The following sections of this BookRags Literature Study Guide is offprint from Gale's For Students Series: Presenting Analysis, Context, and Criticism on Commonly Studied Works: Introduction, Author Biography, Plot Summary, Characters, Themes, Style, Historical Context, Critical Overview, Criticism and Critical Essays, Media Adaptations, Topics for Further Study, Compare & Contrast, What Do I Read Next?, For Further Study, and Sources.
(c)1998-2002; (c)2002 by Gale. Gale is an imprint of The Gale Group, Inc., a division of Thomson Learning, Inc. Gale and Design and Thomson Learning are trademarks used herein under license.
The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Encyclopedia of Popular Fiction: "Social Concerns", "Thematic Overview", "Techniques", "Literary Precedents", "Key Questions", "Related Titles", "Adaptations", "Related Web Sites". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
All other sections in this Literature Study Guide are owned and copyrighted by BookRags, Inc.
Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
MADAM, | 1 |
PREFACE. | 1 |
LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. | 2 |
A. | 2 |
C. | 4 |
L. | 11 |
V. | 16 |
CONTENTS | 18 |
18 | |
SONNET, | 20 |
SONNET | 20 |
20 | |
A SONG. | 21 |
I. | 21 |
II. | 21 |
III. | 21 |
IV. | 21 |
V. | 22 |
VI. | 22 |
I. | 22 |
II. | 22 |
III. | 22 |
IV. | 22 |
V. | 22 |
VI. | 22 |
VII. | 23 |
VIII. | 23 |
IX. | 23 |
X. | 23 |
XI. | 23 |
XII. | 23 |
XIII. | 23 |
XIV. | 24 |
XV. | 24 |
XVI. | 24 |
XVII. | 24 |
XVIII. | 24 |
XIX. | 24 |
XX. | 24 |
XXI. | 25 |
XXII. | 25 |
XXIII. | 25 |
XXIV. | 25 |
XXV. | 25 |
XXVI. | 25 |
XXVII. | 25 |
XXVIII. | 26 |
XXIX. | 26 |
XXX. | 26 |
XXXI. | 26 |
XXXII. | 26 |
EDWIN AND ELTRUDA | 26 |
31 | |
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. | 34 |
BY | 34 |
CONTENTS | 34 |
AUTHOR OF | 35 |
ADVERTISEMENT. | 38 |
I. | 38 |
II. | 39 |
III. | 39 |
IV. | 39 |
V. | 40 |
VI. | 40 |
VII. | 40 |
VIII. | 41 |
IX. | 41 |
X. | 42 |
ADVERTISEMENT. | 43 |
THE ARGUMENT. | 43 |
PERU. | 43 |
PERU. | 47 |
PERU. | 47 |
PERU. | 49 |
PERU. | 50 |
PERU. | 53 |
PERU. | 53 |
PERU. | 57 |
PERU. | 57 |
PERU. | 63 |
PERU. | 63 |
SONNET, | 70 |
QUEEN MARY’S | 71 |
I. | 71 |
II. | 71 |
III. | 71 |
IV. | 71 |
V. | 71 |
VI. | 71 |
EUPHELIA, | 72 |
SONNET, | 74 |
THE END. | 74 |
I am too sensible of the distinguished honour conferred upon me, in your Majesty’s gracious protection of these Poems, to abuse it by adopting the common strain of dedication.
That praise corresponds best to your Majesty’s generous feelings, which is poured without restraint from the heart, and is repeated where you cannot hear.
I suppress therefore, in delicacy to those feelings, the warmth of my own, and subscribe myself,
Madam,
With profound respect,
Your majesty’s
Devoted servant,
Helen Maria Williams.
The apprehension which it becomes me to feel, in submitting these Poems to the judgment of the Public, may perhaps plead my excuse, for detaining the reader to relate, that they were written under the disadvantages of a confined education, and at an age too young for the attainment of an accurate taste. My first production, the Legendary Tale of Edwin and Eltruda, was composed to amuse some solitary hours, and without any view to publication. Being shewn to Dr. Kippis, he declared that it deserved to be committed to the press, and offered to take upon himself the task of introducing it to the world. I could not hesitate to publish a composition which had received the sanction of his approbation. By the favourable reception this little poem met with, I was encouraged still farther to meet the public eye, in the “Ode on the Peace,” and the poem which has the title of “Peru.” These poems are inserted in the present collection, but not exactly in their original form. I have felt it my duty to exert my endeavours in such a revision and improvement of them, as may render them somewhat more worthy of perusal. It will, I am afraid, still be found, that there are several things in them which would shrink at the approach of severe criticism. The other poems that now for the first time appear in print, are offered with a degree of humility rather increased than diminished, by the powerful patronage with which they have been honoured, in consequence of the character given of them by partial friends. Knowing how strongly affection can influence opinion, the kindness which excites my warmest gratitude has not inspired me with confidence.
* * * * *
When I survey such an evidence of the zeal of my friends to serve me, as the following honourable and extensive list affords, I have cause for exultation in having published this work by subscription. They who know my disposition, will readily believe that the tear which fills my eye, while I thank them for their generous exertions, flows not from the consideration of the benefits that have arisen from their friendship. It is to that friendship itself, that my heart pays a tribute of affection which I will not attempt to
His Royal Highness the prince of Wales.
Her Grace the Dutchess of Ancaster.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Abingdon.
The Right Hon. the Dowager Countess of Albemarle.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Aylesford, Captain of the
Yeomen of the
Guards.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Ashburnham.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Aylesbury, Lord Chamberlain
of her Majesty’s
Houshold.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of St. Asaph.
The Right Hon. Lord Amherst, a General in the Army,
Colonel of the
Second
Troop of Horse Guards, and Governor of the Isle of
Guernsey.
The Right Hon. Lady Amherst.
The Right Hon. Lord Apsley, a Lord of the Admiralty.
The Right Hon. Lord Arden, a Lord of the Admiralty.
Sir Edmund Anderson, Bart.
Sir Edmund Affleck, Bart. Rear-Admiral of the
Blue.
Lady Affleck.
The Hon. Richard Pepper Arden, Esq. his Majesty’s
Attorney-General, and
Chief
Justice of Chester.
Charles Ambler, Esq. King’s Counsel, and
her Majesty’s Attorney-General.
William Adair, Esq. Barrister at Law.
William Adam, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Mrs. Adam.
—— Adair, Esq.
Thomas Adams, Esq. Alnwick.
Robert Adair, Esq.
Mrs. A. Affleck.
Miss Affleck, Bury.
Rev. Mr. James Aitchison, Berwick.
Mrs. Alder, Horncliffe.
William Alexander, Esq.
Alexander Alison, Esq.
Miss Allin, Berwick.
Robert Allan, Esq. Edinburgh.
Mrs. Allen.
The Rev. Nathaniel Andrews, Warminster, Wilts.
Miss Anderson.
Francis Annesley, Esq.
John Anstruther, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Mrs. J. Anstruther.
James Arbouin, Esq.
Robert Arbuthnot, Esq. Secretary to the Board
of Trustees, Edinburgh.
Mrs. Arden.
The Rev. Mr. Arden, Vicar of Tarpoly in Cheshire.
H.G. Armery, Esq.
The Rev. Mr. Armstrong, Bath.
George Arnold, Esq.
Mrs. Arnold.
Miss Artaud.
Late Mrs. Ashurst, St. Julian’s.
John Askew, Esq. Pallinsburn.
Mrs. Askew, ditto.
Miss E.A. Askew, ditto.
Mr. G.A. Askew, Eton.
B.
Her Grace the Dutchess of Bolton.
His Grace the Duke of Buccleugh, Governor of the Royal
Bank of Scotland.
Her Grace the Dutchess of Buccleugh.
The Right Hon. the Marquis of Buckingham, Lord Lieutenant
of the County
of
Bucks, and one of his Majesty’s Privy Council.
The Right Hon. the Marchioness of Buckingham.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Buckinghamshire, one of
his Majesty’s Privy
Council.
The Right Hon. the Countess of Buckinghamshire.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Beaulieu.
The Right Hon. Lady Diana Beauclerk.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of Bath and Wells.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of Bangor.
The Right Hon. Lord Boston, a Lord of the Bedchamber.
The Right Hon. Lord Brownlow.
The Right Hon. Lady Brownlow.
The Right Hon. Lord Brudenell, Master of the Robes.
The Right Hon. Lady Caroline Bruce.
The Right Hon. Lady Frances Bruce.
The Hon. Mrs. Baillie, Edinburgh.
The Hon. Henry Burton.
The Hon. Mrs. Boscawen.
The Hon. Miss Boscawen, Maid of Honour to the Queen.
Sir Edward Bacon, Premier Baronet of England.
Lady Bacon.
Lady Blake.
Sir Harry Burrard, Bart.
Lady Blount.
The Rev. Nicholas Bacon, Coddenham.
Robert Baillie, Esq. Carphin, Fife.
Matthew Baillie, Esq.
Miss Baillie.
Miss J. Baillie.
Mrs. Balcanqual, Cupar, Fife.
James Balmain, Esq. Commissioner of Excise, Edinburgh.
Miss Caroline Balmain.
Mr. James Banfield.
Dugald Bannatine, Esq.
William Barkley, Esq.
Captain Barkley, Play Hatch, Berks.
Mrs. Barkley.
Edward Barnard, Esq.
Mrs. Barnouin.
Miss Barnouin, Southampton.
The Rev. William Barrow, L.L.D.
Miss Caroline Barlow, Winton.
Miss Barry.
Miss Barton.
—— Barton, Esq.
Mrs. Barwell.
The Rev. Dr. Bates.
Mrs. Bates.
Joah Bates, Esq. Commissioner of the Customs.
Mrs. J. Bates.
Miss Batten, Yeovil, Somersetshire.
John Bax, Esq.
Fowill Baxton, Esq.
William Baynes, Esq.
Mrs. Baynes.
Dr. Bayly, Chichester.
Miss Bayly, Colchester.
Matthew Beachcroft, Esq.
Mrs. Beachwell.
Edward Bearcroft, Esq.
Miss Bearcroft.
Mrs. Beasley.
Henry Beaufoy, Esq.
Mrs. Beaufoy.
Mr. Beaumont.
Mr. Robert Beggar, jun. Sheens, Edinburgh.
Mrs. Bell.
Mrs. Belson.
John Bicknell, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Mrs. Bicknell.
Charles Bicknell, Esq.
Mrs. Bicknell.
Mrs. Billingsley, Edinburgh.
Mrs. Billingsley, of Ashwick Grove, Somersetshire.
Miss Billingsley.
John Bill, Esq. Totteridge.
The Rev. Mr. Birch.
Thomas Birch, Esq.
His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury.
The Right Hon. Lord Camden, President of the Council.
The Right Hon. the Marquis of Carmarthen, one of his
Majesty’s Principal
Secretaries
of State.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Corke.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Clarendon, Chancellor of
the Dutchy of
Lancaster.
The Dowager Countess of Cavan.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of Carlisle.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of Chester.
The Right Hon. Lord Cadogan.
The Right Hon. Lord Camelford.
The Right Hon. Lady Camelford.
The Right Hon. Lord Chedworth.
The Hon. Mrs. Cornwallis.
Sir James Campbell, Bart.
Lady Campbell, Madras.
Sir George Cornwall, Bart.
Lady Cornwall.
Sir Thomas Clavering, Bart.
Ilay Campbell, Esq. Lord Advocate of Scotland.
—— Cabonet, Esq.
Philip Cade, Esq.
Mrs. P. Cade.
Miss Cadogan.
Mrs. Caillaud.
Colonel Campbell, Monzie.
Lieutenant Colonel Campbell, Madras.
Mrs. Campbell.
Mr. Archibald Campbell.
Miss Campbell.
William Campbell, Esq. Fairfield.
John Campbell, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Miss Campbell.
Capt. R. N. Campbell.
Miss Campbell, Edinburgh.
Miss Campion, Colchester.
Mrs. Capadoce.
—— Carbonell, Esq.
Mrs. Carbonell.
Peter Caralet, jun. Esq.
Mrs. Reginald P. Carew.
Mrs. Carke.
Mr. James Carmichael, Eymouth.
John Carr, Esq. Ryshope.
Mrs. Carter.
Edward Castance, Esq.
Mrs. Castance.
Mr. John Chadwick.
A.H. Chambers, Esq.
Miss Chapman.
Miss Chapman, South Petherton, Somerset.
Edward Charlton, Esq. Reeds Mouth.
Mr. William Charlton, Alnwick.
Miss Chartres, Ednam House.
Robert Chester, Esq.
Mrs. Chester.
Miss Chester.
Miss Cheveley.
Joseph Chew, Esq.
Miss Child.
—— Chowne, Esq.
Mrs. Chowne.
Miss Chowne.
Alexander Christie, Esq. Grueldikes.
James Christie, Esq.
Mrs. Christie.
Miss Christie.
James Christie, jun. Esq.
Mrs. Clark, Ord-House, Berwick.
Richard Clarke, Esq.
Thomas Clarke, Esq.
Mrs. Clarke.
Richard Clarke, Esq.
Miss Clarke.
Miss Clark of Exeter.
The Rev. Mr. Clarkson, Kirkharle.
Charles Clavering, Esq.
Miss Clavering, Berrington.
William Clay, Esq.
Mrs. Margaret Clayton.
Miss Clayton.
Miss K. Clavering, ditto.
Miss Cleaver.
The late Mrs. Clive.
Miss E. Clutterbuck, Clonmel, Ireland.
John Clunie, Esq. Berwick.
William Coates, Esq. Bristol.
Thomas Coates, Esq. ditto.
Richard Cockran, Esq.
Miss Coles.
—— Collet, Esq.
The Rev. S. Collinson, Oxford.
College Library, Edinburgh.
Miss Colquoun, Edinburgh.
Henry Compton, Esq.
Robert Comyns, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Lancelot Conyngham, Esq. Winchester.
William Cooper, Esq.
John Coore, Esq.
D.
His Grace the Duke of Devonshire.
Her Grace the Dutchess of Devonshire.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Dumfries.
The Right Hon. Lady Viscountess Duncannon.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of St. David’s.
The late Lord Dacre.
The Dowager Lady Dacre.
The Right Hon. Lady Harriot Dom.
The Right Hon. Lady Helen Douglas.
Lord Dunsinan, one of the Senators of the College
of Justice.
The Hon. George Damer.
The Hon. Mrs. Davy.
Lady Don.
Sir John D’Oyley, Bart.
Mrs. Dalgliesh, Edinburgh.
Robert Dallas, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Mr. Dalzell, Professor of Greek, Edinburgh.
Mrs. Daniel, Yeovil, Somerset.
Harry Darby, Esq. Grange-hill, Essex.
Miss Darby, Walhampton, Hants.
Mr. John Darby, Hatfield, Herts.
Mr. Edmund Darby.
Lionell Darell, Esq. a Director of the East-India
Company.
Robert Darell, Esq.
The Rev. Dr. Davis, Upper-Master of Eton School.
—— Davison, Esq.
Miss Davison, Berwick.
Eleazer Davy, Esq.
James Dawkins, Esq.
George Dawkins, Esq.
Mrs. Dawkins.
John Dawson, Esq.
William Day, Esq.
Anthony Deane, jun. Esq.
Mrs. Deane.
Miss Dealtry, Lonridge.
Joseph Debaufre, Esq.
Richard Debaufre, Esq.
Miss Maria De Burgh, Southampton.
Miss Deering, Ripon.
John Degruchy, Esq.
John Delamain, Esq.
Mrs. Demham, Chigwell, Essex.
George Dempster, Esq. Secretary to the Order
of the Thistle.
Mrs. Dempster.
John Hamilton Dempster, a Captain in the Naval Service
of the East-India
Company.
Mrs. J.H. Dempster.
Major Dennis.
Mrs. Ann Dennis.
Mrs. Derbie, Bridgewater, Somersetshire.
Edward Desborough, Esq.
Miss Des Champs.
William Devaynes, Esq. Chairman of the East-India
Company.
Court D’ewes, Esq. Wellsburn, Warwickshire.
Barnard D’ewes, Esq. Hagley, Worcestershire.
Mrs. Dickson, Ednam House.
Mrs. Dickson.
E.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Effingham, Master of the
Mint.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Egremont.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of Ely.
The Hon. Thomas Erskine, King’s Counsel, and
Attorney-General to the
Prince
of Wales.
The Hon. Mrs. T. Erskine.
The Hon. Andrew Erskine.
Mrs. Eade.
Henry Earle, Esq.
Mrs. K. Edgar, Ipswich.
Mrs. Edmeston, Berwick.
Miss Elizabeth Edmeston, Berwick.
—— Edmonds, Esq.
Mrs. Edmunds.
The Rev. Mr. Archdeacon Edwards.
The Rev. Mr. Archdeacon Egerton.
The Rev. Mr. Charles Egerton.
Frederick Ekins, Esq. Winchester.
John Ellill, Esq. Totteridge.
Luther Elliott, Esq. Colchester.
Miss Elliott, ditto.
The Rev. Dr. Ellisten, Master of Sydney College, Cambridge.
Mrs. Elliston.
William Emes, Esq.
Miss Emes.
Mrs. Emlyn.
Mrs. Emmott.
Mrs. Erington.
George Ernest, Esq.
Miss Ernest.
James Esdaile, Esq.
Mrs. Estlin, Bristol.
Samuel Estwicke, Esq. Deputy Paymaster of the
Forces.
Colonel Etherington, Jamaica.
Major Etherington.
Rev. Caleb Evans, Bristol.
Miss Evans, ditto.
Mrs. Evans, ditto.
Miss Evans.
Miss Evans.
Miss M. Evans.
John Everth, Esq.
Thomas Evens, Esq.
—— Evens, Esq.
John Ewer, Esq.
Miss Ewer.
Mrs. A. Eyres.
F.
The Right Hon. Earl Fitzwilliam.
The Right Hon. Lord Fortescue.
The Right Hon. Lady Charlotte Finch.
The Hon. John Fitzwilliam, a General in the Army,
and Colonel of the
Second
Regiment of Horse.
The Hon. Mr. Fitzwilliam.
George Fairholm, Esq.
Colin Falconer, Esq. Woodleat Park.
Miss M. C. Fanshawe.
The Rev. Hugh Farmer, Walthamstow.
G.
Her Grace the Dutchess of Grafton.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Guildford.
The Right Hon. Lord Grantham.
The Hon. Mrs. L. Gower.
The Hon. Baron Gordon.
Sir Thomas Gooch, Bart.
Lady Gooch.
Sir Charles Grey.
Lady Grey.
Mrs. Gairdner.
Henry Gally, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Miss Galdie.
Mrs. Gardiner.
Mrs. Gardiner.
Major Gardner.
Mrs. Gardiner.
Mrs. Garrick.
The Rev. R. E. Garnham, Fellow of Trinity College,
Cambridge.
Miss Henrietta Gavillar.
Philip Gavey, Esq.
—— Gauder, Esq. Sherborne,
Dorsetshire,
Samuel Gaussen, Esq.
Mrs. Gaussen.
Miss Gaussen.
Mrs. Gell, Hopton, Derbyshire.
Captain Gell, of the Navy.
G. Chapman George, Esq.
Miss Gibson, Hackney.
Mrs. M. Girardoles, Putney.
Robert Glynn, Esq. M. D. Fellow of the Royal
College of Physicians, and
of
King’s College, Cambridge.
Stephen Peter Godin, Esq. Cullards Grove, Middlesex.
Mrs. Godin, Hampton, Middlesex.
Mrs. Goddard.
William Godfrey, Esq.
—— Godfrey, Esq.
The Rev. Mr. John Gooch.
