the frighted Hart, 
 That trembling hears, at early morn, 
 The coming Huntsman's fatal horn? — 
 Lo ! ere the echoes of her sono; 
 Have ceased to float the hills amono;. 
 All sudden near the shore is seen 
 The shallop of the Wizard-queen ; 
 And on its deck the Maiden stands. 
 Her silver Harp within her hands. 
 The while, all tenderly and slow. 
 She chaunts the burden of her woe : — 
 Till Neri's lover loves her true. 
 Or Neri's lover made to rue 
 The eve he weds his Nina fair — 
 My Harp must soothe my wild despair.. 
 And, passing on against the gale. 
 Without an oar, without a sail, 
 A moment and no more is seen 
 The shallop or the Wizard-queen. 
 
36 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 Bat, floating still upon the wind, 
 Her song appalled the Nina's mind, 
 As, thrilled with agony, she stood 
 The marble Naiad of the wood. 
 
 V. 
 
 But now the hours have glided on, 
 
 And Cupid's chain must twine 
 Two fond and kindred hearts in one, 
 
 At Hymen's sacred shrine. 
 The birds are singing merrily 
 
 The whispering leaves between, 
 And trees and flowers, waves and sky, 
 Have heard the Nina's minstrelsy, 
 
 And smile upon the scene. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Assembled in the ancient Hall 
 
 Of hospitable cheer. 
 The guests, responsive to the call, 
 
CANTO THIRD. 37 
 
 To grace the merry wedding-ball, 
 
 Have come from far and near. 
 Here, for a season, hoary Age 
 Turns back the Book-of-Life a page, 
 
 And all his wonted mirth displays ; 
 Here Beauty smiles, and, at her side, 
 With hopeful heart to win a bride, 
 
 Young Ardour homage pays. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And silence now, through eveiy part, 
 
 Pervades the ancient Hall : 
 For solemn feelings in the heart 
 
 Subdue the mirth of all. 
 While, like an Oak in wintry storms, 
 
 With snow flakes o'er its bending height. 
 The Priest crowned in his hoary hairs, 
 Amid the silent group appears, 
 And solemnly the rite performs 
 
 Their hands in wedlock to unite. 
 
38 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI, 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And now the Feast is going on, 
 While, by his fond attentions won, 
 
 Here Beauty smiles on Worth. 
 The beakers they drain and fill again 
 To those whose hopes may never be vain, 
 
 And all is joy and mirth. 
 While many, jealous of the bliss 
 
 Which crowns the Bridal-pair, 
 Breathe vows of deepest tenderness 
 
 To ears that kindly hear. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But pleasure still must have its end, 
 However long the hours extend. 
 
 And feasts last not for aye ; 
 The smile will cease, the jest will fail, 
 And weariness, in turn, assail 
 
 As night succeeds to day. 
 
CANTO THIRD. 39 
 
 And, ere Eve's argent crest on high, 
 From heaven's bright azure shield. 
 
 Withdraws her light and leaves the sky- 
 Displayed a sable field, — 
 
 Launched out upon the glimmering Bay, 
 
 Careering o'er the foaming spray, 
 
 The Bride, within her Lover's skiff. 
 
 Must hie her to his Cottage -cliff : 
 
 For she who loves her Lover true. 
 
 No loss of palace pomp can rue. 
 
 Nor loss of wealth, nor loss of friends. 
 
 For his affection all amends. 
 
 And well the Nina craves the lot 
 
 To cheer her Lover's dreary Cot, 
 
 Nor bids him in that Palace live, 
 
 Where haughty hearts will ne'er forgive 
 
 That greatest crime within their eye — 
 
 The crime of luckless poverty ! 
 
40 
 
 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Far floating o'er the dancing waves, 
 
 The brilhant Moon on high 
 Each twinkling star in silver laves 
 
 Within the summer sky ; 
 Low murmurs on the pebbly shore 
 
 The wave in fleecy spray, 
 As gently now the zephyrs soar 
 
 Soft whispering o'er the Bay. 
 And, save the merry ripples' sound, 
 That tinkle on the sparkling ground, 
 
CANTO FOURTH. 41 
 
 The witching scene is deathly still ; 
 For now not e'en the Whippoorwill 
 Eepeats his song of plaintive note 
 To break the quiet of the spot. 
 V\^hile, by her cable scarce controuled, 
 And graceful as a Swan — behold 
 
 A light skiff rides the seas, — 
 High o'er her mast, in gay festoon, 
 Flaunting and glimmering 'neath the Moon, 
 
 Her Colours woo the breeze. 
 
 II. 
 
 But now unfurled the sail of snow 
 
 The playful zephyi's fill, 
 And the ripples gurgle 'round her prow 
 
 Like the merry mountain rill ; 
 While, o'er the Bay, she tracks her way 
 
 As graceful as a Bride, 
 With all her deck in dewy spray 
 
 And gunwails 'neath the tide. 
 
42 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 III. 
 
 But see — the Moon hath hid her light 
 
 Behind a frowning cloud, — 
 Anon the lightning flashes bright, 
 
 Mutters the thunder loud ; 
 And the waters, 'round the little Bark, 
 Each moment seem more deeply dark ; - 
 For, in the sable-curtained sky, 
 
 The stars have fled the gloom. 
 And left the earth, despairingly. 
 
 As mournful as a tomb. 
 While, like a gale that furious raves, 
 And all the forest wildly waves, 
 
 A roar now heard afar. 
 To the hearts of those of fearless mien, 
 Portends the grand and thrilling scene 
 
 Of the elements at war. 
 
CANTO FOURTH. 43 
 
 IV. 
 
 Borne on the air, the fearful sound 
 
 Doth near and nearer draw, 
 As Nina's arm encircles 'round 
 
 Giovanni, filled with awe. 
 And fiercely, through the murky sky, 
 The vivid lightnings wildly fly. 
 As, o'er his Nina's fragile form, 
 In crashing thunder, bursts the storm ; 
 While, raging furious o'er the Bay, 
 The strong winds rush with awful sway. 
 Till all the waters, angrily, 
 Are lashed in mountains to the sky. 
 Awhile deep darkness wraps the Sound, 
 
 Awhile unearthly light 
 Burns in one living flame around — 
 
 Earth trembles with afliight. 
 But comfort to her shuddering soul 
 
 Giovanni whispers near, 
 
44 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI, 
 
 As 'round her form his strong arm stole, 
 
 To bid her never fear : 
 For still the skiff mounts gallant o'er 
 
 The high waves' curling foam, 
 And, like a stag, bounds proudly sure 
 
 To reach the Cottage -home ! 
 
 V. 
 
 But see — amid that fearful storm. 
 The Phantom-skiff and Phantom-form, 
 Comes riding through the awful gale. 
 Without an oar — without a sail. 
 And wherefore is the Wizard-maid 
 This night so gorgeously arrayed ? — 
 Her robes are of the purest white, 
 Her jewels sparkle doubly bright. 
 Her raven hair, e'er loose behind. 
 No longer floats upon the wind, — 
 But, strung with pearls, 'tis braided now, 
 In splendour, 'round her snowy brow. 
 
CANTO FOURTH. 45 
 
 With all the elegance and pride 
 Of one who comes to be a Bride ; 
 For now her flashing eyes appear 
 Thrice brilliant from their past despair. 
 And, as her shallop skims the sea, 
 She strikes her Harp triumphantly. 
 While, far above the tempest's roar, 
 Her notes of mystic meaning soar : — 
 ' Blow the wind and howl the gale, 
 Neri long hath wailed her wail — 
 But the storm and angry tide, 
 Makes and unmakes Groom and Bride : 
 Blow the wind and howl the gale, 
 Neri wails no more her wail ! ' 
 
46 
 
 THE BHIDE OF CAPPJ. 
 
 CANTO FIFTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 The storm had ceased and all was bright, 
 As, once more on the grateful sight, 
 Sweet Cynthia shed her sacred light 
 
 Serenely from on high ; 
 And all the stars were twinkling o'er 
 
 The quiet summer sky ; 
 Low murmured, on the pebbly shore, 
 
 The wave in fleecy spray, 
 As, tranquilly, the zephyrs soar. 
 
 Soft whispering o'er the Bay. 
 
CANTO FIFTH- 47 
 
 II. 
 
 But on the beach, all helpless cast, 
 
 Was seen a shattered Barge, — 
 And, at its side, a shivered mast 
 
 Was tossing on the marge : 
 While o'er a form, with anguish stung, 
 A Maid, in silent sorrow, hung, 
 And bitterly, anon, would kiss 
 His lips, all cold and colourless. 
 Nor would believe his spirit flown 
 
 To a far brighter spot. 
 But whispered still in tender tone, 
 
 Although he answered not. 
 No tear she shed — no sigh she heaved. 
 
 But silent o'er him hung — 
 The burning lids the tear bereaved. 
 
 Despair her bosom wrung ! 
 And, though she mourned her destiny, 
 
 Ne'er murmured at her fate, — 
 
48 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 For, well she knew, 'tis willed a few 
 
 Must here be desolate : 
 For 'tis the wisdom that is borne 
 
 From out one struggling soul, 
 That teaches millions, who would mourn, 
 
 Their sorrows to controul ! 
 
 HI. 
 
 Upon the Isle, beside the strand, 
 
 A grave was scooped beneath the sand. 
 
 Wherein, by friendly hands, was laid 
 
 The Lover of that Bridal-Maid. 
 
 And here, until of late, did stand. 
 
 To mark that spot of sacred land, 
 
 A Parian Cross, v/hereon was seen 
 
 A shattered skiff and Wizard-queen ; 
 
 The while, around the simple stone, 
 
 Her tender hands those seeds had sown 
 
 Whose germs she deemed the emblem given 
 
 Of him whose soul had passed to heaven. 
 
CANTO FIFTH. 49 
 
 And ever, when the brilliant Moon 
 
 Threw o'er that Isle her silver sheen, 
 Upon the shore, in silent grief, 
 
 A Maiden's form was seen ; 
 With solemn step and tearful eye, 
 
 She'd steal along the shore in gloom. 
 And there, till Morning lit the sky, 
 
 Kneel o'er her Lover's simple Tomb. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And if, perchance, you sought her near, 
 To ask the cause of her despair, — 
 With tear-drops trembling in her eye, 
 She'd answer low and mournfully : — 
 ' Alas ! the Bliss-cup of this world, 
 
 With brilliant hopes replete, 
 Scarce meets the lip, when oft 'tis hurled. 
 
 In fragments, at our feet : 
 
50 THE BRIDE OF CAPRI. 
 
 But there 's a cup of purer bliss 
 A Saviour's hand hath given, 
 
 Which cheers the soul's deep bitterness, 
 And points its hopes to heaven ! ' 
 
 V. 
 
 Years rolled on years — but never more 
 Was seen upon that lovely shore 
 The Phantom-skifF, without a sail, 
 Contending with the harmless gale : 
 Nor ever more was heard or seen, 
 The Mystic song or Wizard-queen : 
 And all believe that he who died 
 Had taken her for his Spirit-bride, 
 And thus fulfilled the spelled decree 
 That pointed out his destiny : 
 For, from that night, her azure Cave 
 Hath had no tenant but the wave ; 
 Nor even was its entrance known, 
 Until a mariner was thrown, 
 
CANTO FIFTH. 51 
 
 All wrecked and drowning near that beach ; 
 
 When, suddenly, within his reach, 
 
 His fainting eyes beheld a skiff 
 
 Drifting beneath the rocky cliff. 
 
 But, ere he scarce had grasped its side, 
 
 It sprung like magic o'er the tide. 
 
 And bore him like a steed to stall. 
 
 In Neri's long deserted Hall. 
 
 And when, at length, his brawny arm 
 
 Had broken through the portal's charm, 
 
 He fled away, in trembling awe. 
 
 And wildly told of all he saw : 
 
 Thus every traveller now can tell. 
 
 How wondrous 'tis to see the spot 
 Where dwelt, by magic and by spell, 
 
 The Empress of the Azure-Grot. ^ 
 
 ^ The shortness of the Cantos is in conformity with the usage 
 of the Italian Poets. — Vide Dante, &c. 
 
THE DREAMER. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 And for these words, thus -woven into song, 
 It may be that they are a harmless wile, — 
 The colouring of my thoughts that flit along, 
 Which I would seize, in passing, to beguile 
 My breast, or that of others, for awhile. 
 
55 
 
 THE DUEAMER. 
 
 CANTO FIRST. 
 
 1. 
 
 O'er angry ocean, with majestic prow, 
 A vessel dashed in splendour through the wave, 
 Borne proudly onward by her wings of snow. 
 And when, anon, the sun appeared to lave 
 Within the waters, destined for his grave, 
 Upon the deck stood one, whose vacant mien 
 Betokened him to be the Passion-slave 
 Whom men proclaim a Dreamer — for, serene. 
 He thus awoke his Harp, enraptured with the scene. 
 
56 THE DKEAMEE. [bOOK I. 
 
 11. 
 
 High on his car, the brilliant God of day 
 Descends, in glory, o'er the western sky. 
 And, as he whirls far- flashing on his way. 
 Tipping with fire the pillared clouds on high. 
 What gorgeous pictures greet the dazzled eye : 
 Now, o'er the heavens, a raging ocean lies — 
 Now armies rush to battle angrily — 
 Now mountains, castles, giants huge suprise. 
 Till 'neath the wave he sinks, and softer scenes arise. 
 
 III. 
 
 Oh, who can look up to that sacred light, 
 Nor feel his soul enraptured pant, like mine. 
 To take triumphantly her heavenward flight : 
 For, dare he deem that, when he shall resign 
 That mortal part which doth the soul confine. 
 The joyous soul will perish equally — 
 That ever restless soul, which doth combine 
 A thousand mysteries in one — will lie. 
 Unconscious, in a grave, through all Eternity ! — 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FIRST. 57 
 
 IV. 
 
 It cannot be — came God-like man on earth 
 Only to prove how firmly he could bear 
 The woes which persecute him from his birth — 
 Oh, must the heart, oppressed with cruel care, 
 Thus, from the eye, distil the burning tear, 
 Without the hope 't will have a sweet reward 
 For every bitter pang it suffers here > — 
 Far nobler truths my lips would fain record, 
 Sweet whispered oft by thee, Conscience ! my bosom 
 Lord.^ 
 
 V. 
 
 The dying Christian's bed I 've stood beside, 
 And seen the Lamp of Life there, flickering burn 
 Dimmer and dimmer, till at last it died : 
 Then watched, with agony intense, to learn 
 If the freed soul appeared not to return. 
 In bliss, to heaven from the stricken clay : 
 And oh, triumphantly, I could discern 
 A smile of rapture o'er her features play. 
 Which bade me deem her soul beheld its new-born day ! 
 
 1 ' Conscience, my bosom's lord.' — Suakespeabe. 
 
58 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And now the Moon, suffused with crimson glow, 
 More timid than a Maiden, when she hears 
 Her ardent Lover's deep, impassioned vow, 
 All trembling o'er the dancing wave appears : 
 While mark, as upward, gradually she bears, 
 Her crimson mantle fading from the eye, 
 A flowing robe, of dazzling white, she wears ; — 
 And, night's chaste Queen, with noble grace, on high, 
 Ascends the azure vault, and silvers all the sky. 
 
 VII. 
 
 A lovely eve ! oh how it makes the heart, 
 Of him who ponders o'er the happy Past, 
 With tender recollections, wildly start : 
 As Memory's mirror, faithfully, doth cast 
 Reflections of those joys that could not last : 
 The smile of mother, brother, sister, — oh ! 
 Love's sacred smile, that cheers Life's dreary waste : 
 Ah yes, the heart, where Sorrow's streams o'erflow, 
 Will whisper forth at eve, its tale of secret woe. 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FIRST. 59 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For 'tis the hallowed hour when we feel 
 Remembrance of the bliss that once we knew 
 With melancholy pleasure o'er us steal : 
 For, while the eye surveys the melting blue, 
 And, with emotion, sees of silver hue, 
 Light clouds, slow-sailing o'er the pearly sky, 
 Now brightly glow, then softly fade from view — 
 O'er Youth's fond hopes the bosom heaves a sigh 
 Thus doomed, like evening clouds, to fade away and die ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 A moment's folly yields repentant years, 
 And, in those years, how oft we vainly strive 
 To blot the error with remorseful tears ! 
 Yet, deigned the Father even to forgive. 
 And granted unto man the power to live 
 The life anew — how few possess the nerve 
 To curb the Passion that would still survive 
 To tempt the Reason from the Right to swerve — 
 Our recent wounds are vain from others to preserve ! 
 
60 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 CANZONE. 
 
 Though far away from thee and home, 
 
 A Wanderer, on a foreign strand, 
 Yet deem not thou, where'er I roam, 
 
 Although 'twere reahn of Fahy-land, 
 That thou can'st be forgot : 
 For if, at times, this stranger-shore 
 
 Presents some Peri to my gaze, 
 I do but pause to think how poor 
 
 Her eyes compare with thine, whose rays 
 Would cheer Life's darkest lot ! 
 
 For 'tis the soft bewitching spell 
 
 Of Memory's soul-enchanting power. 
 That lends a charm to mount and dell. 
 
 And breathes fresh fragrance in each flower 
 Which greets my Pligrim path : 
 Each thought of thee which haunts my breast, 
 
 Morn, noon and eve, with magic art, 
 Within my bosom, leaves imprest 
 
 Those sweet attractions of the heart 
 None other like thee hath ! 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FIRST. 61 
 
 I 've watched the Scottish maiden's cheek 
 
 That mocks the roses of her fells, 
 And deemed 't were more than vain to seek 
 
 For spot of earth where Beauty dwells 
 More exquisite than hers ; 
 When, instantly, as if ashamed 
 
 One moment to have slighted thee. 
 My spirit flew to thine and claimed 
 
 Forgiveness — for Divinity 
 E'er pardons him who errs. 
 
 And Gaul's proud Maid of fairy form. 
 
 Bright eyes that laugh at Reason's power, 
 And lips that lisp a tongue so warm 
 
 'T were dangerous, in unguarded hour. 
 To lend a listening ear : 
 Alike hath held me, for a space. 
 
 In gentle bondage at her feet ; 
 When, in a moment, o'er her face, 
 
 Thy dearer features seemed to fleet 
 And free me from the snare ! 
 
62 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 Transfixed before that fatal charm, 
 
 Which flashes from her lustrous eyes, 
 I've hung enraptured o'er her form. 
 
 As though I yielded me a prize 
 To Andalusia's Maid : 
 But, ere had ceased the witching sound. 
 
 That stirred th6' chords of her Guitar, 
 Awoke from Fancy's dream, I 've found 
 
 My constant spirit wandering far 
 Beside tliee^ true and staid ! 
 
 And when with her whose Roman soul 
 
 Burns like the craters of her land. 
 And her rich words so sweetly roll 
 
 You 'd deem a God had swept his hand 
 Her trembling heart-strings o'er : 
 At such a moment, I have thought. 
 
 Could I but hear one word of thine^ 
 There 'd be such magic with it fraught, 
 
 'T would set at naught this Tongue Divine, 
 And thrill me to the core ! 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FIRST. 63 
 
 'T was thus in Youth's unclouded days, 
 
 When Hope was bright, and Love was dear, 
 My Harp attuned its fondest lays, 
 
 For one with whom 'twere bliss to share 
 Life's most unfavoured lot : 
 But, ere my Pilgrimage is done, 
 
 Stern Rumour seeks my shrinking ear, 
 To tell me thou art wooed and won. 
 
 And I, alas ! condemned to hear 
 How soon I 've been forgot ! 
 
64 
 
 THE DREAMER. 
 
 CANTO SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 Therisa ! have a few short months thus changed 
 That gentle heart which once I hoped was mine ? 
 Hast thou deserted him who never ranged, 
 Though Beauty on him oft hath cast her eyne, 
 And, through those orbs, revealed the arch design 
 Which few, or none, might ever wish to flee ? — 
 From all alike I turned — my joy was to resign 
 Each dream, each hope, each tender thought to thee 
 Oh God ! and is it thus, that thou hast thought of me ! 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO SECOND. 65 
 
 II. 
 
 Deprived of foresight, fatally we haste 
 To grasp, as blessings, what we fain might shun, 
 And find, too late, the heart thus goes to waste : 
 For Discord scowls, ere Fortune hath begun 
 To smile upon us with her radiant sun. 
 Lo, eagerly, we view the blissful goal 
 And spread all sail that soon it may be won ; 
 When, suddenly, upon some unseen shoal. 
 Wrecked is the hopeful barque of the too sanguine soul ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Yet stay, my Harp — nor further dare complain. 
 For they whose hearts are holy, ever find 
 That God for us doth truly best ordain : 
 We are His children, is it then unkind 
 That He for us should judge, who are so blind ? 
 Or should His solemn dispensations grieve, 
 And generate rebellion in a mind 
 Which e'er, with meekness, should his Law receive ? 
 Our hopes are loisely crushed, 't is wisdom to believe. 
 5 
 
66 THE DREAMEK. [bOOK I. 
 
 IT. 
 
 But, should the haunts of Solitude invite, 
 To brood o'er visions which, though long gone by. 
 Still yield the mind faint shadows of delight — 
 And, in such moments, if we heave the sigh, 
 And dream of friends who, though they be not nigh. 
 Within the heart still live despite of years — 
 Till pictures of the Past before the eye 
 So faithfully arise, we shed hot tears. 
 As if, once more a child, we wept with childish fears — 
 
 V. 
 
 Yet, if a wild unrest possess the soul, 
 And o'er those dreams a gloomy cloud impel 
 Of dark oppressive thought — we should controul 
 Each evil passion that would dare rebel, 
 Nor suffer Vice, with her alluring spell. 
 Amid her snares, to lead us reckless on : 
 For love — true love, hath ne'er his lot befel. 
 Who, disappointed, seeks it to disown. 
 By drowning Thought and hurling Reason from her 
 throne. 
 
BOOK I,] CANTO SECOND. 67 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh no ! 't is not the proud heart's sacred love 
 Which, crossed by Fate, perchance will quickly find 
 Relief in Vice's maze — or gaily rove, 
 That care may thus be cast upon the w^ind : 
 A heart, like this, is of that selfish kind. 
 Which of its hopes no generous offering brings, — 
 But, to the frowns of Fortune unresigned. 
 To some more yielding bosom fondly clings. 
 And, with a soulless harp, in turn her praises sings. 
 
 VII. 
 
 True love will to the heart more closely bind 
 The recollections of its happier days ; 
 And with delight, will oft recall to mind. 
 Each dear remembered word — each tender gaze. 
 Which once its sweetest, wildest, hopes would raise, 
 The winning smile that won a fond belief. 
 And oft, in silence, spoke the highest praise : 
 In these 't will strive to seek some faint relief 
 For the forsaken heart that sighs in lonely grief. 
 
68 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And yet to him in chains of wealthless love, 
 Philosophy ! thy words are vain as air ! 
 And Wealth ! who wonders mankind recreant prove, 
 Or in the frenzy of a wild despair. 
 Stake soul and body for a prize so dear : 
 Since, gaining thee^ they grasp a Magic-wand 
 Whose spells controul alike the proud and fair : 
 And all must envy its supreme command. 
 When lo, a single arm may rule the proudest land ! ^ 
 
 IX. 
 
 Condemned to feel a love he must not speak, 
 To see a hateful Rival favoured well. 
 To shun the side he fain would fondly seek. 
 To train the voice to curb its ardent swell, 
 With eyes all listless on her form to dwell — 
 Yet writhe with rapture, till the burning glow 
 Of Passion's essence, in his souPs dark cell, 
 Converts her eyes, cheeks, lips and Parian brow 
 To tantalizing tortures — this, indeed, is woe ! 
 
 1 Rothschild's influence over the Spanish Government. 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO SECOND. 69 
 
 X. 
 
 Yet none should shrink from Fortune, but endure ; 
 And be resolved her arrows to defy, 
 Whatever wrath upon us she may pour : 
 We were not placed within this world to sigh, 
 And mope o'er darkling sorrow piteously ; 
 But, with the garb of Faith, we should essay 
 To seek some blessing which may fall from High : 
 For, though o'erwhelmed with bitterness to-day, 
 At morn, the smile of Love, that bitterness may stay ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Woman ! thou pure Confessor of man's heart. 
 And Guide, to lead him from the errors here 
 Contracted madly in the busy mart. 
 Heed not the wretch, mistrusting all that 's fair. 
 Whose poison-lips an obloquy doth dare 
 To breathe in scorn upon thy sacred name ; 
 For thou art all on earth to man most dear — 
 In health or sickness — sorrow, joy — the same 
 Guard of his future bliss, and of his earthly fame. 
 
70 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Oh, how consoling to the guihy breast, 
 In the deep stillness of the Midnight scene, 
 When Conscience stirs the thoughts, and quiet rest 
 Refuses to that bosom which hath been 
 Immersed from morn, in sinfulness, till e'en — 
 To know that pious lips will fervent pray. 
 Before the Throne of Grace, in holy mien, 
 That Vengeance still her fearful hand may stay. 
 While yet he might repent, and follow Wisdom's way : 
 
 XIII. 
 
 How sweet to know that in one truthful heart, 
 His image, dearly cherished, sacred lies, — 
 And feel, with confidence, that, though a part 
 Of this cold world that image may despise, 
 Yet, faithful to him still, will fondly prize. 
 And kindly shield it from the bitter sneer 
 Which loathsome Malice utters in disguise : 
 That glorious thought affords him strength to bear. 
 With calmness, all the wrongs, to which poor man is 
 Heir! 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO SECOND. 71 
 
 XIV. 
 
 It nerves him with a courage that doth scorn 
 Each difficulty that would bar his way, 
 And whispers, when the Gem is won and worn, 
 'T will more than all laborious hours repay : 
 Inspires Ambition in the Mind to lay 
 Those ' acorns ' from the stores of Sages past, 
 Which thus upspringing at some future day. 
 Become the Oak that bravely mocks the blast. 
 And proudly waves on high, through ages, to the last ! 
 
72 
 
 THE DREAMER 
 
 CANTO THIRD. 
 
 I. 
 
 Marian ! alas, my inspiration flows 
 Persuading me, in vain, thy name to bless : 
 For dreaming of thy cheek, where brightly glows 
 The Rose-bud in the Lily's pure caress, — 
 My angered thoughts recur, with bitterness. 
 To one who would not deem the world all guile. 
 Had Fate decreed that he should love thee less : 
 For 't was his hapless lot to learn erewhile, 
 A serpent oft may lurk, beneath a heavenly smile. 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO THIRD. 73 
 
 II. 
 
 But weary years have fled since first he felt 
 The fatal influence of thy guilty eyes, 
 And, at thy side, with holy fervour knelt. 
 Breathing a love which, cherished, never dies ; 
 While, with a soul that knew no base disguise, 
 In purity of heart to thee confest, — ^ 
 
 Wealth, or Ambition, held no dazzling prize, 
 Which could seduce him from thy side — if blest, 
 He claimed the envied treasure of thy Virgin-breast. 
 
 III. 
 