Mrs. Hester Goodere.
Mrs. Goodfellow.
Mrs. Goodford, Yeovil, Somerset.
Mrs. Gosset.
Miss Gough.
Colonel Gould.
Mrs. Gould, of Colchester.
Robert Graham, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Miss Graham, Berwick.
The Rev. Mr. John Granville, Calwich, Staffordshire.
—— Graystock, Esq.
Mrs. Gray, Colchester.
Miss Gray, Edinburgh.
Thomas Gray, Esq. of the 14th Regiment.
Augustine Greenland, Esq.
Mrs. Greenland.
Miss Greenland.
General Green.
Mrs. Grey, Fallsdon.
Miss Grey, ditto.
Francis Gregg, jun. Esq.
H.
His Grace the Duke of Hamilton.
Her Grace the Dutchess of Hamilton.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Hopetoun, one of the Sixteen
Peers of
Scotland.
The Right Hon. the Countess of Hopetoun.
The Right Hon. Lord Howard de Walden, a General of
his Majesty’s Forces,
and
Colonel of the First Troop of Horse Grenadier Guards.
The Right Hon. Lady Howard de Walden.
The Right Hon. Lord Harrowby.
The Right Hon. Lady Harrowby.
The Hon. Miss Hamilton.
The Hon. Mrs. Hanbury.
Sir John Henderson, Bart.
Sir James Hall, Bart.
Sir Andrew Snape Hammond, Bart.
Lady Haggerston.
George Hardinge, Esq. F. A. S. King’s Counsel,
and Solicitor-General to
the
Queen.
Mrs. G. Hardinge.
Mrs. Haden.
Mrs. Haggerston, Ellingham.
Miss Haggerston.
Thomas Haggeston, Esq. Sandac.
Mrs. E. Haistwell.
The Rev. Mr. Halters, Wimbledon.
Miss Halkerston.
Mrs. Hall.
Miss Hall, Edinburgh.
Mrs. Hall.
Rev. Mr. Halls, Colchester.
William Hall, Esq.
Mrs. Halliday, Taunton, Somerset.
Miss Halliday, ditto.
Mr. Halliwell.
John James Hamilton, Esq.
Colonel Hamilton, Dabriel.
William Hamilton, Esq.
Mrs. W. Hamilton.
Miss Hamilton.
Rev. Dr. Hamilton, Archdeacon of Colchester, and Vicar
of St. Martin’s
in
the Fields, F.R.S. and F.A.S.
Miss Hanbury.
Miss F. Hanbury.
Miss E. Hankle.
Miss M. Hannay,
Mrs. Hardinge.
Miss Hardinge.
Miss Julia Hardinge.
George Hardinge, jun. Esq.
The Rev. Mr. Hardinge, Vicar of Kingston upon Thames.
Richard Hardinge, Esq. Captain of the Kent East-Indiaman.
Miss Harford.
Francis Hargrave, jun. Esq.
Mrs. Hargrave.
Robert Harper, Esq.
The Rev. Mr. Harper.
Thomas Harris, Esq. Knightsbridge.
The Rev. A. Harris, Maidstone, Kent.
R. Harris, Esq. ditto.
John Harrison, Esq.
Miss Harrison.
Mr. William Harrison, Devon.
The Rev. George Harvey, Sherborne, Dorset.
Warren Hastings, Esq.
Mrs. Hastings.
Miss N. Hastings, Sussex.
Miss Hawes.
Miss Maria Hawes.
Mrs. Hawksworth, Bromley.
Miss Haward, Shidlane.
William Hayley, Esq. Eartham, Sussex.
Mrs. Hayley.
Mrs. Heartcup.
Dr. Heberden, M.D.
Mr. Heclas.
The late Rev. Mr. Hemmings, Minister of the Chapel
at Twickenham.
Mrs. Hemmings.
Robert Henderson, Esq. Edinburgh.
Robert Henderson, Esq.
J.
Sir William Jerningham, Bart.
Miss Jackson, Nicholas-Field, Kelso.
Henry Jackson, Esq.
Thomas Scott Jackson, Esq.
Mrs. T. S. Jackson.
Charles Jackson, jun. Esq.
Miss Jackson.
William Jameson, Esq.
Mrs. Jameson.
Mr. Jameson, Haggerston.
Gilbert James, Esq. Stowe.
Miss James, East Harptry, Somerset.
Mrs. Mary Jeffries.
Miss M. Jeffries.
John Jeffreys, Esq.
John Jeffreys, Esq. Berwick.
William Jeffreys, Esq. ditto.
Edward Jeffries, Esq. Treasurer of St. Thomas’s
Hospital.
—— Jeffries, Esq. Sherborne,
Dorset.
Joseph Jekyll, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Robert Jenner, Esq.
Mrs. Jenner.
Edward Jerningham, Esq.
Jervoise Clark Jervoise, Esq.
The Rev. T. Jerwis.
Mrs. Jesser, Hackney.
Miss Jillard, Bishop Hall, Somerset.
Hugh Inglis, Esq.
Mrs. Inglis.
Hugh Inglis, Esq.
Mr. Robert Ingram, Sidney College, Cambridge.
Mrs. Ingram,
Mrs. Ingram.
William Innes, Esq.
Miss Johnsone.
Mifs Johnson, Bromley.
Mrs. Johnson.
Mrs. Jones.
William Jones, Esq.
Mrs. Jones.
Mr. Jones.
Daniel Jones, Esq.
Mrs. D. Jones.
Valentine Jones, Esq.
Miss Jones.
John Jonson, Esq.
T. Jordan, Esq.
—— Jordan, Esq.
Mrs. Jordan, Oakhill, Somerset.
Miss Julliott.
Mrs. Jupp.
K.
Lady Kent.
George Keate, Esq.
Miss Keene.
Edmund Kelly, Esq.
Kelso Library.
John Kemble, Esq.
Miss Kemble.
J. W. Kendall, Esq.
Miss Kenniesley.
Cranmer Kenrick, Esq. Southgate, Middlesex.
Mrs. Kerr.
Mr. William Kerr, Cornhill.
The Rev. Mr. Kesterman, Christ’s College, Cambridge.
Miss Kesterman, Colchester.
Miss Mary Kesterman, ditto.
William Keymer, Esq.
Miss Kidney, Knuston Hall, Northampton.
The Right Hon. the Earl of Leicester, Captain of the
Band of Pensioners,
President
of the Antiquarian Society, and F.R.S.
The Right Hon. the Countess of Leicester.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of Llandaff.
The Right Hon. Lady Charlotte Legge.
Sir William Loraine, Bart.
Lady Loraine.
Mrs. Labarte, Clonmel, Ireland.
A Lady.
Multon Lambard, Esq.
The Rev. Thomas Lambard, Vicar of Ash in Kent.
Mrs. F. Lambard.
Mrs. Lambert.
Mrs. Landels, Etal.
Thomas Langley, Esq.
—— Landseer, Esq.
John Lane, Esq.
Mrs. Lane.
Miss E. Lane.
The Rev. Mr. Lane.
Miss Larpent.
Miss F. Larpent.
The Rev. Mr. Law, Preb. of Carlisle.
Mrs. Laws, Poulton-House, Wilts.
Mrs. Allan Lawrence.
French Lawrence, Esq.
—— Lawrence, Esq.
Herbert Lawrence, Esq.
The Rev. C. P. Layard, F.R.S. F.A.S.
Mrs. Layard.
Mrs. Layton, Weymouth.
Mrs. Leather.
Mrs. Lee, of Totteridge Park.
Miss Lee.
Miss Louisa Lee.
Harman Leece, Esq.
William N. Leeves, Esq. Tonton, Sussex.
Hugh Leicester, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Rev. John Lettice, Pearsemarsh, Sussex.
Robert Lewin, Esq.
S. Lewin, Esq. Hackney.
C. Lewis, Esq.
T. Lewis, Esq.
Mrs. Lewis.
Miss Lewis.
R. Lewis, Esq; Colchester.
Rev. Mr. Linsey.
Mr. James Lind, Gosport.
—— Livingstone, Esq.
Colonel Livingstone, Edinburgh.
Mr. F. Lloyd.
—— Lloyd, Esq.
William Locke, Esq.
Mrs. Locke.
Mrs. Lockwood.
George Logan, Esq. Ednom.
—— Lomax, Esq.
Mr. William Long.
Mrs. Robert Long.
Thomas Longlands, Esq.
Mrs. Losack.
Miss Losack.
Capt. George Losack, of the Navy.
Mrs. Love.
Mr. John Lowdell.
J. D. Lucadon, Esq.
Miss Lucas.
Mrs. Ludbey.
Rev. Dr. Lullerton.
Rev. William Lush, Warminster, Wilts.
—— Luttley, Esq.
Henry Lyell, Esq.
Mrs. Lyell.
Rev. Mr. Daniel Lysons.
Samuel Lysons, Esq.
Miss G. L.
M.
His Grace the Duke of Montagu, Master of the Horse
to the King.
The Right Hon. Lord Milton.
The Right Hon. Lord Viscount Maitland.
The Right Hon. Lady Viscountess Maitland.
The Right Hon. Lady Louisa Macdonald.
The Right Hon. Lady Augusta Murray.
The Right Hon. Lady Hay Macdougal.
Major General Lord McLeod.
The Hon. Mrs. Mackay.
The Hon. Miss Murray.
The Hon. Miss —— Murray.
The Hon. Archibald Macdonald, Solicitor General to
N.
Hon. Miss North.
Lady Norcliffe.
Major Nesbit.
John Nesham, Esq.
Francis Newberry, Esq.
Mrs. Newell, Oxon.
G. L. Newnham, Esq. King’s Counsel.
Andrew Newton, Esq. Lichfield.
O.
Mrs. Oliphant.
Mrs. Ord, Lonridge.
Mr. Ord.
Robert Orme, Esq.
Robert Orme, Esq.
Rev. Mr. Orme.
Robert Osborne, Esq.
William Osgood, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Miss Aurca Ottway.
Robert Ouchterteny, jun. Esq. Montrose.
Rev. Mr. Owen.
P.
The Right Hon. Lady Catharine Powlett.
The Hon. John J. Pratt, a Lord of the Admiralty.
The Hon. Mrs. Pratt.
The Hon. Miss Pratt.
The Hon. Miss Pitt.
Sir James Pringle, Bart.
Lady Pringle.
Sir Ralph Payne, Knight of the Bath.
Lady Phillips.
Sir T. B. Proctor, Bart.
Lady B. Proctor.
Sir William Pepperell, Bart.
Lady Peyton.
The Hon. —— Pelham.
The Hon. Mr. Baron Perryn.
The Hon. Spencer Perceval.
Arthur Piggott, Esq. King’s Counsel, and
Solicitor General to the Prince
of
Wales.
Thomas Palmer, Esq.
William Palmer, Esq.
John Palmer, Esq.
Astley Palmer, Essq.
Miss Palmer.
The Rev. Mr. Panton.
Mrs. Parker.
Robert Parker, jun. Esq. Hallifax.
Mrs. Parminster, Koninster, Somerset.
Mrs. Parsons, Blagden, Somerset.
Mrs. Parkhurst, Epsom.
Mrs. T. Pare, Salisbury.
The Rev. Mr. Pashwood.
Mrs. Patrick.
Mrs. Pattinson.
Miss Paul.
The Rev. Mr. Peach, Minister of East Shene in Surrey.
Miss Pearce.
Miss Ann Peareth, Ryton.
Mrs. Peck.
Miss Pedley.
Mrs. Pegg, Beachcliff, Derbyshire.
Rev. T. B. Peirson, Lichfield.
Henry Pelham, Esq. a Commissioner of the Customs.
Mrs. Pelham.
Thomas Penrose, Esq. Winchester.
Miss Pepperell.
Mrs. Pepys.
Mrs. Perkins, Oakhill, Somerset.
Mr. Perkins.
Miss Perrott.
Miss Perryn.
James Perryn, Esq.
Mrs. Phiby, Edinburgh.
Miss Phillips.
Miss C. Phillips.
Miss Joyce Phillips.
Miss L. Phillips.
Mrs. Pickard, Enfield.
Miss Pickard, Colchester.
Rev. Mr. Pickbourne.
Mrs. Pierce.
Miss Pigott.
Dr. Pitcairne, M.D.
Lieutenant S. Pleydell, Edinburgh.
Hall Plumer, Esq.
Mrs. Plumer.
Thomas Plumer, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Miss Pole.
Miss E. Pole.
Miss Poole, Hooke, Sussex.
Miss Poole, Hull.
Mrs. Pope.
Miss Pope.
Miss Porter.
James Potts, Esq. Kelso.
Thomas Potts, Esq. ditto.
Mrs. Povoleri.
—— Powell, Esq. Clare Hall.
James Powell, Esq.
Mrs. Powell.
Miss Powell.
Colonel Pownall.
Mrs. Pownall.
Thomas Powys, Esq. Berwick.
R.
His Grace the Duke of Roxburgh.
The Right Hon. the Dowager Marchioness of Rockingham.
The Right Hon. the Countess of Rothes.
Hon. Baron Rutherford.
Lady Rich.
Lady Robinson.
Sir Joshua Reynolds.
E. Radcliffe, Esq.
Abraham Ragueneau, Esq.
Rev. Mr. Raikes, Measden.
Mrs. Rich. Raikes, Measden.
Charles Raikes, Esq.
William Raikes, Esq.
William Matthew Raikes, Esq.
Mrs. Thomas Raikes.
William Ramsey, Esq. Edinburgh.
William Ramsey, jun. Esq.
William Ramus, Esq.
Miss Ramus.
W. C. Ranspack, Esq.
Miss Randall, Southgate, Middlesex.
Rev. A. Randolph, Wimbledon, Surrey.
John Ranby, Esq.
Miss Ruth Raper.
Peter Rashleigh, Esq.
T. Rashleigh, Esq.
Miss Rashleigh.
Rev. Mr. Ratheram, Houghton le Spring.
Mrs. Ravaud.
Rev. Mr. Rauth.
Capt. Raymond, Gloucester.
Richard Raynsford, Esq.
—— Ready, Esq. Gloucester.
Mr. Redpath.
Miss Reeves.
Isaac Reed, Esq.
The Rev. Dr. Rees.
Mrs. Reid.
Mr. James Renton, Berwick.
Mr. R. Renton, Aymouth.
Miss Reynells.
Dr. Reynolds, M.D.
Richard Richards, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Rev. David Richards, South Petherton, Somerset.
Miss Richardson.
Miss Richardson, Stratford.
R. Richardson, Esq.
Samuel Richardson, Esq.
Miss Riddock.
Mrs. Ridout, Moortown, Devon.
Mr. William Riddle, Berwick,
Miss Riddle, ditto.
Captain Rigg.
—— Ringstead, Esq.
Horatio Ripley, Esq.
John Roberts, Esq.
Mrs. Roberts.
Miss Roberts.
Thomas Robber, Esq.
William Robinson, Esq. Edinburgh.
Rev. Mr. Robertson, Vicar of Horncastle.
Mrs. Robertson.
Mrs. Robertson, Prenderguest.
Dr. Rodbert.
Henry Rodbart, Esq. Merriott, Somerset.
Miss Rogers.
Miss C. Rogers, Frenchay, Glocestershire.
Edward Rogers, Esq.
Thomas Rogers, Esq.
George Romney, Esq.
J. Roope, Esq.
James Tyrell Ross, Esq.
Mrs. W. Ross.
Miss Ross.
Miss Charlotte Ross.
George Rofe, Esq. Winchester.
T. Round, Esq. Colchester.
Mr. James Round, St. John’s College, Cambridge.
John Rowe, Esq.
J. Royal, Esq.
John Royds, Esq. Knapton.
S.
The Right Hon. the Countess Dowager Spencer.
The Right Hon. Lord Robert Spencer.
The Right Hon. Lady Sheffield.
Lord Chief Baron Skynner.
Lady Skynner.
Sir John Sheffield, Bart.
Sir Joseph Senhouse.
Sir Edward Smythe.
Thomas Steele, Esq. Secretary of the Treasury,
Miss A. C. Saddell, Edinburgh.
James Sager, Esq.
Samuel Salte, Esq.
Mr. Samwell.
Dr. Sander, M.D. Chichester.
Miss Sands.
Miss Harriot Sands.
Mrs. Sandys, Lexden.
Rev. Dr. Sandford.
John Sargent, Esq,
Mrs. Sargent.
John Sargent, jun. Esq. Lavington, Sussex.
Mrs. Saunderson.
William Scafe, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Mrs. Schroder, Enfield.
Mrs. Scot.
Miss Scot, Hull.
Rev. Russell Scot, Milbourne Port, Somerset.
Miss Scot, ditto.
John Scot, Esq. King’s Counsel.
Mrs. Scot, Sherborne, Dorset.
Miss Scot, Chigwell.
William Scullard, Esq.
F. N. Searanche, Esq. Hatfield, Herts.
Humphrey Senhause, Esq. Netherhall.
Mrs. Senhause.
Miss Seward, Lichfield.
William Seward, Esq.
Mrs. Sharp, Bamborough Castle,
Rev. Dr. Sharp, Archdeacon of Northumberland.
Mr. Richard Sharp.
Miss Shadwell.
Robert Shafto, Esq.
Mrs. Shafto.
R. Shaw, Esq.
Samuel Shepherd, Esq.
Mrs. Shepherd.
Miss Shells.
Mrs. Shelly, Bath.
Samuel Shore, jun. Esq.
Mrs. Short.
Henry Shrine, Esq.
R. Shute, Esq.
James Sibbald, Esq.
Mrs. Sibbald.
Mrs. A. Sibbet, Shoreswood.
William Siddons, Esq.
Mrs. Siddons.
George Silvertop, Esq. Stella.
Mrs. Silvertop.
John Simson, Esq.
William Simpson, Esq.
Rev. Mr. Simpson.
Miss Simpson, Bradley.
Miss Simmons.
Lieutenant General Skene.
Mrs. Slater, Hasselbury, Somerset.
Mrs. Smail, Mains.
Alexander Small, Esq.
Mrs. Smith, Whittlebury Forest.
Mrs. Smith.
Mr. John Smith, Dunse.
Miss Smith.
Mr. Edward Smith, Cornhill.
Mrs. Smith.
Miss J. Smith.
Robert Orme Smith, Esq.
William Smiekshanks, Esq.
Nathaniel Smythe, Esq. Deputy-Chairman of the
East-India Company.
Mrs. Smythe.
Rev. Mr. Y. Smythies, Colchester.
Charles Snell, Esq. Snetisham, Norfolk.
Society at the Academy, Soho.
Robert Sparrow, Esq.
Mrs. Sperling, Colchester.
John Spranger, Esq. Barrister at Law.
George Stainforth, Esq.
Mrs. Stainforth.
John Stanley, Esq. Barrister at Law.
William Star, jun. Esq.
Mrs. Starke, Epsom.
Miss Starke, ditto.
Mrs. Staward, Berwick.
Col. Stehelin, of the Royal Regiment of Artillery.
R. Sterling, Esq. Colchester.
T.
The Right Hon. Lord Viscount Tracey.
The Right Hon. Lady Viscountess Tracey.
The Right Hon. Lady Elizabeth Tufton.
The Right Hon. Lady Charlotte Tufton.
The Hon. Mrs. Tracey, Bedchamber Woman to the Queen.
Mrs. Talbot, Fulham.
Rev. Richard Taprell, Milborne Port, Somerset.
Mrs. Tasburgh.
George Taswell, Esq.
John Taylor, Esq. Birmingham.
The Rev. John Taylor.
Miss Taylor.
Henry Templer, Esq.