 'T were needless now to trace the early dawn 
 Of his devotion — but suffice he threw 
 The Die of happiness for Passion's pawn, 
 And thus did sacrifice a heart most true : 
 For, day by day, some plea him sadly drew, 
 A willing captive, to thy fatal snare ; 
 And, gazing on thy beauty, lo, he grew 
 Delirious with the smile of one so fair. 
 And trembled at thy side, a victim of despair. 
 
74 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou wert his idol — oh, he worshipped thee 1 
 And, at thy slightest accent, all his soul 
 Responsive thrilled with purest ecstasy : 
 It was his pride thee, morn and eve, o'er all 
 Thy noble sex, with praises to extol : 
 For him, earth held none like thee, and he learned 
 To deem thou wert what men Perfection call : 
 Yet, when devoted to thy shrine he turned, 
 Ingratitude how deep — his prayers were coldly spurned ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Shame, that a Maid should ever deem it light 
 To wrong a Lover's heart — doth Conscience ne'er 
 Within thee whisper, ' Have I acted right ? ' — 
 Yet, though, false one ! he loved thee all so dear. 
 Deem not that, thence, he shed one secret tear : 
 But proudly tore thy fetters from his soul, 
 And cast deep scorn upon his treacherous Fair : 
 His manly heart despised a Flirt's controul. 
 Nor deigned, amid her train, in homage to enroll ! 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO THIED. 75 
 
 VI. 
 
 But deem not, thence, Resentment ever long 
 Ignobly ruled within his generous heart : 
 For, though he felt the deepness of his wrong, 
 His truer nature, with persuasive art, 
 Soon prompted him to act a nobler part — 
 Forgiveness — he forgave, and knew not how 
 To hate the hand that e'en had winged the dart : 
 And, though he shun thee with averted brow, 
 Beneath that ic}^ front, the sparks of friendship glow. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet friend alone he is — nor more than friend : 
 Wert thou in danger, reckless would he dare. 
 Or risk his own thine honour to defend ; 
 But, oh believe me, wert thou heavenly fair. 
 And strove again his passions to ensnare. 
 Thy yielded charms would even prove too vain : 
 There is a love that Youth's first visions bear 
 Which, once despised, refuses to complain, 
 But silently submits and never sighs again ! 
 
76 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And, when a captive at bright Woman's shrine, 
 Man breathes the prayer of Passion's fond esteem, 
 Let her not mock the heart he doth resign ; 
 Lest soon she find the power she thought supreme, 
 Like every Tyrant's, vanish in a dream. 
 And her wronged Lover rescued from her reign : 
 She, who would hold her slave, should never seem 
 To scorn his ardour with uncurbed disdain, — 
 But bind his captured heart in Friendship's subtle chain. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And Beauty, if within thy bosom, burns 
 Some little portion of that holy light 
 Which, in his breast, with deepest fervour, yearns 
 To claim thy love his Offering to requite, — 
 Then let thy witching smiles continue bright, 
 Thy glances still their tales of love impart. 
 Thy silvery accents still beguile — nor slight 
 The pure devotion of a faithful heart 
 That offers thee a love untutored yet by Art : — 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO THIRD. 77 
 
 X. 
 
 For, in the hallowed temple of his soul, 
 
 There ceaseless glows an incense-lamp of Love ; 
 
 Which, though Life's storm-clouds darkly o'er thee 
 
 scowl, 
 A ray of undimmed hope will ever prove. 
 But, if thy bosom, at thine evening shrove. 
 Feels not the influence of that magic power, 
 Against whose mystic spell he vainly strove. 
 When, all delirious at some fatal hour. 
 He knelt young Beauty's slave in Beauty's rosy bower. 
 
 XI. *• 
 
 Then ne'er permit that love-inspiring eye, 
 Whose sacred light, as bright as starry rays, 
 Is sweetly soft as summer's evening sky. 
 Upon him turn the Coquette's luring gaze : 
 For who would offer at a shrine his praise, 
 Or teach his Harp to breathe a fervent strain 
 Adoring her he deems divine, and raise 
 His eyes to hers, one kindly look to gain, 
 Yet, while adoring thus, to seek that look in vain ! 
 
78 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 XII. 
 
 That love whose Altar-fires are in the soul, 
 A warm requital sternly cloth demand : 
 And, if denied, it spurns her weak controul, 
 And breaks in twain young Beauty's silken band : 
 For wounded pride, by secret anger fanned, 
 More deeply agitates man's haughty breast. 
 Than all the pangs, for which, o'er Leucade's strand, 
 Fond, frenzied Sappho, in her wild unrest, 
 Leaped from the fearful Rock, o'er ocean's fatal crest 
 
79 
 
 THE DREAMER 
 
 CANTO FOURTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 With sacred light, the quiet midnight sky 
 A slumbering World in silver radiance crowned ; 
 And, sleep retreating from the Dreamer's eye, 
 He sought his casement, where, with view unbound, 
 He gazed in rapture o'er the vast profound 
 That lay in silence where the moonlight beamed 
 In concert with the stars that smiled around ; 
 Till, to his burning brow, the pure air seemed 
 An Angel's holy breath, that fanned him while he 
 dreamed. 
 
80 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 II. 
 
 And thus he sang : Since chance hath tuned my Lyre 
 To melancholy notes, I fain would sing 
 Of one whose hopes seemed ever to expire, 
 And Life each day new disappointments bring, 
 Ye, who have never known of grief, may fling 
 The Poet's mournful hymn aside — until. 
 Like him of whom he sings, to ye shall cling 
 Fell Sorrow's grasp that, like a foe, clings still, 
 While of the heart's best blood, she yet may drink her 
 fill. 
 
 III. 
 It was a lovely night — each twinkling star, 
 Like smiling Angels robed in silver sheen, 
 Throughout the liquid azure shone afar ; 
 While, brilliantly within the heavens serene, 
 Unrivalled rose the evening's radiant Queen, 
 Amid the glories which her presence brought : 
 But there was one, of sad and joyless mien, 
 Who gazed on all, as though unheeding aught, 
 And pondered o'er the scenes which Memory's mirror 
 wrought. 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FOURTH. 81 
 
 IV. 
 
 For, as, alone, he watched the Moon's pale beam 
 And thoughts succeeded thoughts of bitterness, 
 A Mother's spirit, flitting o'er his dream, 
 Recalled the scenes of boyhood's cloudless bliss, 
 When life seemed precious as a Mother's kiss. 
 But where was she — still sat they side by side ? — 
 The tomb o'er which he leaned denied him this ; 
 And, while his hands he clasped in grief and sighed, 
 Heart-rending thoughts, like these, his bosom occu- 
 pied : — 
 
 V. 
 When Youth's bright dreams of happiness are past, 
 And we grasp shadows for realities : 
 As Fortune's frowns a fatal blight have cast 
 O'er all the hopes that in the breast arise ; 
 Till, lost to shame. Vice seeks not a disguise 
 To screen its guilty acts of hard despair. 
 And friend and foe the fallen wretch despise : 
 Whose ears, unmoved, are deaf to all they hear, 
 Or, like a Mother's heart, will love that wretch still 
 dear! 
 
 6 
 
82 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 VI, 
 
 Oh God, my Mother ! thou no more on earth, 
 Whose holy lips so oft my name have blest ! 
 Call I in vain to one who gave me birth. 
 And, while an infant on thy sacred breast. 
 Lulled every suffering into soothing rest ; 
 And who, when Death had marked me for his prey. 
 Within thine arms thy fevered infant prest, 
 And prayed to God that He might kindly stay 
 The fatal shaft of Death, that filled thee with dismay ! — 
 
 VII. 
 
 Oh art thou gone ? ah yes — and now thy son. 
 Who was to thee the ' Apple of thine eye,' 
 Of all that love deprived, is left alone. 
 Alone — there was a secret sympathy. 
 Words cannot speak, which bound my heart to thee. 
 To all reserved, my cheek to thine, sincere, 
 I fondly pressed, my faults confessing free ; 
 Nor ever, from thy kindly lips, might fear 
 The cold heart-chilling words of stern Reproach to 
 hear. 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FOURTH. 83 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Reproach, that wrings the soul with agony, 
 And, by the malice of one little word, 
 May sever fond Affection's tenderest tie : 
 For if, perchance, my careless footsteps erred, 
 Persuasion's art thy gentle soul preferred ; 
 And bade me harken, that I might derive 
 Some wholesome counsel from the Gospels heard : 
 For God, you said, delighteth to forgive — 
 And thou would'st pardon me, who fain like Him 
 would live. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Oh ! how each kindness to my stricken heart. 
 Like sweetest music, won my listening ears. 
 And to repentance thawed each sinful part : 
 For e'en when Manhood stamped my riper years, 
 Thy tender words would fill my eyes with tears ; 
 Or bid me bare my guilty breast to thine. 
 And sternly vow to flee from Satan's snares : 
 For, 'tis a dear ' Inheritance ' of mine, 
 A heart kind accents soon to penitence incline. 
 
84 THE DREAMES. [bOOK I. 
 
 X. 
 
 The ardent lover at his mistress' side, 
 Who every pang hath cancelled by a smile, — 
 The Bridegroom clasping in his arms a Bride — 
 The brother listening to the tender wile, 
 A sister breathes his fate to reconcile — 
 Have felt how words of fond affection won 
 Thrill the sad heart and every care beguile : 
 But nobler far the rapture he hath known 
 Who thus repentant hears a tender Mother's tone ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 And when, at eve, the slowly setting sun 
 Bright scenes displayed before the dazzled eyes, 
 As, o'er the west, his daily circle run. 
 Afar approaching in the east would rise 
 The shades of evening, darkening all the skies : 
 And, while I knelt my simple hymns to say. 
 Or fondly learn our Father's Law to prize, 
 Who taught my lips, with innocence, to pray 
 That I might never dare His Law to disobey ? — 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FOURTH. 85 
 
 XIT. 
 
 'T was thine, my Mother — 't was thy hallowed voice 
 That first to me a Saviour's love revealed, 
 And said — ' In life let Virtue be thy choice. 
 Nor smile on Vice, however well concealed.' 
 Long may those words my tempted bosom shield, 
 And waken Conscience sternly thus within 
 To cry aloud — ' Be firm and scorn to yield : ' 
 And, God forgive me, if in scenes of sin, 
 I dare to drown that voice amid the reveller's din ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Mother, farewell — God rest thy sainted Shade ! ^ 
 Thy soul nor needs regret the stricken clay 
 That hath fulfilled the covenant it made : 
 For didst not thou, like Hannah, fondly pray, 
 And vow to train me in His holy way, 
 If God would deign thy infant's life to spare ? — 
 The words of fervour that arose each day 
 From out thy bleeding bosom, did declare 
 How bitter was the grief, how earnest was the prayer ! 
 
 ^ God rest thy soul. — Shakespeare. 
 
86 THE DREAMEK. [bOOK I. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 For thou wert heard, and once again I lived, 
 Full many a year, to bless a Mother's pride, 
 Until that Mother I have thus survived : 
 An infant pure, oh, would I then had died, 
 That I might be in Heaven at thy side : 
 For oft, when gazing o'er its azure chart, 
 Methinks I see thee crowned an Angel-bride ; 
 And, if thy sanctity of soul and heart 
 Could thus have made thee one — an Angel sure thou 
 art ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 But thou art gone — oh, can those words be true. 
 And my poor heart condemned to mourn, in vain, 
 A blighted love none other can renew ! 
 From morn till eve, from eve till morn again, 
 ' Oh thou art gone,' fills all my breast with pain. 
 Yet art thou not in Heaven ? o'er me, lone, 
 Dear Mother watch my evils to restrain. 
 So that, when kneeling at the Saviour's throne. 
 Thou may'st in triumph breathe, ' Good Lord, receive 
 my son.' 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FOURTH. 87 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Be still to me that Guardian Minister, 
 Who taught me, we shall reap the fruit we sow ; 
 And, walking near me that I may not err, 
 Oh, let thy words of sweet communion flow 
 In such soft tones as only Angels know : 
 Lo, even now, methinks, amid my tears, 
 \feel thee breathing on my burning brow — 
 For all my breast a holy rapture wears, 
 As though thy Spirit, near, my Invocation hears ! 
 
88 
 
 THE DUEAMER. 
 
 CANT O FIFTH. 
 
 I. 
 
 Along the west, the Moon had coursed afar, 
 And all the stars withdrawn in conscious fear, 
 When lo, Apollo, on his burning Car, 
 Arose resplendent in his proud career ; 
 The while that Mourner breathed the perfumed air. 
 Which kissed each rose that blushed beneath the skies. 
 I do but dream — yet, did'st thou never hear. 
 How Dreams reveal the sad realities. 
 And disappointments dark, that chequered Life sup- 
 plies ! — 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FIFTH. 89 
 
 II, 
 
 Silent he sat, as though* with fondness, near, 
 That mother's spirit, from some heavenly scroll, 
 Was breathing counsel to his listening ear : 
 For, every moment, vividly, there stole 
 Unutterable rapture through "his soul, 
 And manhood's firmness, vainly, seemed implored 
 To check the tears that mocked its weak controul. 
 But when, again, his calmness was restored, 
 His deep devotion thus, once more, in Song he poured :- 
 
 III. 
 
 When Life hath spread his parting wings to flee, 
 'T is grand to mark how nobly Christians die : 
 As if assured how soon it must be free, 
 The soul gives courage to the fainting eye 
 On gloomy Death to gaze unshrinkingly ; 
 And to the lips such sweet persuasions lend 
 As do entreat him rather not to fly. 
 But kindly come, and prove himself that friend, 
 Within whose welcome arms, a thousand ills may end ! 
 