Capt. Terrot, Berwick.
Miss Terrot, ditto.
Peter Thellusson, Esq.
Mrs. Thellusson.
James Theobald, Esq.
Mrs. Theobald.
Thomas Thomas, Esq.
Miss Thomas.
David Thomas.
Miss Thornton.
Miss Thompson.
Alexander Thompson, Esq.
Richard Thompson, Esq.
Mr. Robert Thompson, Ayton.
George Thompson, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Mr. James Thompson, Boyend.
Edward Thorley, Esq. Colchester.
Mrs. G. Thornton.
—— Tilsen, Esq. Watlington
Park.
Mr. Tilsen.
John Tod, Esq. Kirklands.
Rev. Mr. Toller, Islington.
Mrs. Toller, South Petherton, Somerset.
James Toogood, Esq. Sherborne, Dorset.
Mrs. Toogood, Ilton, Somerset.
Matthew Toogood, Esq.
John Toogood, Esq.
Dr. Topping, M.D.
The Rev. Joshua Toulmin, Taunton, Somerset.
Samuel Toulmin, Esq.
Miss Toulmin, Hackney.
John Touchett, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Miss Touchett.
The Rev. Dr. Towers.
Miss Townsend.
Mrs. D. Trotman, Ipswich.
Mrs. R. Trotman.
The Rev. Mr. Troxoide.
Henry Tucker, Esq. Bermuda.
Dr. Tucker, M.D. Hull.
John Turnbull, Esq.
Miss Turnbull, Berwick.
Miss Turner, Uxbridge.
Miss Margaret Turner,
William Turner, Esq. Lexden.
F. Twiss, Esq.
Hon. Miss Verney.
William Vachell, Esq.
Mrs. Vachell.
Miss Vachell.
Miss. F. Valliant.
William Vanbrugh, Esq.
Mrs. Vanbrugh.
Arthur Vansittart, Esq.
Miss Vansittart.
Edward Vansittart, Esq. Winchester.
Edward Van Harthalls, Esq.
William Varey, Esq.
Benjamin Vaughan, Esq.
Miss Vickery.
—— Vowel, Esq. Sherborn, Dorset.
Rev. Mr. Uredale, Suffolk.
Rev. Mr. Urquart.
The Rev. Dr. Vyse, Lambeth.
W.
The Right Rev. the Bishop of Winchester.
The Right Hon. Lord Willoughby de Broke, a Lord of
the Bedchamber.
The Right Hon. Lord Walsmgham, one of the five Commissioners
for the
Management
of the Affairs of the East Indies.
The Hon. Horace Walpole.
The late Lady Whitworth.
The Rev. Mr. Wakefield, Minister of Richmond in Surrey.
Mrs. T. Wakefield.
Rev. Mr. G. Wakefield, Nottingham.
Mrs. Wakefield.
Miss Walker.
Dr. Wall, L.L.D. of Christ-Church in the University
of Oxford.
Capell Wall, Esq.
William Waller, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Mrs. Walker, Southgate.
—— Walker, Esq. jun. ditto.
Rev. William Walker, Fellow of Pembroke College, Cambridge.
William Walker, Esq.
Mr. Wanostrocht, Kensington.
Mrs. Wansey, jun. Warminster, Wilts.
George Wansey, Esq. ditto.
Dr. Warren, M.D.
Miss Warren.
Miss Ward.
Miss Ward, Marlborough.
Mr. Thomas Ward, ditto.
John Watherston, Esq. of the Navy.
Miss Watson, Bridgewater, Somerset.
Henry Watson, Esq. F.R.S.
Mrs. Webster.
Miss Webster.
Miss F. Webster.
Mr. James Webber, Chichester.
Mrs. Wegg, Colchester.
Miss S. Wegg.
Miss Welby.
R. E. Welby, Esq.
Mrs. Welman, Poundsford Park, Somerset.
Simon Welman, Esq. Taunton, Somerset.
William Welbank, Esq.
Miss Weston, Ludlow.
Mrs. West,
Rev. Dr. Wharton, Winchester College.
Rev. Mr. Tho. Wharton, Trinity College, Oxford.
Rev. Thomas Sed. Whalley, A.M. Longford
Court, Somerset.
Mrs. Whatley.
Mrs. Whatman.
Miss Whatman.
Mrs. White.
Rev. Henry White, Lichfield.
J. White, Esq. Barrister at Law.
Miss White.
Mrs. T. White.
Mrs. White.
Miss Whitworth.
Miss Whitworth.
Mrs. W. Wightman, Eymouth.
—— Wiggin, Esq.
Rev. Thomas William Wighte, A.M. Fellow of Queen’s
College, Cambridge.
Capt. Wilkie, Ladythorn.
Mrs. Wilkie, Foulden.
Miss Wilkie, ditto.
Miss Wilberforce, Hull.
Dr. Willan, M.D.
Thomas Willerter, Esq.
Miss Willis.
Miss M. B. Williams.
Mrs. Ann Haylings Williams.
Alexander Wills, Esq.
Edward Wilmot, Esq.
Henry Wilmot, Esq.
Mrs. Wilmot.
Mr. Wilson.
Miss Wilson.
Mrs. Wilson, Coldstream.
Rev. F. Wilson, Sulhamstead.
Henry Wilkinson, Esq. Newbottle.
William Winter, Esq.
Colonel Windus.
Y.
His Grace the Archbishop of York,
The Hon. John Yorke.
Richard Yates, Esq.
John Yeoman, Esq. Murice.
Mrs. Yorke.
Charles Yorke, Esq.
Mr. Robert Young, Edinburgh.
Mrs. Young.
Miss Young.
Mrs. Younghusband, Elwick.
T. P. Yvounet, Esq.
The following names have been received since the List was printed.
The Right Hon. the Countess of Uxbridge.
The Right Hon. Lord Viscount Duncannon.
Mrs. Alves, Edinburgh.
Mrs. Buckley.
Mr. Drury, Shields.
Mrs. Haswell, Tinmouth.
Mrs. Huddleston, Shields.
Mrs. Hudson, Whitby.
Robert Trotman, Esq.
OF THE
First volume.
An American Tale.
Sonnet to Mrs. Bates.
Sonnet to Twilight.
To Sensibility.
A Song.
An Ode on the Peace.
Edwin and Eltruda, a Legendary Tale.
A Hymn.
Paraphrases from Scripture.
“Ah! pity all the pangs I feel,
If pity e’er ye knew;—
An aged father’s wounds to heal,
Thro’ scenes of death I flew.
Perhaps my hast’ning steps are vain,
Perhaps the warrior dies!—
Yet let me sooth each parting pain—
Yet lead me where he lies.”
Thus to the list’ning band she calls,
Nor fruitless her desire,
They lead her, panting, to the walls
That hold her captive sire.
“And is a daughter come to bless
These aged eyes once more?
Thy father’s pains will now be less—
His pains will now be o’er!”
“My father! by this waining lamp
Thy form I faintly trace:—
Yet sure thy brow is cold, and damp,
And pale thy honour’d face.
In vain thy wretched child is come,
She comes too late to save!
And only now can share thy doom,
And share thy peaceful grave!”
Soft, as amid the lunar beams,
The falling shadows bend,
Upon the bosom of the streams,
So soft her tears descend,
“Those tears a father ill can bear,
He lives, my child, for thee!
A gentle youth, with pitying care,
Has lent his aid to me.
Born in the western world, his hand
Maintains its hostile cause,
And fierce against Britannia’s band
His erring sword he draws;
Yet feels the captive Briton’s woe;
For his ennobled mind,
Forgets the name of Britain’s foe,
In love of human kind.
Yet know, my child, a dearer tie
Has link’d his heart to mine;
He mourns with Friendship’s holy sigh,
The youth belov’d of thine!
But hark! his welcome feet are near—
Thy rising grief suppress—
By darkness veil’d, he hastens here
To comfort, and to bless.”—
“Stranger! for that dear father’s sake
She cry’d, in accents mild,
Who lives by thy kind pity, take
The blessings of his child!
Oh, if in heaven, my Edward’s breast
This deed of mercy knew,
That gives my tortur’d bosom rest,
He sure would bless thee too!
Oh tell me where my lover fell!
The fatal scene recall,
His last, dear accents, stranger, tell,
Oh haste and tell me all!
Say, if he gave to love the sigh,
That set his spirit free;
Say, did he raise his closing eye,
As if it sought for me.”
“Ask not, her father cry’d, to know
What known were added pain;
Nor think, my child, the tale of woe
Thy softness can sustain.”
“Tho’ every joy with Edward fled,
When Edward’s friend is near,
It sooths my breaking heart, she said,
To tell those joys were dear.
The western ocean roll’d in vain
Its parting waves between,
My Edward brav’d the dang’rous main,
And bless’d our native scene.
Soft Isis heard his artless tale,
Ah, stream for ever dear!
Whose waters, as they pass’d the vale,
Receiv’d a lover’s tear.
How could a heart, that virtue lov’d,
(And sure that heart is mine)
Lamented youth! behold unmov’d,
The virtues that were thine?
Calm, as the surface of the lake,
When all the winds are still,
Mild, as the beams of morning break,
When first they light the hill;
So calm was his unruffled soul,
Where no rude passion strove;
So mild his soothing accents stole,
Upon the ear of love.
Where are the dear illusions fled
Which sooth’d my former hours?
Where is the path that fancy spread,
Ah, vainly spread with flowers!
I heard the battle’s fearful sounds,
They seem’d my lover’s knell—
I heard, that pierc’d with ghastly wounds,
My vent’rous lover fell!—
My sorrows shall with life endure,
For he I lov’d is gone;
But something tells my heart, that sure
My life will not be long.”—
“My panting soul can bear no more,
The youth, impatient cried,
’Tis Edward bids thy griefs be o’er,
My love! my destin’d bride!
The life which heav’n preserv’d, how blest,
How fondly priz’d by me,
Since dear to my Amelia’s breast,
Since valued still by thee!
My father saw my constant pain,
When thee I left behind,
Nor longer will his power restrain,
The ties my soul would bind.
And soon thy honor’d sire shall cease
The captive’s lot to bear,
And we, my love, will soothe to peace
His griefs, with filial care.
Then come for ever to my soul!
Amelia come, and prove!
How calm our blissful years will roll,
Along a life of love!—
To Mrs. Bates.
Oh, thou whose melody the heart obeys,
Thou who can’st all its subject passions move,
Whose notes to heav’n the list’ning soul
can raise,
Can thrill with pity, or can melt with love!
Happy! whom nature lent this native charm;
Whose melting tones can shed with magic power,
A sweeter pleasure o’er the social hour,
The breast to softness sooth, to virtue warm—But
yet more happy! that thy life as clear
From discord, as thy perfect cadence flows;
That tun’d to sympathy, thy faithful tear,
In mild accordance falls for others woes;
That all the tender, pure affections bind
In chains of harmony, thy willing mind!
To Twilight.
Meek Twilight! soften the declining day,
And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves;
When, o’er the mountain flow descends the ray
That gives to silence the deserted groves.
Ah, let the happy court the morning still,
When, in her blooming loveliness array’d,
She bids fresh beauty light the vale, or hill,
And rapture warble in the vocal shade.
Sweet is the odour of the morning’s flower,
And rich in melody her accents rise;
Yet dearer to my soul the shadowy hour,
At which her blossoms close, her music
dies—
For then, while languid nature droops her head,
She wakes the tear ’tis luxury to shed.
In Sensibility’s lov’d praise
I tune my trembling reed;
And seek to deck her shrine with bays,
On which my heart must bleed!
No cold exemption from her pain
I ever wish’d to know;
Cheer’d with her transport, I sustain
Without complaint her woe.
Above whate’er content can give,
Above the charm of ease,
The restless hopes, and fears that live
With her, have power to please.
Where but for her, were Friendship’s power
To heal the wounded heart,
To shorten sorrow’s ling’ring hour,
And bid its gloom depart?
’Tis she that lights the melting eye
With looks to anguish dear;
She knows the price of ev’ry sigh,
The value of a tear.
She prompts the tender marks of love
Which words can scarce express;
The heart alone their force can prove,
And feel how much they bless.
Of every finer bliss the source!
’Tis she on love bestows
The softer grace, the boundless force
Confiding passion knows;
When to another, the fond breast
Each thought for ever gives;
When on another, leans for rest.
And in another lives!
Quick, as the trembling metal flies,
When heat or cold impels,
Her anxious heart to joy can rise,
Or sink where anguish dwells!
Yet tho’ her soul must griefs sustain
Which she alone, can know;
And feel that keener sense of pain
Which sharpens every woe;
Tho’ she the mourner’s grief to calm,
Still shares each pang they feel,
And, like the tree distilling balm,
Bleeds, others wounds to heal;
While she, whose bosom fondly true,
Has never wish’d to range;
One alter’d look will trembling view,
And scarce can bear the change;
Tho’ she, if death the bands should tear,
She vainly thought secure;
Thro’ life must languish in despair
That never hopes a cure;
Tho’ wounded by some vulgar mind,
Unconscious of the deed,
Who never seeks those wounds to bind
But wonders why they bleed;—
She oft will heave a secret sigh,
Will shed a lonely tear,
O’er feelings nature wrought so high,
And gave on terms so dear;
Yet who would hard indifference choose,
Whose breast no tears can steep?
Who, for her apathy, would lose
The sacred power to weep?
Tho’ in a thousand objects, pain,
And pleasure tremble nigh,
Those objects strive to reach, in vain,
The circle of her eye.
Cold, as the fabled god appears
To the poor suppliant’s grief,
Who bathes the marble form in tears,
And vainly hopes relief.
Ah Greville! why the gifts refuse
To souls like thine allied?
No more thy nature seem to lose
No more thy softness hide.
No more invoke the playful sprite
To chill, with magic spell,
The tender feelings of delight,
And anguish sung so well;
That envied ease thy heart would prove
Were sure too dearly bought
With friendship, sympathy, and love,
And every finer thought.
No riches from his scanty store
My lover could impart;
He gave a boon I valued more—
He gave me all his heart!
His soul sincere, his gen’rous worth,
Might well this bosom move;
And when I ask’d for bliss on earth,
I only meant his love.
But now for me, in search of gain
From shore to shore he flies:
Why wander riches to obtain,
When love is all I prize?
The frugal meal, the lowly cot
If blest my love with thee!
That simple fare, that humble lot,
Were more than wealth to me.
While he the dang’rous ocean braves,
My tears but vainly flow:
Is pity in the faithless waves
To which I pour my woe?
The night is dark, the waters deep,
Yet soft the billows roll;
Alas! at every breeze I weep—
The storm is in my soul.
An
Ode
on the
peace.
As wand’ring late on Albion’s
shore
That chains the rude tempestuous
deep,
I heard the hollow surges roar
And vainly beat her guardian
steep;
I heard the rising sounds of woe
Loud on the storm’s wild pinion
flow;
And still they vibrate on the mournful lyre,
That tunes to grief its sympathetic wire.
From shores the wide Atlantic laves,
The spirit of the ocean bears
In moans, along his western waves,
Afflicted nature’s hopeless
cares:
Enchanting scenes of young delight,
How chang’d since first ye rose
to sight;
Since first ye rose in infant glories drest
Fresh from the wave, and rear’d your ample breast.
Her crested serpents, discord throws
O’er scenes which love
with roses grac’d;
The flow’ry chain his hands compose,
She wildly scatters o’er
the waste:
Her glance his playful smile deforms,
Her frantic voice awakes the storms,
From land to land, her torches spread their fires,
While love’s pure flame in streams of blood
expires.
Now burns the savage soul of war,
While terror flashes from
his eyes,
Lo! waving o’er his fiery car
Aloft his bloody banner flies:
The battle wakes—with awful sound
He thunders o’er the echoing ground,
He grasps his reeking blade, while streams of blood
Tinge the vast plain, and swell the purple flood.
But softer sounds of sorrow flow;
On drooping wing the murm’ring
gales
Have borne the deep complaints of woe
That rose along the lonely
vales—
Those breezes waft the orphan’s
cries,
They tremble to parental sighs,
And drink a tear for keener anguish shed,
The tear of faithful love when hope is fled.
The object of her anxious fear
Lies pale on earth, expiring,
cold,
Ere, wing’d by happy love, one year
Too rapid in its course, has
roll’d;
In vain the dying hand she grasps,
Hangs on the quiv’ring lip, and
clasps
The fainting form, that slowly sinks in death,
To catch the parting glance, the fleeting breath.
Pale as the livid corse her cheek,
Her tresses torn, her glances
wild,—
How fearful was her frantic shriek!
She wept—and then
in horrors smil’d:
She gazes now with wild affright,
Lo! bleeding phantoms rush in sight—
Hark! on yon mangled form the mourner calls,
Then on the earth a senseless weight she falls.
And see! o’er gentle Andre’s
tomb,
The victim of his own despair,
Who fell in life’s exulting bloom,
Nor deem’d that life
deserv’d a care;
O’er the cold earth his relicks
prest,
Lo! Britain’s drooping legions
rest;
For him the swords they sternly grasp, appear
Dim with a sigh, and sullied with a tear.
While Seward sweeps her plaintive strings,
While pensive round his sable
shrine,
A radiant zone she graceful flings,
Where full emblaz’d
his virtues shine;
The mournful loves that tremble nigh
Shall catch her warm melodious sigh;
The mournful loves shall drink the tears that flow
From Pity’s hov’ring soul, dissolv’d
in woe.
And hark, in Albion’s flow’ry
vale
A parent’s deep complaint
I hear!
A sister calls the western gale
To waft her soul-expressive
tear;
’Tis Asgill claims that piercing sigh,
That drop which dims the beauteous eye,
While on the rack of Doubt Affection proves
How strong the force which binds the ties she loves.
How oft in every dawning grace
That blossom’d in his
early hours,
Her soul some comfort lov’d to trace,
And deck’d futurity
in flowers!
But lo! in Fancy’s troubled sight
The dear illusions sink in night;
She views the murder’d form—the quiv’ring
breath,
The rising virtues chill’d in shades of death.
Cease, cease ye throbs of hopeless woe;
He lives the future hours
to bless,
He lives, the purest joy to know,
Parental transports fond excess;
His sight a father’s eye shall chear,
A sister’s drooping charms endear:—
The private pang was Albion’s gen’rous
care,
For him she breath’d a warm accepted prayer.
And lo! a radiant stream of light
Defending, gilds the murky
cloud,
Where Desolation’s gloomy night
Retiring, folds her sable
shroud;
It flashes o’er the bright’ning
deep,
It softens Britain’s frowning steep—
’Tis mild benignant Peace, enchanting form!
That gilds the black abyss, that lulls the storm.
So thro’ the dark, impending sky,
Where clouds, and fallen vapours
roll’d,
Their curling wreaths dissolving fly
As the faint hues of light
unfold—
The air with spreading azure streams,
The sun now darts his orient beams—
And now the mountains glow—the woods are
bright—
While nature hails the season of delight.
Mild Peace! from Albion’s fairest
bowers
Pure spirit! cull with snowy
hands,
The buds that drink the morning showers,
And bind the realms in flow’ry
bands:
Thy smiles the angry passions chase,
Thy glance is pleasure’s native
grace;
Around thy form th’ exulting virtues move,
And thy soft call awakes the strain of love.
Bless, all ye powers! the patriot name
That courts fair Peace, thy
gentle stay;
Ah! gild with glory’s light, his
fame,
And glad his life with pleasure’s
ray!
While, like th’ affrighted dove, thy form
Still shrinks, and fears some latent storm,
His cares shall sooth thy panting soul to rest,
And spread thy vernal couch on Albion’s breast.
Ye, who have mourn’d the parting
hour,
Which love in darker horrors
drew,
Ye, who have vainly tried to pour
With falt’ring voice
the last adieu!
When the pale cheek, the bursting sigh,
The soul that hov’ring in the eye,
Express’d the pains it felt, the pains it fear’d—
Ah! paint the youth’s return, by grief endear’d.
Yon hoary form, with aspect mild,
Deserted kneels by anguish
prest,
And seeks from Heav’n his long-lost
child,
To smooth the path that leads
to rest!—
He comes!—to close the sinking
eye,
To catch the faint, expiring sigh;
A moment’s transport stays the fleeting breath,
And sooths the soul on the pale verge of death.
No more the sanguine wreath shall twine
On the lost hero’s early
tomb,
But hung around thy simple shrine
Fair Peace! shall milder glories
bloom.
Lo! commerce lifts her drooping head
Triumphal, Thames! from thy deep bed;
And bears to Albion, on her sail sublime,
The riches Nature gives each happier clime.
She fearless prints the polar snows,
Mid’ horrors that reject
the day;
Along the burning line she glows,
Nor shrinks beneath the torrid
ray:
She opens India’s glitt’ring
mine,
Where streams of light reflected shine;
Wafts the bright gems to Britain’s temp’rate
vale,
And breathes her odours on the northern gale.
While from the far-divided shore
Where liberty unconquer’d
roves,
Her ardent glance shall oft’ explore
The parent isle her spirit
loves;
Shall spread upon the western main
—Harmonious concord’s
golden chain,
While stern on Gallia’s ever hostile strand
From Albion’s cliff she pours her daring band.
Yet hide the sabre’s hideous glare
Whose edge is bath’d
in streams of blood,
The lance that quivers high in air,
And falling drinks a purple
flood;
For Britain! fear shall seize thy foes,
While freedom in thy senate glows,
While peace shall smile upon thy cultur’d plain,
With grace and beauty her attendant train.
Enchanting visions sooth my sight—
The finer arts no more oppress’d,
Benignant source of pure delight!
On her soft bosom love to
rest.
While each discordant sound expires,
Strike harmony! strike all thy wires;
The fine vibrations of the spirit move
And touch the springs of rapture and of love.
Bright painting’s living forms shall
rise;
And wrapt in Ugolino’s
woe[A],
Shall Reynolds wake unbidden sighs;
And Romney’s graceful
pencil flow,
That Nature’s look benign pourtrays[B],
When to her infant Shakspeare’s
gaze
The partial nymph “unveil’d her awful
face,”
And bade his “colours clear” her features
trace.
[A] “Ugolino’s woe”—a
celebrated picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds,
taken
from Dante.
[B] “Nature’s look benign pourtrays”—a
subject Mr. Romney has taken
from GRAY’S Progress
of Poesy.
And poesy! thy deep-ton’d shell
The heart shall sooth, the
spirit fire,
And all the passion sink, or swell,
In true accordance to the
lyre.
Oh! ever wake its heav’nly sound,
Oh! call thy lovely visions round;
Strew the soft path of peace with fancy’s flowers,
With raptures bless the soul that feels thy powers.
While Hayley wakes thy magic string,
His shades shall no rude sound
profane,
But stillness on her folded wing,
Enamour’d catch his
soothing strain:
Tho’ genius breathe its purest flame
—Around his lyre’s enchanting
frame;
Tho’ music there in every period roll,
More warm his friendship, and more pure his soul.
While taste refines a polish’d age,
While her own Hurd
shall bid us trace
The lustre of the finish’d page
Where symmetry sheds perfect
grace;
With sober and collected ray
To fancy, judgment shall display
The faultless model, where accomplish’d art
From nature draws a charm that leads the heart.
Th’ historic Muse illumes the maze
For ages veil’d in gloomy
night,
Where empire with meridian blaze
Once trod ambition’s
giddy height:
Tho’ headlong from the dang’rous
steep
Its pageants roll’d with wasteful
sweep,
Her tablet still records the deeds of fame
And wakes the patriot’s, and the hero’s
flame.
While meek philosophy explores
Creation’s vast stupendous
round;
Sublime her piercing vision soars,
And bursts the system’s
distant bound.
Lo! mid’ the dark deep void of space
A rushing world[A] her eye can trace!—
It moves majestic in its ample sphere,
Sheds its long light, and rolls its ling’ring
year.
[A] Alluding to Mr. Herschel’s wonderful discoveries,
and particularly
to his discovery of a new
planet called the Georgium Sidus.
Ah! still diffuse thy genial ray,
Fair Science, on my Albion’s
plain!
And still thy grateful homage pay
Where Montagu has rear’d
her fane;
Where eloquence and wit entwine
Their attic wreath around her shrine;
And still, while Learning shall unfold her store,
With their bright signet stamp the classic ore.
Enlight’ning Peace! for thine the
hours
That wisdom decks in moral
grace,
And thine invention’s fairy powers,
The charm improv’d of
nature’s face;
Propitious come! in silence laid
Beneath thy olive’s grateful shade,
Pour the mild bliss that sooths the tuneful mind,
And in thy zone the hostile spirit bind.
While Albion on her parent deep
Shall rest, may glory light
her shore,
May honour there his vigils keep
Till time shall wing its course
no more;
Till angels wrap the spheres in fire,
Till earth and yon fair orbs expire,
While chaos mounted on the wasting flame,
Shall spread eternal shade o’er nature’s
frame.
EDWIN AND ELTRUDA,
A legendary tale.
Mark it, Cesario, it is old and plain;
The spinsters and the knitters in the
sun,
And the free maids, that weave their thread
with bones
Do use to chant it. It is silly,
sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.
Shakspeare’s twelfth night.
A legendary tale.
Where the pure Derwent’s waters glide
Along their mossy bed,
Close by the river’s verdant side,
A castle rear’d its head.
The ancient pile by time is raz’d,
Where Gothic trophies frown’d;
Where once the gilded armour blaz’d,
And banners wav’d around.
There liv’d a chief, well known to fame,
A bold advent’rous knight;
Renown’d for victory; his name
In glory’s annals bright.
What time in martial pomp he led
His gallant, chosen train;
The foe, who oft had conquer’d, fled,
Indignant fled, the plain.
Yet milder virtues he possest,
And gentler passions felt;
For in his calm and yielding breast
The soft affections dwelt.
No rugged toils the heart could steel,
By nature form’d to prove
Whate’er the tender mind can feel,
In friendship, or in love.
He lost the partner of his breast,
Who sooth’d each rising care;
And ever charm’d the pains to rest
She ever lov’d to share.
From solitude he hop’d relief.
And this lone mansion sought,
To cherish there his faithful grief,
To nurse the tender thought.
There, to his bosom fondly dear,
An infant daughter smil’d,
And oft the mourner’s falling tear
Bedew’d his Emma’s child.
The tear, as o’er the babe he hung,
Would tremble in his eye;
While blessings, falt’ring on his tongue,
Were breath’d but in a sigh.
Tho’ time could never heal the wound,
It sooth’d the hopeless pain;
And in his child he thought he found
His Emma liv’d again.
Soft, as the dews of morn arise,
And on the pale flower gleam;
So soft Eltruda’s melting eyes
With love and pity beam.
As drest in charms, the lonely flower
Smiles in the desert vale;
With beauty gilds the morning hour,
And scents the evening gale;
So liv’d in solitude, unseen,
This lovely, peerless maid;
So grac’d the wild, sequester’d scene,
And blossom’d in the shade.
Yet love could pierce the lone recess,
For there he likes to dwell;
To leave the noisy crowd, and bless
With happiness the cell.
To wing his sure resistless dart,
Where all its force is known;
And rule the undivided heart
Despotic, and alone.
Young Edwin charm’d her gentle breast,
Tho’ scanty all his store;
No hoarded treasures he possest,
Yet he could boast of more.
For he could boast the lib’ral heart;
And honour, sense, and truth,
Unwarp’d by vanity or art,
Adorn’d the gen’rous youth.
The maxims of a servile age,
The mean, the selfish care,
The sordid views, that now engage
The mercenary pair;
Whom riches can unite, or part,
To them were still unknown;
For then the sympathetic heart
Was join’d by love alone.
They little knew, that wealth had power
To make the constant rove;
They little knew the weighty dower
Could add one bliss to love.
Her virtues every charm improv’d,
Or made those charms more dear;
For surely virtue to be lov’d
Has only to appear.
Domestic bliss, unvex’d by strife,
Beguil’d the circling hours;
She, who on every path of life
Can shed perennial flowers.
Eltruda, o’er the distant mead,
Would haste, at closing day,
And to the bleating mother lead
The lamb, that chanc’d to stray.
For the bruis’d insect on the waste,
A sigh would heave her breast;
And oft her careful hand replac’d
The linnet’s falling nest.
To her, sensations calm as these
Could sweet delight impart;
These simple pleasures most can please
The uncorrupted heart.
Full oft with eager step she flies
To cheer the roofless cot,
Where the lone widow breathes her sighs,
And wails her desp’rate lot.
Their weeping mother’s trembling knees,
Her lisping infants clasp;
Their meek, imploring look she sees,
She feels their tender grasp.
Wild throbs her aching bosom swell—
They mark the bursting sigh,
(Nature has form’d the soul to feel)
They weep, unknowing why.
Her hands the lib’ral boon impart,
And much her tear avails
To raise the mourner’s drooping heart,
Where feeble utterance fails.
On the pale cheek, where hung the tear
Of agonizing woe,
She bids the cheerful bloom appear,
The tear of rapture flow.
Thus on soft wing the moments flew,
(Tho’ love implor’d their
stay)
While some new virtue rose to view,
And mark’d each fleeting day.
The youthful poet’s soothing dream
Of golden ages past;
The muse’s fond, ideal theme,
Was realiz’d at last.
But vainly here we hope, that bliss
Unchanging will endure;
Ah, in a world so vain as this,
What heart can rest secure!
For now arose the fatal day
For civil discord fam’d;
When York, from Lancaster’s proud
sway,
The regal sceptre claim’d.
Each moment now the horrors brought
Of desolating rage;
The fam’d atchievements now were wrought,
That swell th’ historic page.
The good old Albert pants, again
To dare the hostile field,
The cause of Henry to maintain,
For him, the launce to wield.
But oh, a thousand gen’rous ties,
That bind the hero’s soul;
A thousand tender claims arise,
And Edwin’s breast controul.
Tho’ passion pleads in Henry’s cause,
And Edwin’s heart would sway;
Yet honour’s stern, imperious laws,
The brave will still obey.
Oppress’d with many an anxious care,
Full oft Eltruda sigh’d;
Complaining that relentless war
Should those she lov’d—divide.
At length the parting morn arose,
In gloomy vapours drest;
The pensive maiden’s sorrow flows,
And terror heaves her breast.
A thousand pangs the father feels,
A thousand rising fears,
While clinging at his feet she kneels,
And bathes them with her tears.
A pitying tear bedew’d his cheek,—
From his lov’d child he flew;
O’erwhelm’d; the father could not speak,
He could not say—“adieu!”
Arm’d for the field, her lover
He saw her pallid look,
And trembling seize her drooping frame,
While fault’ring, thus he spoke:
“This cruel tenderness but wounds
“The heart it means to bless;
“Those falling tears, those mournful sounds
“Increase the vain distress.”—
“If fate, she answer’d, has decreed
“That on the hostile plain,
“My Edwin’s faithful heart must bleed,
“And swell the heap of slain;
“Trust me, my love, I’ll not complain,
“I’ll shed no fruitless tear;
“Not one weak drop my cheek shall stain,
“Or tell what passes here!
“Oh, let thy fate of others claim
“A tear, a mournful sigh;
“I’ll only murmur thy dear name—
Call on my love—and die!”
But ah! how vain for words to tell
The pang their bosoms prov’d;
They only will conceive it well,
They only, who have lov’d.
The timid muse forbears to say
What laurels Edwin gain’d;
How Albert long renown’d, that day
His ancient fame maintain’d.
The bard, who feels congenial fire,
May sing of martial strife;
And with heroic sounds, inspire
The gen’rous scorn of life;
But ill the theme would suit her reed,
Who, wand’ring thro’ the grove,
Forgets the conq’ring hero’s meed,
And gives a tear to love.
Tho’ long the closing day was fled,
The fight they still maintain;
While night a deeper horror shed
Along the darken’d plain.
To Albert’s breast an arrow flew,
He felt a mortal wound;
The drops that warm’d his heart, bedew
The cold, and flinty ground.
The foe, who aim’d the fatal dart,
Now heard his dying sighs;
Compassion touch’d his yielding heart,
To Albert’s aid he flies.
While round the chief his arms he cast,
While oft he deeply sigh’d,
And seem’d, as if he mourn’d the past,
Old Albert faintly cried;
“Tho’ nature heaves these parting groans,
“Without complaint I die;
“Yet one dear care my heart still owns,
“Still feels one tender tie,
“For York, a warriour known to fame,
“Uplifts the hostile spear;
“Edwin the blooming hero’s name,
“To Albert’s bosom dear.
“Oh, tell him my expiring sigh,
“Say my last words implor’d
“To my despairing child to fly,
“To her he once ador’d”—
He spoke! but oh, what mournful strain,
Whose force the soul can melt,
What moving numbers shall explain
The pang that Edwin felt?
The pang that Edwin now reveal’d—
For he the warriour prest,
(Whom the dark shades of night conceal’d)
Close to his throbbing breast.
“Fly, fly he cried, my touch profane—
“Oh, how the rest impart?
“Rever’d old man!—could Edwin
stain
“With Albert’s blood the dart!”
His languid eyes he meekly rais’d,
Which seem’d for ever clos’d;
On the pale youth with pity gaz’d,
And then in death repos’d.
“I’ll go, the hapless Edwin said,
“And breathe a last adieu!
“And with the drops despair will shed,
“My mournful love bedew.
“I’ll go to her for ever dear,
“To catch her melting sigh,
“To wipe from her pale cheek the tear,
“And at her feet to die.”—
And as to her for ever dear
The frantic mourner flew,
To wipe from her pale cheek the tear,
And breathe a last adieu;
Appall’d his troubled fancy sees
Eltruda’s anguish flow;
And hears in every passing breeze,
The plaintive sound of woe.
Meanwhile the anxious maid, whose tears
In vain would heav’n implore;
Of Albert’s fate despairing hears,
But yet had heard no more.
She saw her much-lov’d Edwin near,
She saw, and deeply sigh’d;
Her cheek was bath’d in many a tear;
At length she faintly cried;
“Unceasing grief this heart must prove,
“Its dearest ties are broke;—
“Oh, say, what ruthless arm, my love,
“Could aim the fatal stroke?
“Could not thy hand, my Edwin, thine,
“Have warded off the blow?
“For oh, he was not only mine,
“He was thy father too!”
No more the youth could pangs endure
His lips could never tell;
From death he vainly hop’d a cure,
As cold, on earth he fell.
She flew, she gave her sorrows vent,
A thousand tears she pour’d;
Her mournful voice, her moving plaint,
The youth to life restor’d.
“Why does thy bosom throb with pain
“She cried, my Edwin, speak;
“Or sure, unable to sustain
“This grief, my heart will break.
“Yes, it will break—he fault’ring
cried,
“For me will life resign—
“Then trembling know thy father died—
“And know the guilt was mine!”
“It is enough,” with short, quick breath,
Exclaim’d the fainting maid;
She spoke no more, but seem’d from death
To look for instant aid.
In plaintive accents, Edwin cries,
“And have I murder’d thee?
“To other worlds thy spirit flies,
“And mine this stroke shall free.”
His hand the lifted weapon grasp’d,
The steel he firmly prest:
When wildly she arose, and clasp’d
Her lover to her breast.
“Methought, she cried with panting breath,
“My Edwin talk’d of peace;
“I knew ’twas only found in death,
“And fear’d that sad release.
“I clasp him still! ’twas but a dream—
“Help yon wide wound to close,
“From which a father’s spirits stream,
“A father’s life-blood flows.
“But see, from thee he shrinks, nor would
“Be blasted by thy touch;—
“Ah, tho’ my Edwin spilt thy blood,
“Yet once he lov’d thee much.
“My father, yet in pity stay!—
“I see his white beard wave;
“A spirit beckons him away,
“And points to yonder grave.
“Alas, my love, I trembling hear
“A father’s last adieu;
“I see, I see, the falling tear
“His wrinkled cheek bedew.
“He’s gone, and here his ashes sleep—
“I do not heave a sigh,
“His child a father does not weep—
“For, ah, my brain is dry!
“But come, together let us rove,
“At the pale hour of night;
“When the moon wand’ring thro’ the
grove,
“Shall pour her faintest light.
“We’ll gather from the rosy bow’r
“The fairest wreaths that bloom:
“We’ll cull, my love, each op’ning
flower,
“To deck his hallow’d tomb.
“We’ll thither, from the distant dale,
“A weeping willow bear;
“And plant a lily of the vale,
“A drooping lily there.
“We’ll shun the face of glaring day,
“Eternal silence keep;
“Thro’ the dark wood together stray,
“And only live to weep.
“But hark, ’tis come—the fatal
time
“When, Edwin, we must part;
“Some angel tells me ’tis a crime
“To hold thee to my heart.
“My father’s spirit hovers near—
“Alas, he comes to chide;
“Is there no means, my Edwin dear,
“The fatal deed to hide?
“Yet, Edwin, if th’ offence be thine,
“Too soon I can forgive;
“But, oh, the guilt would all be mine,
“Could I endure to live.
“Farewel, my love, for, oh, I faint,
“Of pale despair I die;
“And see, that hoary, murder’d saint
“Descends from yon blue sky.
“Poor, weak old man! he comes my love,
“To lead to heav’n the way;
“He knows not heaven will joyless prove,
“If Edwin here must stay!”—
“Oh, who can bear this pang!” he cry’d,
Then to his bosom prest
The dying maid, who piteous sigh’d,
And sunk to endless rest.
He saw her eyes for ever close,
He heard her latest sigh,
And yet no tear of anguish flows
From his distracted eye.
He feels within his shiv’ring veins,
A mortal chillness rise;
Her pallid corse he feebly strains—
And on her bosom dies.
* * * * *
No longer may their hapless lot
The mournful muse engage;
She wipes away the tears, that blot
The melancholy page.
For heav’n in love, dissolves the ties
That chain the spirit here;
And distant far for ever flies
The blessing held most dear;
To bid the suff’ring soul aspire
A higher bliss to prove;
To wake the pure, refin’d desire,
The hope that rests above!—
While thee I seek, protecting Power!
Be my vain wishes still’d;
And may this consecrated hour
With better hopes be fill’d.
Thy love the powers of thought bestow’d,
To thee my thoughts would soar;
Thy mercy o’er my life has flow’d—
That mercy I adore.
In each event of life, how clear,
Thy ruling hand I see;
Each blessing to my soul more dear,
Because conferr’d by thee.
In every joy that crowns my days,
In every pain I bear,
My heart shall find delight in praise,
Or seek relief in prayer.
When gladness wings my favour’d hour,
Thy love my thoughts shall fill:
Resign’d, when storms of sorrow lower,
My soul shall meet thy will.
My lifted eye without a tear
The lowring storm shall see;
My stedfast heart shall know no fear—
That heart will rest on Thee!
Paraphrases
from
Scripture.
The day is thine, the night also is
thine; thou hast prepared the
light and the sun.
Thou hast set all the borders of the
earth; thou hast made summer and
winter.
Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17.
My God! all nature owns thy sway,
Thou giv’st the night, and thou the day!