90 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Twas thus that thou, with that unshaken faith 
 Which had been garnered from the Sacred Word, 
 With sweet composure, 'mid the scenes of death. 
 Looked up to heaven, and looking hopeful, heard 
 A voice whose words immortal life conferred ; 
 And hailed that moment rapture, when, in grace. 
 Her soul released, like some long-prisoned bird, 
 Soared off on High, eternally to raise 
 The loud Hosannah Hymn, through Heaven's cerulean 
 ways. 
 
 v. 
 But should I weep, since earth's relentless cares, 
 Thy hopes of peace now ceasing to defy. 
 No longer dim thine eyes with Sorrow's tears ? 
 Nor longer cause the deeply harrowing sigh, 
 From thy poor heart to heave convulsively — 
 But, in return for grief, by His command, 
 In Robes of gladness and of heavenly dye. 
 Thou kneelest, favoured, at thy Lord's right hand. 
 To worship at His throne, amid His Angel-band ? — 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FIFTH. 91 
 
 VI. 
 
 Nay, nay — methinks, 't were nobler far to bid 
 My mourning heart to curb its bitter throes, 
 And dash the tear-drop from the burning lid ; 
 Or stay the wish my selfish sorrow chose, 
 To will thee back to earth and earthly woes ; 
 For, unto Him, who for the good provides, 
 Its purest gratitude my bosom owes, 
 Since in His mercy gladly it confides, 
 And feels that in His arms the Pilgrim now abides ! ' 
 
 VII. 
 
 How oft the cloudless brow and smiling mien, 
 Where aught but grief is willingly exprest. 
 Mocks the sad heart, that struggles all unseen ! 
 How few believe that Care can wring that breast 
 Which yields a smile to every idle jest, — 
 Nor know that they, whom deepest woes imbue, 
 Disguise the heart, that all may be supprest : 
 For Grief, real Grief, is silent when most true — 
 And shrinks, instinctively, to bare its wounds to view : 
 
92 THE DREAMER. [bOOK I. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For, in the chambers of the heart concealed, 
 Where all the scenes of prisoned pangs arise, 
 True Sorrow mourns, unheard and unrevealed. 
 'T was thus of him I sing — he did devise 
 That a cold world should never fix its eyes 
 Upon his burning brow, and then, with sneer, 
 Cast base reflections on his bitter sighs : 
 For, in the crowd, a careless smile he 'd wear — 
 And only thus unmarked, could Sorrow claim a tear. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Anita ! sister — that, most dear to me, 
 Inspires the ardour of my careless rhyme — 
 If, o'er the page perchance, thou should'st not see 
 Those lofty lines that, filled with fire sublime, 
 Paint, in each glowing thought, the deeds of Time ; 
 As erst from Harps attuned with Heavenly art. 
 Drew forth the Masters of an Attic clime — 
 Forgive, dear one — each Muse must act her part : 
 And mine can only sing the language of the heart. 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FIFTH. 93 
 
 X. 
 
 But, if man's breast continues e'er the same, 
 Perhaps, I 've uttered words that will not die, 
 However weak, however light their aim : 
 For I have gazed, with long and searching eye, 
 To mark the thoughts, the hopes and fears, that lie 
 All wildly intermingled in mine own. 
 And find that one paints all Humanity — 
 What is the World, with all its varied tone 
 Of passions bright, or dark, but multiples of one ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 For thee, sweet maid ! not all devoid of fear, 
 I've woke my Harp in quest of thy esteem, 
 Full well assured thou'dst yield a lenient ear : 
 For, to my ardent bosom, thou dost seem 
 That bright Perfection which, I often deem. 
 May in reality on earth be shown. 
 Nor live but only in the Poet's dream : 
 For goodness and meek charity alone. 
 Thy heart's unsullied gifts, would raise thee to that 
 throne. 
 
94 THE DREAMEK. [bOOK I, 
 
 XII. 
 
 But not for traits like these, exprest 
 In acts more valued than the wealth of Ind, 
 Do I thy form with sanctity invest — 
 For God hath given thee a heart so kind, 
 That such a Gem man seldom here may find ; 
 But, being found, to make secure the Prize, — 
 Like Errant Knight, in Love's sweet meshes twined, 
 Led on enchanted by his Ladye's eyes, — 
 To clasp thee to his breast, each peril would despise ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Maid of my heart ! oh, wert thy form enshrined 
 The sacred Vestal of its holy fane. 
 What happier fortune could it ever find ! — 
 And, did not ties of kindred make it vain. 
 These lips would dare to breathe a warmer strain : 
 Thou Star of Light ! to whom my thoughts have flown, 
 And, at thy feet each fond confession lain — 
 Oh, let the music of thy dove-like tone 
 Approve this simple Song, of one to Fame unknown. 
 
BOOK I.] CANTO FIFTH. 95 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Ere thus the Dreamer's ardent hymn had closed, 
 In sable robes, the form of Darkness came, 
 And on the bosom of the sea reposed. 
 Alas ! his life was like his thoughts — no aim. 
 Or purpose fixed, his devious steps to claim : 
 But, even like that ocean, o'er his breast 
 A breath could ravage, or a breath could tame ! 
 And thus, while Sleep now lulled his heart to rest. 
 The scenes of Boyhood years his slumbering visions 
 blest. 
 
 END OF BOOK I. 
 
ABEN-EE Y 
 
 Had we never loved sae kindly, 
 Had we never loved sae blindly, 
 Never met — or never parted — 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted ! 
 
 Burns. 
 
Note. — The scene of tlie following Poem is laid in the Grove 
 of the Alhambra. The date refers back to the times of Boab- 
 DiL, during those fearful struggles that were continually taking 
 place between the Moors and Christians, previous to the down- 
 fall of the kingdom of Granada. I got the story from that 
 Prince of Guides, the redoubtable 'Ben-Saken, during my stay 
 at Granada. 
 
99 
 
 ABEN-HEY, 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Tis the witching hour of night, 
 
 When, high o'er the snowy Mountain, 
 Cynthia throws her silver light, 
 
 On the Lions' marble fountain. 
 And the bright Sierre Nevada, 
 Like the Monarch of Granada, 
 
 Seems to gaze in grandeur down 
 On the proud and noble Race, 
 
 That, for ages, kept his Crown, 
 And their honour, from disgrace ! . 
 
100 ABEN-REY. 
 
 II. 
 
 While, above Granada's heights, 
 
 Like a Queen upon her throne, 
 Fair Alhambra now invites 
 
 Lovers thither, all alone, 
 'Mid her shady Grove to wander. 
 Where her sister Streams meander. ^ 
 
 And, the while the Nightingale 
 Spreads her music far and near. 
 
 Thou may'st breathe a tender tale 
 To thy Ladye's listening ear. 
 
 III. 
 
 For 'tis here some gentle Maiden, 
 
 Full of heart and full of feeling. 
 Though thy Coffers be not laden. 
 
 Will not scorn thee for revealing 
 That thou hast a heart to love, 
 And a constancy to prove : - 
 
 For her faith will never alter. 
 Once she blends her troth with thine 
 
 But thy courage must not falter, 
 If you dare to seek her shrine ! 
 
 ^ The Darro and Xenil. 
 
PART FIRST. 101 
 
 IV. 
 
 And thou sure hast heard a story 
 
 Of some proud and Warrior son, 
 Here returning, full of glory, 
 
 To redeem the heart he won, — 
 When, a poor and idle boy. 
 Boldly he had breathed the joy, 
 
 Which her gently budding charms 
 O'er his sighing heart had thrown, 
 
 Though she flew not to his arms, 
 Lest she rue a Father's frown. 
 
 V. 
 
 Now it was that silent hour. 
 
 When the wind, in tuneful numbers, 
 Breathes his ardour to the flower. 
 
 Ere 'tis steeped in quiet slumbers. 
 And, me dreamed, within the Grove, 
 One with her he fain would love. 
 
 O'er his Harp desponding hung, 
 Sweeping carelessly each string ; 
 
 While, in tender tones he sung. 
 Thus, to her who bade him sing : — 
 
102 ABEN-REY. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ' Maiden of enchanting eyes, 
 
 Thou, whose bosom never heaved 
 With the deeply harrowing sighs 
 
 Of a trusting heart deceived, 
 Whisper what it is to be 
 Ever happy, thus, like Ihee : 
 
 Maiden of bewitching mien, 
 Whisper what the feelings are 
 
 Of a heart that ne'er hath been 
 Shadov/ed by an Evil Star ! — 
 
 VIT. 
 
 Can it be that, on this earth, 
 
 Where most mortals suffer woe 
 Even from their very birth. 
 
 Thou dost not a sorrow know ? 
 Ah, for thee I truly tremble, — 
 Yet 'twere meet I should dissemble, 
 
 And, dear one, I will not say 
 Care will shade thy brow with gloom 
 
 Angels lead perhaps thy way, 
 To avert this cruel doom ! 
 
PART FIRST. 103 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Oh ! then turn away those eyes, 
 
 Lest my soul might hope to clasp, 
 And, too madly, seek a Prize, 
 
 Which may fade before my grasp. 
 Like some Phantom of the brain. 
 That pursued, is sought in vain : 
 
 For my bosom's deep devotion 
 Must not breathe to thee its love. 
 
 But, restrain each weak emotion. 
 While Misfortune frowns above : 
 
 IX. 
 
 Blest by Fortune as thou art — 
 
 I thus poor and desolate ! 
 Dare I offer thee a heart 
 
 Shadowed by the curse of Fate ? 
 Dare I at thy shrine to kneel. 
 And, thus, recklessly reveal 
 
 What tumultuous agony 
 Wrings that heart 'mid Hope and Fear, 
 
 Where, in bitter mockery, 
 Passion wrestles with Despair. 
 
104 ABEN-EEY. 
 
 X. 
 
 Cruel, cruel, was the spell 
 
 That allured me to thy side, 
 Where the Graces seem to dwell 
 
 That each charm may be supplied, 
 Which around the heart may twine 
 Of the victim at thy shrine : 
 
 For, the while you thrill my soul 
 Picturing Heaven to my sight — 
 
 Can this frenzied heart controul 
 Its delirious delight ! — 
 
 XI. 
 
 Wherefore tempt me ! — lone and drear, 
 
 From my wildly heaving breast, 
 I to Heaven could breathe a prayer 
 
 That with death I might be blest : 
 For how blank is life to me. 
 Thus, by Fate, deprived of thee ! 
 
 Yea, though Fortune cheered my sky, 
 And bestowed earth's greatest prize — 
 
 Yet, 'tis only in thine eye 
 That my world of rapture lies : 
 
PART FIRST. 105 
 
 XII. 
 
 A thousand eyes might flash then' rays, 
 
 Triumphantly with love divine, 
 Yet, although a thousand gaze, 
 
 Never breathe the love of thine ! — 
 Oh ! methinks, on Passion's blindness. 
 Heaven will surely look with kindness : 
 
 For, wert thou to turn those eyes. 
 And nor cheer me with their light, 
 
 All were darkness 'neath the skies. 
 Ere they ceased to bless my sight ! ' 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Thus, delirious with her smile. 
 
 Passion mocking Reason's power, 
 Tenderly he knelt the while. 
 
 Heedless of the Future's hour : 
 For, beneath that sweet controul 
 Hope inspired in his soul. 
 
 All the sorrow of the Past 
 Seemed evanished from his breast, 
 
 And his Die, unshrinking, cast. 
 On the Present's stern behest. 
 
106 
 
 ABEN-REY 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 
 I. 
 
 'T WAS the witching hour of eve, 
 
 When, in beauty o'er the wave, 
 Cynthia rises to receive 
 
 Homage from the starry nave, 
 When that Pair, within the bower, 
 Met again, at this sweet hour : 
 
 And, as o'er his Harp he hung. 
 Sweeping carelessly each string, 
 
 'T was in anguish that he sung 
 When the Maiden bade him sing : • 
 
PART SECOND. 107 
 
 II. 
 
 ' Once thine eyes were founts of light — 
 
 Once thy cheeks with crimson shone — 
 Once thy lips smiled sweetly bright — 
 
 Echoed joy in every tone ! 
 Now — thou art cast down by Care — 
 Dimmed thine eye by Sorrow's tear — 
 
 Heaves that breast the harrowing sigh : 
 For a cloud of grief is o'er thee ; 
 
 And Remorse now haunts me, nigh, 
 With his bitter curse before me : — 
 
 III. 
 For I wronged thee when I knelt, 
 
 Frenzied, at thy sacred shrine. 
 And revealed what passion dwelt 
 
 In this burning heart of mine : 
 For the while 1 raptured learned 
 All my fondness was returned, 
 
 'T was too soon my lot to know 
 Fate may baffle Passion's aim : 
 
 And I steeped thy heart in woe, 
 When thy hand I dared not claim ! ' ., 
 
ABEN-REY. 
 IV. 
 
 Wrung with anguish, now, his heart 
 
 Leaped with madness in his breast, 
 Till his grief, beyond all art. 
 
 Was in bitter tears confest. 
 But the Maiden, deeply moved 
 Thus to see his sorrow proved. 
 
 On his neck, with sweet devotion, 
 Nestled there her burning cheek ; 
 
 And, to soothe his wild emotion. 
 Tenderly essayed to speak : — 
 
 V. 
 
 ^ Wherefore weep, dear Aben-Rey ? — 
 
 My only wish thou would'st forget 
 All my lips may dare to say. 
 
 Would that we had never met : 
 For the heart its love must speak, 
 Or in bitterness 'twill break. 
 
 And, though Fortune bid us live — 
 Who so dearly love — apart. 
 
 Yet to thee I fondly give, 
 All a Sister's truthful heart ! ' 
 
PART SECOND. 109 
 
 VI. 
 