When all thy lov’d creation wakes,
When morning, rich in lustre breaks,
And bathes in dew the op’ning flower,
To thee we owe her fragrant hour;
And when she pours her choral song,
Her melodies to thee belong!
Or when, in paler tints array’d,
The evening slowly spreads her shade;
That soothing shade, that grateful gloom,
Can more than day’s enliv’ning bloom
Still every fond, and vain desire,
And calmer, purer, thoughts inspire;
From earth the pensive spirit free,
And lead the soften’d heart to Thee.
In every scene thy hands have drest,
In every form by thee imprest,
Upon the mountain’s awful head,
Or where the shelt’ring woods are spread;
In every note that swells the gale,
Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale,
The cavern’s depth, or echoing grove,
A voice is heard of praise, and love.
As o’er thy work the seasons roll,
And sooth with change of bliss, the soul,
Oh never may their smiling train
Pass o’er the human scene in vain!
But oft as on the charm we gaze,
Attune the wond’ring soul to praise;
And be the joys that most we prize,
The joys that from thy favour rise!
Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee.
Isaiah xlix. 15.
Heaven speaks! Oh Nature listen and rejoice!
Oh spread from pole to pole this gracious voice!
“Say every breast of human frame, that proves
“The boundless force with which a parent loves;
“Say, can a mother from her yearning heart
“Bid the soft image of her child depart?
“She! whom strong instinct arms with strength
to bear
“All forms of ill, to shield that dearest care;
Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them.
MATT. vii. 12.
Precept divine! to earth in mercy given,
O sacred rule of action, worthy heaven!
Whose pitying love ordain’d the bless’d
command
To bind our nature in a firmer band;
Enforce each human suff’rer’s strong appeal,
And teach the selfish breast what others feel;
Wert thou the guide of life, mankind might know
A soft exemption from the worst of woe;
No more the powerful would the weak oppress,
But tyrants learn the luxury to bless;
No more would slav’ry bind a hopeless train,
Of human victims, in her galling chain;
Mercy the hard, the cruel heart would move
To soften mis’ry by the deeds of Jove;
And av’rice from his hoarded treasures give
Unask’d, the liberal boon, that want might live!
The impious tongue of falshood then would cease
To blast, with dark suggestions, virtue’s peace;
No more would spleen, or passion banish rest
And plant a pang in fond affection’s breast;
By one harsh word, one alter’d look, destroy
Her peace, and wither every op’ning joy;
Scarce can her tongue the captious wrong explain,
The slight offence which gives so deep a pain!
Th’ affected ease that slights her starting
tear,
The words whose coldness kills from lips so dear;
The hand she loves, alone can point the dart,
Whose hidden sting could wound no other heart—
These, of all pains the sharpest we endure,
The breast which now inflicts, would spring to cure.—
No more deserted genius then, would fly
To breathe in solitude his hopeless sigh;
No more would Fortune’s partial smile debase
The spirit, rich in intellectual grace;
Who views unmov’d from scenes where pleasures
bloom,
The flame of genius sunk in mis’ry’s gloom;
The soul heav’n form’d to soar, by want
deprest,
Nor heeds the wrongs that pierce a kindred breast.—
Thou righteous Law! whose clear and useful light
Sheds on the mind a ray divinely bright;
Condensing in one rule whate’er the sage
Has proudly taught, in many a labour’d page;
Bid every heart thy hallow’d voice revere,
To justice sacred, and to nature dear!
POEMS,
HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
OF THE
SECOND VOLUME.
An Epistle to Dr. Moore, Author of a View of Society
and Manners in
France, Switzerland, and Germany.
Part of an irregular Fragment, found in a Dark Passage of the Tower.
Peru.
Sonnet to Mrs. Siddons.
Queen Mary’s Complaint.
Euphelia, an Elegy.
Sonnet to Expression.
AN
EPISTLE
TO
DR. MOORE.
Whether dispensing hope, and ease
To the pale victim of disease,
Or in the social crowd you sit,
And charm the group with sense and wit,
Moore’s partial ear will not disdain
Attention to my artless strain.
AN
EPISTLE
TO
DR. MOORE,
A VIEW OF SOCIETY AND MANNERS
IN
FRANCE, SWITZERLAND, AND GERMANY.
I mean no giddy heights to climb,
And vainly toil to be sublime;
While every line with labour wrought,
Is swell’d with tropes for want of thought:
Nor shall I call the Muse to shed
Castalian drops upon my head;
Or send me from Parnassian bowers
A chaplet wove of fancy’s flowers.
At present all such aid I slight—
My heart instructs me how to write.
That softer glide my hours along,
That still my griefs are sooth’d by song,
That still my careless numbers flow
To your successful skill I owe;
You, who when sickness o’er me hung,
And languor had my lyre unstrung,
With treasures of the healing art,
With friendship’s ardor at your heart,
From sickness snatch’d her early prey
And bade fair health—the goddess gay,
With sprightly air, and winning grace,
With laughing eye, and rosy face,
Accustom’d when you call to hear,
On her light pinion hasten near,
And swift restore with influence kind,
My weaken’d frame, my drooping mind.
With like benignity, and zeal,
The mental malady to heal,
To stop the fruitless, hopeless tear,
The life you lengthen’d, render dear,
To charm by fancy’s powerful vein,
“The written troubles of the brain,”
From gayer scenes, compassion led
Your frequent footsteps to my shed:
And knowing that the Muses’ art
Has power to ease an aching heart,
You sooth’d that heart with partial praise,
And I before too fond of lays,
While others pant for solid gain,
Grasp at a laurel sprig—in vain—
You could not chill with frown severe
The madness to my soul so dear;
For when Apollo came to store
Your mind with salutary lore,
The god I ween, was pleas’d to dart
A ray from Pindus on your heart;
Your willing bosom caught the fire,
And still is partial to the lyre.
But now from you at distance plac’d
Where Epping spreads a woody waste;
Tho’ unrestrain’d my fancy flies,
And views in air her fabrics rise,
And paints with brighter bloom the flowers,
Bids Dryads people all the bowers,
And Echoes speak from every hill,
And Naiads pour each little rill,
And bands of Sylphs with pride unfold
Their azure plumage mix’d with gold,
My heart remembers with a sigh
That you are now no longer nigh.
The magic scenes no more engage,
I quit them for your various page;
Where, with delight I traverse o’er
The foreign paths you trod before:
Ah not in vain those paths you trac’d,
With heart to feel, with powers to taste!
Amid the ever-jocund train
Who sport upon the banks of Seine,
In your light Frenchman pleas’d I see
His nation’s gay epitome;
Whose careless hours glide smooth along,
Who charms MISFORTUNE with a song.
She comes not as on Albion’s plain,
With death, and madness in her train;
For here, her keenest sharpest dart
May raze, but cannot pierce the heart.
Yet he whose spirit light as air
Calls life a jest, and laughs at care,
Feels the strong force of pity’s voice,
And bids afflicted love rejoice;
Love, such as fills the poet’s page
Love, such as form’d the golden age—
FANCHON, thy grateful look I see—
I share thy joys—I weep with thee—
What eye has read without a tear
A tale to nature’s heart so dear!
There, dress’d in each sublimer grace
Geneva’s happy scene I trace;
Her lake, from whose broad bosom thrown
Rushes the loud impetuous Rhone,
And bears his waves with mazy sweep
In rapid torrents to the deep—
Oh for a Muse less weak of wing,
High on yon Alpine steeps to spring,
And tell in verse what they disclose
As well as you have told in prose;
How wrapt in snows and icy showers,
Eternal winter, horrid lowers
Upon the mountain’s awful brow,
While purple summer blooms below;
How icy structures rear their forms
Pale products of ten thousand storms;
Where the full sun-beam powerless falls
On crystal arches, columns, walls,
Yet paints the proud fantastic height
With all the various hues of light.
Why is no poet call’d to birth
In such a favour’d spot of earth?
How high his vent’rous Muse might rise,
And proudly scorn to ask supplies
From the Parnassian hill, the fire
Of verse, Mont Blanc might well inspire.
O SWITZERLAND! how oft these eyes
Desire to view thy mountains rise;
How fancy loves thy steeps to climb,
So wild, so solemn, so sublime;
And o’er thy happy vales to roam,
Where freedom rears her humble home.
Ah, how unlike each social grace
Which binds in love thy manly race,
The HOLLANDERS phlegmatic ease
Too cold to love, too dull to please;
Who feel no sympathetic woe,
Nor sympathetic joy bestow,
But fancy words are only made
To serve the purposes of trade,
And when they neither buy, nor sell,
Think silence answers quite as well.
Now in his happiest light is seen
VOLTAIRE, when evening chas’d his spleen,
And plac’d at supper with his friends,
The playful flash of wit descends—
Of names renown’d you clearly shew
The finer traits we wish to know—
To Prussia’s martial clime I stray
And see how FREDERIC spends the day;
Behold him rise at dawning light
To form his troops for future fight;
Thro’ the firm ranks his glances pierce,
Where discipline, with aspect fierce,
And unrelenting breast, is seen
Degrading man to a machine;
My female heart delights to turn
Where GREATNESS seems not quite so stern:
Mild on th’ IMPERIAL BROW she glows,
And lives to soften human woes.
But lo! on ocean’s stormy breast
I see majestic VENICE rest;
While round her spires the billows rave,
Inverted splendours gild the wave.
Fair liberty has rear’d with toil,
Her fabric on this marshy soil.
She fled those banks with scornful pride,
Where classic Po devolves her tide:
Yet here her unrelenting laws
Are deaf to nature’s, freedom’s cause.
Unjust! they seal’d FOSCARI’S doom,
An exile in his early bloom.
And he, who bore the rack unmov’d,
Divided far from those he lov’d,
From all the social hour can give,
From all that make it bliss to live,
These worst of ills refus’d to bear,
And died, the victim of despair.
An eye of wonder let me raise,
While on imperial ROME I gaze.
But oh! no more in glory bright
She fills with awe th’ astonish’d sight:
Her mould’ring fanes in ruin trac’d,
Lie scatter’d on Campania’s waste.
Nor only these—alas! we find
The wreck involves the human mind:
The lords of earth now drag a chain
Beneath a pontiff’s feeble reign;
The soil that gave a Cato birth
No longer yields heroic worth,
Whose image lives but on the bust,
Or consecrates the medal’s rust:
Yet if no heart of modern frame
Glows with the antient hero’s flame,
The dire Arena’s horrid stage
Is banish’d from this milder age;
Those savage virtues too are fled
At which the human feelings bled.
While now at Virgil’s tomb you bend,
O let me on your steps attend!
Kneel on the turf that blossoms round,
And kiss, with lips devout, the ground.
I feel how oft his magic powers
Shed pleasure on my lonely hours.
Tho’ hid from me the classic tongue,
In which his heav’nly strain was sung,
In Dryden’s tuneful lines, I pierce
The shaded beauties of his verse.
Bright be the rip’ning beam, that shines
Fair FLORENCE, on thy purple vines!
And ever pure the fanning gale
That pants in Arno’s myrtle vale!
Here, when the barb’rous northern race,
Dire foes to every muse, and grace,
Had doom’d the banish’d arts to roam
The lovely wand’rers found a home;
And shed round Leo’s triple crown
Unfading rays of bright renown.
Who e’er has felt his bosom glow
With knowledge, or the wish to know;
Has e’er from books with transport caught
The rich accession of a thought;
Perceiv’d with conscious pride, he feels
The sentiment which taste reveals;
Let all who joys like these possess,
Thy vale, enchanting FLORENCE bless—
O had the arts benignant light
No more reviv’d from Gothic night,
Earth had been one vast scene of strife,
Or one drear void had sadden’d life;
Lost had been all the sage has taught,
The painter’s sketch, the poet’s thought,
The force of sense, the charm of wit,
Nor ever had your page been writ;
That soothing page, which care beguiles,
Grange Hill, Essex.
PART
OF AN
IRREGULAR [Transcriber’s note: Original
“IRREGULAL”] FRAGMENT,
FOUND IN A
DARK PASSAGE OF THE TOWER.
The following Poem is formed on a very singular and sublime idea. A young gentleman, possessed of an uncommon genius for drawing, on visiting the Tower of London, passing one door of a singular construction, asked what apartment it led to, and expressed a desire to have it opened. The person who shewed the place shook his head, and answered, “Heaven knows what is within that door—it has been shut for ages.”—This answer made small impression on the other hearers; but a very deep one on the imagination of this youth. Gracious Heaven! an apartment shut up for ages—and in the Tower!
“Ye Towers of Julius! London’s
lasting shame,
By many a foul and midnight murder fed.”
Genius builds on a slight foundation, and rears beautiful structures on “the baseless fabric of a vision.” The above transient hint dwelt on the young man’s fancy, and conjured into his memory all the murders which history records to have been committed in the Tower; Henry the Sixth, the Duke of Clarence, the two young princes, sons of Edward the Fourth, Sir Thomas Overbury, &c. He supposes all their ghosts assembled in this unexplored apartment, and to these his fertile imagination has added several others. One of the spectres raises an immense pall of black velvet, and discovers the remains of a murdered royal family, whose story is lost in the lapse of time.—The gloomy wildness of these images struck my imagination so forcibly, that endeavouring to catch the fire of the youth’s pencil, this Fragment was produced.
PART
OF AN
IRREGULAR FRAGMENT,
FOUND IN A
DARK PASSAGE OF THE TOWER.
Rise, winds of night! relentless tempests
rise!
Rush from the troubled clouds,
and o’er me roll;
In this chill pause a deeper horror lies,
A wilder fear appals my shudd’ring
soul.—
’Twas on this day[A], this hour
accurst,
That Nature starting from
repose
Heard the dire shrieks of murder burst—
From infant innocence they
rose,
And shook these
solemn towers!—
I shudd’ring pass that fatal room
For ages wrapt in central gloom;—
I shudd’ring pass that iron door
Which Fate perchance unlocks no more;
Death, smear’d with blood, o’er the dark
portal lowers.
[A] The anniversary of the murder of Edward the Fifth,
and his brother
Richard, Duke of York.
How fearfully my step resounds
Along these lonely bounds:—
Spare, savage blast! the taper’s quiv’ring
fires,
Deep in these gath’ring shades its
flame expires.
Ye host of heaven! the door
recedes—
It mocks my grasp—what
unseen hands
Have burst its
iron bands?
No mortal force this gate
unbarr’d
Where danger lives, which
terrors guard—
Dread powers! its screaming
hinges close
On this dire scene
of impious deeds—
My feet are fix’d!—Dismay
has bound
My step on this polluted ground—
But lo! the pitying moon, a line of light
Athwart the horrid darkness dimly throws,
And from yon grated window chases night.—
Ye visions that before me
roll,
That freeze my blood, that shake my soul!
Are ye the phantoms of a dream?
Pale spectres! are ye what ye seem?
They glide more near—
Their forms unfold!
Fix’d are their eyes,
on me they bend—
Their glaring
look is cold!
And hark!—I hear
Sounds that the throbbing pulse of life suspend.
“No wild illusion cheats thy sight
“With shapes that only
live in night—
“Mark the native glories spread
“Around my bleeding
brow!
“The crown of Albion wreath’d
my head,
“And Gallia’s
lilies[A] twin’d below—
“When my father shook his spear,
“When his banner sought
the skies,
“Her baffled host recoil’d
with fear,
“Nor turn’d
their shrinking eyes:—
“Soon as the daring eagle springs
“To bask in heav’n’s
empyreal light,
“The vultures ply their baleful
wings,
“A cloud of deep’ning
colour marks their flight,
“Staining
the golden day:—
“But see! amid the rav’nous
brood
“A bird of fiercer aspect
soar—
“The spirits of a rival race[B],
“Hang on the noxious blast, and
trace,
“With gloomy joy his
destin’d prey;
“Inflame th’ ambitious with
that thirsts for blood,
“And plunge his talons deep in kindred gore.
[A] Henry the Sixth, crowned when an infant, at Paris.
[B] Richard the Third, by murdering so many near relations,
seemed to
revenge the sufferings of
Henry the Sixth, and his family, on the
House of York.
“View the stern form that hovers
nigh,
“Fierce rolls his dauntless eye
“In scorn
of hideous death;
“Till starting at a brother’s[A] name,
“Horror shrinks his glowing frame,
“Locks the half-utter’d
groan,
“And chills
the parting breath:—
“Astonish’d Nature
heav’d a moan!
“When her affrighted eye beheld the hands
“She form’d to cherish, rend her holy
bands.
[A] Richard the Third, who murdered his brother the Duke of Clarence.
“Look where a royal infant[A] kneels,
“Shrieking, and agoniz’d with
fear,
“He sees the dagger pointed near
“A much-lov’d
brother’s[B] breast,
“And tells an absent mother all he feels:—
“His eager eye he casts around;
“Where shall her guardian form be
found,
“On which his eager
eye would rest!
“On her he calls in accents wild,
“And wonders why her step is slow
“To save her suff’ring
child!—
“Rob’d in the regal garb, his brother
stands
“In more majestic woe—
“And meets the impious stroke with
bosom bare;
“Then fearless grasps the murd’rer’s
hands,
“And asks the minister of hell to
spare
“The child whose feeble arms sustain
“His bleeding form from cruel Death.—
“In vain fraternal fondness pleads
“For cold is now his
livid cheek,
“And cold his last, expiring breath:
“And now with aspect
meek,
“The infant lifts his mournful eye,
“And asks with trembling voice,
to die,
“If death will cure his heaving heart of pain—
“His heaving heart now
bleeds—
“Foul tyrant! o’er the gilded
hour
“That beams with all the blaze of
power,
“Remorse shall spread
her thickest shroud;
“The furies in thy tortur’d
ear
“Shall howl, with curses
deep, and loud,
“And wake distracting fear!
“I see the ghastly spectre
rise,
“Whose blood is cold,
whose hollow eyes
“Seem from his head
to start—
“With upright hair,
and shiv’ring heart,
Dark o’er thy midnight couch he
bends,
And clasps thy shrinking frame, thy impious spirit
rends.”
[A] Richard Duke of York. [B] Edward the Fifth.
Now his thrilling accents die—
His shape eludes my searching eye—
But who is he[A], convuls’d with
pain,
That writhes in every swelling vein?
Yet in so deep, so wild a
groan,
A sharper anguish seems to live
Than life’s expiring
pang can give:—
He dies deserted, and alone—
[A] Sir Thomas Overbury, poisoned in the Tower by Somerset.
But whence arose that solemn call?
Yon bloody phantom waves his hand,
And beckons me to deeper gloom—
Rest, troubled form!
I come—
Some unknown power my step impels
To horror’s secret cells—
“For thee I raise this
sable pall,
“It shrouds a ghastly
band:
“Stretch’d beneath, thy eye
shall trace
“A mangled
regal race:
“A thousand suns have roll’d,
since light
“Rush’d on their solid night—
“See, o’er that tender frame grim famine
hangs,
“And mocks a mother’s
pangs!
“The last, last drop which warm’d her
veins
“That meagre infant
drains—
“Then gnaws her fond, sustaining
breast—
“Stretch’d on
her feeble knees, behold
“Another victim sinks to lasting
rest—
“Another, yet her matron arms would
fold
“Who strives to reach her matron arms in vain—
“Too weak her wasted form to raise,
“On him she bends her eager gaze;
“She sees the soft imploring
eye
“That asks her dear embrace, the cure of pain—
“She sees her child
at distance die—
“But now her stedfast heart can
bear
“Unmov’d, the pressure of
despair—
“When first the winds of winter urge their course
“O’er the pure stream, whose current smoothly
glides,
“The heaving river swells its troubled tides;
“But when the bitter blast with keener force,
“O’er the high wave an icy
fetter throws,
“The harden’d wave is fix’d in dead
repose.”—
“Say who that hoary form? alone he stands,
“And meekly lifts his wither’d hands—
“His white beard streams
with blood—
“I see him with a smile, deride
“The wounds that pierce his shrivel’d
side,
“Whence flows a purple
flood—
“But sudden pangs his bosom tear—
“On one big drop, of
deeper dye,
“I see him fix his haggard
eye
“In dark, and wild despair!