 But the Maiden ill conceals, 
 
 Though her voice may falter not, 
 What deep agony she feels 
 
 At their sad and hopeless lot : 
 O'er her pale cheeks, undissembling, 
 See the burning tear-drops trembling, 
 
 See her bosom wildly beating, 
 See, upon her brow, how Care 
 
 Stamps his signet of that meeting, 
 In those looks of mute despair ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet what magic oft is wrought 
 
 In the bosom's wretchedness, 
 When some Angel prompts the thought. 
 
 That the Future yet may bless : — 
 In the Youth's unhappy mien, 
 Suddenly a change is seen ; 
 
 Gone the tear-drop from his eye, 
 Ceased his voice to tremble low. 
 
 Heaved his breast no more the sigh — 
 Calmness cheered his hopeful brow ! 
 
ABEN-REY. 
 VIII. 
 
 ' All a Sister's truthful heart, 
 
 Though it be a prize to me, 
 Cannot satisfy a part 
 
 Of my ardent love for thee : 
 May I see thee wed another, 
 Thus content to be a Brother, 
 
 Nor a single effort make. 
 Fortune's barriers to remove ? 
 
 Nay, her thraldom I will break. 
 And o'er all triumphant prove ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 " With a heart for any fate," 
 
 Be the motto of my life — 
 Thus my Bride I '11 make thee yet. 
 
 Struggling earnest in the strife. 
 And, when I have won the prize, 
 Gleaming now before my eyes. 
 
 Sorrow and Remorse shall cease 
 Bitterly my heart to tear : 
 
 For I shall redeem, with bliss, 
 All the crime of Youth's despair. 
 
PART SECOND. 
 X. 
 
 Farewell, clearest ! — not forever, 
 
 For some Imppy day will come. 
 When we '11 meet, no more to sever, 
 
 In our cheerfyl Bridal-home. 
 And I ask thee but to swear. 
 That my image thou wilt wear, 
 
 Even as a Talisman, 
 Nearest to thy tender heart ; 
 
 Though, to break the holy Bann, 
 Fate may hurl her keenest dart. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Like the Rain-bow — speaking hope — 
 
 In my heart thy form will smile, 
 And, with Fortune while I cope, 
 
 Every cloud of gloom beguile : 
 For I o;o to battle in 
 That stern world of reckless sin, 
 
 Where 'mid envy, scorn, and hate, 
 Struggling manful through each toil, 
 
 I may triumph o'er my fate, 
 Victor of the hard won spoil 1 ' 
 
 111 
 
112 
 
 ABEN-REY. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 I. 
 
 'T WAS the witching hour of eve, 
 
 When in beauty o'er the wave, 
 Cynthia rises to receive 
 
 Homage from the starry nave. 
 But, with fondness in the Grove, 
 Where were they who fain would love ? 
 
 Ask you if his Harp he held. 
 With the Maiden listening, 
 
 While he sweetly sung, as eld, 
 To the softly echoing string ? — 
 
COr^CLUSION. 
 
 II. 
 Bowed beneath the weight of Age, 
 
 Crowned with locks of silvery hairs, 
 Ending Life's stern pilgrimage, 
 
 Stood a man of bitter cares. 
 Sad and lonely in that Grove, 
 None to love him — none to love. 
 
 And beside him, idly hung. 
 With its chords all loose and broken, 
 
 Still the Harp that once had sung 
 Youth's deep vows in sorrow spoken. 
 
 III. 
 Yet the ' star ' upon his breast, 
 
 Glittering with its golden light, 
 Showed him numbered 'mono; the best 
 
 Of the Heroes in the fight : 
 For he counted many scars, 
 'Mid his trophies of the Wars. 
 
 While his proud and pawing Barb, 
 Neighing with his native pride. 
 
 And the richness of his garb. 
 Told he now might claim his Bride. 
 
 113 
 
114 ABEN-REY. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But the Maiden — was she near him, 
 
 With her sweet inspiring smile, 
 Still to comfort, still to cheer him. 
 
 And his sadness still beguile ? — 
 Nay — perhaps it was her doom 
 To have slept beneath the tomb : 
 
 For it seemed, as oft he gazed 
 On a simple Tablet near. 
 
 That he shuddered, like one crazed 
 By the anguish of despair. 
 
 V. 
 And, until the Morning breeze 
 
 Stirred the branches waving high. 
 Still that Warrior, on his knees. 
 
 Wept in Spirit-agony. 
 And, methought thus, in my slumbers. 
 Sighed the wind these mournful numbers 
 
 If unhappy man could bare 
 Half the hopes which Youth hath made. 
 
 Oh ! 't would break the heart to hear 
 How few succeed — how many fade ! 
 
WOMAN: 
 
 THE TRUE AND FALSE, 
 A SATIRE. 
 
 But grant in public men are sometimes shown, 
 A Woman 's seen in private life alone : 
 Our bolder talents in full light displayed. 
 Your virtues open fairest in the shade. 
 
 Pope. 
 
117 
 
 WOMAN: 
 
 THE TRUE AND FALSE. 
 
 Hail, gracious Muse ! before thy sacred shrine, 
 A kneeling Suppliant prays thine aid divine : 
 Fain would he gaze impartially on Life, 
 To mark the Daughter, or the busy wife ; 
 Where each fulfils her station, ill or well, s 
 
 And makes our Home a heaven or a hell. 
 And, as he draws, from memory's chequered page, 
 The Vice, or Virtue, of the passing age. 
 Thus may he teach, the while the picture rise. 
 The one to love — the other to despise ! lo 
 
118 woman: 
 
 My prayer is heard, and Memory now displays 
 A matchless being to my raptured gaze : 
 What sweet confusion o'er each motion steals, 
 As timid Hebe every blush reveals ; 
 A front so bright, 't would seem Diana's bow is 
 
 Had shed its influence o'er that sacred brow ; 
 Pure cheeks, whereon, erewhile she slept in bliss, 
 The rosy Morning pressed his warmest kiss ; 
 Soft liquid eyes, wherein her soul is seen 
 Inspiring all the majesty of Beauty's queen — 20 
 
 Eyes that each hope, or fear, or love disclose, 
 Though from the lips, no faintest murmur flows ; 
 Oh lips ! where, ravished with the form divine, 
 Young Bacchus gazing spilt the ruby wine ; 
 A form that caused the Graces to despair, 25 
 
 With all their subtle art, to render still more fair ! 
 
 But not for these enticing charms alone. 
 Would I exalt her to an envied throne : 
 For, gentle Beauty, though thou distance Art, 
 Where be thy value if thou hast no heart ? so 
 
THE TRUE AND FALSE. 119 
 
 For, though the magic of a pure profile 
 
 May hold proud man in bondage for awhile, 
 
 Yet, if no kindness grace thy lovely brow, 
 
 And thou art scornful of his proffered vow — 
 
 Weak creatures at thy shrine thou may'st retain, 35 
 
 But nobler hearts will leave thee in disdain : 
 
 Formed for man's comfort, if thou hast no soul^ 
 
 Then must he deem thee wanting in the whole ! — 
 
 Where thy enchantments, if the Daughter ne'er, 
 
 With loving words, delights a Parent's ear — 40 
 
 Or if a Sister, filled with generous pride. 
 
 Nor turns with fondness to a Brother's side — 
 
 Or if a Wife — to whom, when all the world 
 
 Its bitter scorn upon his head hath hurled, 
 
 The Husband flies, that sacred love to claim 45 
 
 Which Hymen blended with the holy name — 
 
 If she can breathe no accents that shall bless, 
 
 And soothe the anguish of his bitterness : 
 
 Oh, fatal Beauty ! whom we call divine. 
 
 Where then the value of thy heartless shrine ! so 
 
120 WOMAN :. 
 
 But 't is not Beauty that alone could warm 
 My willing Harp to praise that gentle form, 
 Which Memory pictures to my ardent gaze, 
 And bids me thus award the meed of praise : 
 But Beauty, with Affection's lieart combined, 55 
 
 A winning manner and a generous mind. 
 Which point to man that if perchance on earth 
 Perfection dwells, 't is here she owns her birth. 
 
 No Coquette-snares she weaves, with loathsome art, 
 To gratify a cold ambitious heart, eo 
 
 Which lures each suitor at her shrine to kneel, 
 And breathe a love she knows she cannot feel ; 
 Or still invites, by every serpent wile, 
 The pleasant homage of his flattering smile. 
 Until, o'erwearied with his pleading strain, cs 
 
 Her scornful lips betray her cold disdain, 
 And should his breast be wrung with crazing pain. 
 Nor heeds the grief, for thus she swells her train : 
 But, captive to the graces she reveals, 
 If, at her side, a Suitor fondly kneels, 70 
 
THE TRUE AND FALSE. 121 
 
 And breathes his fervent vows in glowing words, 
 
 Which fail to warm her bosom's silent chords : 
 
 Oh ! not with scorn, she spurns him from her eyes. 
 
 But mourns that Fate requiting love denies ; 
 
 And, grateful for the praise his words extend, 75 
 
 Converts the Lover to the faithful Friend. 
 
 While if, perchance, his prayers her soul should move. 
 And, to his own, her heart responds with love — 
 Filled with emotion from Love's thrilling name, 
 Her trembling lips disclose the Virgin-flame so 
 
 That, in her breast, with conscious ardour glows. 
 To whisper how much love her bosom thus bestows ! 
 
 Though wracked by sickness in his last despair, 
 A Father finds sweet solace in her care : 
 For, all devotion, she will ne'er allow » 
 
 The Stranger's hand to cool his burning brow ; 
 But, unremittmg with attentions kind, 
 His every anguish occupies her mind. 
 And, when each effort proves too weak to save, 
 And Death's stern hand removes him to the grave, m 
 
122 WOMAN : 
 
 She veils her grief, to act the Daughter's part, 
 
 And offers comfort to the Widow's heart : 
 
 Unlocks THE WORD, and, from its mystic scroll, 
 
 Reveals the promise to an upright soul : 
 
 And whispers gently — Mourn not thus in vain, 95 
 
 Our Saviour saith, the Good shall meet again. 
 
 Where all of bliss an endless store receive, 
 
 And, decked in robes of peace, forever cease to grieve ! 
 
 Mindful that gifts which Fortune's smile bestows. 
 Should never teach to scorn another's woes, 100 
 
 With charity, she '11 kindly seek the door. 
 To soothe the sorrow of the sufFerino; Poor : 
 Her generous hand, dispensing gold and bread, 
 Lends unknown brightness to the pauper's shed ; 
 Nor can enjoy the luxury she receives, los 
 
 While Misery, gaunt and cold, in shivering anguish 
 grieves ! 
 
 Oh noble Woman ! at thy sacred shrine, 
 None bows with warmer, holier love than mine. 
 He. who Devotion's purest love would see, 
 May turn his eyes, unshrinkingly on thee ! no 
 
THE TRUE AND FALSE. 123 
 
 'T is selfish Man we fain may gladly shun, 
 And look with trembling on his friendship won : 
 For if, perchance, by gales propitious blown, 
 A simple straw within the Scale is thrown, 
 Wherein his hopes and mine may chance to be, us 
 And thus the prize, too partial, yields to me — 
 As quick as thought my friend becomes my foe, 
 And I repent the trust, 't was folly to bestow. 
 To him my heart, encased in mail of steel, 
 Durst not one pang, one anxious hope reveal : 120 
 
 Intent on self, wealth, honour, rank and gain. 
 To seek his sympathy 's to ask in vain. 
 But Woman ! unto thee, without controul, 
 I ope my heart and pour out all my soul ; 
 Nor base betrayal at thy side may fear, 125 
 
 But know thee earnest, zealous, and sincere : 
 For, grateful, unto thee, I owe the best, 
 The noblest feelings that incite my breast : 
 When Man, with sophistry and cunning art. 
 Would steal my virtue and corrupt my heart, i3o 
 
124 WOMAN : 
 
 'Twas Thou exposed the foul design to view, 
 
 And bared the falsehood I might else pursue ; 
 
 Unfurled Truth's banner to my ardent eyes, 
 
 And sweetly whispered — ' Here true greatness lies : ' 
 
 This, through Life's battle, with an iron will, iss 
 
 Though foes o'erwhelm thee, grasp unflinching still ; 
 
 Scorn, scorn to yield it, if thou canst not win 
 
 A tempting Prize, without embracing sin : 
 
 A guilty Conscience rings to peace a knell, 
 
 And bids thee feel, on earth, the pangs of Hell ; uo 
 
 Bids thee to curse each day that God bestows. 
 
 Since each but sinks thee deeper in thy woes ! 
 
 In burning letters, stamped upon my heart. 
 
 Such are the truths thy sacred lips impart : 
 
 Then pardon if I worship thee with awe, 145 
 
 Regard thee holy, and thy words my Law ; 
 
 And, unsuspecting, even proudly dare 
 
 To deem thou art, what thou wouldst fain appear : 
 
 If Thou wert not that pure unerring light 
 
 Which beacons Man along this path of night, iso 
 
THE TRUE AND FALSE. 125 
 
 If THOU hast not within thy spotless soul, 
 
 Those golden virtues which redeem the whole : 
 
 The World — a charnel-house of misery, 
 
 Would, 'neath a Maker's frown, dissolving cease to be ! 
 
 Thrice lovely Woman ! since my Song declares i^^ 
 How truly deep my soul thy form reveres, 
 Forgive me if my heart by anger torn. 
 Upon thy name pours out its bitter scorn. 
 Upon thy name — mark well the word, for all 
 May not be Woman whom we Woman call : iso 
 
 For, heedless of the honour it doth yield. 
 Some slight its claims to take with Man the field. 
 These Amazonians, being of no sex, 
 Man not like thee, of gentle mould, respects : 
 They, sadly jealous of his empty fame, les 
 
 To be notorious is their highest aim. 
 Their arms too weak to wield the lordly sword, 
 Their tongues with slander wound at every word. 
 
 Alas, that Woman ever should despise 
 That potent charm, which renders Man her prize : no 
 
126 WOMAN : 
 
 That charm a Hearty which, if it cannot praise, 
 
 Silence prefers, if speaking brings disgrace ; 
 
 A Heart that prompts, where'er the eye may turn, 
 
 Not faults to seek, but virtues to discern ; 
 
 A Heart that knows Perfection dwells on High, 175 
 
 And thus on Man bestows her charity ; 
 
 But, to the worthy, yields that sweet reward 
 
 Which, in the bosom, touches every chord ! 
 
 Oh, shame ! that heedless of so pure a choice, 
 She once should stoop to list to Folly's voice ; iso 
 
 And sacrifice, mistaking false for true. 
 That magic charm which wins us ere we woo ! 
 Does Folly picture to her blinded eyes, 
 That courteous Man will laud her to the skies, 
 And crush his own, her honour to exalt, iss 
 
 Nor pause to question if he be at fault ; 
 Since, here and there, a little truth is seen. 
 To gild the poison which lies hid between ? — 
 Nay, let her learn that Truth incurs disdain, 
 If, in the measure. Doubt should cast one grain ; 190 
 
THE TRUE AND FALSE. 127 
 
 For roused Suspicion, in the wary mind, 
 
 Will bid us spurn the whole, thus dangerously combined. 
 
 But, cursed with Envy, there are hearts on earth, 
 That find no pleasure in another's worth : 
 They burn with hatred if, perchance, a name iss 
 
 Is crowned with honour which they cannot claim. 
 The noblest friend to Rancour sacrifice, 
 If o'er the ruin they may proudly rise. 
 Adorned with virtue, is she truly great, 
 And stands above them in her high estate — aoo 
 
 Is she a being hospitably kind. 
 Who saves from woe the wretch to guilt resigned. 
 And, o'er that Guilt, which shuns accusing eyes, 
 Dispreads the mantle Charity supplies — 
 Or hath a heart to every grace inclined, 205 
 
 Pure modest feelings, and an upright mind. 
 Which bid her tremble at the lure of Vice, 
 Nor heed the monster, though she sacrifice 
 Unbounded wealth, rank, station, or proud fame. 
 If, gaining these, she lose a spotless name : 210 
 
128 WOMAN : 
 
 Let her be this, if she would fain be stung 
 By all the venom of the Slanderer's tongue ; 
 Who, thus, debarred from such a lofty throne, 
 Will basely strive to sink its level to her own. 
 
 Yet Candour's cloak the Slanderer dares to use, 215 
 When Treachery's purpose prompts her to abuse ; 
 With this fair garb, she blinds confiding eyes. 
 And screens the guilt which 'neath her action lies ; 
 And, while her words like daggers wound the heart. 
 She archly whispers — - 'T is the friend's true part.' 220 
 For Slander listens with attentive ear, 
 When Indiscretion dares to speak sincere ; 
 And, in her memory, stamps each thoughtless word ; 
 While, nor by honour, nor by faith deterred, 
 She all triumphant smiling swiftly flies 225 
 
 To seek the victim of her calumnies ; 
 And, while in accents musically sweet, 
 But with a heart of poisonous deceit. 
 She thus relates — ' Oh Vesta, could I hear 
 Thy fame impeached, nor tell my friend so dear ? 230 
 
THE TRUE AND FALSE. 129 
 
 She marks, with malice glistening in her eye, 
 
 How every word inflicts new agony ; 
 
 And, as the flames of anger slowly rise, 
 
 Exults with pleasure o'er her fruitful lies. 
 
 Yet, lest the plot by accident might fail, 235 
 
 She bids her never to repeat the tale, — 
 
 Or rather, never to reveal the name 
 
 Of one so zealous to protect her fame. 
 
 Congenial spirits, breathing mutual love. 
 Behold yon pair within the shady Grove ; 240 
 
 Their hearts commingling, tender vows now bless. 
 Now seal their rapture, in the pure caress. 
 And, while the Youth his nuptial day demands. 
 The yielding Maid approves his sweet commands ; 
 Their troth renewed, they snatch the burning kiss, 245 
 And part in hope, to drink of future bliss. 
 Ah, hapless ones ! in vain ye fondly deem 
 To realize Hope's all unclouded dream : 
 The Dawn awakes, and with her. Slander's wrath 
 Spreads gloom and darkness o'er each sunny path. 250 
 
130 *woMAN : 
 
 The Maiden's eyes that knew not but to smile, 
 
 With cruel tears, are soon bedewe'd, the while ; 
 
 With anguish torn, her lately tranquil heart. 
 
 Tumultuous quivers 'neath some poisoned dart : 
 
 She scorns her Lover, then adores by turns, 255 
 
 Now for his bliss, now for his sorrow yearns ; 
 
 Now seeks to clasp him, turns again to fly. 
 
 Love in her breast, but Horror in her eye. 
 
 The while, cast down in bitterness and woe, 
 
 Behold the Lover conscious of his foe : ssu 
 
 He fain would plead, but pleading is but vain. 
 
 Her prudent Guard her willing steps restrain ; 
 
 Unheard, untried, he hears his final doom. 
 
 And crimeless Love expires within a living tomb.^ 
 
 'T is Candour that, with all a serpent's art, sss 
 
 Will coil herself within a H^usband's heart ; 
 And, prone the demon-purpose to fulfil. 
 O'er its pure love her poisonous dews distil : 
 When, quick as lightning through the clouded sky. 
 The poison spread, gives birth to Jealousy ; 270 
 
 ^ Dread me from my living tomb. — Scott. 
 
THE TRUE AND FALSE. 131 
 
 Twin-offspring thus, Hate also soon is born, 
 To teach his lips harsh words of cruel scorn : 
 Far from his eyes, pretended veils she'll tear. 
 Which Love, she saith, too long hath folded there ; 
 And bids him view, to proper light restored, 275 
 
 The treacherous conduct of a Wife adored. 
 Bids him believe affections he would prove. 
 Weighed in the balance with another's love ; 
 Bids him believe a gentle Hebe's smile 
 Is naught but Hecate's hypocritic guile : 280 
 
 Thus, fired with rage, the spotless wife is spurned. 
 And once a heaven, his home a hell is turned. 
 While she, his daughter, decked in matchless charms. 
 No longer, thence, delights his fondling arms : 
 For, in the Daughter, lo, the Mother lives, 235 
 
 x\nd, type of all he scorns, his kindling wrath revives. 
 
 But where the honour of his name — his Son, 
 W^hose thoughts and feelings with his should be one : 
 To whom, though all forsake him, in the end 
 Still may he turn, and say, ' I have a friend ! ' 290 
 
132 WOMAN : 
 
 Hath Slander's voice been kindly silent here, 
 
 Nor breathed her poison in a Father's ear — 
 
 Still to the Son doth he confiding turn, 
 
 And for his welfare still untiring yearn ? — 
 
 Nay, for already, with persuasive art, 295 
 
 The Serpent coils around his trusting heart ; 
 
 And, with the wisdom of impartial eyes, 
 
 Pretends of dangers pending to apprize : — 
 
 ' Old Man, thou 'rt passing from Life's troubled stage, 
 
 Fast o'er thy form progress the marks of age ; soo 
 
 Thy hair is silvered, and thy stature bent, • 
 
 Weak grow thy limbs, Life's sand is nearly spent. 
 
 But deem you this perceived by me alone. 
 
 Nor yet too well, hath struck thy jealous Son, 
 
 Who, o'er thy grave imaginative stands, 305 
 
 Lord of thy purse and master of thy lands ? 
 
 Hast not observed the Stripling's bearing high, 
 
 Or how he views thee with contemptuous e3re, 
 
 If, fondly anxious for his fortunes here. 
 
 You whisper counsel to his heedless ear ? sio 
 
THE TRUE AND FALSE. 133 
 
 Rise in thy might, lay down a Tyrant's law, 
 
 And prove thou yet can'st make him quail in awe ; 
 
 Grind him, like dust, beneath thy ..trampling heel, 
 
 And break his spirit on the torturing wheel, 
 
 That, crushed a worm, he'll own thy haughty sway, sis 
 
 And every Iron-rule, submissively, obey ! ' 
 
 Oh, cursed Slander ! such the fiendish acts 
 Thy treacherous candour in the v/orld transacts : 
 Thou, who would'st be the self-elected one. 
 To judge our virtues and our just renown ; sao 
 
 Or mark our failings, and, with mock regard. 
 Chastise as guilt, what Justice would reward. 
 Away ! away, thou loathsome thing — away ! 
 Nor seek 'mid Men, but Demons, for thy prey : 
 Where'er thy limbs support thy hideous weight, 325 
 Trees, buds and flowers, wither at thy feet ; 
 Earth is a mead too beauteously pure 
 To yield one spot where thou may'st dwell secure : 
 Before thee borne, thy pestilential breath 
 Destroys each sacred leaf of Love's unsullied wreath ! 330 
 
MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 Scribo'e ju?sit amor. — Ovid. 
 
137 
 
 IDEALINE. 
 
 And ne'er did Grecian chisel trace 
 A finer form, or lovelier face. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 I. 
 
 There is a gentle fairy form, 
 
 Whose witching grace conspires to warm 
 
 The coldest heart with love ; 
 And wraps the soul in Classic dreams 
 Of sportive Nymphs, in crystal streams, 
 
 Beneath some shady Grove. 
 
 II. 
 Upon her brow, serenely bright, 
 A diadem of sacred light 
 
 So charms the lingering gaze — 
 She seems the Goddess of that crown 
 Which raised Endymion to a throne, 
 
 By its celestial rays. 
 
138 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Dark-fringed with silk, her lustrous eyes. 
 As bright as stars in summer skies, 
 
 If thine but once have seen ; 
 Beware — or, in thy captive soul, 
 Stern Passion thenceforth will controul, 
 
 And bid thee own a Queen ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 She hath an ivory cheek, so fair, 
 The jealous Rose doth seldom dare 
 
 Its conquest to maintain : 
 For, though the Lilies may permit 
 The crimson there, at times to flit, 
 
 'Tis soon dispersed again. 
 
 V. 
 
 She hath a lip, whose graceful curve, 
 Of pure Vermillion dye, might serve 
 
 Arch-Cupid for his bow ; 
 To wing the love -inspiring dart 
 To trembling Psyche's quivering heart, 
 
 The while he breathes his vow. 
 
IDEALINE. 139 
 
 VI. 
 
 Whiter than snow-drops on a heath, 
 Mid coral flowers, her brilHant teeth 
 
 Seem to the raptured view, 
 A sparkUng string of orient pearls, 
 Her smile reveals, whene'er it curls 
 
 The lip of crimson hue. 
 
 VII. 
 
 While, like that pure celestial ray, 
 Which here creates perpetual day, 
 
 From Hope's inspiring eye : 
 That smile hath such a magic spell, 
 Sadness deserts her gloomy cell, 
 
 And Grief for2;ets to sigh ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And, when her tender hands are prest, 
 All artless, on her heaving breast. 
 
 To Fancy's eye, they seem 
 Two Lilies, floating inter-twined. 
 Stirred gently by the amorous wind, 
 
 Upon a silver stream. 
 
140 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 And if her voice in converse glows, 
 Such harmony of music flows 
 Enchanting on the ear, — 
 Instinctively the spirit deems 
 Tis listening to the sacred themes 
 Of Seraphs, chaunting near. 
 
 X. 
 
 But oh, her laugh ! — what harp hath found 
 The witching sweetness of that sound 
 
 Which all around thee floats : 
 Hast heard the Ring-dove in its nest, 
 When fondly by its mate carest. 
 
 It coos in liquid notes ? — 
 
 XI. 
 
 Yet if a hearty wherein imbued 
 Shine goodness, love and gratitude, 
 
 Graced not this beauteous flower — 
 She'd lack the brightest gem of all, 
 And, thence, were but a pretty Doll^ 
 
 And plaything of an hour ! 
 
141 
 
 CANTILENAS. 1 
 
 CANTILENA, I. 
 
 I. 
 
 1 will not tell thee that I love — 
 And yet I feel thou hast a charm, 
 
 That, like some guiding Star above, 
 Attracts me to thy fairy-form. 
 
 II. 
 I will not tell thee that I love — 
 
 And yet I know no smile, but tJiine, 
 Hath ever had such power to move 
 
 This wildly throbbing heart of mine ! 
 
 ^ The term Ca:?tilena, is used by the Italians to express a 
 song of joy. 
 
142 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 III. 
 
 I will not tell thee that I love — 
 
 And yet, 1 wish thy heart could know, 
 
 How often mine hath vainly strove 
 To mask from thine its secret woe. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I will not tell thee that I love — 
 Yet, when I press thy lily hand, 
 
 Such thrills of joy my bosom move, 
 I feel as though I'd touched a Wand. 
 
 V. 
 
 I will not tell thee that I love — 
 Yet, when I watch thy gentle eye, 
 
 My spirit's wild emotions prove, 
 
 How much thou rul'st my destiny : — 
 
 VI. 
 
 And, should the voice of Fate decree, 
 That I might be so deeply blest, — 
 
 I know no being whom, like thee^ 
 I'd clasp so dearly to my breast ! 
 
CANTILENAS. 143 
 
 CANTILENA, II. 
 
 I. 
 
 When that soul-bewitching eye, 
 
 Beaming full of sweet expression, 
 In mine own, responsively. 
 
 Reads its passionate confession ; 
 While, in turn, its tender gaze 
 Strives my doubting hopes to raise. 
 
 And dispel each fear : 
 Can I trust that gaze which lures me, 
 Till my bosom fain adores thee — 
 
 i Is THY HEART SINCERE ? 
 