“That sanguine drop which wakes his woe—
“Say, spirit! whence
its source.”—
“Ask no more its source to know—
“Ne’er shall mortal
eye explore
“Whence flow’d
that drop of human gore,
“Till the starting dead shall rise,
“Unchain’d from earth, and
mount the skies,
“And time shall end his fated course.”—
“Now th’ unfathom’d
depth behold—
“Look but once! a second
glance
“Wraps a heart of human mold
“In death’s eternal
trance.”
“That shapeless phantom sinking slow
“Deep down the vast abyss below,
“Darts, thro’ the mists that shroud his
frame,
“A horror, nature hates to name!”—
“Mortal, could thine eyes behold
“All those sullen mists enfold,
“Thy sinews at the sight accurst
“Would wither, and thy heart-strings burst;
“Death would grasp with icy hand
“And drag thee to our grizly band—
“Away! the sable pall I spread,
“And give to rest th’ unquiet dead—
“Haste! ere its horrid shroud enclose
“Thy form, benumb’d with wild
affright,
“And plunge thee far thro’ wastes of night,
“In yon black gulph’s abhorr’d
repose!”—
As starting at each step, I fly,
Why backward turns my frantic eye,
That closing portal past?—
Two sullen shades half-seen, advance!—
On me, a blasting look they cast,
And fix my view with dang’rous
spells,
Where burning frenzy dwells!—
Again! their vengeful look—and now a speechless—
PERU.
A
POEM,
IN SIX CANTOS.
TO
MRS. MONTAGU.
While, bending at thy honour’d shrine, the Muse
Pours, MONTAGU, to thee her votive strain,
Thy heart will not her simple notes refuse,
Or chill her timid soul with cold disdain.
O might a transient spark of genius fire
The fond effusions of her fearful youth;
Then should thy virtues live upon her lyre,
And give to harmony the charm of truth.
Vain wish! they ask not the imperfect lay,
The weak applause her trembling accents
breathe;
With whose pure radiance glory blends her ray,
Whom fame has circled with her fairest
wreathe.
Thou, who while seen with graceful step to tread
Grandeur’s enchanted round, can’st
meekly pause
To rend the veil obscurity had spread
Where his lone sigh deserted Genius draws;
To lead his drooping spirit to thy fane,
Where attic joy the social circle warms;
Where science loves to pour her hallow’d strain,
Where wit, and wisdom, blend their sep’rate
charms.
And lure to cherish intellectual powers,
To bid the vig’rous tides of genius
roll,
Unfold, in fair expansion, fancy’s flowers,
And wake the latent energies of soul;
Far other homage claims than flatt’ry brings
The little triumphs of the proud to grace:
For deeds like these a purer incense springs,
Warm from the swelling heart its source
we trace!
Yet not to foster the rich gifts of mind
Alone can all thy lib’ral cares
employ;
Not to the few those gifts adorn, confin’d,
They spread an ampler sphere of genuine
joy.
While pleasure’s lucid star illumes thy bower,
Thy pity views the distant storm that
bends
Where want unshelter’d wastes the ling’ring
hour;—
And meets the blessing that to heav’n
ascends!
For this, while fame thro’ each successive age
On her exulting lip thy name shall breathe;
While woman, pointing to thy finish’d page,
Claims from imperious man the critic wreathe;
Truth on her spotless record shall enroll
Each moral beauty to her spirit dear;
Paint in bright characters each grace of soul—
While admiration pours a gen’rous
tear.
HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS.
London, April the 24th, 1784.
That no readers of the following work may entertain expectations respecting it which it would ill satisfy, it is necessary to acquaint them, that the author has not had the presumption even to attempt a full, historical narration of the fall of the Peruvian empire. To describe that important event with accuracy, and to display with clearness and force the various causes which combined to produce it, would require all the energy of genius, and the most glowing colours of imagination. Conscious of her utter inability to execute such a design, she has only aimed at a simple detail of some few incidents that make a part of that romantic story; where the unparalleled sufferings of an innocent and amiable people, form the most affecting subjects of true pathos, while their climate, totally unlike our own, furnishes new and ample materials for poetic description.
General description of the country of Peru, and of its animal, and vegetable productions—the virtues of the people—character of Ataliba, their Monarch—his love for Alzira—their nuptials celebrated— character of Zorai, her father—descent of the genius of Peru— prediction of the fate of that empire.
CANTO THE FIRST.
Where the pacific deep in silence laves
The western shore, with slow and languid waves,
There, lost Peruvia, rose thy cultur’d scene,
The wave an emblem of thy joy serene:
There nature ever in luxuriant showers
5
Pours from her treasures, the perennial flowers;
In its dark foliage plum’d, the tow’ring
pine
Ascends the mountain, at her call divine;
The palm’s wide leaf its brighter verdure spreads,
And the proud cedars bow their lofty heads;
10
The citron, and the glowing orange spring,
And on the gale a thousand odours fling;
The guava, and the soft ananas bloom,
The balsam ever drops a rich perfume:
The bark, reviving shrub! Oh not in vain
15
Thy rosy blossoms tinge Peruvia’s plain;
Ye fost’ring gales, around those blossoms blow,
Ye balmy dew-drops, o’er the tendrils flow.
Lo, as the health-diffusing plant aspires,
Disease, and pain, and hov’ring death retires;
20
Nor less, Peruvia, for thy favour’d clime
The virtues rose, unsullied, and sublime:
There melting charity, with ardor warm,
Spread her wide mantle o’er th’ unshelter’d
form;
Cheer’d with the festal song, her lib’ral
toils, 45
While in the lap of age[D] she pour’d the spoils.
Simplicity in every vale was found,
The meek nymph smil’d, with reeds, and rushes
crown’d;
And innocence in light, transparent vest,
Mild visitant! the gentle region blest:
50
As from her lip enchanting accents part,
They thrill with pleasure the reponsive heart;
And o’er the ever-blooming vales around,
Soft echoes waft each undulating sound.
This happy region Ataliba sway’d,
55
Whose mild behest the willing heart obey’d;
Descendant of a scepter’d, sacred race,
Whose origin from glowing suns they trace;
And as o’er nature’s form, the solar light
Diffuses beauty, and inspires delight;
60
So, o’er Peruvia flow’d the lib’ral
ray
Of mercy, lovelier than the smile of day!
In Ataliba’s pure and gen’rous heart
The virtues bloom’d without the aid of art.
His gentle spirit, love’s soft power possest,
65
And stamp’d Alzira’s image on his breast;
Alzira, form’d each tenderness to prove,
That sooths in friendship, and that charms in love.
But, ah! in vain the drooping muse would paint
(Her accents languid, and her colours faint,)
70
How dear the joys love’s early wishes sought,
How mild his spirit, and how pure his thought,
Ere wealth in sullen pomp was seen to rise,
And break the artless bosom’s holy ties;
Blast with his touch affection’s op’ning
flower, 75
And chill the hand that rear’d her blissful
Pure was the lustre of the orient ray,
That joyful wak’d Alzira’s nuptial day:
110
Her auburn hair, spread loosely to the wind,
The virgin train, with rosy chaplets bind;
The scented flowers that form her bridal wreathe,
A deeper hue, a richer fragrance breathe.
The gentle tribe now sought the hallow’d fane,
115
Where warbling vestals pour’d the choral strain:
There aged Zorai, his Alzira prest
With love parental, to his anxious breast:
Priest of the sun, within the sacred shrine
His fervent spirit breath’d the strain divine;
120
With glowing hand, the guiltless off’ring spread,
With pious zeal the pure libation shed;
Nor vain the incense of erroneous praise
When meek devotion’s soul the tribute pays;
On wings of purity behold it rise,
125
While bending mercy wafts it to the skies!
Peruvia! oh delightful land; in vain
The virtues flourish’d on thy beauteous plain;
In vain sweet pleasure there was seen to move,
And wore the smile of peace, the bloom of love;
130
For soon shall burst the unrelenting storm,
Rend her soft robe, and crush her tender form:
Peruvia! soon the fatal hour shall rise,
The hour despair shall waste in tears and sighs;
Fame shall record the horrors of thy fate,
135
And distant ages weep for ills so great.
Now o’er the deep chill night her mantle flung,
Dim on the wave the moon’s faint crescent hung;
Peruvia’s Genius sought the liquid plain,
Sooth’d by the languid murmurs of the main;
140
When sudden clamour the illusion broke,
Wild on the surface of the deep it spoke;
A rising breeze expands her flowing veil,
Aghast with fear, she spy’d a flying sail—
The lofty mast impends, the banner waves,
145
The ruffled surge th’ incumbent vessel laves;
With eager eye he views her destin’d foe
Lead to her peaceful shores th’ advent’rous
prow;
Trembling she knelt, with wild disorder’d air,
And pour’d with frantic energy her pray’r—
150
“Oh, ye avenging spirits of the deep!
“Mount the blue lightning’s wing, o’er
ocean sweep;
“Loud from your central caves the shell resound,
“That summons death to your abyss profound;
“Call the pale spectre from his dark abode,
155
“To print the billow, swell the black’ning
flood,
“Rush o’er the waves, the rough’ning
deep deform,
“Howl in the blast, and animate the storm—
“Relentless powers! for not one quiv’ring
breeze
“Has ruffled yet the surface of the seas—
160
“Swift from your rocky steeps, ye condors[E]
stray,
“Wave your black plumes, and cleave th’
aerial way;
“Proud in terrific force, your wings expand,
“Press the firm earth, and darken all the strand;
“Bid the stern foe retire with wild affright,
170[F]
“And shun the region veil’d in partial
night.
“Vain hope, devoted land! I read thy doom,
“My sad prophetic soul can pierce the gloom;
“I see, I see my lov’d, my favour’d
clime,
“Consum’d, and fading in its early prime.
175
“But not in vain the beauteous realm shall bleed,
“Too late shall Europe’s race deplore
the deed.
“Region abhorr’d! be gold the tempting
bane,
“The curse that desolates thy hostile plain;
“May pleasure tinge with venom’d drops
the bowl, 180
“And luxury unnerve the sick’ning soul.”—
Ah, not in vain she pour’d th’ impassion’d
tear!
Ah, not in vain she call’d the powers to hear!
When borne from lost Peruvia’s bleeding land,
The guilty treasures beam’d on Europe’s
strand; 185
Each sweet affection fled the tainted shore,
And virtue wander’d, to return no more.
[A] The pacos is a domestic animal of Peru. Its
wool resembles the
colour of dried roses.
[B] The vicunnas are a species of wild pacos. [C]
The lamas are employed as mules, in carrying burdens.
[D] The people cheerfully assisted in reaping those
fields, whose
produce was given to old persons,
past their labour.
[E] The condor is an inhabitant of the Andes.
Its wings, when expanded,
are said to be eighteen feet
wide.
[F Transcriber’s note: Misnumbered in original.]
CANTO THE SECOND.
THE ARGUMENT.
Pizarro, a Spanish Captain, lands with his forces—his meeting with Ataliba—its unhappy consequences—Zorai dies—Ataliba imprisoned, and strangled—Alzira’s despair, and madness.
CANTO THE SECOND.
Flush’d with impatient hope, the martial band
By stern Pizarro led, approach the land:
No terrors arm the hostile brow, for guile
Charms to betray, in Candour’s open smile.
Too artless for distrust, the monarch springs
5
To meet his latent foe on friendship’s wings:
On as he moves, with glitt’ring splendours crown’d,
His feather’d chiefs the golden throne surround;
The waving canopy its plume displays,
Whose varied hues reflect the morning rays;
10
With native grace he hails the warrior train,
Who stood majestic on Peruvia’s plain,
In all the savage pomp of armour drest,
The radiant helmet, and the nodding crest.
Yet themes of joy Pizarro’s lips impart,
15
And charm with eloquence the simple heart;
Unfolding to the monarch’s wond’ring thought,
All that inventive arts the rude have taught:
And now he bids the purer spirit rise
Above the circle of surrounding skies;
20
Presents the page that shed religion’s light
O’er the dark mist of intellectual night;
While thrill’d with awe the monarch trembling
stands,
He dropp’d the hallow’d volume from his
hands.
[A]Sudden, while frantic zeal each breast inspires,
25
And shudd’ring demons fan the impious fires,
The bloody signal waves, the banners play,
The naked sabres flash their streaming ray;
The martial trumpet’s animating sound,
And thund’ring cannon, rend the vault around;
30
While fierce in sanguine rage the sons of Spain
Rush on Peru’s unarm’d, devoted train;
The fiends of slaughter urg’d their dire career,
And virtue’s guardian spirits dropp’d
a tear.—
Mild Zorai fell, deploring human strife,
35
And clos’d with prayer his consecrated life.
In vain Peruvia’s chiefs undaunted stood,
Shield their lov’d prince, and bathe his robes
in blood;
Touch’d with heroic ardor, rush around,
And high of soul, receive each fatal wound:
40
Dragg’d from his throne, and hurry’d o’er
the plain,
The wretched monarch swells the captive train;
With iron grasp, the frantic prince they bear,
And bless the omen of his wild despair.
Deep in the gloomy dungeon’s lone domain,
45
Lost Ataliba wore the galling chain;
The earth’s cold bed refus’d oblivious
rest,
While throb’d the pains of thousands at his
breast;
Alzira’s desolating moan he hears,
And with the monarch’s, blends the lover’s
tears— 50
Soon had Alzira felt affliction’s dart
Pierce her soft soul, and rend her bleeding heart;
Its quick pulsations paus’d, and, chill’d
with dread,
A livid hue her fading cheek o’erspread;
No tear she gave to love, she breath’d no sigh,
55
Her lips were mute, and clos’d her languid eye;
Fainter, and slower heav’d her shiv’ring
breast,
And her calm’d passions seem’d in death
to rest!—
At length reviv’d, mid rising heaps of slain
She prest with trembling step, the crimson plain;
60
The dungeon’s gloomy depth she fearless sought,
For love, with scorn of danger arm’d her thought:
The cell that holds her captive lord she gains,
Her tears fall quiv’ring on a lover’s
chains!
Too tender spirit, check the filial tear,
65
A sympathy more soft, a tie more dear
Shall claim the drops that frantic passion sheds,
When the rude storm its darkest pinion spreads.
Lo! bursting the deep cell where mis’ry lay,
The human vultures seize the dove-like prey!
70
In vain her treasur’d wealth Peruvia gave,
This dearer treasure from their grasp to save:
Alzira! lo, the ruthless murd’rers come,
This moment seals thy Ataliba’s doom.
Ah, what avails the shriek that anguish pours!
75
The look, that mercy’s lenient aid implores!
Torn from thy clinging arms, thy throbbing breast,
The fatal cord his agony supprest:
In vain the livid corse she fondly clasps,
And pours her sorrows o’er the form she grasps—
80
The murd’rers now their struggling victim tear
From the lost object of her keen despair:
The swelling pang unable to sustain,
Distraction throbb’d in every beating vein:
Its sudden tumults seize her yielding soul,
85
And in her eye distemper’d glances roll—
“They come! (the mourner cried, with panting
breath,)
“To give the lost Alzira rest in death!
“One moment more, ye bloody forms, bestow,
“One moment more for ever cures my woe—
90
“Lo where the purple evening sheds her light
“On blest remains! oh hide them, pitying night!
“Slow in the breeze I see the verdure wave
“That shrouds with tufted grass, my lover’s
grave:
“There, on its wand’ring wing in mildness
blows 95
“The mournful gale, nor wakes his deep repose—
“And see, yon hoary form still lingers there!
“Dishevell’d by rude winds his silver
hair;
“O’er his chill’d bosom falls the
[A] “Sudden, while frantic zeal, &c.”
PIZARRO, who during a long
conference, had with difficulty
restrained his soldiers, eager to
seize the rich spoils of which
they had now so near a view,
immediately gave the signal
of assault. At once the martial music
struck up, the cannon and
muskets began to fire, the horse sallied
out fiercely to the charge,
the infantry rushed on sword in hand.
The Peruvians, astonished
at the suddenness of an attack which they
did not expect, and dismayed
with the destructive effects of the
fire-arms, fled with universal
consternation on every side. PIZARRO,
at the head of his chosen
band, advanced directly towards the Inca;
and though his Nobles crowded
around him with officious zeal, and
fell in numbers at his feet,
while they vied one with another in
sacrificing their own lives,
that they might cover the sacred person
of their Sovereign, the Spaniards
soon penetrated to the royal seat;
and PIZARRO seizing the Inca
by the arm, dragged him to the ground,
and carried him a prisoner
to his quarters.—Robertson’s History
of America.
CANTO THE THIRD.
THE ARGUMENT.
Pizarro takes possession of Cuzco—the fanaticism of Valverde, a Spanish priest—its dreadful effects—A Peruvian priest put to the torture—his daughter’s distress—he is rescued by Las Casas, an amiable Spanish ecclesiastic, and led to a place of safety, where he dies—his daughter’s narration of her sufferings—her death.
CANTO THE THIRD.
Now stern Pizarro seeks the distant plains,
Where beauteous Cusco lifts her golden fanes:
The meek Peruvians gaz’d in pale dismay,
Nor barr’d the dark oppressor’s sanguine
way:
And soon on Cusco, where the dawning light
5
Of glory shone, foretelling day more bright,
Where the young arts had shed unfolding flowers,
A scene of spreading desolation lowers;
While buried deep in everlasting shade,
Those lustres sicken, and those blossoms fade.
10
And yet, devoted land, not gold alone,
Or wild ambition wak’d thy parting groan;
For, lo! a fiercer fiend, with joy elate,
Feasts on thy suff’rings, and impels thy fate.
Fanatic fury rears her sullen shrine,
15
Where vultures prey, where venom’d adders twine;
Her savage arm with purple torrents stains
Thy rocking temples, and thy falling fanes;
Her blazing torches flash the mounting fire,
She grasps the sabre, and she lights the pyre;
20
Her voice is thunder, rending the still air,
Her glance the livid light’ning’s fatal
glare;
Her lips unhallow’d breathe their impious strain,
And pure religion’s sacred voice profane;
Whose precepts, pity’s mildest deeds approve,
25
Whose law is mercy, and whose soul is love.
Fanatic fury wakes the rising storm—
She wears the stern Valverda’s hideous form;
His bosom never felt another’s woes,
No shriek of anguish breaks its dark repose.
30
The temple nods—an aged form appears—
He beats his breast—he rends his silver
hairs—
Valverda drags him from the blest abode
Where his meek spirit humbly sought its God:
See, to his aid his child, soft Zilia, springs,
35
And steeps in tears the robe to which she clings,
Till bursting from Peruvia’s frighted throng,
Two warlike youths impetuous rush’d along;
One, grasp’d his twanging bow with furious air,
While in his troubled eye sat fierce despair.
40
But all in vain his erring weapon flies,
Pierc’d by a thousand wounds, on earth he lies.
His drooping head the heart-struck Zilia rais’d,
And on the youth in speechless anguish gaz’d;
While he, who fondly shar’d his danger, flew,
45
And from his breast a reeking sabre drew.
“Deep in my faithful bosom let me hide
[A] LAS CASAS, &c. that amiable Ecclesiastic, who
obtained by his
humanity the title of Protector
of the Indies.
[B] —On his crest
Sat horror plum’d.
Par.