144 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 II. 
 
 When those crimson lips that seem, 
 To my fondly dreaming vision, 
 
 Like two rose-buds on one stem, 
 Blooming in a field Elysian 
 
 With their winning smiles, inspire 
 
 All my soul with Passion's fire 
 Thus to woo thee here : 
 
 Are those lips, thus sweetly smiling. 
 
 Free from guile — though well beguiling,— 
 
 Is THY HEART SINCERE ? 
 
 III. 
 
 When that voice with music floats 
 On my raptured ear, at even, 
 
 Like the soul-inspiring notes 
 
 Chaunted in the gates of heaven ; 
 
 With its pure love-breathing tone, 
 
 Kindly thus persuades me on, 
 In such accents dear : 
 
 That my heart, which yet must prove thee, 
 
 Fain might whisper how 'twould love thee- 
 
 Is THY HEART SINCERE ? — 
 
CANTILENAS. 145 
 
 IV. 
 
 When those feet of fairy lightness 
 
 Through the mazy dances glide, 
 And thy hand of lily whiteness 
 
 In mine own is clasped with pride, 
 While with true and deep devotion, 
 Watching every Sylph-like motion, 
 
 Secretly I swear : 
 Thine is not a form terrestrial — 
 Such a beauty is celestial, 
 
 Is THY HEART SINCERE ? 
 
 V. 
 
 For, if that bewitching eye — 
 
 If that voice of fatal power — 
 If that lip of crimson dye — 
 
 Or that form thy richest dower — 
 Be not ministers of Art^ 
 But the emblems of a heart 
 
 Guileless, true and dear : 
 With undying love, I swear thee, 
 Ever thus to worship near thee — 
 
 Is THY HEART SINCERE ? 
 
 10 
 
146 
 
 CANTILENA, III. 
 
 There evor is a form and face, 
 Of maiden beauty in my dreams. 
 
 Halleck. 
 
 I. 
 
 When, decked in smiles, Aurora bright, 
 Unbars the golden gates of Dawn, 
 
 And pours a flood of rosy light 
 
 Cer valley, mountain, dell and lawn : 
 
 A beauteous Form, of matchless grace. 
 
 Within my bosom steals a place. 
 
CANTILENAS. 147 
 
 II. 
 
 As forth at morn my steps I wend, 
 
 To mingle in the common crowd, 
 With heartless creatures to contend, 
 
 And laugh to scorn the wealthy-proud : 
 Remembrance of that lovely form, 
 Will thrill my heart with feelings warm. 
 
 III. 
 And while the dusty page I turn, 
 
 Of noble Genius' song divine, 
 Where ' thoughts that breathe and words that burn,' 
 
 Should rouse the bosom most supine : 
 Soft o'er the page a picture steals. 
 And all her witching charms reveals. 
 
 IV. 
 
 With cheerfulness, at silver eve. 
 As 'mid the careless throng I move. 
 
 How Hope persuades me to believe 
 The darkest life may brightest prove. 
 
 Were such a face, as that I see. 
 
 To turn its tender smile on me ! 
 
148 MISCELLANEOUS, 
 
 V. 
 
 Or, while to halls of joyous sound, 
 
 Where peerless forms enchant the eyes, 
 
 As, gaily in the dance, around, 
 
 Each Beauty struggles for her prize : 
 
 On whom my breast its love confers — 
 
 But such a matchless form as hers ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 And when, at stilly night, I claim 
 Relief from sorrow in repose. 
 
 In prayer I breathe her sacred name. 
 And dream, the while my eyelids close : 
 
 O'er hill and valley, dell and grove. 
 
 Hand clasped in hand we fondly rove. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Pepita ! should I now reveal 
 
 To whom my soul this homage pays, 
 
 I 'd bid thee to thy mirror steal, 
 And on it fix thy lovely gaze : 
 
 For there, in smiles of Angel-mien, 
 
 Thy sacred Image will be seen ! 
 
149 
 
 CANTILENA, IV. 
 
 I. 
 
 I LOVE thee, oh, more tenderly 
 
 Than language can reveal — 
 Ah, these are words that all may breathe. 
 
 But yet how few can jTeeZ / - — 
 Yes, by that eye, whose gaze e'er thrills 
 
 My soul with ecstasy, 
 Till every chord witliin my heart 
 
 Vibrates with love to thee : 
 
150 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 II. 
 
 By that fair brow of purity, 
 
 Clothed in such hohness, 
 That e'en to watch, in silence near, 
 
 Is more than earthly bliss. 
 Or by that sweet Hygeian cheek. 
 
 Whose blush of crimson hue. 
 Reveals a heart that warmly beats 
 
 With feelings kind and true. 
 
 III. 
 
 By that soft voice, whose accents float 
 
 Like music on mine ear. 
 And bears my soul enraptured up 
 
 To heaven's harmonious sphere : 
 Oh yes ! by all these sacred charms, 
 
 That now my bosom move, 
 I thus confess to thee, sweet one, 
 
 How deep — how true I love ! 
 
CANTILENAS. 151 
 
 IV. 
 
 But must my wild and ardent heart, 
 
 With vain devotion yearn — 
 Nor, more aspiring, fondly hope 
 
 To win a dear return ? — 
 Nay, heaven forbid that such, alas, 
 
 My hapless fate should be : 
 For when thou lovest not — the world 
 
 Will have no charm for me ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Then, dearest being, let that smile — 
 
 That smile which won my heart, 
 Forever bless my hopes of bliss, 
 
 And bid each fear depart. 
 Preserve the fond and ardent lieart 
 
 Thus offered at thy shrine. 
 And ever whisper, in return. 
 
 That thou are truly mine ! 
 
152 
 
 CANTILENA, V. 
 
 I. 
 
 Olivia ! in whose gentle breast 
 So many virtues are imprest 
 
 Thy worth o'er all to raise, 
 I would that this poor Harp of mine 
 Its feeble chords might now combine. 
 
 To offer thee its praise : 
 
 II. 
 Yet, were it equal to the theme, 
 It would not wish to pour a stream 
 
 Of music on thine ear, 
 In praise of that celestial form 
 Which, Sylphid-like, unites each charm 
 
 So beauteously fair. 
 
CANTILENAS. 153 
 
 III. 
 
 It would not praise that gentle eye, 
 Which seems a portion of the sky, 
 
 Kind Nature gave to thee ; 
 That, should the heavens frown above, 
 We still might watch thine eye of love, 
 
 And thus the azure see. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It would not praise that matchless cheek, 
 Whereon the Bee would surely seek 
 
 Sweet honey as its due, 
 If, passing in its wayward flight, 
 It but a moment gained a sis-ht 
 
 Of its Hygeian hue. 
 
 V. 
 
 It would not praise that voice, whose sound 
 Appears the shell Apollo found 
 
 Within the ocean-cave. 
 Which, when 'twas placed the entro.nce near, 
 Beneath the evening's magic air, 
 
 Soft music forth it gave. 
 
154 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Tho' these are charms which few withstand, 
 And might extend o'er sea and land, 
 
 Proud Beauty's worshipped name, — 
 Yet none of these could e'er inspire 
 The Minstrel, or his humble Lyre, 
 
 To celebrate thy fame : 
 
 VII. 
 
 But, while my Harp with music rung, 
 And I thy praises fondly sung. 
 
 Responsive to each part, — 
 With eagerness enraptured nigh, 
 I 'd gaze within thy gentle eye. 
 
 To read thy sacred heart : 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And, while I thus surveyed its scroll, 
 I 'd tell thee, though thou lost the whole 
 
 Of charms external here, 
 Tliis single charm within thy breast. 
 Would make thee, shorn of all the rest, 
 
 A Pearl of value rare ! 
 
155 
 
 CANZONES. 1 
 
 CANZONE, I. 
 
 I. 
 
 When o'er the west the day retires, 
 And Phoebus lights with sacred fires, 
 
 The temple of the sky, — 
 A solemn feeling o'er me steals. 
 And to my heart the truth reveals, 
 
 How lonely here am I ! 
 
 II. 
 And, struggling upwards from the soul. 
 Dark thoughts, nor Reason can controul. 
 
 In bitter anguish rise, — 
 As, in the dungeon of my breast. 
 Awakes that Spirit's fierce unrest, 
 
 We may not dare despise. 
 
 ^ The Canzjne is distinguished from the Cantilena, as indicat- 
 ing; a sou^ of sadness. 
 
15S MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 III. 
 
 The while, in strong excess of grief, 
 My skeptic heart's stern unbelief 
 
 Would curse the hand of Fate, — 
 That placed me in a world like this, 
 Where I must gaze on others' bliss, 
 
 Yet feel that I am desolate ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 But I have borne and still can bear. 
 Nor deign to kneel to stern Despair, 
 
 However dark the cloud, — 
 And thus, superior to the blow, 
 I '11 bid my sorrows not to bow. 
 
 But teecch them to be proud. ^ 
 
 V. 
 For though my hopes of bliss be vain, 
 'Twere more than folly to complain, 
 
 While Fortune turns the wheel ; 
 'Tis wiser far that we, the while, 
 Strive to propitiate her smile. 
 
 And struggle for our weal : 
 
 ^ I will instruct my sorrows to be proud. — Shakespeai?e. 
 
CANZONES. 15' 
 
 VI. 
 
 And he who sits in silence down, 
 Beneath the shade of Sorrow's frown, 
 
 Nor looks for better skies, — 
 May well deserve the fatal doom 
 Which sends his visions to a tomb, 
 
 While others win the prize. 
 
 VIT. 
 
 Yet honour, station, rank or fame. 
 Are not the boons which I would claim, 
 
 When I have done my part, — 
 I'd only ask some gentle eye 
 To gaze upon me tenderly. 
 
 And cheer this lonely heart : 
 
 VIII. 
 
 For what were all the pomp of State 
 To one whose heart is desolate, 
 
 Amid admiring herds, — 
 If, to his heart. Affection ne'er 
 Hath fondly whispered in his ear 
 
 The tenderest of words ! 
 
158 
 
 CANZONE, II. 
 
 I. 
 
 When, by Fate's mysterious hand, 
 
 Near thee I was haply thrown, , 
 I believed from Fairy-land 
 
 Thou had'st come a wanderer lone : 
 For such sweet and artless grace 
 Shone around thy lovely face. 
 
 Lighting every smile, — 
 That thy very soul, it seemed, 
 Through thine eyes of diamond beamed, 
 
 Proudly free of guile. 
 

 CANZONES. 159 
 
 II. 
 
 And, beside thee as I strolled, 
 
 Fascinated by thy gaze, 
 With a heart that scarce controuled 
 
 Half its rapture or its praise, — 
 Thou didst list so kindly near. 
 When I whispered to thine ear 
 
 All which thrilled my breast, — 
 That thy soul-bewitching smile 
 Taught my heart to 'hope, the while, 
 
 I might yet be blest. 
 
 III. 
 But, alas ! my dreams of bliss 
 
 All forever now have flown — 
 .Naught is left but bitterness, 
 
 In this bosom drear and lone : 
 For thou 'rt cold and altered now. 
 And that brightly beaming brow. 
 
 Which upon me shone with gladness. 
 Cheering all my soul with light, — 
 Now its dearest visions blight. 
 
 And my heart condemns to sadness. 
 
160 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Yet, false one ! I will not cast 
 
 Stern reproach upon thy name, 
 Though my dreams of bliss are past. 
 
 And despair is all I claim ; 
 But I leave thee to thy fate, 
 Be it soon — or be it late, 
 
 All will reap the seed they sow ; 
 For 'tis reason to believe 
 That a heart, which dares deceive, 
 
 Dooms itself to certain woe. 
 
161 
 
 CANZONE, III. 
 
 I. 
 
 There is a gentle one whose charms 
 
 Around my heart have wove 
 A spell of sweet enchantment — yet 
 
 She knows not that I love^ 
 For, while I tremble at her side, 
 
 Till feeling mocks controul. 
 She sees not that her lightest word 
 
 Breathes rapture to my soul. 
 11 
 
162 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 11, 
 
 Nor sees that, when her thrilling eye 
 
 Upon me kindly turns, 
 How wildly then my throbbing heart 
 
 With fettered passion burns ; 
 She knows not how each happy eve 
 
 Each day of gloom redeems, 
 As, wrapt in sleep, her image comes 
 
 In beauty o'er my dreams ! 
 
 III. 
 
 For, when amid the throng allured 
 
 By Hope's resistless charm. 
 My deep impassioned gaze pursues 
 
 Her love-inspiring form, — 
 Her eye hath never read the tale 
 
 That gaze might fain impart. 
 And, consciously, discovered thus 
 
 The secret of my heart. 
 
CANZONES. 163 
 
 IV. 
 
 For, though the fair and gay surround, 
 
 If haply she is nigh, 
 'Tis but her matchless grace that wins 
 
 My fond admiring eye ; 
 And 'tis her dear-bewitching smile, 
 
 Her lips' low silvery tone. 
 Her eyes of heavenly light, that thrill. 
 
 My ardent breast alone. 
 
 V. 
 
 And yet she knows not when I smile y 
 
 And frame the lively jest, 
 That, all the while, a burning sigh 
 
 Is struggling in my breast ; 
 For, oh ! how deep the agony 
 
 In secret thus I suffer. 
 To think I must not breathe how true^ 
 
 How tenderly, I love her ! 
 
164 
 
 CANZONE, IV. 
 
 Oh ! naught shall x^rompt this heart of mine, 
 To slight that faithful heart of thine. 
 
 I. 
 
 If e'er thy glossy hair be gray, 
 Thy cheeks' young roses fade away, 
 
 Care-worn thy lovely brow ; 
 Thy lustrous eyes no longer bright, 
 Thy neck no more of Parian- white, 
 
 Thy fair form totter low — 
 
CANZONES. 165 
 
 II. 
 