Lost, iv. 988.
CANTO THE FOURTH.
THE ARGUMENT.
Almagro’s expedition to Chili—his troops suffer great hardships from cold, in crossing the Andes—they reach Chili—the Chilese make a brave resistance—the revolt of the Peruvians in Cuzco—they are led on by Manco-Capac, the successor of Ataliba—his parting with Cora, his wife—the Peruvians regain half their city—Almagro leaves Chili—to avoid the Andes, he crosses a vast desert—his troops can find no water —the rest divide in two bands—Alphonso leads the second band, which soon reaches a fertile valley—the Spaniards observe the natives are employed in searching the streams for gold—they resolve to attack them.
CANTO THE FOURTH.
Now the stern partner of Pizarro’s toils,
Almagro, lur’d by hope of golden spoils,
To distant Chili’s ever-verdant meads,
Thro’ paths untrod, a band of warriors leads;
O’er the high Andes’ frozen steeps they
go, 5
And wander mid’ eternal hills of snow:
In vain the vivifying orb of day
Darts on th’ impervious ice his fervent ray;
Cold, keen as chains the oceans of the Pole,
Numbs the shrunk frame, and chills the vig’rous
soul— 10
At length they reach luxuriant Chili’s
plain,
Where ends the dreary bound of winter’s reign;
Where spring sheds odours thro’ th’ unvaried
year,
And bathes the flower of summer, with her tear.
When first the brave Chilese, with eager
glance, 15
Behold the hostile sons of Spain advance;
Heard the loud thunder of the cannon crash,
And view’d the light’ning of the instant
flash,
The threat’ning sabre red with purple streams,
The lance that quiver’d in the solar beams;
20
With pale surprise they saw the lowring storm,
Where hung dark danger, in an unknown form:
But soon their spirits, stung with gen’rous
shame,
Renounce each terror, and for vengeance flame;
Pant high with sacred freedom’s ardent glow,
25
And met intrepid, the superiour foe.
Long unsubdu’d by stern Almagro’s train,
Their valiant tribes unequal fight maintain;
Long victory hover’d doubtful o’er the
field,
And oft she forc’d Iberia’s band to yield;
30
Oft tore from Spain’s proud head her laurel
bough,
And bade it blossom on Peruvia’s brow;
When sudden tidings reach’d Almagro’s
ear
That shook the warrior’s soul with doubt and
fear.
Of murder’d Ataliba’s royal race
35
There yet remain’d a youth of blooming grace,
Who pin’d, the captive of relentless Spain,
And long in Cusco dragg’d her galling chain;
Capac his name, whose soul indignant bears
The rankling fetters, and revenge prepares.
40
But since his daring spirit must forego
The hope to rush upon the tyrant foe,
Led by his parent orb, that gives the day,
And fierce as darts the keen, meridian ray,
He vows to bend unseen his hostile course,
45
Then on the victors rise with latent force,
As sudden from its cloud the brooding storm,
Bursts in the thunder’s voice, the lightning’s
form—
For this, from stern Pizarro he obtains
The boon, enlarg’d, to seek the neighb’ring
plains, 50
For one bless’d day, and with his friends unite
To crown with solemn pomp an ancient rite;
Share the dear pleasures of the social hour,
And mid’ their fetters twine one festal flower.
So spoke the Prince—far other thoughts
possest, 55
Soon as Almagro heard applauding fame
115
The triumphs of Peruvia, loud proclaim,
Unconquer’d Chili’s vale he swift forsakes,
And his bold course to distant Cusco takes;
Shuns Andes’ icy shower, its chilling snows,
The arrowy gale that on its summit blows;
120
A burning desart undismay’d he past,
And meets the ardours of the fiery blast.
Now as along the sultry waste they move,
The keenest pang of raging thirst they prove:
No cooling fruit its grateful juice distils,
125
Nor flows one balmy drop from crystal rills;
For nature sickens in th’ oppressive beam,
That shrinks the vernal bud, and dries the stream;
While horror, as his giant stature grows,
O’er the drear void his spreading shadow throws.
130
Almagro’s band now pale, and fainting stray,
While death oft barr’d the sinking warrior’s
way:
At length the chief divides his martial force,
And bids Alphonso, by a sep’rate course,
Lead o’er the hideous desart half his train—
135
“And search, he cried, this drear, uncultur’d
plain:
“Perchance some fruitage withering in the breeze,
“The pains of lessen’d numbers may appease;
“Or Heav’n in pity, from some genial shower,
“On the parch’d lip one precious drop
may pour.” 140
Not far the troops of young Alphonso went,
When sudden, from a rising hill’s ascent,
They view a valley, fed by fertile springs,
Which Andes from his lofty summit flings;
Where summer’s flowers their mingled odours
shed, 145
And wildly bloom, a waste by beauty spread—
To the charm’d warrior’s eye, the vernal
scene
That ’mid the howling desart, smil’d serene,
Appear’d like nature rising from the breast
Of chaos, in her infant graces drest;
150
When warbling angels hail’d the lovely birth,
And stoop’d from heav’n to bless the new-born
earth.
And now Alphonso, and his martial band,
On the rich border of the valley stand;
They quaff the limpid stream with eager haste,
155
And the pure juice that swells the fruitage taste;
Then give to balmy rest the night’s still hours,
Fann’d by the sighing gale that shuts the flowers.
Soon as the purple beam of morning glows,
Refresh’d from all their toils, the warriors
rose; 160
And saw the gentle natives of the mead
Search the clear currents for the golden seed;
Which from the mountain’s height with headlong
sweep
The torrents bear, in many a shining heap—
Iberia’s sons beheld with anxious brow
165
The tempting lure, then breathe th’ unpitying
vow
O’er those fair lawns to pour a sanguine flood,
And dye those lucid streams with waves of blood.
Thus, while the humming bird in beauty drest,
CANTO THE FIFTH.
THE ARGUMENT.
Character of Zamor, a Bard—his passion for Aciloe, daughter of the Cazique who rules the valley—the Peruvian tribe prepare to defend themselves—a battle—the Peruvians are vanquished—Aciloe’s father is made a prisoner, and Zamor is supposed to have fallen in the engagement—Alphonso becomes enamoured of Aciloe—offers to marry her; she rejects him—in revenge he puts her father to the torture—she appears to consent, in order to save him—meets Zamor in a wood—Las Casas joins them—leads the two lovers to Alphonso, and obtains their freedom—Zamor conducts Aciloe and her father to Chili—a reflection on the influence of Poetry over the human mind.
CANTO THE FIFTH.
In this sweet scene, to all the virtues kind,
Mild Zamor own’d the richest gifts of mind;
For o’er his tuneful breast the heav’nly
muse
Shed from her sacred spring, inspiring dews.
She loves to breathe her hallow’d flame, where
art 5
Has never veil’d the soul, or warp’d the
heart;
Where fancy glows with all her native fire,
And passion lives on the exulting lyre.
Nature, in terror rob’d, or beauty drest,
Could thrill with dear enchantment Zamor’s breast:
10
He lov’d the languid sigh the zephyr pours,
He lov’d the murm’ring rill that fed the
flow’rs;
But more the hollow sound the wild winds form,
When black upon the billow hangs the storm;
The torrent rolling from the mountain steep,
15
Its white foam trembling on the darken’d deep—
And oft on Andes’ height with eager gaze,
He view’d the sinking sun’s reflected
rays,
Glow like unnumber’d stars, that seem to rest
Sublime, upon his ice-encircled breast.
20
Oft his wild warblings charm’d the festal hour,
Rose in the vale, and languish’d in the bower;
The heart’s responsive tones he well could move,
Whose song was nature, and whose theme was love.
Aciloe’s beauties his fond eye confest,
25
Yet more Aciloe’s virtues warm’d his breast.
Ah stay, ye tender hours of young delight,
Suspend ye moments your impatient flight;
For sure if aught on earth can bliss impart,
Can shed the genuine joy that sooths the heart,
30
’Tis felt, when early passion’s pure controul
Unfolds the first affections of the soul;
Bids her soft sympathies the bosom move,
And wakes the mild emotions dear to love.
The gentle tribe Aciloe’s sire obey’d
35
Who still in wisdom, and in mercy sway’d.
From him the dear illusions long had fled,
That o’er the morn of life enchantment shed;
Yet virtue’s calm reflections cheer’d
his breast,
And life was joy serene, and death was rest.
40
Tho’ sweet the early spring, her blossoms bright,
When first she swells the heart with pure delight,
Yet not unlovely is the sober ray
That meekly beams o’er autumn’s temper’d
day;
Dear are her fading beauties to the soul,
45
While scarce perceiv’d the deep’ning shadows
roll.
Now the charm’d lovers dress their future
years
In forms of joy, then weep delicious tears,
Expressive on the glowing cheek that hung,
And spoke the fine emotions whence they sprung—
50
’Twas truth’s warm energy, love’s
sweet controul,
’Twas all that virtue whispers to the soul.
When lo, Iberia’s ruthless sons advance,
Roll the stern eye, and shake the pointed lance:
Oh Nature! the destroying band oppose,
55
Nature, arrest their course—they come thy
foes—
Benignant power, where thou with lib’ral care
Hast planted joy, they come to plant despair—
Peruvia’s tribe beheld the hostile throng
With desolating fury pour along;
60
With horror their ensanguin’d path they trac’d,
And now to meet the murd’ring band they haste;
The hoary chief to the dire conflict leads
His death devoted train—the battle bleeds.
Aciloe’s searching eye can now no more
65
The form of Zamor, or her sire explore;
She hears the moan of death in every gale,
She sees a purple torrent stain the vale;
While destin’d all the bitterness to prove
Of mourning duty, and of bleeding love,
70
Each name that’s dearest wakes her bursting
sigh,
Throbs at her soul, and trembles in her eye.
Now, pierc’d by wounds, and breathless from
the fight,
Her friend, the valiant Omar, struck her sight:
“Omar (she cried) you bleed, unhappy youth,
75
“And sure that look unfolds some fatal truth:
“Speak, pitying speak, my frantic fears forgive,
“Say, does my father, does my Zamor live?”
“All, all is lost, (the dying Omar said)
“And endless griefs are thine, dear wretched
maid; 80
“I saw thy aged sire a captive bound,
“I saw thy Zamor press the crimson ground”—
He could no more, he yields his fleeting breath,
While all in vain she seeks repose in death.
But, oh, how far each other pang above
85
Throbs the wild agony of hopeless love;
That grief, for which in vain shall comfort shed
Her healing balm, or time in pity spread
The veil, that throws a shade o’er other care;
For here, and here alone, profound despair
90
Casts o’er the suff’ring soul a lasting
gloom,
And slowly leads her victim to the tomb.
Now rude tumultuous sounds assail her ear,
And soon Alphonso’s victor train appear:
Then, as with ling’ring step he mov’d
along, 95
She saw her father mid’ the captive throng;
She saw with dire dismay, she wildly flew,
Her snowy arms around his form she threw:
“He bleeds (she cries) I hear his moan of pain,
“My father will not bear the galling chain;
100
“My tender father will his child forsake,
“His mourning child, but soon her heart will
break.
“Cruel Alphonso, let not helpless age
“Feel thy hard yoke, and meet thy barb’rous
rage;
“Or, oh, if ever mercy mov’d thy soul,
105
“If ever thou hast felt her blest controul,
“Grant my sad heart’s desire, and let
me share
“The load, that feeble frame but ill can bear.”
While the young victor, as she falt’ring spoke,
With fix’d attention, and with ardent look,
110
Hung on her tender glance, that love inspires,
The rage of conquest yields to milder fires.
Yet, as he gaz’d enraptur’d on her form,
Her virtues awe the heart her beauties warm;
And, while impassion’d tones his love reveal,
115
He asks with holy rites his vows to seal—
“Hop’st thou, she cried, those sacred
ties shall join
“This bleeding heart, this trembling hand to
thine?
“To thine, whose ruthless heart has caus’d
my pains,
“Whose barb’rous hands the blood of Zamor
stains! 120
“Can’st thou—the murd’rer
of my peace, controul
“The grief that swells, the pang that rends
my soul?
“That pang shall death, shall death alone remove,
“And cure the anguish of despairing love.”
In vain th’ enamour’d youth essay’d
each art 125
To calm her sorrows, and to sooth her heart;
While, in the range of thought, her tender breast
Could find no hope, on which her griefs might rest,
While her soft soul, which Zamor’s image fills,
Shrinks from the cruel author of its ills.
130
At length to madness stung by fix’d disdain,
The victor gives to rage the fiery rein;
And bids her sorrows flow from that fond source
Where strong affection feels their keenest force,
Whose breast, when most it suffers, only heeds
135
The sharper pangs by which another bleeds:
For now his cruel mandate doom’d her sire
Stretch’d on the bed of torture, to expire;
Bound on the rack, unmov’d the victim lies,
Stifling in agony weak nature’s sighs.
140
But oh, what form of language can impart
The frantic grief that wrung Aciloe’s heart,
When to the height of hopeless sorrow wrought,
The fainting spirit feels a pang of thought,
Which never painted in the hues of speech,
145
Lives at the soul, and mocks expression’s reach!
Now night descends, and steeps each weary breast,
Save sad Aciloe’s, in the balm of rest.
Her aged father’s beauteous dwelling stood
Near the cool shelter of a waving wood:
170
But now the gales that bend its foliage die,
Soft on the silver turf its shadows lie;
While, slowly wand’ring o’er the scene
below,
The gazing moon look’d pale as silent woe.
The sacred shade, amid whose fragrant bowers
175
Zamor oft sooth’d with song the evening hours,
Pour’d to the lunar orb, his magic lay,
More mild, more pensive than her musing ray,
That shade with trembling step, the mourner sought,
And thus she breath’d her tender, plaintive
thought. 180
“Ah where, dear object of these piercing pains,
“Where rests thy murder’d form, thy lov’d
remains?
“On what sad spot, my Zamor, flow’d the
wound
“That purpled with thy streaming blood the ground?
“Oh had Aciloe in that hour been nigh,
185
“Had’st thou but fix’d on me thy
closing eye;
“Told with faint voice, ’twas death’s
worst pang to part,
“And dropp’d thy last, cold tear upon
my heart!
“A pang less bitter then would waste this breast,
“That in the grave alone shall seek its rest.
190
“Soon as some friendly hand, in mercy leads
“My aged father, safe to Chili’s meads;
“Death shall for ever, seal the nuptial tie,
“The heart belov’d by thee is fix’d
to die.”
She ceas’d, when dimly thro’ a flood of
tears 195
She sees her Zamor’s form, his voice she hears.—
“’Tis he, she cried, he moves upon the
gale,
“My Zamor’s sigh is deep—his
look is pale—
“I faint”—his arms receive
her sinking frame,
He calls his love by every tender name,
Before Alphonso now the lovers stand;
The aged suff’rer join’d the mournful
band;
While with the look that guardian seraphs wear,
275
When sent to calm the throbs of mortal care,
The story of their woes Las Casas told,
Then cry’d, “the wretched Zamor here behold—
“Hop’st thou, fond man, a passion to controul
“Fix’d in the breast, and woven in the
soul? 280
“But know, mistaken youth, thy power in vain
“Would bind thy victim in the nuptial chain:
“That faithful heart will rend the galling tie,
“That heart will break, that tender form will
die—
“Then by each sacred name to nature dear,
285
“By her strong shriek, her agonizing tear;
“By every horror bleeding passion knows,
“By the wild glance that speaks her frantic
woes;
“By all the wasting pangs that rend her breast,
“By the deep groan that gives her spirit rest!
290
“Let mercy’s pleading voice thy bosom
move,
“And fear to burst the bonds of plighted love”—
He paus’d—now Zamor’s moan
Alphonso hears,
Now sees the cheek of age bedew’d with tears:
Palid, and motionless, Aciloe stands,
295
Fix’d was her mournful eye, and clasp’d
her hands;
Her heart was chill’d—her trembling
heart, for there
Hope slowly sinks in cold, and dark despair.
Alphonso’s soul was mov’d—“No
more, he cried,
“My hapless flame shall hearts like yours divide.
300
“Live, tender spirit, soft Aciloe, live,
“And all the wrongs of mad’ning rage forgive.
“Go from this desolated region far,
“These plains, where av’rice spreads the
waste of war;
“Go, where pure pleasures gild the peaceful
scene, 305
“Go where mild virtue sheds her ray serene.”
In vain th’ enraptur’d maid would now
impart,
The rising joy that swells, that pains her heart;
Las Casas’ feet in floods of tears she steeps,
Looks on her sire and smiles, then turns, and weeps;
310
Then smiles again, while her flush’d cheek,
reveals
The mingled tumult of delight she feels.
So fall the crystal showers of fragrant spring,
And o’er the pure, clear sky, soft shadows fling;
Then paint the drooping clouds from which they flow
315
With the warm colours of the lucid bow.
Now, o’er the barren desert, Zamor leads
Aciloe, and her sire, to Chili’s meads:
There, many a wand’ring wretch, condemn’d
to roam
By hard oppression, found a shelt’ring home:
320
Zamor to pity, tun’d the vocal shell,
Bright’ning the tear of anguish, as it fell.
Did e’er the human bosom throb with pain
The heav’nly muse has sought to sooth in vain?
She, who can still with harmony its sighs,
325
And wake the sound, at which affliction dies;
Can bid the stormy passions backward roll,
And o’er their low-hung tempests lift the soul;
With magic touch paint nature’s various scene
Wild on the mountain, in the vale serene;
330
Can tinge the breathing rose with brighter bloom,
Or hang the sombrous rock in deeper gloom;
Explore the gem, whose pure, reflected ray
Throws o’er the central cave a paler day;
Or soaring view the comet’s fiery frame
335
Rush o’er the sky, and fold the sphere in flame;
While the charm’d spirit, as her accents move,
Is wrapt in wonder, or dissolv’d in love.
338
CANTO THE SIXTH.
THE ARGUMENT.
The troops of Almagro and Alphonso meet on the plains of Cuzco— Manco-Capac attacks them by night—his army is defeated, and he is forced to fly with its scattered remains—Cora goes in search of him— her infant in her arms—overcome with fatigue, she rests at the foot of a mountain—an earthquake—a band of Indians fly to the mountains for shelter—Cora discovers her husband—their interview—her death—he escapes with his infant_—Almagro claims a share of the spoils of Cuzco—his contention with Pizarro—the Spaniards destroy each other —Almagro is taken prisoner, and put to death—his soldiers, in revenge, assassinate Pizarro in his palace—Las Casas dies—Gasca, a Spanish ecclesiastic, arrives in Peru—invested with great power—his virtuous conduct—the annual festival of the Peruvians—their late victories over the Spaniards in Chili—a wish for the restoration of their liberty—the Poem concludes.
CANTO THE SIXTH.
At length Almagro, and Alphonso’s train,
Each peril past, unite on Cusco’s plain:
Capac, who now beheld with anxious woe,
Th’ increasing numbers of the powerful foe,
Resolves to pierce beneath the shroud of night
5
The hostile camp, and brave the vent’rous fight;
Tho’ weak the wrong’d Peruvians arrowy
showers,
To the dire weapons stern Iberia pours.
Fierce was th’ unequal contest, for the soul
When rais’d by some high passion’s strong
controul, 10
New strings the nerves, and o’er the glowing
frame
Breathes the warm spirit of heroic flame.
But from the scene where raging slaughter burns,
The timid muse with pallid horror turns:
The sounds of frantic woe she panting hears,
15
Where anguish dims a mother’s eye with tears;
Or where the maid, who gave to love’s soft power
Her faithful spirit, weeps the parting hour:
And ah, till death shall ease the tender woe,
That soul must languish, and those tears must flow;
20
For never with the thrill that rapture proves
Shall bless’d affection hail the form she loves;
Her eager glance no more that form shall view,
Her quiv’ring lip has breath’d the last
adieu!
Now night, that pour’d upon her hollow gale
25
The moan of death, withdrew her mournful veil;
The sun rose lovely from the sleeping flood,
And morning glitter’d o’er the field of
blood;
Where bath’d in gore, Peruvia’s vanquish’d
train
Lay cold and senseless on the sanguine plain.
30
Capac, their gen’rous chief, whose ardent soul
Had sought the rage of battle to controul,
Beheld with keen despair his warriors yield,
And fled indignant from the conquer’d field.
From Cusco now a wretched throng repair,
35
Who tread mid’ slaughter’d heaps in mute
despair,
O’er some lov’d corse the shroud of earth
to spread,
And drop the sacred tear that sooths the dead:
No shriek was heard, for agony supprest
The fond complaints which ease the swelling breast:
40
Each hope for ever lost, they only crave
The deep repose which wraps the shelt’ring grave.
So the meek Lama, lur’d by some decoy
Of man, from all his unembitter’d joy;
Ere while, as free as roves the wand’ring breeze,
45
Meets the hard burden on his bending knees[A];
O’er rocks, and mountains, dark, and waste he
goes,
Nor shuns the path where no soft herbage grows;
Till worn with toil, on earth he prostrate lies,
Heeds not the barb’rous lash, but patient dies.
50
Swift o’er the field of death sad Cora flew,
Her infant to his mother’s bosom grew;
She seeks her wretched lord, who fled the plain
With the last remnant of his vanquish’d train:
Thro’ the lone vale, or forest’s sombrous
Where o’er an ample vale a mountain rose,
65
Low at its base her fainting form she throws;
“And here, my child, (she cried, with panting
breath)
“Here let us wait the hour of ling’ring
death:
“This famish’d bosom can no more supply
“The streams that nourish life, my babe must
die! 70
“In vain I strive to cherish for thy sake
“My failing strength; but when my heart-strings
break,
“When my chill’d bosom can no longer warm,
“My stiff’ning arms no more enfold thy
form,
“Soft on this bed of leaves my child shall sleep,
75
“Close to his mother’s corse he will not
weep:
“Oh weep not then, my tender babe, tho’
near,
“I shall not hear thy moan, nor see thy tear;
“Hope not to move me by thy piercing cry,
“Nor seek with searching look my answering eye.”
80
As thus the dying Cora’s plaints arose,
O’er the fair valley sudden darkness throws
A hideous horror; thro’ the wounded air
Howl’d the shrill voice of nature in despair;
The birds dart screaming thro’ the fluid sky,
85
And, dash’d upon the cliff’s hard surface
die;
High o’er their rocky bounds the billows swell,
Then to their deep abyss affrighted fell;
Earth groaning heaves with dire convulsive throws,
While yawning gulphs her central caves disclose:
90
Now rush’d a frighted throng with trembling
pace
Along the vale, and sought the mountain’s base;
Purpos’d its perilous ascent to gain,
And shun the ruin low’ring o’er the plain.
They reach’d the spot where Cora clasp’d
her child, 95
And gaz’d on present death with aspect mild;
They pitying paus’d—she lifts her
mournful eye,
And views her lord!—he hears his Cora’s
sigh—
He meets her look—their melting souls unite,
O’erwhelm’d, and agoniz’d with wild
delight— 100
At length she faintly cried, “we yet must part!
“Short are these rising joys—I feel
my heart
“My suff’ring heart is cold, and mists
arise
“That shroud thy image from my closing eyes:
“Oh save my child!—our tender infant
save, 105
“And shed a tear upon thy Cora’s grave”—
The flutt’ring pulse of life now ceas’d
to play,
And in his arms a pallid corse she lay:
O’er her dear form he hung in speechless pain,
And still on Cora call’d, but call’d in
vain; 110
Scarce could his soul in one short moment bear
The wild extreme of transport, and despair.
Now o’er the west in melting softness streams
A lustre, milder than the morning beams;
A purer dawn dispell’d the fearful night,
115
And nature glow’d in all the blooms of light;
The birds awake the note that hails the day,
And spread their pinions in the purple ray;
A zone of gold the wave’s still bosom bound,
And beauty shed a placid smile around.
120
Then, first awaking from his mournful trance,
The wretched Capac cast an eager glance
On his lov’d babe; th’ unconscious infant
smil’d,
And showers of softer sorrow bath’d his child.
The hollow voice now sounds in fancy’s ear,
125
She sees the dying look, the parting tear,
That sought with anxious tenderness to save
That dear memorial from the closing grave:
He clasps the object of his love’s last care,
And vows for him the load of life to bear;
130
To rear the blossom of a faded flower,
And bid remembrance sooth each ling’ring hour.
He journey’d o’er a dreary length of way,
To plains where freedom shed her hallow’d ray;
O’er many a pathless wood, and mountain hoar,
135
To that fair clime her lifeless form he bore.
Ye who ne’er suffer’d passions hopeless
pain,
Deem not the toil that sooths its anguish vain;
Its fondness to the mould’ring corse extends,
Its faithful tear with the cold ashes blends.
140
Perchance, the conscious spirit of the dead
Numbers the drops affection loves to shed;
Perchance a sigh of holy pity gives
To the sad bosom, where its image lives.
Oh nature! sure thy sympathetic ties
145
Shall o’er the ruins of the grave arise;
Undying spring from the relentless tomb,
And shed, in scenes of love, a lasting bloom.
Not long Iberia’s sullied trophies wave,
Her guilty warriors press th’ untimely grave;
150
For av’rice, rising from the caves of earth,
Wakes all her savage spirit into birth;
Bids proud Almagro feel her baleful flame,
And Cusco’s treasures from Pizarro claim:
Pizarro holds the rich alluring prize,
155
With firmer grasp, the fires of discord rise.
Now fierce in hostile rage, each warlike train
Purple with issuing gore Peruvia’s plain;
There, breathing hate, and vengeful death they flood,
And bath’d their impious bands in kindred blood;
160
While pensive on each hill, whose lofty brow
O’erhung with sable woods the vale below;
Peruvia’s hapless tribes in scatter’d
throngs,
Beheld the fiends of strife avenge their wrongs.
Now conquest, bending on her crimson wings,
165
Her sanguine laurel to Pizarro brings;
While bound, and trembling in her iron chain,
Almagro swells the victor’s captive train.
Now faint with virtue’s toil, Las Casas’
soul
Sought with exulting hope, her heav’nly goal:
210
A bending angel consecrates his tears,
And leads his kindred mind to purer spheres.
But, ah! whence pours that stream of lambent light,
That soft-descending on the raptur’d sight,
Gilds the dark horrors of the raging storm—
215
It lights on earth—mild vision! gentle
form—
’Tis Sensibility! she stands confest,
With trembling step she moves, and panting breast;
Wav’d by the gentle breath of passing sighs
Loose in the air her robe expanded flies;
220
Wet with the dew of tears her soft veil streams,
And in her eye the ray of pity beams;
No vivid roses her mild cheek illume,
Sorrow’s wan touch has chas’d the purple
Mild Gasca now, the messenger of peace,
Suspends the storm, and bids the tumult cease.
Pure spirit! in Religion’s garb he came,
And all his bosom felt her holy flame;
’Twas then her vot’ries glory, and their
care 275
To bid oppression’s harpy talons spare;
To bend the crimson banner he unfurl’d,
And shelter from his grasp a suff’ring world:
Gasca, the guardian minister of woe,
Bids o’er her wounds the balms of comfort flow
Ah, meek Peruvia, still thy murmur’d sighs
Thy stifled groans in fancy’s ear arise;
Sadd’ning she views thy desolated soul,
As slow the circling years of bondage roll,
300
Redeem from tyranny’s oppressive power
With fond affection’s force, one sacred hour;
And consecrate its fleeting, precious space,
The dear remembrance of the past to trace.
Call from her bed of dust joy’s buried shade;
305
She smiles in mem’ry’s lucid robes array’d,
O’er thy creative scene[C] majestic moves,
And wakes each mild delight thy fancy loves.
But soon the image of thy wrongs in clouds
The fair and transient ray of pleasure shrouds;
310
Far other visions melt thy mournful eye,
And wake the gushing tear, th’ indignant sigh;
There Ataliba’s sacred, murder’d form,
Sinks in the billow of oppression’s storm;
Wild o’er the scene of death thy glances roll,
315
And pangs tumultuous swell thy troubled soul;
Thy bosom burns, distraction spreads her flames,
And from the tyrant foe her victim claims.
But, lo! where bursting desolation’s night,
A sudden ray of glory cheers my sight;
320
From my fond eye the tear of rapture flows,
My heart with pure delight exulting glows:
A blooming chief of India’s royal race,
Whose soaring soul, its high descent can trace,
The flag of freedom rears on Chili’s[D] plain,
325
And leads to glorious strife his gen’rous train:
And see Iberia bleeds! while vict’ry twines
Her fairest blossoms round Peruvia’s shrines;
The gaping wounds of earth disclose no more
The lucid silver, and the glowing ore;
330
A brighter glory gilds the passing hour,
While freedom breaks the rod of lawless power:
Lo on the Andes’ icy steep she glows,
And prints with rapid step th’ eternal snows;
Or moves majestic o’er the desert plain,
335
[A] The Lama’s bend their knees and stoop their
body in such a manner as
not to discompose their burden. They
move with a slow but firm pace,
in countries that are impracticable to
other animals. They are neither
dispirited by fasting nor drudgery, while
they have any strength
remaining; but, when they are totally
exhausted, or fall under their
burden, it is to no purpose to harrass
and beat them: they will
continue striking their heads on the ground,
first on one side, then
on the other, till they kill themselves,—Abbe
Raynal’s History of
the European Settlements.
[B] See a delightful representation of the incorruptible
integrity of
this Spaniard in Robertson’s
History of America.
[C] “O’er thy creative scene.”
The Peruvians have solemn days on which
they assume their antient dress.
Some among them represent a tragedy,
the subject of which is the death
of Atabalipa. The audience, who
begin with shedding tears, are afterwards
transported, into a kind of
madness. It seldom happens
in these festivals, but that some Spaniard
is slain.—Abbe
Raynal’s History.
[D] “On Chili’s plain.”—An
Indian descended from the Inca’s, has lately
obtained several victories
over the Spaniards, the gold mines have
been for some time shut up;
and there is much reason to hope, that
these injured nations may
recover the liberty of which they have
been so cruelly deprived.
To MRS. SIDDONS.
Siddons! the Muse, for many a joy refin’d,
Feelings which ever seem too swiftly fled—
For those delicious tears she loves to
shed,
Around thy brow the wreath of praise would bind—
But can her feeble notes thy praise unfold?
Repeat the tones each changing passion
gives,
Or mark where nature in thy action lives,
Where, in thy pause, she speaks a pang untold!
When fierce ambition steels thy daring breast,
When from thy frantic look our glance
recedes;
Or oh, divine enthusiast! when opprest
By anxious love, that eye of softness
pleads—
The sun-beam all can feel, but who can trace
The instant light, and catch the radiant grace!
COMPLAINT.
Pale moon! thy mild benignant light
May glad some other captive’s sight;
Bright’ning the gloomy objects nigh,
Thy beams a lenient thought supply:
But, oh, pale moon! what ray of thine
Can sooth a misery like mine!
Chase the sad image of the past,
And woes for ever doom’d to last.
Where are the years with pleasure gay?
How bright their course! how short their stay!—
Where are the crowns, that round my head
A double glory vainly spread?
Where are the beauties wont to move,
The grace, converting awe to love?
Alas, had fate design’d to bless,
Its equal hand had giv’n me less!
Why did the regal garb array
A breast that tender passions sway?
A soul of unsuspicious frame,
Which leans with faith on friendship’s name—
Ye vanish’d hopes! ye broken ties!
By perfidy, in friendship’s guise,
This breast was injur’d, lost, betray’d—
Where, where shall Mary look for aid?
How could I hope redress to find
Stern rival! from thy envious mind?
How could I e’er thy words believe?
O ever practis’d to deceive!
Thy wiles abhorr’d shall please alone
Cold bosoms, selfish as thy own;
While ages hence, indignant hear
The horrors of my fate severe.
Have not thy unrelenting hands
Torn nature’s most endearing bands?
Whate’er I hop’d from woman’s name,
The ties of blood, the stranger’s claim;
A sister-queen’s despairing breast
On thee securely lean’d for rest;
On thee! from whom that breast has bled
With sharper ills than those I fled,
Oh, skill’d in every baser art!
Tyrant! to this unguarded heart
No guilt so black as thine belongs,
Which loads my length’ning years with wrongs.
Strike then at once, insatiate foe!
The long, premeditated blow;
So shall thy jealous terrors cease,
And Mary’s harrass’d soul have peace.
AN
ELEGY.
As roam’d a pilgrim o’er the mountain
drear,
On whose lone verge the foaming billows
roar;
The wail of hopeless sorrow pierc’d his ear,
And swell’d at distance on the sounding
shore.
The mourner breath’d her deep complaint to night,
Her moan she mingled with the rapid blast;
That bar’d her bosom in its wasting flight,
And o’er the earth her scatter’d
tresses cast!
“Ye winds, she cried, still heave the lab’ring
deep,
“The mountain shake, the howling
forest rend;
“Still dash the shiv’ring fragment from
the steep,
“Nor for a wretch like me the storm
suspend.
“Ah, wherefore wish the rising storm to spare?
“Ah, why implore the raging winds
to save?
“What refuge can the breast where lives despair
“Desire but death? what shelter
but the grave?
“To me congenial is the gloom of night,
“The savage howlings that infest
the air;
“I unappall’d can view the fatal light,
“That flashes from the pointed lightning’s
glare.
“And yet erewhile, if night her shadows threw
“O’er the known woodlands
of my native vale;
“Fancy in visions wild the landscape drew,
“And swelled with boding sounds
the whisp’ring gale.
“But deep despair has arm’d my timid soul,
“And agony has numb’d the
throb of fear;
“Taught a weak heart its terrors to controul,
“And more to court than shun the
danger near.
“Yet could I welcome the return of light,
“Its glim’ring beam might
guide my searching eye,
“The sacred spot might then emerge from night,
“On which a lover’s bleeding
relicks lie!
“For sure ’twas here, as late a shepherd
stray’d
“Bewilder’d, o’er the
mountain’s dreary bound,
“Close to the pointed cliff he saw him laid,
“Where heav’d the waters of
the deep around.
“Alas, no longer could his heart endure
“The woes that heart was doom’d
for me to prove:
“He sought for death—for death the
only cure,
“That fate can give to vain, and
hopeless love.”
“My sire, unjust, while passion swell’d
his breast,
“From the lov’d Alfred his
Euphelia tore;
“Mock’d the keen sorrows that my soul
opprest,
“And bade me, vainly bade me love
no more!
“He told me love, was like yon’ troubled
deep,
“Whose restless billows never know
repose;
“Are wildly dash’d upon the rocky steep,
“And tremble to the lightest breeze
that blows!
“From these rude storms remote, her gentle balm,
“Dear to the suff’ring spirit,
peace applies”—
Peace! ‘tis th’ oblivious lake’s
detested calm
Whose dull, slow waters never fall or
rise.
“Ah, what avails a parent’s stern command,
“The force of conq’ring passion
to subdue?
“And wherefore seek to rend, with cruel hand,
“The ties enchanted love so fondly
drew!
“Yet I could see my Alfred’s fix’d
despair,
“And aw’d by filial fear conceal
my woes;
“My coward heart cou’d separation bear,
“And check the struggling anguish
as it rose!
“’Twas guilt the barb’rous mandate
to obey,
“Which bade no parting sigh my bosom
move,
“Victim of duty’s unrelenting sway,
“I seemed a traitor, while a slave
to love!”
“Let her, who seal’d a lover’s fate,
endure
“The sharpest pressure of deserv’d
distress;
“’Twere added perfidy to seek a cure,
“And stain’d with falsehood,
wish to suffer less.
“For wretches doom’d in other griefs to
pine,
“Oft’ will benignant hope
her ray impart;
“And pity oft’ from her celestial shrine,
“Drop a warm tear upon the fainting
heart.
“But o’er the lasting gloom of love’s
despair,
“Can hope’s bright ray its
cheering visions shed?
“Can pity sooth the woes that breast must bear,
“Which vainly loves, and vainly
mourns the dead!”
“No! ling’ring still, and still prolong’d,
the moan
“Shall never pause, till heaves
my latest breath,
“Till memory’s distracting pang is flown,
“And all my sorrows shall be hush’d
in death.
“And death is pitying come, whose hand shall
tear
“From this afflicted heart the sense
of pain;
“My fainting limbs refuse their load to bear,
“And life no longer will my form
sustain.
“Yet once did health’s enliv’ning
glow adorn,
“And pleasure shed for me her loveliest
ray,
“Pure as the gentle star that gilds the morn,
“And constant as the equal light
of day!”
“Now those lost pleasures trac’d by memory,
seem
“Like yon’ illusive meteor’s
glancing light;
“That o’er the darkness threw its instant
gleam,
“Then sunk, and vanish’d in
the depth of night.
“My native vale! and thou delightful bower!
“Scenes to my hopeless love for
ever dear;
“Sweet vale, for whom the morning wak’d
her flow’r,
“Gay bower, for whom the evening
pour’d her tear.
“I ask no more to see your beauties rise—
“Ye rocks and mountains, on whose
rugged breast
“My Alfred, murder’d by Euphelia, lies,
“In your deep solitudes oh
let me rest!”
“And sure the dawning ray that lights the steep,
“And slowly wanders o’er the
purple wave;
“Will shew me where his sacred relics sleep,
“Will lead his mourner to her destin’d
grave.—
O’er the high precipice unmov’d she bent,
A fearful path the beams of morning shew,
The pilgrim reach’d with toil the rude ascent,
And saw her brooding o’er the deep
below.
“Euphelia stay! he cried, thy Alfred calls—
“Oh stay, my love! in sorrow yet
more dear,
“I come!”—In vain the soothing
accent falls,
Alas, it reach’d not her distracted
ear.
“Ah, what avails, she said, that morning rose?
“With fruitless pain I seek his
mould’ring clay;
“Vain search! to fill the measure of my woes,
“The foaming surge has wash’d
his corse away.
“This cruel agony why longer bear?
“Death, death alone can all my pangs
remove;
“Kind death will banish from my heart despair,
“And when I live again—I
live to love!”—
She said, and plung’d into the awful deep—
He saw her meet the fury of the wave;
He frantic saw! and darting to the steep
With desp’rate anguish, sought her
wat’ry grave.
He clasp’d her dying form, he shar’d her
sighs,
He check’d the billow rushing on
her breast;
She felt his dear embrace—her closing eyes
Were fix’d on Alfred, and her death
was blest.—
To EXPRESSION.
Expression, child of soul! I fondly trace
Thy strong enchantments, when the poet’s
lyre,
The painter’s pencil catch thy sacred
fire,
And beauty wakes for thee her touching grace—
But from this frighted glance thy form avert
When horrors check thy tear, thy struggling
sigh,
When frenzy rolls in thy impassion’d
eye,
Or guilt sits heavy on thy lab’ring heart—
Nor ever let my shudd’ring fancy bear
The wasting groan, or view the pallid
look
Of him[A] the Muses lov’d—when
hope forsook
His spirit, vainly to the Muses dear!
For charm’d with heav’nly song, this bleeding
breast,
Mourns the blest power of verse could give despair
no rest.—
[A] Chatterton.