 Uncurable disease thy foe', 
 
 And life embittered by such woe, 
 
 That death would be relief; 
 While those who seek thee now with pride, 
 May coldly then forsake thy side, 
 
 Companionless in grief: 
 
 III. 
 In such sad days, oh, cling to him 
 Who '11 never think thine eyes grown dim, 
 
 Thy snowy neck less white ; 
 But still will smooth thy silvered hair, 
 Nor deem thy cherished form less fair, 
 
 Thy lovely cheek less bright : 
 
 IV. 
 
 For wert thou sick, beside thy bed 
 A Husband's hand will cool thy head, 
 
 Reclined upon his breast ; 
 And, with thy burning cheek to his. 
 Thy fevered lips will fondly kiss, 
 
 Till thou art lulled to rest. 
 
166 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 V. 
 
 And, while the soother, balmy sleep, 
 In slumber soft thine eyelids steep, 
 
 Beneath his shadowy wing ; 
 Bent o'er thee, with uplifted eye. 
 He '11 kneel to One who rules the sky, 
 
 And this petition bring : 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, Father, turn aside the blow 
 Which threatens thus to lay her low, 
 
 And break Love's tender tie : 
 For, should her bosom cease to beat. 
 Our hearts are blended so complete. 
 
 That severed — both would die ! 
 
167 
 
 CANZONE, V. 
 
 Since thou hast whispered that those lips 
 
 Will breathe a prayer for me, 
 I scorn the fate which tears me thus, 
 
 In bitterness, from thee. 
 T would not thou shouldst know the pangs, 
 
 Or hear the struggling sigh. 
 With which that word Farewell will ring 
 
 My soul with agony. 
 
166 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 V. 
 
 And, while the soother, balmy sleep, 
 In slumber soft thine eyelids steep, 
 
 Beneath his shadowy wing ; 
 Bent o'er thee, with uplifted eye. 
 He '11 kneel to One who rules the sky, 
 
 And this petition bring : 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, Father, turn aside the blow 
 Which threatens thus to lay her low, 
 
 And break Love's tender tie : 
 For, should her bosom cease to beat. 
 Our hearts are blended so complete. 
 
 That severed — both would die ! 
 
167 
 
 CANZONE, V. 
 
 Since thou hast whispered that those lips 
 
 Will breathe a prayer for me, 
 I scorn the fate which tears me thus, 
 
 In bitterness, from thee. 
 I would not thou shouldst know the pangs, 
 
 Or hear the struggling sigh, 
 With which that word Farewell will ring 
 
 My soul with agony. 
 
170 FROM THE SPANISH. 
 
 LA LAGRIMA. 
 
 I. 
 
 Da me, de tus lindos ojos, 
 
 Una lagrima de fuego ; 
 Da me la, yo te lo ruego. 
 
 Da me la — si ! por piedad. 
 Tu eres la mas hermosa, 
 
 Tu eres la mas querida, 
 En ti pienzo, noche y dia, 
 
 Tu sola seras mi amor. 
 
 IL 
 
 El retrato y sus cabellos, 
 
 Que por prenda me dejo 
 En vez de aliviar mis penas, 
 
 Solo acricientan mi dolor. 
 Tu eres la mas hermosa, 
 
 Tu eres la mas querida, 
 En ti pienzo, dia y noche, 
 
 A ti sola juro amar ! 
 
TRANSLATION. 171 
 
 THE TEAR. 
 
 I. 
 
 I DO but ask the burning tear 
 
 Which lights that soul-bewitching eye, 
 Oh ! grant the boon, nor scorn my prayer, 
 
 If thou can'st pity misery : 
 Thou art the Queen of Beauty's throne, 
 
 And Love to thee his sceptre gave. 
 That, morn and night in humblest tone, 
 
 I thus might swear to be thy slave ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Thy cherished portrait and the tress. 
 
 Sweet pledges of thy timid vow, — 
 But serve to fan my wild distress, 
 
 And steep me deeper in my woe ! — 
 Thou art the Queen of Beauty's throne. 
 
 And Love to thee his sceptre gave. 
 That, morn and night in humblest tone, 
 
 I thus might swear to be thy slave ! 
 
1*72 FROM THE SPANISH. 
 
 EL TORMENTO. 
 
 I. 
 
 PoR Ventura yo tuve la culpa ? 
 
 Que el que rije los mundos te diera 
 Ese do, esa gracia hechicera, 
 
 Con que el alma me sabes robar ? 
 Si los cielos me hicieron sensible, 
 
 Podre verte mi bien sin amarte ; 
 No es posible no esta de mi parte, 
 
 Con mi vida mi amor concluira ! 
 
 II. 
 El tormento de amor que me oprime. 
 
 En tu pecho no en cuentra consuelo ; 
 Que me importa la vida, ni el cielo, 
 
 Sino logro en to seno vivir ! — 
 Torna — torna, tus languidos ojos 
 
 A mi palida frente un instanto, 
 Porque, siento una pena abrazante, 
 
 Que me arastra, me arastra a morir ! 
 
TRANSLATION. 173 
 
 THE TORMENT. 
 
 I. 
 
 Oh, was the sad misfortune mine, 
 
 That He, who doth the world controul, 
 Endowed thee with that grace divine 
 
 Which thus imprisons all my soul ? 
 Since Heaven hath made me sensitive. 
 
 To love is but to gaze on thee — 
 And I must die, if Heaven nor give 
 
 The power from thy side to flee ! 
 
 II. 
 The storm of love that tears my breast, 
 
 Though all unheeded by thine own. 
 Must rob me of each moment's rest, 
 
 Unless I claim thee for mine own : 
 Turn — turn those languid eyes again. 
 
 In pity on my pallid brow. 
 And soothe this fever of the brain, 
 
 Which wraps me in one maddening glow ! 
 
174 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 I. 
 
 TO INEZ. 
 
 Bewitching Inez ! if I should not fear 
 
 To whisper that which Flattery might evade, 
 And say thou art not beautiful, fair Maid, 
 
 Would Friendship's words offend thy gentle ear ? — 
 
 Not whilst within thy bosom thou dost bear 
 A heart that feels for every heart betrayed : 
 For Beauty's gifts, which do but quickly fade, 
 
 Can lend no charm to one so truly dear ; 
 
 And, while thine eyes may shed those sacred beams 
 Which stir the inmost fountains of the soul. 
 
 Or fill the spirit with such holy dreams 
 
 As lead our steps to Heaven's redeeming goal : 
 
 Oh ! wherefore sigh for beauty — man esteems 
 Far more the noble heart, whose gift is to console ! 
 
SONNETS. 175 
 
 II. 
 
 INVOCATION TO SLEEP 
 
 Come soothing Sleep ! and, with thy magic charms, 
 In soft repose my wearied eyelids seal : 
 And, while I slumber, let my dreams reveal 
 
 That form whose beauty all my bosom warms. 
 
 And, as she smiles within my circling arms. 
 Instruct my burning accents how to steal 
 Like music through her soul, that she may feel 
 
 Love's mystic spell, and soothe my vain alarms ; 
 
 And on me turn those thrilling eyes, whose rays 
 Awake, alike, a thousand hopes and fears, 
 
 Amid the brilliancy of Passion's gaze : 
 
 Thus hand in hand — cheek pressed to cheek in tears, 
 
 Heart touching heart — enclasped in wild embrace, 
 We'll dream o'er all our bliss, till envious morn 
 appears ! 
 
176 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 m. 
 
 THE SMILE. 
 
 Oh for Raphael's power, to immortalize 
 
 The sweet expression of the heavenly smile 
 Which beamed refulgent from that pure profile, 
 
 And all her soul revealed within those eyes ! 
 
 A Hebe, suppliant in th' empyrean skies. 
 Beside the fatal Goblet's shattered pile. 
 The wrath of mighty Jove to reconcile. 
 
 Would every charm resign for such a prize : 
 
 When first my eyes beheld her lovely face, 
 Before her shrine I fell a captive Slave ; 
 
 But soon I scorned her, when I found my praise 
 Won not the treasure it did fondly crave : 
 
 Yet, when that smile rekindled Hope's dim rays, 
 It would have soothed a Fiend — a Lover , I forgave ! 
 
SONNETS. ' lij 
 
 TV. 
 
 THE SURPRISE. 
 
 Soft as the purling of a silver stream, 
 
 Sweet music stealing on my raptured ear 
 
 Delicious fell ; as, fondly unseen near, 
 I lingered wrapt in Fancy's magic dream. 
 And she who sang, methought in heaven did seem 
 
 A Seraph-maid, so beauteously fair. 
 
 That, as she wandered through the spell-bound air, 
 God's earth itself was 'namoured of her theme : 
 For every note arose as though her soul, 
 
 In ecstasy, had burst its dear confine. 
 And gushed impassioned from the heart's controul. 
 
 Enchanted with a being so divine, 
 In adoration to her side I stole : 
 
 When judge my joy to find the lovely form was thine ! 
 12 
 
178 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 V. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 A THRILLING word, that fills the heart with fear, 
 And darkly o'er the bosom of the proud, 
 Or meek, alike, reflects a gloomy cloud 
 
 On every hope of bliss it cherished there. 
 
 Oh 't is a word of bitterness ! which, ere 
 
 The captive soul hath learned to love, and vowed 
 Its constant faith at Beauty's altar bowed, 
 
 Wrings every chord apart to mock Despair. 
 
 Yet if, perchance, by Fortune blest, the heart 
 With fond devotion whispers not in vain 
 
 Its vows of pure affection — we can part 
 
 From those beloved with scarce a sigh of pain : 
 
 For Hope, th' Enchantress, paints with happy art. 
 To soothe our present grief, ihe future's blissful gain ! 
 
SONNETS. 179 
 
 VI. 
 
 DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Tell me if Life hath bitterer pangs to prove 
 Than when the heart, delirious with delight, 
 Awakes to feel the cold and withering slight 
 
 Of one on whom it lavished all its love : 
 
 When every dream, wherein the soul would rove, 
 Created pictures beautifully bright. 
 O'er all whose forms that smiled upon the sight, 
 
 Its IdoVs shone conspicuously above : 
 
 When every noble impulse of the mind. 
 
 Ambition's glorious dreams of splendid fame, 
 
 And the whole being's self — have been consigned 
 To feed this one, this all-consuming flame : — 
 
 Yet, day by day, with agony to find 
 
 The broken heart lives on, without one hope or aim- 
 
 ■■■"nsiia^i*»-<<*<p*i4 
 
180 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 vn. 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 Oh ! for one ray of Hope, to pierce Fate's cloud, 
 
 And light the gloomy dungeon of my breast ; 
 
 One moment's freedom from the fierce unrest 
 That wraps my spirit in this burning shroud : 
 Some freedom from these chains, wherein I 've bowed, 
 
 With hushed submission, to the stern behest. 
 
 Till Madness stalks around, in horrors drest, 
 And for the cringing victim shrieks aloud : 
 My prayer is heard — sweet visions soothe my soul, 
 
 And, bending o'er me, smiles, with heavenly gaze, 
 The beauteous form whose charms my fate controul. 
 
 Were this reality — ten thousand days 
 Would seem but moments in Time's brief escroll : 
 
 Sweet Vision stay ! alas, 't is gone — my brain will 
 craze ! 
 
SONNETS. 
 
 181 
 
 vm. 
 
 CONSUMPTION. 
 
 And can it be that one so young as I, 
 
 Who scarce the name of Manhood yet can claim, 
 
 Must now resign each cherished hope of fame, 
 And make my preparations soon to die ! 
 Pale grows my cheek, and hollow sinks my eye, 
 
 As, day by day, more wasted is my frame ; 
 
 While, on my heart, a hand I fear to name. 
 With icy clasp, fast chills vitality : 
 Father to Thee submissively I bow ! — 
 
 And yet, so beauteous is this teeming earth, 
 That who can leave it and not wildly glow 
 
 With all the memories that have ta'en their birth 
 From cherished hearts, that dearer seem to grow, 
 
 The more the veil of Death shuts out the Home- 
 stead's hearth. 
 
182 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE OLD OAK. 
 
 Thou dear old Tree ! it seems but yesterday, 
 Thy noble form, in green luxuriance twined, 
 Waved proudly graceful to the wooing wind, 
 
 Beneath the smile of Summer's genial ray. 
 
 But Winter's scowl now dooms thee to decay — 
 And, strewing wide the frosty ground, we find, 
 To shrivelled scrolls your verdant leaves consigned. 
 
 And, with them, all thy glory passed away ! — 
 
 Perhaps thou art a lesson unto me 
 
 That, though unconscious of a single care. 
 
 The sanguine heart may beat with rapture free, 
 Yet should it for that gloomy day prepare 
 
 When, all deserted by Prosperity, 
 
 And thankless friends, 't will shed the lonely tear ! 
 
SONNETS. 183 
 
 X. 
 
 THE FAIR HARPER. 
 
 As when, at eve, the beauteous Queen of night, 
 In robes of silver, mounts the eastern wave, 
 Her sacred presence, through the starry nave, 
 
 Refulgent thrills all Nature with delight ; 
 
 Meanwhile, enraptured with the heavenly sight. 
 Accordant zephyrs, from the sea-born cave. 
 Awake, harmonious, o'er old Ocean's pave, 
 
 Celestial anthems to the Goddess bright : — 
 
 So, when thy Harp thine ivory arms embrace, 
 And, wandering careless o'er the liquid strings, 
 
 Thy rosy fingers stray with native grace — 
 
 Such charms superior from thine eyes' pure springs 
 
 Of sweet affection rise — methinks its praise 
 Thy Harp, spontaneous^ to its Mistress brings ! 
 
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